Foreward-
CHAPTER ONE
Nurses are amazing creatures. Especially night shift nurses. Why, you ask? Because they see things no ordinary human should ever see—and they rarely ever question why. They just shake their heads and go on about their jobs of saving lives as well as doctor's asses.
But by far my favorite nurse?
The head nurse. The grand muckity-muck of the graveyard shift. 'Cause let me tell you—this is a force to be reckoned with. These women don't take shit off of anyone, not doctors, not patients, and certainly not half naked orderlies standing in the middle of the women's bathroom. And I have seen one of these nurses fell an otherwise healthy young man just by yelling.
Now, I'd been hanging about Daniel's room so much I knew the nurse rotation. As did mom. Hell, mom brought cakes and brownies and home made thigh-swelling sweet tea. She was a popular visitor on the floor—except from those who were trying desperately to keep their girlie figures.
Yeah, like they're all so flattering in those really loose, upholster patterned scrubs. Though there was one lady what had teddy bears on hers. Hrm—now those might make for comfy ice-cream eating evenings.
Tonight's nurse was Tiarra (yep, you say it just like the crown, Tee-ar-ah) Boudreaux. Now—this lady stood a good foot taller than me. And that's saying a lot. I'm not exactly short. Her hair—sprayed upward into something resembling an ice-sculpture—made up a good half-foot of the height.
Her nails were long and painted white with black spots, and her lips were always colored like McIntosh apples. Never a smudge. And evidently she'd already had it with Mr. Bartender and his shenanigans when she walked in—
Wait, lemme back up a minute.
Where was I the last time I saw you...Oh! Yeah. Mr. Dags the Bartender had his pants at his ankles. See, after getting over his shock of me walking in on him with Nancy the nurse, he just stood there. Not moving. I wasn't doing anything but politely gawking.
Now—this guy had been cute when I'd first seen him behind the bar at Fadó's. And he was still cute as a button with no shirt on—or pants on. I'd never seen a lower body blush either.
Mental note: Awwwww.
But he kept his hands cupped in a ball over his crotch as we stood there, eye-balling each other. Not that I could actually see the goodies as his orderly scrub top reached below his thighs. Finally he spoke, clearing his throat first. His voice cracked and he had to swallow nervousness.
"You—you were with detective Frasier."
I nodded.
He was still blushing. Still cute. "You were a ghost—did you know that?"
Nod again.
He started shifting on his feet. Huh—did he have to go pee-pee?
"He ever see you sitting there?"
I nodded again, remembering that Dags had been called away to be manly before I went corporeal before Daniel. But this pretty much proved my hunch that day, that the bartender had noticed me. But why could he see me? Was he like mom and Rhonda? Or just plain weird?
There was a very long, awkward, strangled pause. Not for me, really. I still had my clothes on. I could stand here all night. I had no idea why he wasn't getting dressed.
Dags on the other hand he looked like he was gonna faint.
Oookay. This was fun. Now, can we chew cardboard for our next trick?
"Can I get dressed?"
I nodded. Hey, I'm not stopping you. I stepped back and motioned for him to come out. He wasn't going to be able to pull his pants up in that tight of an area.
The first thing I noticed this time and hadn't noticed in the bar was how not-tall he was. I guessed the top of his head would smack my chin. Short wasn't a bad thing—I liked short. And Dags made up for his lack of height in several different ways—like his hair. Loved his hair.
He gulped and shuffled forward, maneuvering around the toilet and paper holder, still keeping those hands at half-mast. Sheesh. Come on dude—have a little pride in the goodies.
He was looking at everything but me, and I noticed his ponytail reached a good bit down the middle of his back.
"You don't talk much, do you?" he finally said as he cleared his throat and fixed me with a pleading look. I shook my head and touched my neck with my right hand and made sawing motions across my throat hoping to get the idea across I was mute.
His face bleached white. "You—you had your throat—sliced?" the last word of his question cracked like a pubescent request. "Is that how you died?"
Christ. Just pull your pants up already you moron.
That's when Tiarra stepped in. He turned as the door opened. She smiled when she saw me.
And then she noticed something standing behind and to her right. Her eyes widened as she took in Dags' obviously embarrassing situation, pants at his ankles. His eyes widened. She put her hands on her more than feminine hips and knitted her eyebrows together until they became one.
Which was a feat since they were like plucked into oblivion.
"Darren McConnell!" Tiarrah boomed and I swear the tile rattled. I jumped.
He did too and I winced as the motion yanked his shoulders up, which yanked his elbows up, which in turn pulled those cupped hands really tight.
"What the hell are you doing? Exhibitioning in the ladies' room? You done gone all crazy? Jus' stand'n here all naked? You know you're naked, right? That's it, boy. That is it. You done made Tiarra mad, that you have." And with that she took two very deliberate steps toward him and got right up in his face. There was a pause, then "Boo."
And he keeled right on over. Bam! Didn't move or bend his body as he went down. Never tried to brace his fall. And he kept his hands in place the whole time. Though I did get a great shot at his bare ass.
That's when Tiarra gave me the WTF look?
I shrugged, grabbed my iBook and got the fucking hell out of the bathroom. From now on, I pee at home.
"Delete, delete, spam, shit, viagra, delete, delete, cyalis, trash," Rhonda continued her mantra as I buttered a biscuit. I'd grabbed a Sierra Mist out of a machine on the way from the bathroom back to Daniel's room and decided it was better for me—and everyone else—that in my present state of confusion I should remain sequestered.
Rhonda asked me if I'd gone over my email while I'd been out of the room and I'd nodded. Of course. But then she'd opened the thing and she and mom had read THE email.
The one from my new pal, maharba.
That lead to a discussion of going to Captain Cooper and showing him the veiled threat from maharba, which of course lead me into a very long and finger cramping (as I scribbled away) explanation of why that was a bad idea on like so many levels. They finally agreed that showing Cooper would invite in all sorts of questions I wasn't prepared to answer.
And I knew Cooper wasn't prepared to believe me on any level. Period.
So it'd been dropped for the moment, and Rhonda turned her attention to the tedious job of going through my email for me her way.
I just really didn't feel like it. There was something wrong with me—I'd just tortured a helpless guy in the ladies' room. What up with that?
"So you just made him stand there?"
I looked at mom over the buttered biscuit and pretended my eyes were short-range missiles. Lock and load. I made little firing noises in my head at her. I nodded and put the butter knife back into her little picnic basket on the roll-around table, the one patients usually ate from while in bed.
Make him stand there my ass.
Hey, look at me, I'm mom's Boo-Boo.
"—delete, delete, delete—huh—what the hell?"
"Zoë—you probably cost that boy his job."
I bit into a chunk of fluffy, butter heaven at that moment, and the comment made it turn to mashed peas in my mouth. I chewed and set the biscuit down before grabbing up my board again and erasing what I'd already written there.
I NOT SCREW NANCY. I HAD TO PEE.
"Did you pee?"
Uh. No.
Erase. NOT MY FAULT. I WAS...
"You shouldn't be eating that biscuit," mom said as she finished off her own. She swiped her hands together. "You bring your tester?"
I shook my head and put the board down. Mom was already off on another tangent. No tester. I'd forgotten it that day, but I'd survived all freak'n day without it. Tadah!
"Well, I'll go find Miss Tiarra—maybe they've got a spare kit and I can make sure she doesn't fire that nice boy."
Nice boy? Mom, he was pok'n it to some cheese-ball in the ladies' bathroom.
In a hospital.
And I'm the bad guy here?
What the hell is mom logic? Chaos theory revisited?
I eye-balled this woman as she wiped her mouth with a napkin, and then stood. She gave Daniel a glance where he lay still and quiet on the bed before leaving the room.
I looked at Rhonda. She was reading something on my computer.
Screw it.
I stood, wiping my hands on my sweats and moved to the chair beside Daniel. He lay very still, oblivious to everything around him. I'd started worrying, really. If the smell of mom's biscuits weren't rousing him, then I was afraid nothing would.
I took his hand. It was cold. This was the left hand, the one that didn't have the broken pinky. And I held it between my two hands and I closed my eyes. I wasn't going to go OOB.
No, not now. I was too afraid I'd suck up his soul or something.
And I hadn't really gone OOB in several days. Maybe I forgot how to do it. I watched his chest move up and down. Watched his beautiful face. It'd been badly bruised when he was first brought in, with swollen eyes and jaw. But now he looked much better, with only a little stubble on his chin. Mom shaved him every other day.
I trusted her to do that.
"Hey Zoë—"
I put my hand on his shoulder. I wanted him to open his eyes. I wanted him to look at me and tell me he loved me. I wanted him to tell his damned Captain that I wasn't a bad person—
Hell, I wanted to find Dags the bartender and tell him I was sorry for making him stand there naked.
"Hey—"
I pulled my hand away and put both of them to my face.
"Kill the drama and get your ass over here."
I raised my head and looked at Rhonda. Leave it to her to push me into reality again. With a look at my boyfriend I stood, snatched up my board, and moved to where Rhonda sat on the other side of the bed near the window of the small room. She motioned for me to kneel beside her.
I grabbed one of mom's donut shaped pillows and knelt on that. I held out my hands, palms up.
"You look at any of these jobs that came in?"
I shook my head and erased my board. NOT WORKING. VACATION.
"Well, yeah, but this one sounds kinda intriguing."
I narrowed my eyes at her and shook my head.
"Will you listen to it?"
Did I have a choice?
"Okay," she tapped the down arrow. "To whom it may concern, I work with a woman named Maureen who insists the place we work in has Shadow People in it."
I held up my hand and mouthed "shadow people?" Most of my clients wanted me to gather information on an employee, or their wife or husband.
So what was a shadow person? Was this a new code word for a boring co-worker? They were as exciting as shadows? Could be government spooks.
Rhonda shrugged and kept on reading. "My boss thinks we're all crazy, but Maureen—she's the hostess—and the wait-staff have all witnessed chairs moving, pictures turning around, and movement out of the corner of our eyes. They've shown up in pictures and several customers have complained of seeing someone standing in the bathroom." She paused and looked up at me.
I shrugged. I was intrigued, but this was starting to sound more like an episode of Ghost Hunters than reality.
I scribbled. WHAT IS SHADOW PEOPLE?
And Rhonda being Rhonda, tucked the email into the background and googled the term. We both leaned in close to read what Wikipedia had to say (not that I endorse anyone to believe what they read on this site which is totally user based):
Shadow People are said to be shadow like creatures of supernatural origin that appear as dark forms in the peripheries of people's vision and disintegrate, or move between walls, when noticed.
Okay, let me say now, that just creeped me the hell out. And I play a ghost on TV.
"Oh, this is spooky. Zoë, is says unlike ghosts, these unknowns don't appear to wear clothing and don't feel once human. Instead—people have complained of being menace, attacked and chased by them."
I sat back and held up my hands. Nope. Sorry. After TC and Mr. Phantasm—I'm over the spook factory. Even if I am a V.I.P. member. Uh-uh.
Rhonda flipped back to the email. "One of the wait-staff fell down the stairs last week and broke her ankle. The manager is refusing to pay for the workman's compensation because he overheard her say she was tripped by one of the shadow people. I think this sucks that this guy can get away with this. The reason I'm writing to you is because an old friend used you to prove her girlfriend was cheating on her. And I thought you'd be able to prove these shadow people exist. Please help us."
I glanced at Daniel.
"Well that's weird." Rhonda continued looking at the computer screen. "I haven't seen a ghost request since—"
I grabbed up my board and erased. NOT SINCE SPRITE.
Good old SPRITE. Southeastern Paranormal Research Institute for Tactical Extermination. Georgia's own brand of Ghost Hunters, who managed to get my astral self—pre-Wraith—on film. No shit. They were investigating a poltergeist. And maharba sent me in there to investigate.
But SPRITE disappeared, and the owners—Randall and Herb—missing in action. I hadn't heard a word from them in months. Not that I was complaining—but it was a little odd that right after exposing a ghost on local television the whole group vanished.
Even their website URL was up for grabs.
"This sounds more interesting. I'll book it."
I was shaking my head. She wanted me to go ghost hunting—which is technically not really my thing—while my future husband lay in a coma? Me be gone? What if he woke up and I wasn't there? Would he think I didn't care?
Not to mention I really needed to know what it was he saw that day—with me holding on to him as he fell. Did he see me?
Did he think I let go?
These were the questions I had to get answered.
Mental note: whine...
I erased my board with my sleeve. Scribble. I NO WANT TO GO WRAITH. Then after she read it, I erased and scribbled again. I COULD BE DANGEROUS.
Rhonda did this weird thing with her face. I mean—I've seen monkeys do that sort of thing—but Rhonda doesn't have a monkey face.
I sat back.
"Zoë—I know what you can do—you did it to me. But we're not talking about dealing with the living in this situation. And if you don't keep up the business, it'll vanish completely. So—this one sounds pretty easy. And I think it's more into where we should take things."
Uh huh. That's Rhonda speak for Ooooh, this sounds like fun!
Though Rhonda didn't usually go on these cases with me. She stayed at home or did her gaming thing or something while I went out and went OOB.
She started typing. Argument closed. Rhonda one, me zilcho.
I pursed my lips and turned my attention back to Daniel and watched the monitors for a while. The constant hum and spith of the machines, the light beeping noises, all played out a really weird kind of lullaby...and I was kinda tired.
Which is why I nearly jumped out of my skin literally when Rhonda spoke.
"Okay—I've said we'll take the case."
And that was that. We never gave clients any schedule, only the required date of payment, which was usually within 24 hours of accepting the job. That way they couldn't set up anything 'cause they just didn't know when it was we'd drop in. And since I was invisible—they never knew.
