A tingle shoots up my arm as I walk further into the graveyard and turn to shut the gate behind me. I better not get fucking tetanus from this damn thing. I swear, I’ll put in a Worker’s Comp claim faster than you can say “walking stick from hell.” I give the black wood and metal stick in my grasp the side-eye and then shake off Splintergate, ready to secure the shit out of this graveyard.
Looking up, I’m glad to find that it’s definitely still dusk-ish. I count that as officially making it to my shift on time. “Take that, Xena cosplay uniform,” I say in victory.
Just as I fist pump the sky, a loud crackle of static makes me jump and sends my heartrate galloping. I quickly snatch the radio off my belt and fumble with it. I stare at the dial and twist it until the number five lines up with the arrow.
“Main house to gate security, do you read me?” a deep masculine voice asks, the warm tone seeping out of the radio and filling the darkening night. Damn, that is a sexy voice.
My fingers fumble with the buttons. “Fucking shit…” Whoops, I think he heard that. “I mean yes! No shit...or fucking. Sorry,” I stammer out, talking really loudly into the receiver.
I would slap a palm to my forehead if I wasn’t holding the radio in one hand and this weird fucking splinter stick in the other. I press my forehead against the walking stick instead and roll my eyes at myself.
The radio is silent for an uncomfortably long time before the masculine voice bursts out of the speaker again. “No need to shout, I can hear you,” the voice states evenly. “I was making sure you found the radio. Also, heads up, there’s an event going on at the main house, so you may see a dozen or so cars head that direction. No one will bother the graveyard though, and it should be secure. We just need you inside the grounds tonight. We’ll deal with initiation tomorrow.”
Initiation? This security supervisor takes his job really fucking seriously.
“Okay, event. Got it,” I tell him.
As though his words conjured them out of the blue, I can now see headlights passing down the main road in the distance. “If you need anything or the gate becomes compromised, just call on this channel,” he instructs, pulling my focus from the dimming brake lights of the car as it moves further away toward the massive brightly lit mansion.
I nod my head for a beat in understanding before I realize the dude on the radio can’t see me. “Right, will do.” I wait for a second to see what else he’s going to say, but the radio goes silent. I click the button again to talk. “So, uh, do you have a call sign or something I should use?” I ask, not sure about radio etiquette and how this is all supposed to work. I mean, he’s not saying “over” after every statement, so apparently that’s not a thing.
“A call sign?” the smooth bass voice asks.
“Yeah, you know, like, ‘Baby Bird, come in, Baby Bird. This is Mother Bird, over.’”
Did I just lower my voice like the soldier from Toy Story?
Once again, the radio goes silent for a little too long. I can’t even blame my awkwardness on anything, not even my weird ass uniform. This is all me.
“I’m not going to be called Mother Bird,” he finally declares.
I give a little huff before clicking back on. “I’m not saying you have to be Mother Bird, I was just giving an example,” I defend.
I think I hear him sigh, but it could just be the radio static. “Give me a better one,” he demands, and I stare at the radio for a second, wracking my brain for a macho call sign that has minimum potential to offend a dude. “How about...Maverick and Goose?” I offer, feeling quite proud.
“Are you one of those weird bird people?”
“What? No, Goose from Top Gun, not an actual goose.”
“Oh…” the noticeably delicious voice muses. I’ve never heard such a sinfully sexy voice before, but his tone has a way of heating you up inside. And I’m not saying that I’m imagining what he looks like naked, but...buns of steel, chiseled abs, and at least ten inches down south.
“Wait, doesn’t he die?” he asks, pulling me out of my momentary mental perving.
I blink and pull the radio away from my mouth and give it my best WTF look. Is this dude serious? I look around once again, checking for hidden cameras. The Xena costume and this weird interaction is seriously tipping the scales to crazy. I count to ten, giving Ashton Kutcher plenty of time to leap out of the bushes and yell, “Burn! You’ve been punked!”
Nothing happens.
“Look, if you don’t like my call sign options, then just pick your own,” I finally radio back as I start to move further inside the cemetery. As much fun as going back and forth with Mr. Deep and Delicious on the radio is, I should probably get my bearings before it gets too dark to make out the details of this place.
Past the gate and a surprising patch of overgrown grass, I find a stone path, and I follow along, guided by the tall hedges that border it. The hedges suddenly end, but the path continues, and I step out into a massive graveyard. It’s breathtaking.
Tall trees and ornate headstones are scattered all over the grounds, and I spot several large mausoleums spread around the well-kept grounds. This place is huge, and I can see it bordering a dense tree line in the distance. Some people would probably think this place is creepy. And yeah, there is a slightly eerie vibe, but I’m not bothered in the slightest. Just as I expected, there’s a quiet, solemn beauty to it all that I appreciate.
“Iceman,” suddenly blurts out from my radio.
I jump in alarm, forgetting I’m holding the damn thing. “Huh?”
“I’ll go by Iceman,” the mystery man on the other side of the radio repeats, and I shake my head at him as a smile stretches across my face.
“Okay, Iceman it is,” I confirm, trying not to chuckle. “So, Iceman, anything else I need to know about this gig other than to call you if I need help?”
“Just make sure the gate is secure. We’ll know after tonight if you’re a good fit for the gate. That’s about it.”
Something in his tone and the statement good fit for the gate sets off my spidey senses. It’s like the graveyard is going to decide if I’m a good employee, which is just weird, but there’s no way I’m going to go all twenty questions and try to start interrogating this dude. He misspoke; I don’t want to make things awkward by pointing that out. I need to fit in on whatever team Ms. Atwood mentioned if I want this job to work, and I really need that to happen.
I look back toward the gate at the cemetery’s entrance and try to identify what about it requires so much protection. It’s just a black wrought iron gate. It looks to be shut securely to me, so I simply shrug and then continue with my efforts to become more acquainted with the area that I’m now responsible for watching over.
“Sounds like a plan,” I finally respond. “Are you the head of security?”
I’m guessing he must be if I’m reporting to him. He’s probably in some plush office right now, pretending to watch security cameras while he eats chips and plays games on his phone. I’m sure he’s not dressed in all leather, either. Lucky bastard.
“Something like that,” he replies vaguely. “Over.”
Ha! I knew “over” was a thing. Wait...did I just get dismissed?