Mom came back into the room then, her face pulled into a frown. She moved to stand next to me, her hands clutched in front of her. I looked up at her and gave her the best Yeah? look I could muster. "I fixed it."
I felt a little apprehensive.
"Fixed what?" Rhonda said.
Thank you, Rhonda.
"We're not going to mention the boy in the bathroom, are we?" she looked at me and then at Rhonda. Rhonda gave her a very good shrug and continued to look at the computer.
I pulled up my board. WHY? NOT THAT I CARE.
Nona went back to her chair and sat down before retrieving her biscuit from the sliding table. She slathered some butter on it—even though she'd already done that.
Something was bothering her.
I stood and moved closer. She looked up at me and I held out my hands, palms out in a look of WTF?
"Well, apparently the young lady you saw in the bathroom with this bartender is the Chief of surgery's grand-daughter."
Oh.
Blink.
OH!
Mom took a bite of the biscuit and chewed. I waited. I knew there was more. Mom was taking dramatic license with this.
"And apparently he didn't pass out because of you, but because he was terrified her grandfather would find out."
"So?" Rhonda said. "I don't think the Chief of Surgery could actually have him fired, could he? I'm not savvy on hospital hierarchy."
"I'm not sure it's his job he's worried about. Tiarra said it was his life he was more concerned for. She also seemed a little—distraught. Apparently the Chief of Surgery has a reputation of being cursed."
Cursed?
Mom shrugged. "Well she said magician but I say it's cursed."
I got the sudden image of guy in scrubs and a mask, wielding a blood covered scalpel and pulling bloody bunnies out of a top hat.
Ew. What the hell is wrong with me?
"I'm thinking you don't mean like, stage magician?" Rhonda clarified.
"No, not hardly." Nona set the biscuit down and looked at me. "And since Tiarra didn't actually see Nancy in the bathroom—just you—and as long as you keep your mouth—well—you don't write it down anywhere," she shrugged. "He'll never have to know."
I looked at Rhonda. She looked at me. Then we both bore our gazes into mom. "Nona," Rhonda said since she had the voice but we were thinking as one. "Why'd you blow right past the part about him being a magician? You care to elaborate on what exactly that means?"
But Nona was already packing up the picnic basket. I grabbed up the board and scribbled before shoving the board in her face.
CHICKEN SHIT.
"Nona," Rhonda said in a very calm voice. "I'll just go consult the Big Book once we get home. What do you mean by magician—because I get the feeling this isn't the usual Houdini routine."
Nona looked from me, to Rhonda, and back to me. I think she used her really good I'll get you my pretty, and your little dog too stare on me. "Magician was at one time, a basic generic term for magic worker. Or Magi. A term of respect."
"You got this out of the book," Rhonda looked excited. "I read this. But over the centuries it sort of de-vovled."
Nona nodded.
I continued to look confused.
Rhonda looked at me with a look that said I'll use small words. "Think about the word Xerox. You think of copiers, right? But Xerox is a brand—hell it's a whole corporation. And because it was so synonymous with copier, people started using it generically. Instead of making a copy of somehing, you say I'll xerox this."
Okay...I got it.
"Xerox mounted a huge campaign to stop the generification of their name. If it became a common term, they'd lose the use of it. It would be diluted."
I pursed my lips. Was genericfication a real word? But I nodded, yeah I got it. Magician got turned into a generic term.
"In the past decade or so the term magician died away, pretty much tumbled back to mean stage magician, which indicates a trickster. Or say, a false individual."
I thought that one came really far out of the hat and I was ready to go with it. Sure.
Nona took up the lesson. "One of the uses of magicians, especially here in the south, is a conjurer, or one who refutes or creates hexes." She shrugged. "And the Chief of Surgery here at the hospital has that reputation. Though apparently not all the staff believe it—there was apparently some sort of party at his house a few weeks ago and everyone disappeared. No one wants to get on his bad side."
Rhonda frowned and shifted her weight in the chair, the iBook still resting on her knees. "So anyone that's ever made him mad—"
"Vanished," Nona reached into the basket and pulled out a plastic half-pint milk jug. "Tea?"
I drove back to mom's behind the two of them, with mom at the wheel of her antique Volvo, Elizabeth. I'd recently gotten that car impounded, after having left it at the bank behind Story Teller Park.
Long story, build a bridge.
I had a car again. A rental POS. First off, the heat didn't work, the right door wouldn't open and the driver's door didn't have a working door handle on the inside. I had to roll the window down and open the door to get in and out.
I was waiting on the insurance to replace my Mustang. But I wasn't holding my breath. It was Christmas, and there wasn't anything getting done very quickly. Period.
It was cold. It was rainy. And I was just—depressed. Once back at the Tea and Botannica, Nona went to the kitchen while I started a fire and Rhonda set up her computer and mine in the Botannica where the fireplace was.
A stone dragon glared down at me from the mantel. A Soul Cage. I stuck my tongue out at it. I'd spent a little time in that thing, so I had a real special kinda hatred for it. Foul beast.
After the fire came to life Rhonda announced there was about fifty emails again!
When Nona brought in three cups of tea that smelled of oranges and spice, and settled down in her usual straight back chair, I pulled my board from Rhonda's backpack and scribbled on it.
YOU KNOW THIS SURGERY GUY?
Mom nodded. "I have heard of him. But only on the news and not because of any magical relationship." She sipped tea and looked at me. "He's going to trial for murder, Zoë. His wife died a few months ago and because of all those disappearances and all the witnesses who say the victims all said they were going to his house for a meeting, the D.A. is reopening the dead wife's case."
"Oh yeah," Tim said as he appeared near the fire place. Steve also made a showing, seated in the matching wicker chair beside Nona. "She was a bar and restaurant owner, wasn't she? His wife?"
Nona nodded.
Rhonda and I looked at each other. She looked back at the computer and then said, "She own just one?"
"Yeah," Tim said. "Real nice place, up in Roswell. Sitting in the square. It used to be a funeral parlor at one time, and a general store during the Civil War. The restaurant's said to be haunted."
I could see this coming a mile away.
So could Rhonda as she glance down at the screen. "And the name of this restaurant?"
"The Livery Bar and Restaurant," Tim said. "Steve took me there for our second anniverary. You can have drinks and deserts in the bar upstairs and there's usually live music."
I heard the email package ding on my computer.
I waited patiently for Rhonda to acknowledge what I already knew. This was the same restaurant with the shadow people. She read something and looked up at me. "Yeah, same restaurant."
This wasn't a coincidence.
"And it gets worse." Rhonda glanced down. "I just heard back from the restaurant's bartender. Said Maureen Lafferty had passed away a week ago—that would put it a week before she sent that client request to us about the shadow people."
Nona was looking from me to Rhonda. "What shadow people? Is this a band?"
Mental note: Mother—
"And the Bartender's name is Darren "Dags" McConnell."
—Guppy.
-----------------------------------------------------------CHAPTER TWO
Mornings suck.
And let me say that again with emphasis. Mornings suck. Not so much mornings at mom's house. Those I wake up to the smells of bacon, eggs, buttery biscuits (mmmmmmm), fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee.
Just mornings in general—especially those where I'm not at the hospital and expected to do something I really didn't want to do. I did not want to look for shadow people, mean people or even imaginary people. So I lay there in the bed with the missing-head-mary and the over-stuffed bear in the chair with the pillow over my head.
You know how hard it is to try and ignore bacon and eggs? Unless you're a vegetarian, it's next to impossible.
Especially when your friend/manager/magical macgyver shows up with hot chocolate.
"Oh come on Zoë," she finally said after I kept the pillow tight over my head. "The restaurant doesn't open for another four hours. If you don't get in there now you'll miss your opportunity."
No.
"Chicken shit."
Bock. Bock.
"Zo-eeeeeeeee."
Wow. She whines better than me.
"Wow—she's not so tough looking from this angle."
Wait. Hold the phone. That wasn't Rhonda's voice. That was a man's voice.
MAN!! In my room!!
I spun around on the bed—and let me tell you John Woo would have been proud 'cause I nearly came up off the bed in slow motion as I turned—and landed with my elbows behind me to see Dags McConnell standing just behind Rhonda.
I was suddenly very glad I'd gone to sleep in my plaid loungers and not nude. I mean—I'd had my bare ass in Rhonda's face with my head buried, ostridge style.
Wait—is that how you spell that?
Looks weird.
Rhonda had her arms crossed over her chest. She also had her hair back in a pony-tail and wore dark jeans (duh) and a black sweater with a high collar. Looked kinda fuzzy and soft.
I reached out to touch it.
She pulled back—and not from anger—from actual fear.
We both realized what had just happened at the same time and looked at each other. She'd been afraid I would suck on her soul again—and all I'd wanted was to touch the fuzzy.
"Zoë—I—"
I shook my head and waved my hand, hoping she caught the It's all right I meant in the gesture. Man, being voiceless sucked. Because at that moment Mr. Bartender-man was over near the big bear and bent over it, his hand reaching out to my dry-erase board I'd propped there before turning in.
I pointed to him and glared at Rhonda with my eyebrows up. Why was he here?
"Nona," Rhonda said.
Okay. That explained a whole lot. Well—not really. I narrowed my eyes and made the very obvious, universal gesture for what the hell for?
Mr. Bartender-man was back at the bed. "Your mom called me last night and left a message on my voice-mail. She was apologizing for you—for what happened—"
I pursed my lips at him. Rhonda moved past him and grabbed my board. She tossed at me and I caught it one-handed. Not on purpose, but it looked cool. I scribbled on it.
APOLOGIZE 4 WHAT? UR THE PERV
He looked down. His hair wasn't in a pony-tail today and was loose about his shoulders. He was dressed in a black leather pea-coat and jeans, a silver bracelet on his left wrist. "I explained to her that it wasn't your fault. We didn't exactly have the stall locked."
"Did you realize who you were shagging in the bathroom?" Rhonda piped up.
"If you mean I know about her grandfather, yeah. I did. But that's what I'm paid to do—dig up intel on what I refer to as the unconventional conventional."
Rhonda and I looked at each other and she looked back at him with the biggest, dumbest grin I'd ever seen on her face. Oh good grief. Was that a crush I saw coming? "We thought you were a bartender and part-time orderly."
"That too," he looked at me. "I honestly thought you were dead. That's a very—unusual ability you have there. You always had it?"
Erase. Scribble. LONG STORY. NEVERMIND.
"Have you always had the ability to see spirits? I mean, you saw Zoë at the bar that day, right?"
He looked at me and then back to Rhonda. I wasn't sure if he was excited or frightened. His eyes looked darker though. "I saw her the moment she came in. I also knew Daniel couldn't see her. He comes in once or twice a week, has a coffee or a beer. We talk. Normal stuff, really. I was working at the bar because of a report of ghosts," he smiled. "I thought Zoë was that ghost until I realized she was paying close attention to the cop. And then I realized she came in with him."
I erased and scribbled. WHY R U AT HOSPITAL?
"I was hired to keep an eye on the Chief of Surgery, Dr. Allard Bonville."
I erased my board and scribbled. BY WHO?
"You mean whom?"
Scribble. ASS WIPE.
He smiled, undeterred. And then he shrugged. "I don't know. I get all my freelance work through a secured site I set up a few months back when I moved here from Savannah."
Rhonda looked back at me again and then took a step toward him. "You set up a secured ftp for jobs? How did you do that? Did you use standard applications or was this something you wrote on your own? How do your clients contact you—or how do they pay you?"
He grinned. "Well, first off I don't use FTP, I use MTP, which is Managed File Transfers. I first learned about it through a company called Communication Commerce, and then I learned they were part of a larger conglomerate and I like bailed as fast as I could. But I set up my own secured server using the MTP transfers and then I have my own secure bulletin board."
It was about that minute my brain tuned out. It was pretty sure it wouldn't understand any of what was said, much of it becoming the standard Charlie Brown adult speak of "wonk, wonk, wonk-wonk" and well—
But I did watch them for a few seconds. They were almost exactly the same height, their hair was close in color, though Rhonda's had the matt-black look of a spray painted car. His was shiny and healthy. They were both kinda gothy-emo-techno-babbly.
Hum. Was she crushing?
Not if I could help it. Did not want my best friend involved with some bathroom-stall-romance-guy. Even if he could see ghosts.
Grrrr.
No one noticed as I slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom. I turned the hot on full-blast and turned to face some pale, strange woman in the mirror.
Gee-zus. I had really let myself go. It was one thing if Daniel saw me like this—I mean—he'd already seen me at some of my worst moments. Even with my teeth un-brushed.
But some strange man with a ponytail had seen me like this.
Hell—the whole hospital had.
Now I was feeling oogie about me. My hair looked absolutely like black straw. Even the damned white strip that wouldn't go away looked like old lady's hair. My skin was blotchy, and not the smooth olive tone I was used to seeing.
Half moons hung beneath my eyes. I could see my cheek-bones. And maybe three months ago I would have liked the obvious drop in weight—but not at that moment. I leaned into the mirror and looked closely at myself.
It was like—
Well, it was like I was loosing some vital nutrient. Kinda like a plant looks when it doesn't get sun or water.
Water. Shower maybe?
Mental Note: need spa treatment. Check cash flow.
After the shower I looked more like a big wet piece of straw. Wrapped in a bathrobe (the big blue fuzzy one I'd bought myself a few weeks ago), I peeked into my bedroom. Rhonda and Dags weren't there.
Hunh.
I moved to the edge of the stairs and listened. I could hear mom, Rhonda, Dags and—
Holy moly. Mrs. Jemmy Shultz was downstairs too. They were having a pow-wow without me!
My stomach took that moment to growl.
Loudly.
"Zoë—stop playing spook and get down here and eat!" mom yelled up at me.
It really sucks that even at my age my mom can STILL embarrass me. I toweled my hair, braided it, and dressed casually in a black long-sleeve tee-shirt with Kevin Barry's logo (they have the best Iris Coffee evah on River Street in Savannah) on the back and a pair of comfy jeans.
Once down the stairs with my board I saw that everyone was huddled around one of the tables in the tea-shop, the Great Big Book of Everything in the center. Tim and Steve were even there.
Mom motioned me to a chair beside her and had a plate all ready. Coffee. Creamer and whip cream already in and on top. Yummy. Whipped cream. And then she handed me my testing kit.
Smart ass.
As I opened the zippered pouch the conversation continued.
"—assigned to the same floor," Dags said. "Which is also part of the reason I was being nice to Nancy because she has a bit of influence on scheduling—because of her grandfather. I've known the detective for some time. So even while I was spying on Nancy's grandfather, I've been periodically checking in on detective Frasier."
Dags sipped his coffee. "But I would like to know exactly how he got into the condition he's in. I suspect it's due to unnatural circumstances."
Ah! Ninety-three. That was a descent morning sugar count. I shoved the read-out in mom's face. That's when I realized everyone was looking at me. I did the equivalent to a voiced-person's "What?"
I held my arms out, elbow bent and shrugged. Eyebrows high on my forehead. I hate my forehead. Too high.
"Zoë," mom grabbed my wrist, the one with the monitor stuck in her face and read the display down her nose. Then she smiled at me and nodded. "That's nice, but I think it's time you shared the circumstances of Daniel's injuries with Dags."
I lowered my hand with a pout. I thought it was a good enough score to at least warrant an attagirl or something. I turned my morning irritation on Bartender-Boy. Can you hear me? I actually threw my thoughts at him like a dart at a corkboard.
And was I completely upset with myself when the boy actually fell backward off his chair. I stood up. So did mom. Rhonda was up and on the floor with him.
He didn't get up right away and I had that sinking feeling I'd just done something awful again. I was feeling like the kid who couldn't get anything right, not even walking through a house carefully. One misstep and I knocked over the Ming vase.
"Zoë!" Rhonda's tone was upset. "What the hell did you do? His nose is bleeding!"
Huh? I was around the table and standing next to an observant Jemmy Schultz. She had on a blue housedress today, with white stockings and matching blue slippers.
Dags on the other hand lay on his side, his hair splayed out about his head, his eyes closed and blood oozing from his nose.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
"Zoë," mom's voice was a little more calming, but I could tell she was still irritated. "I didn't see you go OOB. What happened?"
"You threw your thoughts at him," Tim said in a very soft voice. He was visible near the counter that looked into the tea-shop's kitchen. "That's new."
I—I didn't mean too. I knew Tim and Steve could hear me, but no one else. I looked about for my board, and reading my thoughts, Jemmy reached across the table and retrieved it for me. Guilt was an all too palpable thing at the moment—because in truth I had meant to throw my thoughts at him.
But who knew they'd skewer him like a shish kabob???
I DIDN'T THINK THEY WOULD HIT.
Mom and Rhonda skimmed my board then both of them gave me identical faces. Ack. Was that rehearsed?
Jemmy was moving around. To the kitchen, grabbing a clean cloth, loading it with cold water and then returning to where Dags was down. I stood dumbfounded.
It just seemed to me that men were constantly getting hurt around me. And I was the cause of this. I thought of Daniel, and realized he was all-alone in the hospital.
We were all here.
Rhonda had propped Dags' head up on her lap and was now dabbing at his nose with the wet rag. It looked like a sweet moment. Too bad I was the bully on the playground that whacked him.
Then he stirred, and moaned and looked up to see Rhonda, and totally turned seven shades of red. I put a hand over my mouth to avoid laughing—I was gonna say hysterically—but how can you laugh like that when you don't make noises?
Shit.
"Uh—" Dags said.
"Oh—" Rhonda said.
Both of them disengaged.
But when Dags tried to sit up, he grabbed his head with his hands. His nose wasn't bleeding anymore, but the rim of it was dark with dried blood. Rhonda did an awful job cleaning it. And there was blood on his collar.
"You okay, sugar?" Jemmy was bending over and I moved out of the way of her caboose.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry oh I am so sorry—
"All right, all right," Dags muttered in a strained voice. "I can hear you. Just—use your verbal jujitsu somewhere else. Okay? I'm not the enemy here."
I blinked, and stood up straight. So you can hear me?
Dags winced and looked at me. He slowly pulled his hands away from his head. "Say that again?"
I pursed my lips. I said, so you can hear me?
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, well, no. Not really hear you."
Huh?
Rhonda shook her head. "What?"
"It's—it's more like I can suddenly see pictures. Images that kinda tell me what it is you're saying."
Okaynowthatwasweird.
Jemmy reached out her hand and Dags took it, allowing she and Rhonda to help him off the floor. He looked a little pale—which only added to his striking eyes and dark hair.
"Lemme see," Jemmy grabbed his left shoulder and pressed her palm into his forehead. He glanced over at me and sort of gave me a helpless deer look. "Youse okay—but I'm afraid Zoë might have opened up your third eye."
Dags nodded and stepped back. I was thinking he might bolt. And who could blame him?
"What do you mean by images?" Steve said from his perch beside Nona's chair.
"Well," Dags held out his hands, palms up. "I knew she was asking me if I could hear her. But what I saw in my head was a barrage of images of ears and then her face." He glared at me. "And I do mean a barrage. Please, don't yell anymore."
Yell. I can yell?
I somehow felt comforted. Guilty. But oddly comforted.
Everyone took their seats again. I sat down and attacked my breakfast. It was cold.
"Zoë," Rhonda said as an icebreaker. "I'll handle it. You eat." She turned to Dags and gave him a very nice reader's digest version of what had happened to us in the past month. From my meeting TC, to the Reverend Rollins, Hirokumi, Daniel, Susan, Rai, and then the Phantasm.
I was a little surprised too. I'd told them all that? Wow. I'm a blabbermouth even when I didn't have a voice.
Dags took it all in, finishing up his coffee. I did notice he pressed his fingers into his forehead and temple a lot—like maybe his head hurt.
After Rhonda was done, Dags spoke up. "Okay. So," he turned and looked at me. "You're a Wraith—whatever that is—and you can go out of body. That much I've seen."
"And if you did see trouble around the Chief of Surgery," Nona said as she buttered a biscuit and then put it on my half-empty plate. "What exactly is it you could do?"
"Nothing," Dags said with a shrug. I was just told to watch and observe. I'm not an action hero, or an exorcist, or," he glanced at me. "Or a Wraith. I'm just a guy that sees ghosts. But I was told to log in and report anything unusual."
Rhonda put her hand up. "So, you were also paid to watch Nancy's grandfather?"
"Well, to keep an eye on everyone. See who pissed him off next and see if they died like all the others."
"And the restaurant?" Mom nudged.
I watched him.
Dags' shoulders rose as he took in a deep breath and sighed. "I knew Maureen. We'd gone out a few times. After I started there as the loft bartender—I noticed she never came upstairs. I always had to meet her at the foot of the stairs. Then one day the manager was there in his office and arguing on the phone. Most of the staff grew quiet—and I waited until he'd left before I asked them what was up.
"Maureen and Toby—the main floor bartender in the evenings—both took me out back for a smoke—them not me—I don't smoke—and told me about the Shadow People."
"Shadow People?" Jemmy spoke up. She'd been so quiet I wondered if she'd just woke up.
Rhonda gave out the definition she'd googled before. Jemmy nodded and agreed she'd seen such things before.
"They don't like people much," she said. "They was several of them lived in a house over on Clairmont, near LaVista. Beautiful old house—wrap around porch and a large attic. There was a little girl lived there about—oh—forty years ago. Went to one of those schools nearby, went to the Lutheran church down from Moreland. I cleaned upstairs in the church three evenings a week after services and meetings.
"She used sit out in the sunshine during the day when it was hot. Sweating. Wouldn't go inside in. Told me over a lemonade one day that the shadow people lived in the shade. And they were mean."
"She saw these shadow people?" Nona said.
Jemmy nodded. "She said they were in her house. Said they lived in the attic. And they hated her, and her family. Wanted them out of that house. She tried to tell her mama and daddy that, but no one listens to a child."
I grabbed up my board and wrote on it. DID THEY KILL LIL'GIRL?
She nodded. I knew she would. "Coroner said she fell down the stairs leaving the attic one afternoon." Jemmy shook her head. "That's not true. She'd never go into that attic. They did it—I don’t know how. But I was always sure those shadow people had something to do with it."
"So are they lost souls?" Rhonda asked the room. "Or demons?"
Dags spoke up. "Tim, Steve, have you ever seen them?"
Both of the ghosts shook their head. "We're bound here," Steve said and pointed to the ground. "To this house. There have never been shadow people in here. And if they're other places we can't see them."
"Not sure I want to," Tim said.
Me neither. I was getting goose bumps. Me, Wraith. Sucker of souls, hear me roar.
Mental Note: me-ow.
"So there are Shadow People in the restaurant," Nona said. She picked up her coffee, and I noticed she'd done her nails. They were painted a light pink.
Since when did mom do her nails?
Dags nodded. "I think there's a link between them and Dr. Bonville. I'm sure you already know that Nancy's grandmother disappeared a few months ago. And the seventh employee to disappear under Dr. Bonville's patronage was Maureen."
I checked my wrist to check the time and realized I didn’t have my magical watch.
Where was my watch?
Nona held up her hand. "So you think Dr. Bonville has something to do with the shadow people and Maureen's disappearance as well as his wife's the other missing employees?"
He nodded.
Mom shook her head. "Poppycock."
I looked at mom with shock. Hadn't I warned her about using words like that?
Dags and Rhonda started to protest but Jemmy held up her hand. "Why you think that, Nona?"
"Because he has the reputation of a magician. A magician in this day and age—given that meaning—isn't going to ally themselves with Shadow People."
Uh—I scribbled on my board. WHY NOT?
Rhonda reached out over the table and flipped the Big Book open. A few more pages to the right, then the left, one right and—
"Because it says so right here," she pointed to a rather ornate page in the book. I stood up and leaned over the table to see just as Dags, Jemmy and Tim did.
"Okay, I can't read that," Dags said in a dejected voice. "It looks like an ancient dialect of Finnish."
"Actually it's Gaelic," Rhonda said. "First generation—though not far removed from second gen, B.C."
I could see the geek-meter in the room rise to the red-o-doom.
I scribbled and put the board under her nose. YOU WANT ME SCREAM? WHAT SAY?
"Scream?" Dags looked at me. "You can't talk but you can scream?"
"You really don't want her to do that," Rhonda held out her hand. "Just everyone sit down."
We did.
"Shadow People, otherwise known as Shadow Folk, are in essence, elemental human spirits."
Uhm.
What?
Dags shook his head. "So—what does that mean? I know what elemental is—being of the elements. There are elementals that control each of the five realms. Earth, air, fire, water and spirit."
Rhonda beamed. I mean, she was glowing she was so happy to have found another information spout. "Exactly. But Shadow Folk are basically humans who transcended life in this physical plain, gaining a bit of elemental attachment."
Steve put a finger to his chin, a sign he was processing all this. "So how does this happen? This transcendental mingling of human spirit and elemental?"
Huh. I was still trying to figure out where my watch had gotten to and what time it was. I didn't like Daniel being alone.
"The Book doesn't say. What it does say is that these creatures have been around as long as the planet itself. And they have mischievous streaks and are known in several countries. Domovoi in Slavic folklore, Tomte in Scandinavian, Lares in the Roman Dieties, and Wirry-cow in Scotland, a tonttu in Finland and here—"
We all waited. God she was being dramatic.
"We call them Brownies."
There was that dead silence again.
"You're shitting me," Dags said in a deep voice.
Well so much for Wikipedia. I told you.
"Brownies?" Nona looked at the book. "You sure you read that right? I mean, your ancient Gaelic is up to date, right?"
That's about the time it hit me: how come Rhonda, whom I always assumed was younger than me, can read Gaelic?
What, do they teach that in schools now?
"Well aren't Brownies supposed to look like little people?" Nona asked.
And to be honest—I'd kinda had that image in my head too.
"Well, they might have looked like centuries ago, before the disbelief in magic became the social norm," Steve said and everyone looked at him. "But over the centuries they've become shadowy because of our perception."
"How so?" Jemmy said.
"Well, think of myself and Tim. Not everyone can see us, even when we pull our energy together and become corporeal. Which tells me that different people have different filters. Ways of viewing the world. Much like a channel on a television."
Dags nodded slowly. "I'm getting there—"
Glad he was. I was still stuck on Brownies, and I wasn't getting the image of some movie with a Brownie swimming in a Stein of beer out of my head. Oy.
"Think of it as the picture's only as good as the television's reception. Bad reception, bad picture. I don't think we as humans have the necessary capabilities to see them clearly anymore, so we see shadows. As to what they are—" he shrugged. "I feel that's still debatable. They might be Brownies—but I'll hold my opinion on that for now."
Here here. Now where was my watch? I started to stand up. Nona reached out and pushed me back down with a hand on my shoulder. Ow.
"So the clearer the reception, the better the image," Rhonda said. "Well that's easy to understand. And I like it."
"So we see shadows because we're removed from their channel," Jemmy said. "So what would Zoë here see?"
I looked at them and blinked. See what?
"Good point," Rhonda propped her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. "I think it would be a good experiment to have Zoë go OOB and take a look inside the restaurant. In Wraith form she's between worlds, and sees all sorts of things we can't see."
Blabbermouth.
Dags nodded. "I have the key and the alarm code. It's no big deal if we leave now and I get there early. They're used to me opening up to start the dinner shift."
"Let's go," Rhonda stood up.
So did everyone else.
I banged on the table to get their attention. Well…what do you want me to do? Yell?
They all stopped and stared at me. I grabbed up the board and scribbled.
NOT LEAVE DANIEL ALONE.
Nona had her hand on mine. "Daniel's not alone, honey. He's being watched over. He'll be fine."
Watched over? What? I scribbled again. BY WHO?
"Whom." Dags said.
I glared at him. Watch it.
He put a hand to his head and closed his eyes. "I don't even want to tell you what image I just got in my head."
Heh.
"Honey," Nona said in a quiet voice. "Captain Cooper's with him. He comes in when you're not there. Asked me to give him a buzz when you left."
I blinked. Wha—? The Captain hated me that much that he didn't want to be there when I was?
"Now don't freak out. Captain Cooper's good for Daniel, and he's a good man himself. No—he's not too fond of you, but I'm working on him. I called him this morning and said I wanted you to get away for a bit and he promised to keep a close watch on Daniel. When we're done with these pesky shadow folk I'll take you back to the hospital myself. Okay?"
I looked at her. I mean I really looked at mom. And I saw a part of me staring back. And a part of her. I was the sum of part of her. And of dad. And I could see in her eyes that she understood the guilt and the pain I was going through—and she also understood how much I needed to get away from it all.
I needed to breathe for a while. And not the air of the sick and the dying.
"Zoë," Rhonda said and I looked at her, aware my mom was slipping her arm over my shoulders. "Look at yourself. Have you taken a good look? It's like—something's being sucked out of you. Or you're missing something. You look dried up and used. You need to get out of there."
And the truth was, I felt just like she said. I felt used and dried up. The constant spooks that appeared in that hospital—the ones I ignored as best as I could—the shades, ghosts, entities, wisps—they were all there. Yammering at me. Trying to get my attention.
Day after day after day.
And how many times had I caught one of them in Daniel's room and I'd chased it out. All of it was taking a rather large toll on me.
And I'd finally seen it in the bathroom mirror a little while ago.
"Let's go see these Shadow Folk," Dags said and he got up and went to the coat closet by the front door to retrieve the pea-coat he'd been wearing earlier.
Mom hugged me. Really hugged me and I squeezed her back as hard as I could. She put her hands on my face and smiled at me. Blue eyes to brown. "Eat, Zoë. I'm not used to seeing you so skinny. And I worry. Okay? Me and Jemmy are gonna do a bit more research on Dr. Bonville. You go investigate the Folk."
I nodded and smiled. Sniffed. When had I started crying?
I disengaged myself and followed Rhonda from the table. As I passed her I scribbled on my board and handed it to her. U MAKE 1 CRACK ABOUT CRY & I SUC UR SOUL THRU UR NOSE.
She stiffened but didn't say a word as we grabbed coats and left the Botanica and Tea Shop. Until we got outside.
"You do realize your spelling is starting to look a lot like LOLcats, don't you?"
Bite me.
CHAPTER THREE
Just because she needed to be driven, we took mom's car—a late model Volvo affectionately named Elizabeth. It was either that or somehow squeeze three people in Rhonda's Beetle (not comfortable) or Dags' truck. Of course once we got in the car, Rhonda and Dags sat in the back and started talking about weird stuff. Ghosts, spirits, the different plains, and me.
Not so happy with me being the subject. I was driving which takes up my hands. Retorting was out of the question unless we wanted to end up on the side of the road.
The weather was so-so. Overcast. Cold. Rainy. Sort of reflected my mood. I did not want to do this. I checked my watch. I wanted to get to the hospital, grab my snacks and sit in my chair in Daniel's room. I was still terrified he was going to wake up and I wouldn't be there. I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he opened those eyes.
Hrm...might consider a facial. All the blubbering and bad eating I'd been doing was taking a toll on my skin.
The Livery Bar and Restaurant was in Roswell, a quaint little historic town up north of Atlanta. About a forty minute drive with traffic. Less than ten minutes is mom's driving—but then she thinks she's descended from Speed Racer. Eh...what did that make me? Spridle or Chim-Chim?
I took the more scenic route—not because I wanted the scenery but because I really wasn't paying attention, my radar on autopilot. I drove Elizabeth up Roswell Road, over the river and came into the city limits just as a wild wind blew a lot of debris over the road. Roswell square came into view real fast.
The square was an actual square, complete with a sort of park in the center. Shops surrounded the park—from antique places to a camera shop on the corner near the Restaurant. As we drove in, the park was on my left and the Livery was on the right, nestled beside the Roswell Chamber of Commerce.
The square was filled with green grass, picnic areas, classic southern gnarled oaks and a gazebo to the right, directly across from the Livery. I pulled the car up to the curb on Dags' suggestion, in front of the restaurant. It wouldn't open for official business for another three hours, and parking at the curb would be okay for now.
He had a key and we went inside the front door.
The fun stuff about old buildings in Georgia in general was usually their history—which leant itself to all sorts of crazy stories.
This building wasn't much different.
"This building started out as a General Store, back during the Civil War," Dags said as he took his coat off and stepped in ahead of us. "The main business was taken care of down here," he pointed to the steps that obscured the view of the rest of the lower dining area. "Up there was where all the grain and supplies were stored."
The place did have an odd shape to it. Aged brick made up the walls all around. There was a mini-bar to the right a ways in, and a path that lead to the bathroom. I assumed it lead to the kitchens as well. Looking up, just to the right of the stairs, was a hole in the ceiling, a cut-through that allowed desert diners up stairs to gaze down on the dinner people below.
But what made it fun was all the Christmas decorations. Silver and red tinsel was wound around every banister or pole visible to the eye. A tall, skinny tree decorated in white and gold ornaments, surrounded by presents sat to the right. I was sure when it was turned on it had only white lights too.
And I could smell it. It was a real tree!
"When this place was a funeral parlor," Dags continued after tossing his coat on a nearby chair. All the tables were square, made of dark polished wood. "They kept the coffins up-stairs and that cut-through is where they would lower them down."
I looked up again. Ew.
"Are there any actual stories about ghosts with this place?"
"Oh you bet," Dags smiled. "Civil War Romeo and Juliet. The owner of the General store had a daughter, who fell in love with a soldier from the North. They carried on a torrid affair for a long time, until they were discovered. He was hung in the square for treason and it was reported she took her own life in the attic."
"She hung herself?" Rhonda asked.
Dags shook his head. "No one knows, really. Some say she threw herself off the top of the building, some say she hung herself. But it's up there where the real freaky stuff happens." His smile vanished. "Be careful, okay? This is where Jamie Reed had her accident and the jerk manager won't pay for workman's compensation." He looked away. "This is also where I think Maureen died."
Yikes. I immediately started looking around for Maureen's ghost. They seemed to follow me around lately—but there didn't seem to be any sign of one.
"But you said she disappeared." Rhonda frowned at him. "You're thinking disappeared is dead?"
Dags nodded.
I waved at him to get his eyes off of Rhonda and pointed upstairs. Is he gonna be upset that we're here?
Dags evidently got the right images in his head. "No, he's never here. Never comes in. I don't expect anyone in here before two maybe. So you have some time."
I nodded and looked up the steps. Well, so this is where the oogies hang out—let's go see.
The stairs were a straight, slanted shot up. I could just make out the back end of a baby-grand on the way up. As well as the back of a brick wall and a gold-framed landscape picture. Another tree—only this one was decorated in blue and green—gleamed at me against the far wall. The air felt different up here—not warmer like I expected 'cause you know—warm air rises. But more like...
Cold.
Just as I topped the first step something slammed hard into my right shin. I let out a silent whoosh of air much like a scream—only—not. I did tumble forward into a the edge of the piano and knocked it with my weight.
"Zoë!" Dags yelled out behind me.
"Did you see that?" I heard Rhonda say in a more than excited voice.
No I didn't see a damned thing. Though my shoulder connected pretty hard with the piano leg. Ow. That sucked. I could hear Dags and Rhonda behind me, their weight making the hard wood creak. But as I pushed myself up to be on hands in knees, I did catch something—well—dark and fuzzy—out of the corner of my eye.
Now—seeing smoky, blacky, whispy things out of the corner of my eye had become a norm since changing into a Wraith—or whatever. I saw them all the time. Mostly it was always in the shadows of a place—though not in my home or my mom's. I did see them a lot in old buildings, and in hospitals.
Sheesh. Hospital. Another name for Grand Central Station.
I rarely saw these things in the daylight–and trust me—with the time of day and where the Livery's front faced—there was direct sun streaming into that loft. So I made sure that I stood up slowly, and cautiously, because whatever it was, it'd wasted no time trying to shove me into the piano.
"There it goes again!" Rhonda almost squealed.
Well, I was glad someone was having a good time. Me? Not so much. I was getting a little unnerved by the whole thing. I didn't get the whole "wee we're chasing ghosts" fun that Rhonda was high on.
I straightened up and stood in front of the piano, the window behind me on the opposite side of the baby grand, the staircase down to my right. The cut-through was just a few feet away as well, surrounded by a waist high mahogany banister.
Taking in more of the place, smaller tables were spaced out evenly about the area, though I could see where they could all be placed facing the piano. You know, just in case Billy Joel showed up.
The entire back wall was a bar. And I mean a nice bar. The wall was covered from ceiling to —well—it might go to the floor. The bar obscured it for me. Trimmed in shiny brass—it was impressive.
"Nice, eh?" Dags said as he moved next to me and then continued to the bar. "This is where I work most shifts. I wasn't here when Maureen died. But I tell you," he stopped and pointed at the staircase. "She never came up here. Refused too—so how she fell down the stairs is beyond me."
I snapped at Rhonda to get her attention and motioned for to hand me a pen and paper. Okay–so—yeah I should carry my own. But I hated carrying bags, much less a purse. Rhonda liked backpacks.
And she was organized. She kept a small notepad in an outside pocket and had it to me and a pen in a few seconds.
"You really should consider sign language."
I scribbled. YOU KNOW SIGN LANGUAGE?
He nodded. "Sure."
Scribble, scribble. HOW MANY OTHER PEOPLE YOU KNOW USE SL?
He pursed his lips. "Good point. But—if you learn it and Rhonda learns it, then it's easier for her to interpret for her."
'Scuse me? Rhonda interpret? Hell no! She'd PG me!
"Interpret huh? I like that," Rhonda said with a smile. She moved away from the stairs, which made me feel a little better. "Maybe then I could get on a real payroll."
Phhhttt.
I turned the page. Scribble. SO—YOU SEEN THE BROWNIES UP HERE?
"I'm not buying the brownies angle," Dags said. "But I've seen them out of the corner of my eye—just like a few seconds ago. There is no reason to trip up that step, Zoë. But you're not the first to do it. Almost everyone that's new up here does it. Customers are almost used to it happening. It's like a game."
I was watching him. I scribbled again. BUT YOU DON'T THINK IT'S A GAME TO THE BROWNIES?
He shook his head slowly.
"So, did you see it, Zoë?" Rhonda asked as she neared us. "When it tripped you?"
I nodded, and then frowned. I pointed at her and Dags got what I was indicating.
"Good point," he said. "Why didn't it trip Rhonda?"
"Maybe because I saw it?"
I pursed my lips. Maybe—but I wasn't buying it. Instead I moved away from the two of them and started looking at the walls and the ceiling. There were a couple of shadowy places to the right, whtere the banister of the cut-through met the brick wall. And there was another one on the opposite side where a part of the brick stuck out further in than the main wall.
Oh, and there was always behind the bar.
My heart pounding in my chest, I moved slowly to the bar, my hands out at my side and I braced myself against the bar before looking over the side.
Nothing. Though it was shadowy.
"Hey Zoë," Rhonda called out. "Why don't you go OOB and take a look? For all we know they're right here and we can't see them."
Good point. Only—why did I suddenly have stage fright?
Maybe it was because even though I was now weird, I didn't like things weird. The Phantasm I'd met a few weeks back was the icing on the cake to a constant stream of poltergeists (back in October), succubus, symbionts and then the Phantasm.
Oh yeah. My life. Want one?
I looked around the area and decided on a nice, open spot where I could snuggle by body up behind the piano, braced by the wall, but not as easy to get too. I nudged myself in there and laid down.
"What is she doing?" Dags asked.
"You'll see."
And in seconds I was out of my body and standing up. I sieved through the piano—wood wasn't so bad—and moved closer to where they stood.
Dags' eyes widened until they looked as if they were going to explode. His mouth was perfect O. I smiled at him and nodded. So—is this what you saw that day at Fadó's?
He nodded. "Yeah—" he looked me up and down. "I don't remember the bunny slippers though."
I glanced down at my black bunny slippers and tapped my feet. Yeah, this is apparently the uniform my subconscious likes to put me in. I could look just like I look right now if you like?
Dags shook his head. "No. The bunnies work for me." He looked at Rhonda. "OOB. Out of body."
She beamed.
He beamed.
I stuck my tongue out and shoved my finger inside. Gross you two. Get a room so you can geek in private.
So—I looked around—concentrating on the shadows. Oh, I saw things. Gray images of faces, eyes, things that looked like that classic painting of The Scream. But little shadow people? Or wee men in brown suits? Nope.
Until—
"Zoë?"
I knew the sound of that voice. I turned from where I was at the bar and saw Dags and Zoë standing near the stairs, just in front of the cut-through. They were looking at the opposite wall.
No—not really. They were looking at two very distinct images in front of the Christmas tree.
Dags, you see them?
He nodded. "I see something. It's not really people. More like.."
"It's a shimmering in front of the tree." Rhonda said. "Like heat coming off of hot pavement on a hot summer day—" she pointed. "Wait, did you see that?"
What I saw was something totally different. They did look like people—though very small people. No more than three feet high. They were reed thin in odd places. Instead of having thin arms and legs, they were thin in the torso, and a little wider along their arms—and their legs—they had no feet.
And no faces. Just—well—they looked like they were made of shadows. And also like we'd discussed at mom's. Like I wasn't quite seeing them all the way.
Well, you two don't look like brownies.
And for some wacko reason, that caught one of them's attention because it turned and looked at me.
Yow!
It had eyes. Two pinpoints of lights and they were focused on me. And they looked—
Menacing.
I could have sworn I heard it hissing.
Oh no you di'n.
"Are they looking at your body?" Dags said.
My body. Oh good grief no—not again. Another entity wanting my body to ride around in like Rai had? I started forward and the one watching me vanished.
And it was in front of me. It didn't have a mouth per se—but it did have a weird oval shaped darker area where a mouth should be and the little fucker was batting at me with his hands.
It never actually touched me—and I almost laughed at it.
Until I heard Rhonda yell out.
I looked away from the tiny Brute trying to take me down to see the other one running at Dags and Rhonda. And too late I realized what it meant to do.
They were standing right in front of the cut-through. One good shove and it could knock one of them if not both of them backwards and over the banister. And I believed it could—one of them had tripped me.
I moved through the little bugger in front of me as it continued to hiss and flail. I had to get to the other one and knock it over somehow. I was sure Dags and Rhonda couldn't see it clearly or they'd be getting out of the way.
I wasn't going to make it to them!
But then a blinding light stopped me right in my tracks. And it was a painful light—close to a hundred suns against my skin. I put my hands up to ward it off and still felt it—almost as if it singed my astral skin.
I managed to look through the light as it faded—and my jaw dropped to the floor. The little shadow man that had tried to attack me was gone. So was the other one.
What I saw was Rhonda huddled down on the floor against the banister. And Dags—
Well Dags was standing with his feet spread wide, his right hand out, palm facing where the shadow person had charged him, almost as if he'd meant to push it away. Only the white light had come from his open palm. I knew this because I could see it originating there.
W.T.F.?
And then the light was gone. Dags stayed with his hand straight out like that for a few minutes before he looked at me and gave me a very wan smile. Finally he shifted his weight and stood up straight before cradling his right hand against his chest.
"I guess I have some s'planin to do, huh Lucy?"
I glared at him. I don’t' know how I knew it, but I knew it. Maybe it was mom's constant spouting off of things she knew, or maybe I'd actually stumbled on it in a book. But I knew.
I knew it for certain.
I pointed at him ala Body Snatchers. The only thing I didn't do was hiss. You're a magician!
CHAPTER FOUR
Dags held his hands up. I just stood there in my all-together-astral with my mouth hanging down to my feet. And Rhonda?
She was looking at the bartender as if he were Brad Pitt—with a bugger hanging out of his nose.
"You're—" she twisted her already peculiar expression into something else indescribable. "What are you?"
Dags sighed and lowered his hands. "Hey, I'm just like you. Flesh and blood, but with a little added suh-um, suh-um in the brain pan that lets me see things." He waved the index finger of his right hand in the air. "Weird things. Made for some pretty weird childhood adventures."
"So you see ghosts," Rhonda said. "And you can like—shoot light at them?" She held her arms out and up in a gesture of frustration. "I can see ghosts and I can't shoot light out of my hand."
"Well now that wasn't as cool as it looked. I can explain how to do that and how it—" he put his hand to his forehead and stumbled back, his eyes closing.
Look out—he's gonna fall over!
I was beside him before Rhonda could react. I managed to become solid enough to grab him sideways. He didn't completely pass out, but it was obvious to me his knees weren't working.
Geez—he might be short but he weighed a ton.
Rhonda grabbed a chair off of a table and scooted it over. I gave a silent groan as he half helped me get him into the chair. He bent over at the waist, putting his head between his knees. His hair splayed out all around him, giving a blue-black sheen from the light filtering in through the window.
Rhonda went to the bar, grabbed a glass from the overhead shelf. I heard the tink of ice being dumped in and then the faucet.
Now why didn't I think about doing that? In fact—
I moved back to my own body and slipped in, stretching as I stood up and headed to the bar to pour myself a couple of glasses of ice water. I was dying of thirst. So, I stood at the bar and watched the two of them as I guzzled.
Mental Note: water…it does a body good.
"Thanks," Dags said as he took the glass and drank down half of it.
Oooh..careful, I thought as he drank so fast. Or you're gonna get—
Dags winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh…brain freeze."
I smiled. I liked him. He was a bit weird. And he might be a little kinky. But I liked him.
Rhonda took the glass back. "So—does that happen often too?"
"Only when I react like that—on the spur. I'm not prepared for it." He smiled at her and tucked his hair behind his ears. He looked a little pale. And I was kinda happy that for once it wasn't me recuperating from some-thing.
Eh—give it time. This is me talking here.
"What do you mean prepared for it?" Rhonda poked at him. Leave it to the goth-chick. She'd make Batman fear her.
I finished off my second glass of water and stuck it under the tap again. This was good water. And I could probably drink all there was.
"If I'm going to be going into a dangerous situation, I can usually psyche myself up for that kind of thing. But I didn't think," he paused. "I really didn't think this time would be dangerous."
"So those little shadow people don't usually just bust out like that?"
I drank half of the third glass, only half paying attention to the two of them. It was kinda boring, and I'd rather be at the hospital in Daniel's room. There was this nagging anxiety at the back of my neck—so afraid he'd wake up and I wouldn't be there. Not only did I want to see those gorgeous blues again—I wanted to know what the last thing he saw was.
Me—or the Wraith?
I moved the glass away from my face at that thought and frowned. Since when did I start really distinguishing me from what I did? Was that such a good idea? And where the hell was the rule book for this?
My stomach growled—since I really didn't eat much cold breakfast. I set the glass down and started looking around the bar, opening drawers and cabinets. Didn't bars have like peanuts or something snacky?
"So is it something natural you learned? Part of your seeing ghosts? 'Cause honestly, I can see ghosts—well most ghosts. I don't see shades."
"Me neither. I can sense there's something there—but I can't see them."
"It's really annoying isn't it?" Rhonda said.
"Yeah—but what I just did wasn't because I have some special power but because I got these—"
I was crouched down behind the bar when he said that, so I popped up and looked over at the two of them. He had his hands up, palms facing Rhonda.
Rhonda backed up with her mouth open. "You—you had summonings tattooed on your palms?"
He beamed.
I frowned. He had what? I moved from the bar and stood beside Rhonda. Yeah, Dags had some weird concentric circles tattooed on both palms. There were little squiggles on each one, a little different. Kinda like mirror images. But even as I stared at them the images faded to a light red, about the color of my own mark, and then faded away.
Is that normal?
Dags nodded to me. "Yeah, they do that after I stop using them. But they're always there. I can feel them."
"Do you realize what you've done—how dangerous that is?" Rhonda didn't seem happy. Should I seem unhappy too? I mimicked her frown just to be sure. "You could summon accidentally."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Dags took the water from Rhonda's hand and finished it. No brain-freeze. "But I didn't do it."
I pursed my lips. Well no, you boob. You can't tattoo yourself. Well, you could, but I doubt the pain would make it fun.
He looked at me and made a face. "That's not what I meant. I mean I didn't choose to have these things on my hands. I sort of got involved in a really weird—group."
A cult?
He gave me that look again.
Hey—you're the one with the disappearing tattoo on your hand, not me. Cult?
"Well I didn't think it was a cult."
Rhonda gritted her teeth. "Stop that. Now. I hate it that I can't hear Zoë and you can."
"Well I really can't hear her—"
Rhonda held up her right hand. Careful—she'll zap you! "I know that. You've already explained it. Just get on to why you stupidly have summoning markings on your palms."
He looked worn out. Really worn out. Maybe he'd looked like that before we started this little pointless adventure (forget the almost being nailed by little shadow folk brownie people), but I hadn't noticed.
"I was a lot younger—and full of learning magic. Real magic, not the white light Wicca crap—"
"Watch it." Rhonda said.
"Sorry. But that's how I was thinking at the time. I thought it would be great to be a magician, you know? Wield some power."
I looked at Rhonda. She looked up at me. We both looked at Dags. "You wanted to learn Ceremonial Magic?" Rhonda asked.
He pursed his lips. "Yeah. I mean—controlling demons, conjuring spells, defeating enemies—"
"You've been watching too much anime."
I smiled. My stomach growled. I backed away and meandered to the bar again in search of peanuts. Maybe some pretzels. Anything!
"It's really not like that, Rhonda." Dags sounded sincere. "There's a lot more to it that I just don't want to go into right now. Needless to say I got into a group in North Georgia. They also spread into Tennessee and parts of South Carolina."
I got behind the bar again. Okay, I already looked at that drawer and that cabinet. So, how about the ones closest to the brick wall? Couldn't hurt. And to be honest–I wasn't that interested in ceremonial anything.
I don't mean to come off so flippant. I didn't want to be here, and it was a little weird watching Rhonda geek out over a boy—even after she knew I'd seen him—well–never mind. I'll look for food.
"Now, these people were serious. We're not talking college hazing or pranks—but serious business people. Everyone wore robes, and everyone wore masks."
"Masks?"
I looked up. Masks? Like in Halloween? Nixon? Carter? I got a really weird bank-robber image of a bunch of masked men in like, bad horror B-movies.
"No," he shook his head. "More like Phantom Of The Opera masks, only just the upper half. Over the eyes and nose. All black. All the same. The only way we could tell each other apart was because we had symbols stitched on our robes."
Sounded wacko to me. No—that drawer only had utensils. What? No food?
"Try the far right cabinet, beside the mini-fridge," Dags spoke up.
Okay—so he was hearing my thoughts too?
"Only when you think loud."
Ass-hat.
"Okay—that had a bad visual," Dags said.
I went to where he mentioned and hit the jackpot! All sorts of paper cans of peanuts. Cashews, almonds, pretzels—oh manna from Heaven. Now I just needed a Coke.
"Aren't you diabetic?"
"Would you ignore Zoë and tell me about this group?" Rhonda's tone was a bit more intense than usual. Though she could be pretty intense. I grabbed up an un-opened can of cashews, shut the door, popped the top and then opened the mini-fridge. Coke!
"I went through the whole process of initiation. Paid my tuition, which was a good chunk of my savings. I did odd jobs for them, looking into reported hauntings, researching artifacts, looking up government spook operations—and I'm not talking about spies."
Spook operations. Huh.
"I think it took over a year to finally win the approval of the big kahuna—we knew him only as Fafner."
Rhonda barked out a laugh. "Fafner? Like the dragon?"
I popped a Coke. Fafner? Who be dat?
Dags started to say something in my direction but Rhonda cut him off with a wave. "Ignore her. I can. Just keep going."
I stuck my tongue out at Rhonda and then dropped some ice in a glass. Fizz, fizz…ahhhh. Nirvana!
"I had a private meeting with him, in robes and masks, and he told me what my responsibilities would be. And then he told me that I had been chosen as a Guardian."
"A guardian?"
"Guardian is the best I can translate his meaning—especially after I stupidly signed a few papers."
In blood? Sorry…the thought just popped out.
"Yes."
Okay. Wasn't expecting that answer.
"Did she ask you if it was in blood?"
"Yes, and yes, it was. Look—I never gave this whole thing much thought—"
Rhonda made a rude noise as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Obviously. Do you realize the power that blood has in it? Why do you think vampires drink it?"
Wait…hold the phone. Vampires are real?
Dags shook his head. "I hope not."
"Ignore her. Get on with it. Was getting the tattoos part of being this guardian thing?"
He nodded. "I didn't know it though. I was brought into the circle, the quarters were drawn, the same boring hooley-dooley, and then I was told to drink this wine—" he shrugged. "And that was it. I woke up the next morning at my house, in my bed, with my hands in bandages." He held them up. "This is what I found. Only they weren't this nice but all scabby and bloody."
Ew.
"And then when the scabs healed there was nothing there—just this insane itch when there are ghosts or spirits or something nearby."
Oh? So—your palms itch when you sense ghosts? Somehow I found that oddly amusing.
"Zoë," Dags gave me a warning look.
"So, they tattooed you," Rhonda had that look on her face—the one that always made my bunny slippers nervous. "And did they happen to tell you what you were supposed to do with them afterward?"
"Oh yeah. I used them once—once—and learned I could put a whammy on and that scared the crap out of me. When I woke up I quit."
She shook her head. "Dags—no one quits The Cruorem."
Dags and I looked at Rhonda sideways. "What—what did you call them?" he said.
"I called them what I think they are," Rhonda put her hands to her face and sigh. "Or what group I suspect them to be. Dags, there aren't many out there who could do to you what they did. I think they saw you as a psychic—and probably a pretty good one—and they capitalized on it. I need to call Nona and confirm it. I've only read about them now and then—and I knew they existed here in the south. I just thought they'd faded away. This is bad."
I waved at her to catch her attention and attempted to sign "Bad?" to her. I hadn't formally taken any classes but I was paying attention to a book she'd bought me while I'd been holed up with Daniel.
She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, it's bad Zoë."
Ah! She can be taught!
Dags stood up—and he didn't wobble. "I only heard them use those words once—during that one assignment I mentioned. We were in the Grand Circle and they were all chanting in Latin. There were three others like me, dressed in white robes and suddenly the whole edge of the circle lit up like those snake moving light things you can buy at Spencer's?"
"Were you in the circle or outside of it?"
"Outside of it. We were standing around it. And after it lit up, my hands started to burn and sort of went up in front of me on their own. Light came out of them—"
"What color?"
I glared at Rhonda. Enough already. Scrooge.
"Uh—whatever color you saw earlier. I've never paid attention."
Rhonda nodded. "Yellow. He woke Air."
Dags pursed his lips. "Oh-kay. The circle got all foggy and then this—well—this shadowy like man figure thing," he shrugged. "It showed up in the center and screamed and then it beat the circle's edge.
"Fafner told it he wanted the binding—he ordered it to bring him the binding."
Rhonda moved in closer. Me? I was standing by the bar, gulping Coke and popping nuts like pop-corn. This was better than a horror movie.
"Did it agree?"
"Hell no it didn't. And it tried to get out." He sighed. "That's when the four of us stepped up and well," he glanced at me. "That's when that light came out. And then I woke up—and I wasn't in the circle anymore but somewhere outside in the woods."
Uh-huh. Well, I thought my life was weird. Not much, huh? Never been kidnapped by a cult and tattooed. Though—I had been touched by a symbiont and turned into a — well — a Wraith.
Go. Me.
As they talked I started looking around. I was restless, and if I still had a voice I'd call the hospital and ask how Daniel was doing. But see—people don't usually react well to prank calls. And if I called that's what it'd be. Only minus the heavy breathing.
Pooh.
But I started to head to the Christmas tree by the piano when I caught sight of one of those Shadow Folk things. It was there, just standing beside the shadows cast by the bar. It was watching us. And I think it was listening.
And then it noticed me noticing it and ducked away.
I stood where I was, not wanting to alarm the two of them. If need be I could sit down real fast and jump out of my body if I had to chase it. But it really didn't run nor did it make any threatening moves toward Dags or Rhonda—not like before where it wanted to trip them. Instead it was moving in and out of vision—even my vision.
I watched it for a few minutes, after setting the can of nuts and the Coke on the bar. It moved behind the bar, appearing and disappearing a lot like shadow. And then it stood at the farthest end of the bar, where the fridge was, near the cabinet where the nuts were.
You want me to come there? I didn't know if it could hear me like Tim and Steve could, or like T.C. or the Phantasm had.
When it nodded I wanted to yelp. Not that those two over there would notice. They were too busy talking about cults. So I moved slowly back to the snack cabinet. The tiny shadow person looked like it was pointing—up? At the ceiling?
The wall?
When it nodded I nodded back. So, if it's pointing at the wall…do you mean something behind the wall? Or the wall itself?
Oh. It disappeared. Too complicated, huh?
Well, behind a brick was really more brick, right. So maybe it was indicating an actual brick? Heh—call me Watson. We all know he solved the cases, not the pompous guy with the pipe.
Kneeling down to where the little guy had been, I noticed one of the bricks was just a tad different. Oh, one of these things is not like the other.
How convenient.
So—I started working on it. And it didn't take much to work the brick free.Well, I did use my sneaker—
"What the hell are you doing?"
That would be Rhonda. and let's forget the fact she nearly made me wet myself. I ignored her—after recovering from the scream—and keep working on the brick. Dags leaned down beside me and helped me get the brick out completely.
We knelt there looking at a deep, dark hole. The fact that the area wasn't well let to begin with wasn't helping.
Dags looked at me and then the hole. "You found it."
I shook my head. It's your bar. And if you put your hand in there and fake that someone grabs it—I'll rip your soul right out of your body.
He looked at me with wide, puppy-dog eyes. And I felt bad since I didn't know if I could really do that. But he didn't know. And he certainly suspected I could.
Dags did stick his hand in and pulled out a tube—or rather a bunch of brown papers rolled up and tied with string. And it looked old.
Really old.
Rhonda reached down between us and grabbed the rolled papers. Dags stood first and then helped me up. My Magical Mischief maker was already unrolling the papers and looking at them.
We waited. Where was my drink?
"We need to go." She re-rolled the papers and immediately grabbed my arm on her way by. She half pulled me out of the bar. Her panic was palpable—as well as contagious. My heart started pounding too.
"Wait—where are you—"
"Not now Dags. We have to go now. You can stay here or come with us. But not another word until we get back."
I pulled free and motioned him to come. Dags shrugged and followed. Both of them went down the stairs. I lingered up top and looked around. I couldn’t actually see the little shadow people. But I could tell they were there.
And somehow I got the impression we'd just done what they intended us to do.
CHAPTER FIVE
Usually I don’t fear for my life when Rhonda drives—she’s pretty good at it. Mom—not so much. But on this occasion, you’d have thought the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse were after us.
Or at least the Atlanta Police Department.
This woman took the changeable lanes on Roswell Road to their limits, dodging Saturday morning traffic with uncanny ability in mom’s Volvo. And I somehow got the impression the old car was loving it. I had my right hand on the oh shit handle—that handle up above the passenger side door? Yep—that’s what that thing is called.
And by the time we finally cleared it to interstate 400, I had both hands white-knuckling it. As she merged in with traffic I chanced a glance behind me at Dags.
My heart skipped when I didn’t see anyone in the back seat.
“Okay Dags,” Rhonda said as she slowed the Volvo down from Mock 5 to Mock 4.5. “You can get out of the floorboard.”
A dark head popped up then. He was as white as bone as he scrambled to get his seatbelt refastened. I sort of wondered if he purposefully ducked into the floorboard—or if Rhonda’s driving whip-lashed him down there.
The world may never know.
“I want off,” he muttered to himself. I nodded. Me too.
But once we were a good several miles down the road Rhonda fumbled in her jacket for her phone. I wanted to protest the whole cell-phone while you’re driving deal—but I was also a bit afraid if she took her eyes off the road to scream at me we would crash.
I watched her press a button and then hold the thing up to her ear. After a few minutes she closed the phone and tossed it at me. I was not about to let go of my emergency release and the Nokia bounced off my thigh and into the floorboard.
She glared at me and I shook my head.
“Nona needs a cell phone.”
I couldn’t agree with her more.
“Why doesn’t your mom have a cell phone?” Dags asked.
Mom thinks cell phones turn your brain to goo—same as living too close to a ley-line or a power line. Won’t have one and we can’t talk her into one.
He nodded. “Oh. Okay.” Then he frowned. “Is that true? Because you know I did study up on the effects of towers placed along pastures in Texas—"
Rhonda held up her had. "You're kind of a conspiracy theorist, aren't you?"
Dags nodded. "I supposed so. Yeah. I don't trust the Net, don't buy anything on it and I don't use email, unless it's someone else's account."
We all sat quietly for a few minutes before Dags pipped up. “So—you gonna tell us why we dashed out of there so quick and why I’ll be suffering from chronic back pain for the rest of my life?”
I was waiting to hear this too. I could have let go and found my board—I could see it in the floorboard next to the phone. But I think my knuckles had vapor-locked around the handle. Owch.
Rhonda looked at me. “Would she go somewhere with Mrs. Shultz to investigate Dr. Bonville? Like is there some secret archive of knowledge that you would know about?”
I shrugged and finally wrenched my hands free of the handle. Giving a silent grunt, I reached down between my legs and retrieved her phone as well as my board. Erase. Scribble. Hrm—scribble more. HEY WHY I KNOW? U 2 DOING THE OOGIE ON THE SIDE. NOT TELL ME.
She pursed her lips as she read the board by glancing back at it several times.
“Can she not do that?” Dags called from the back. “I’d prefer she keep her eyes on the road.”
Touché.
Rhonda sighed. It was a tired sigh, and sounded like it had been filled with high emotion. She was wound tight, and about to pop. "Look, I'm sorry. I just—when I saw the documents and the names on them—" she shook her head. "I think they're contracts. And with contracts always comes trouble."
I nodded and thought of the Archer. All the trouble with him began with a contract. Once between the Phantasm and the Reverend Rollins.
Rhonda kept talking. "We just needed to get as far away from there as possible. Oh, and Dags, I need you to call in sick tonight."
"Call in sick? I've never called in sick."
"Then make this a first. Otherwise I doubt you'll ever make it home alive."
I heard him gulp. I stared at Rhonda. What the hell was going on?
I suggested we stop by the hospital first. I wanted to see Daniel. Rhonda agreed and we arrived in one piece at Northside Hospital twenty-minutes later. Dags had gone very quiet as Rhonda parked and the three of us took the elevator up.
Tiarra was on duty when we stepped out of the elevator. She took one look at Dags and then one look at me and arched her left eyebrow up high. I gave her a don't ask shake of the head and she gave me a you're kidding look beneath her eyebrows. Then she gave me a awrigh' den glare. "Lieutenant Holmes is in there with him. He's such a nice man."
I stopped in my tracks. Who? I thought Captain Cooper was staying with him. So—who was this? I pushed open the door and then stopped. There was a small short wall where the bathroom was that prevented anyone near Daniel's bed from seeing who entered the room. I heard the familiar whirl of the breathing machine first, and then the television just before a deep voice laughed. I paused, took in a deep breath and stopped in my tracks as the voice spoke.
"Yeah, it's not the greatest job—but I'm so close to retiring, Danny. I've got a good pension. Tevor's still in Japan—not sure he's ever going to come home. He loves it to much. I just—I just want peace and quiet for a while. I know I didn't tell you last time I was here, but Phyllis passed away. Breast cancer. It was so hard—and in the end it was even harder for me because I was almost relieved when she died. She was in so much pain," he sniffed. I felt like an asshole, intruding like this. There was something very right about the way he spoke—comforting. Languid vowels. "Am I wrong to feel like that? To feel glad she died?"
I wanted to tell him no—it wasn't wrong. For me it wasn't, but then I didn't suppose I was built of the best moral fiber. After all—I wasn't exactly sure what I was anymore.
But it was also time for me to stop snooping. I opened the door again making more noise and then barreled forward.
Charlie Holmes wasn't what I expected.
I sort of expected an over-weight man in a beat cop uniform. Something very stereo-typical. Complete with several chins and a balding head. But the man that stood up from the chair I usually sat in wasn't anything like that. He was past sixty—that much I was certain of. Though his skin was remarkably unwrinkled. Oh there were laugh lines around his eyes, which were kind and a dark brown. His hair was salt and pepper, with more salt than pepper, and he was as tall as I am. He was dressed in a regular suit—nothing fancy out of Sears—and he gave me a genuine smile when he looked at me.
He offered me his right hand. "Lieutenant Charles Daniel Holmes." He winked. "Most friends call me Danny, but I think in this case you should call me Charlie. Less confusing that way. And you must be the new distraction in his life. It's very nice to meet you."
I took his hand, hesitating just a tad. Lately me touching solid human hands with my own wasn't a good idea.
And it wasn't.
The skull was there. The sign this man—this very sweet man—was going to die.
Damn it.
"Captain Cooper called me, said he was being called in. Wanted me to come sit with Danny-boy here," he gestured to my boyfriend. "To tell you the truth, I didn't know this had happened. Oh I'd heard about the incident down at the warehouse—but I never thought my Danny would be involved."
My Danny. I realized these two had a history—and in the short time I'd known Daniel he'd never mentioned a man named Charlie Holmes. And in a way I was relived at not having to tell Daniel I knew his friend was doomed to die. The skull never gave me a time and a place—it was more of a marker that the death would be soon.
Once Dags and Rhonda came in Charlie did his introduction again. He smiled at Rhonda, though I could see in his expression he wasn't quite sure what to make of her black hair, lips, eyes and nails. And then he looked at Dags—and here he really looked confused.
Rhonda spoke up as she reached in her backpack and pulled out a pen and paper to hand to me. "Dags here is helping us on a—" she hesitated. "A project."
"Project?" Charlie shook Dags' hand but kept his expression wary. "I thought Danny here said you were a bunch of amateur detectives?"
Amateur?
Well—I guess in Daniel's eyes we were amateur. Pooh on him though for discussing us with someone we didn't know.
"Zoë here is licensed," Rhonda said.
I blinked at her. I am?
"P.I. License?" Charlie said.
She nodded. I nodded too. Forgot about that. I also needed to make sure that thing wasn't up for renewal.
Charlie seemed satisfied. "Sorry to surprise you like this—but I would do anything for the Captain. He's a good man."
"So what's your association with Detective Frasier?" Dags asked in a very professional voice.
"I was Danny's mentor—sort of his sponsor when he joined the force. I was his first partner," he chuckled. "And the only one to survive."
Yeah, I remembered Daniel talking about his partner past. Not exceptionally good.
"We worked downtown for several years before he decided to go for detective. He wanted more out of the job—and he wanted a bigger salary. He was seeing that news reporter at the time and I think she was having problems dating just a cop. She wanted something with a higher profile."
Dating what news reporter? I looked at Dags and Rhonda, but it didn't look as if they were gonna ask that question, and I was busy holding hands with my man.
"So he made Detective, and we sort of lost touch. He had that problem a year ago–with the one partner that got shot—and then Cooper called about this," he looked over at Daniel. "I must say, I never expected him to end up in the hospital. Though Nona did tell me the doctor said he would regain full use of his leg again. Not sure if he'll be running after any skels for a while, but knowing Danny, he'll give it a try."
I pursed my lips. I had no idea what this man was talking about. What the hell was a skel? And did you spell that with a C or with one or two Ls? See when you write out your sentences, those things become kinda important.
Dags said, "Are you retired?"
"Almost. Got a part time job working several warehouses. Night watch man mostly. Very quiet and I think I can do that for a while. I wanted to get together with Daniel and tell him."
"You have any kids?" Rhonda asked. She looked impatient.
"One. He was adopted. Trevor. He's in Japan, teaching English there. Been there for several years. I'd wanted him to come home after my wife—his mother—died. But," he shrugged. "He's happy. And I can't deny him that."
I looked at Daniel. Did his eyes flutter? Would he be mad if I propped them open so I could see them?
"Zoë we need to get back to the shop." Rhonda and Dags left the room.
I lingered a moment, looking at Daniel. I really didn't want to leave, but I was also wondering about what had happened in that loft. I was sure the second Shadow Person wasn't like the first two that tried to throw Dags and Rhonda down the stairs. But I didn't know why I thought that. They all looked the same—just shadowy little people. So—why the difference?
And how on earth could anyone think theses things were brownies?
"Zoë."
I looked at Charlie. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking at me with a strange intensity. "You go. Do what ever it is you do, okay? I'll be here with Danny. I promise. And if something happens, you'll know in here," and he put his hand over his heart.
With a nod I leaned down and gave Daniel a kiss on his cheek and left the room.
"I like him," Rhonda said in the elevator on the way down. She was looking at me.
I nodded. I could sense he was a good man—I just—I just wanted to stay here. I gave her a half smile and the door opened into the lobby.
It looked like any other lobby with its marble and tile flooring—one half old one half new. The industrial berber carpet and the window covered atrium. The registration and admittance desk was to the right as we moved to the front.
And then it hit me—an overwhelming need to curl up in a corner. I—I had never experienced anything like this before. It was like every fear I had, every inadequate thought about myself, every random thing anyone had ever said to me and hurt me came flooding back into my memory.
I put my hands to my head and stopped.
"Zoë? Dags? What's wrong?"
I had to get a hold of myself—cause all I wanted to do was cry. I realized I was shaking, my head down. Oh dear lord you're in a hospital with a track record. Get out before they put you in a bed!
"What the hell…is that?" came Dags' voice.
I did manage to move away from the center of the atrium, a few steps as Rhonda pulled on my arm. But I looked up to see Dags standing in the center, his right hand to his head, his eyes closed. He looked like he was going to pop.
Literally.
The feeling intensified as I felt winter air come through the front sliding doors. And another feeling came to me—this one stronger. A culmination of familiarity, of force and of power. But this wasn't like the power I experienced when I took that lady in the hospital—this was a ghost of something—sinister.
Of something almost primitive in its subdued rage.
Everything around me turned to gray at that moment—the injured and the well, the visitors and the doctors as well as the furnishings and the sky through the glass. It was like stepping into a black and white movie, only the shadows around me undulated and moved, oozed and laughed in whispered voices.
I was too shocked to be scared—though a scream would be nice about right now.
And there was color in front of me. Brilliant color. It was Dags, standing in the center of a ring of light, his hands to his head his eyes closed. He was in pain and there was a tinkling like a bell somewhere in the air. Everyone stopped moving.
Everyone. Including Rhonda. But not Dags and I. I looked down at myself and saw the same vibrant colors. What the hell?
The familiar presence was close now and I looked at the front door. There was movement there, a subtle shape and shadow surrounding a tall, thin gentleman in an expensive suit. He walked with a strange menagerie of creatures trailing behind him—but not creatures that the normal human could see.
But I could see them.
And so could Dags. His eyes were open wide and he was looking at them just as I was. But what was worse—they were noticing him. The creatures were—the odd shapes and tentacled things that trailed behind this human man. But the man—he had stopped in the doorway and was looking around for something.
"Sonofa—" came Rhonda's voice beside me and in a blink the world came back in full, blinding color. Rhonda was beside Dags, pulling him out of the atrium and into the side waiting room.
I looked back at the man—and he was looking directly at me. And he was smiling. It was like having Wayne Pygram leering at me.
Ewwwwww.
There was something else there as well—that familiar taint to the air. It was almost the smell of sex but not quite. Something I smelled in the morgue that evening. Something I'd only felt when Trench Coat was around—
Too late I realized what I was staring at.
"Zoë!" Rhonda hissed at me from behind. "It's a Symbiont!"
CHAPTER SIX
His smile deepened.
No — couldn't be a Symbiont. It felt all wrong. Well yeah it felt right, but it was wrong. And what were those things around it? The things I'd just seen when that whole slow-down-time-John-Woo thing just happened, happened?
Need answers here.
A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward. I stumbled with Rhonda as she pulled me into the waiting room as well, but I had to peek around the wall to see what it was doing.
"Doctor Bonville," a woman in a white coat dashed up to the Wayne Pygram look-a-like. He leaned down and turned an ear to her. I couldn't hear her whisper. But who cared.
I was still shocked. This guy was Dr. Bonville? This was the Chief of Surgery?
Holy shit.
Mr. Scary? No wonder all those people disappeared. I had a boss like that I'd disappear too.
"Get back here," Rhonda pulled at my hair and I would have yelped if I could. I did swat at her where we hid behind the wall in the waiting room. That's when I noticed Dags was in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest and he was bent forward.
I pointed to him. What up with him?
"We need to get you and Dags away from this guy pronto," she moved around me and peered behind the wall. I moved above her head and looked as well. I'm sure we looked like two body-less heads floating along the edge of the wall. Dr. Bonville was moving out of atrium but not before glancing back in our general direction.
Rhonda and I ducked back behind. "Jesus—about that guy is powerful. It's not him directly but something around him."
I nodded. And freak'n creepy.
She moved to Dags and knelt in front of him before touching his cheek. "Think you can make it to the car?"
He nodded but didn't look up. All I saw was a cascade of black hair over a leather pea-coat.
What the hell's wrong?
He did look up then and he was way pale —like goth pale. "I —I don't know. I just —I'm nauseated. And my hands are burning."
Rhonda glanced from me to Dags. She pulled his hands out and moved them face up.
The tattoos were lit up like they were made of fluorescent bulbs on both hands. I glanced back around the wall —Mr. Spooky was gone. But the Atrium still had that weird metallic feel to it. In fact everything in the atrium had like a shadowy, metallic after effect to it —almost like a sheen. It was creepy.
I turned back. Dags' expression was one of pain, and he was holding it in. The skin around the concentric circles was red and puckered. I pointed to it and waved at Rhonda. "Summoning?" I managed to spell, remembering that book on sign language.
She nodded. "They're summoning circles —but I don't think he's summoning anything. I think he's being summoned. We have to get to Nona's —with her protections up around that shop he should be fine."
And is if on que —which my life seems to be playing out lately —Dags sort of faded. Just —zzzzzip. Like someone reduced the transparency on him from 110% to like %70.
Or maybe more like %50.
I don't know why but I felt I needed to touch him —but not like this. With another glance around to make sure we were alone in the waiting room I sat down quickly and slipped out of my body, making sure it was semi-propped up against the wall.
"What are you doing?"
I waved at her to shush and reached down —now remember —the last few times I'd done this met with a bad end —for the other person. But the overwhelming need to touch Dags was incredible. But apparently Rhonda remembered my Wraith touch and tried to stop me.
Her hand passed through my arm as I knelt down in front of Dags and touched his open palms.
Wind, darkness, howling, shadows —it was as if I were standing on a mountain top overlooking an apocalyptic scene of mass destruction. Only nothing in the ruins looked normal to me. There was nothing familiar. Only—
I saw his face —a face I'd never wanted to see again.
The Archer.
And he was angry. He screamed at me as did all those little weirdoes I'd seen behind him in the atrium and they charged at me, over and over again, coming up the ragged mountain.
And then I was popped back again, sitting on my butt in front of Dags —who was looking at me as if I were some sort of bug. At least he was solid again.
"I don't know what you did," Rhonda was saying as she reached around Dags' front and grabbed at his wrists. The marks on his hands were still there but as bright. "But it worked. Now get in your body and let's get out of here."
I did as Rhonda said, sitting up in my body and dusting myself off as I stood. Looking around the wall again and seeing it clear, I motioned them to follow me. Rhonda helped Dags along with an arm beneath his shoulder —and in a hospital this looked fairly normal. So we moseyed on through to the front door and then across the walk to the parking garage. Once in the Volvo I took the wheel this time while Rhonda held onto Dags in the back seat.
I sure as hell hoped she didn't put the moves on him while he was in this condition. That would be like seven shades of wrong.
But as we pulled into traffic she called out, "He's fading again!"
Shit.
I pulled over and Rhonda and I switched places. I half pulled out of my body and would endure the weird mountain scene every time I touched him. The worst part of it for me was that every time I technically "pulled him back" those buggers were closer up the mountain side.
But I didn't see TC's face again. Only that first time.
So, what happens if I they reach me before we get him to mom's? I really didn't wanna know.
But with Rhonda's Speed Racer imitation we made it to Little Five Points and up the driveway. Mom and Jemmy came out the door, the former in her blue caftan and the later in that house dress. I slipped back into my body and realized the whole upper half was on pins and needles —like it went to sleep.
Weird.
Once Dags was inside —I noticed a weird wave in the air in the doorway when he crossed through —he was okay. The tattoos on his hands vanished and he wasn't as nauseated as he was before. Mom offered him some tea and Rhonda shook her head. He took it but then poured it into one of the plants in the Tea Shop.
Poor Ficus.
Rhonda gave mom one of her highly detailed recounts of what happened at the restaurant with the odd acting Shadow Folk and then at the hospital.
Nona frowned. "Who's Charlie Holmes?"
Rhonda gave her a brief history between he and Daniel. "Evidently Cooper called him in."
"Well if Captain Cooper has confidence in him I do too."
Jemmy interrupted. "So, Zoë here was affected same as Dags there. Only his tattoos reacted and Zoë had to go all OOB and stop him from vanishing?"
Everyone nodded. Even Dags.
Dags waved to get my attention. "You saw them —moving behind him? And then up the mountain?"
I nodded. You did to?
"Yeah," he swallowed. "I —I didn't recognize where that place was. I mean it didn't look like here. Like Earth."
And no, it hadn't. It had looked more like some wacko fantasy landscape in a Tolkien nightmare.
He didn't mention seeing TC, and for some reason neither did I. But I knew my reasons were more personal. If I did mention seeing the Archer again, I knew my mom would somehow lock me away, terrified that creature was going to change me into something else.
Everyone gathered at the table. Rhonda pulled out some day old pastries, some iced tea from the fridge and I helped get the pot of tea (store bought) brewed and in a pot for hot tea. Mom encouraged Dags to eat and even sat down beside him. Tim and Steve appeared, looking extremely bright in their forms.
Mom took the documents from Rhonda and looked at each one of them. I snacked on an expresso brownie. Zing! I was gonna be high on caffeine later. Yow! But man — it goooood.
"I think it's a set of contracts," Rhonda said. "For the Cruorem."
Mom nodded. I got the feeling from her rather grim expression that this was a bad thing. I sipped at my tea wishing for a hotdog. Or even a salad with lots of grilled chicken. I was starving again. Those peanuts just hadn't done it.
"The who?" Jemmy said. Which I was glad of because that was my question.
"A local Ceremonial group. Pretty much known more for their politics in the magical world rather than their works," Nona said. She was still looking over the documents. "Originally they were more of a nuisance —you'd hear about these public rituals in North Georgia and all the Wiccan groups would protest, going on camera to say this isn't what magic is all about."
I pursed my lips. Okay.
Rhonda took up a cup of tea. "And you know this why?"
"Because I watch the news," Nona snarked. "Anyway —they vanished about three years ago. I figured internal politics had rotted them from the inside out. But apparently Dr. Bonville is back in town and now he's their head." She looked at Dags. "And from the reaction you had in the hospital that close to him, unprotected, I'd say he's got a caller out on you, Mr. McConnell."
I got up and found my dry erase board on the pompasan in the Botannica and came back to the table. I scribbled for a bit and then held it up. WHEN I TOUCH HIM, WE GO TO MOUNTAIN TOP.
Mom frowned. Rhonda grabbed up the Big Book of Everything and started flipping through it.
"Was it a mountain top that overlooked ruins?" Steve pipped up.
I glanced at Dags. He nodded to the ghost and cleared his throat. He looked a little better. A little. "Yes. But the sky was all orange, and I there were lots of odd shaped creatures coming up the side toward me."
Mom and Steve exchanged glances before Steve said, "I think he's using some sort of spell to summon Dags to the Abysmal."
Dags frowned. "The Abysmal?"
Rhonda gave him a brief explanation of Physical, Mental, Astral, Ethereal and Abysmal. Dags didn't look very comforted. "So you think Dr. Bonville is trying to draw me into the Abysmal —like a jail?"
"It would be a jail," Steve said. "It would also bring about your death pretty quick if he left you there. The Physical can't exist in the Abysmal for more than say a few seconds before the lack of oxygen, lack of any real atmosphere would cause your body to implode. My assumption is that he's using it as an intermediary and that you'd be probably be immediately drawn into whatever place he needed you."
"Probably?" Dags squeaked.
Steve nodded. "Maybe."
Dags looked like he was going to throw up.
Finally Rhonda asked the question. "So, what happens to Dags if he doesn't pull him out?"
Steve looked serious. "He dies."
Mom held up the brown papers. "These are contracts —and very much worded like the one you stumbled on with Hirokumi and the Reverand between the Phantasm and symbionts. Only these all have blanks in them and there is a phrase here that talks about the Shadow Realm Walkers."
"You mean the Shadow Folk?" Rhonda said, looking up from the book. "Like the ones we just ran into at the restaurant?"
"Oh I don't know if they're the same shadows —but I think this is a contract between the Cruorem and —well —maybe the Brownies? I just can't be sure. The language is evasive."
Aw geez. Erase. Scribble. SO WHY BROWNIE WANT US TO FIND.
"Yeah," Rhonda said with a nod. "Good point. And I think we mentioned this to each other but I got the distinct impression we —or rather Zoë —was dealing with two different camps in that restaurant."
Mom shook her head. "What do you mean?"
I nodded to Rhonda to talk. Easier for you dude.
"Like we said, when we got there Dags and Zoë said they saw two of the little buggers and they tried to trip us down the stairs —but then there were one or two more and one of them showed Zoë where the papers were."
Tim said, "You think there were two different pairings of Shadow Folk? Two different kinds?"
I nodded. I definitely felt a difference in them. The first were nasty and the second were nice. But I didn't scribble this down.
Nona nodded. "It's possible I guess."
Dags cleared his throat. "I have a really weird question —" he looked around. Everyone was listening. "You said earlier that Shadow Folk —or the kind we think of as Brownies —were originally human?"
Mom nodded.
"Is it possible to say," he shrugged. "I don't know —turn someone into a Shadow Person?"
Rhonda shivered. So did I. That thought was just —well —oogie.
Mom shook her head. "No —I don't think that's possible physically. As Steve said the physical body can only be sustained on the physical plane. And Shadow Folk People, or Brownies —exist on a different plane."
"Did we figure out if that was the Astral or the Ethereal?" Rhonda said.
Jemmy grunted. "I say they're on the we-don't-go-there plane." She shifted in her chair. "But I'm curious, boy, why you asked that question?"
Dags shrugged. "I think it's because —while we were upstairs and Zoë was following that one shadow around —I got a really familiar vibe from it."
"Vibe?" Mom said.
Rhonda patted her hand. "He got a feeling from it."
Mom shot Rhonda "watch-it" look. Hey —now I know where I get that frown. The one Daniel said reminded him of an evil puppet.
Sigh. Daniel.
Tim spoke up. "So —and correct me on this since I'm trying to follow the conversation over a period of days —"
Ha!
"But are you saying you recognized one of the Shadows?"
Dags shook his head. "No —I just felt something familiar. Smelled a perfume when it was moving with Zoë. Before I sort of —" he held out his hands. "Blasted the first set away, the loft felt sort of like the atrium in the hospital felt. All kinda "
Scribble. OOGIE.
Dags nodded and pointed to my board. "Yeah, like that. But afterward when we realized there were more Shadows in the loft, it was calmer."
"No, not calm," Rhonda said with a tap to her chin. "It felt like desperation to me."
My stomach growled. I really needed food.
Rhonda pointed to the book. "The section on Ceremonial magic is pretty small in this book —and I'm assuming it's small because well —it's really not something anyone wants to get into." She glared at Dags.
He shrugged.
"It doesn't really give a lot of what Ceremonial Magicians can do. It does say that most Ceremonial groups have a leader, which we know this one is Dr. Bonville, and that each leader is the keeper of the group's Grimoire."
Grim-who?
Dags grinned at me. "It's kinda like Rhonda's book here," he pointed to it. "Like a Witch's Book of Shadows. It'll have all their spells and secrets in it."
Oh.
"So why are we here?" Jemmy asked with her hands on the table. "Zoë got a request from a hostess at a bar/restaurant in Roswell. Dags here actually works there as a bartender. One of the co-workers was tripped and ended up in the hospital and the manager refused to pay. Dags is actually owned by this Magician's group and they're trying to suck him back —and the Shadow Folk in the restaurant who are accused of tripping people and playing jokes actually helped you find these documents." She pointed to the papers in front of Nona. "Did I leave anything out?"
We all shook our heads. Sounded about right. Only —that really wacky memory of mine —the one that never forgets but I don't have any control over decided to chime in. I grabbed up the board and erased and scribbled. Everybody watched me till I held it up. WHO THEY SEE IN BATHROOM?
I got the worst WTF stare from everybody at that table. I straightened up and lowered the board and gave them all a whut gesture with my shoulders.
Rhonda popped up and ran to her bag. She pulled out my iBook —which she'd pretty much commandeered —and opened it at the table. She started tapping the keys and smiled. "You're right Zoë." She pointed to the screen and read aloud. "My boss thinks we're all crazy, but me —I'm the hostess —and the wait-staff have all witnessed chairs moving, pictures turning around, and movement out of the corner of our eyes. They've shown up in pictures and several customers have complained of seeing someone standing in the bathroom."
I blinked. Seen in pictures? Ichee-wah-wah.
"That doesn't sound like a Shadow Folk, does it?" Dags said. "And I remember those reports one of them was a little girl who swore she saw a tall woman in the bathroom with her."
"That's not shadow," Steve said. "That's an apparition."
"Which means an ethereal presence on the physical plane," Nona said.
"Now this guy, this doctor," Jemmy said. "He's going on trial for suspected murder?"
"Yeah, his wife and most of his employees have all disappeared without a trace. Including your hostess," Rhonda said.
Nona spoke. "I think what we need to focus on here is figuring out why these documents are important. I can sort of decipher the first page, but the other pages are just jibberish without the secret decoder ring."
Hehehehe. I love my mom.
"I suspect that the wife, as well as Maureen are involved and Bonville is responsible. The basic plot here would be that one or both of them discovered what his fiendish plot it —because you know Magicians always have fiendish plots and he killed them. Dags —let me and Rhonda do something about those tattoos. In here you're fine, but out you're done for."
Dags blanched.
Mom looked at me. "I need you and Rhonda to check out Maureen's apartment and see if there's anything in there that might lead us to where she went. But the big thing to do is get a hold of Bonville's Grimoire."
All eyes stared at Nona as if she'd lost her mind. And I think she had.
"Nona &" Rhonda frowned. "Exactly how do you suppose we do that?"
She smiled. "We trick Bonville into taking Zoë."
!!!CHAPTER SEVEN
The problem we faced—well okay we had several problems but I'm on gonna concentrate on one at a time—was that we needed Dags to come with us to look at Maureen's apartment (he had a key!) but if he stepped outside of the house wards then he might get zapped. And though mom seemed to think me being "taken" was the best idea I wasn't exactly keen on it.
Nope. I vote for mom to get her butt taken. Ha!
Rhonda and mom moved into the Botannica while Dags and Jemmy talked about stuff in the corner. I decided to be useful and started picking up things and taking them back into the kitchen. Tim appeared there as well and was solid enough to open the dishwasher so I could load it.
"You got any Wraithy feelings on this one?"
I paused in the middle of putting a dessert plate into the washer. Uh…no. And what is Wraithy feelings?
"You know—kinda of like a spidey sense?"
I pursed my lips and shook my head before finishing up the dishes. Once that was done I poured myself another glass of tea over my half-melted ice and looked at my little spooky buddy. I don't get this thing with Dags—the whole marks on the hand thing. That's more Rhonda's schtick. But those things in that restaurant? I shook my head. There were two types of things—kinda like we were attacked by apples and then oranges helped.
Tim laughed. "I'm not sure which is sadder—your analogy or the fact I understood it."
I blew him a quiet razzberry and sipped my tea. Mmm….sugary goodness. Oh shut up—I'm watching my sugar!
"You think that the oranges and the apples were related?"
I nodded. Yeah—just not in the way we think of as related. The apples felt—well pissed off. Angry. Irritated. I don't have the right word. But the oranges were—well—scared. Desperate.
"Hey Zoë!" that was Rhonda.
I saluted Tim with the tea and moved out of the kitchen and into the botannica. Mom and Rhonda had cleared off the coffee table of its magazines and had a flat square of wood on it—with a pentagram carved out of it. Oh geez…don't these two ever stop? Was the one on the floor not enough they had to make a portable altar thingie?
I was shocked Rhonda didn't have it on my iBook. She could call it an iPentagram.
Wait—iStar?
iPentacle?
Phhht.
Jemmy and Dags were with them as well, all kneeling and sitting down around the board. In the middle of it sat Dags' silver bracelet. Upon closer inspection I noticed it was a chain of little silver skulls—but they were stylized looking. Kinda like Day of the Dead skulls. That real silver?
"Yeah," Dags said. "It was a gift from a shaman I met while I was in Mexico."
Oh. Cool.
"Yeah. He's dead. Bit by a snake.
Well you're just full of cheery news, ain't cha?
"Zoë," mom looked up at me where I was looming. "I need you to go OOB for me and then go corporeal."
I stood up straight. I did manage to sign, "Why?" cause I'd seen that gesture enough.
"Just trust me on this."
I'm not gonna get taken am I?
"She wants to know if she's gonna get taken," Dags interpreted.
Mom rolled her eyes. "Not yet. Just please—"
Yet? Why the yet part? Oh all right. I moved past them and set myself down in the pampasan and slipped out. Didn't take much to make me go all solid. Just one thought of Daniel and poof. Here I am! I moved in closer—Dags was watching all wide eyed.
"How come you always have that on?"
You don't like bunny slippers?
He smiled. "Love them. But when they sprout fangs, I'm outta here."
"Okay, Zoë I need you to reach out and touch the bracelet when I tell you too."
Oh—kay. So I held my corporeal hand over the bracelet.
"No, the other one. The TC touched."
Argh. I switched arms, reaching out with my left arm. This made the hand print even more visible to everyone. I was self-conscious about it. Dags was literally salivating over it.
Mom lit four white candles around the table. She bowed her head. Then she nodded to me. I touched the bracelet—
And found myself in the other room—on my ass.
"Zoë!" Rhonda was at the curtain between the two stores and looked at me. "Are you okay?"
I pushed myself up—and I was very light headed—to a point where I simply let go—
And was back in my body before I knew what hit me. I could hear mom and Dags and Jemmy—and then there was someone touching my forehead. I opened my eyes and saw Rhonda bending over me. "Oohh…I'm sorry Zoë. I mean…I figured it'd do something, but not that. Are you okay?"
Mom was suddenly behind her—and I saw worry on her face. "Can you get up?"
What the hell did you people do?
Dags translated.
Rhonda looked sheepish. "Well, we used a little of your Wraith essence—as a sort of an invisibility cloak."
I frowned. You did what?
Dags said, "You did what?"
Mom reached down past Rhonda and offered me her hand. I took it and let her help me up to a standing position. Oh man was I wobbly or what. "Dags needs something that makes him invisible to what Bonville is doing. So we came up with the idea of using a bit of your Abysmal essence to make Dags seem to be made of Abysmal. It should protect him for at least twenty-four hours. Silver can hold a charge for a while, but it can't last. Now gold, that'd probably retain the blast a good but then—"
I grabbed her shoulder and waited until she was looking at me. You took a piece of me to use in a bracelet?
Dags translated. He had the bracelet on and was now standing up and walking to us. Rhonda pulled away from me. I could somehow tell she was a little upset—but at who?
Whom?
"No Zoë," mom looked a little fierce and she took my hand off of her shoulder. "I took a piece of the ethereal stuff that is the Wraith. That boy could die if he's pulled physically into the Abysmal, and this jack-ass Bonville apparently doesn't care about the lives he's ended." She took in a deep breath, and her boobs expanded exponentially. "I'm not sure how all this ties together, Zoë, but I am going to take insult to some asshat using power for personal gain at the expense of innocent lives. We don't have proof. But we will."
And with that she turned and walked out of the room.
I looked at Rhonda and Dags. They were looking where Nona disappeared, their own expressions mirroring my own surprise as mom's reaction.
And somehow—I had the impression I was watching a movie with half of it missing. But it was in a foreign language.
It was closer to dinner by the time we got to Maureen's apartment. Mainly because we just drove around near the shop for a good twenty minutes to make sure Dags wasn't going to like, get sucked into some Ceremonial Abysmal Hoover. When we were sure the bracelet was working we headed out.
It was a nice one bedroom in a complex off of Holcombridge Road in Roswell. Rhonda drove Nona's car again and I stayed in the back. I wasn't really feeling all that spiffy—I was still light headed and a little nauseated.
There didn't seem to be anyone watching the place—or nothing I could sense on the oogie radar—and Dags let us in. Rhonda was all CSI on us, pulling rubber gloves out of her coat pockets. I played along as did Dags and we put them on. Snap!
It was like any other apartment I'd ever seen. Beige. The carpet. Beige. The kitchen. Beige. Just sort of…beige.
Maureen had done a nice job of decorating it with pictures of mountain scenes—many of which Dags said she'd taken herself. He moved to the kitchen and Rhonda came up to me and whispered, "I get the impression they were more than friends."
How do you sign, "Duh"?
A sectional defined the living area from the dining area. A low coffee table, a generic square dining table—covered in mail. I moved to the mail and started sifting through it—and noticed something was off. Dags? This mail is all postmarked three days ago.
He came up beside me. I smelled cologne. Drakkar. Daniel wore Drakkar sometimes. I pouted silently. "It is? But why is it in here? Maureen's been missing two weeks—and I haven't been here since then." He took pieces from the table and checked himself. "Who's been in this apartment."
I looked up and didn't see Rhonda. Where's—
That's when a scream made both of us jump and drop the mail.
"Rhonda!" and Dags was running into the bedroom with me close behind him.
The bedroom was about the same size as the livingroom, with a walk-in closet (the door was open), a queen-sized bed, nightstands, dresser and small flat-screen television, which looked more like a computer monitor. Everything was decorated in Burgundy and green. Rhonda was standing in the farthest corner by a nightstand.
No, correction. She looked like she was backed into a corner.
"Zoë, do you see it?" Dags said.
I looked around Rhonda—who appeared more frightened than I'd ever seen her—but didn't seen anything out of the—and then it was there out the corner of my eye and gone. A fleeting shadow about three feet high that seemed to vanish just as my eyes focused on it.
Shadow People.
"It's gone," Dags said.
I doubt it. I could feel something again, like I had in the loft. And this time it was the same malevolent undercurrent I'd sensed when we first stepped upstairs. It's still here.
Dags moved past me to Rhonda and held out his hand. She took it and then folded herself into his arms. I was amazed how they were the right height and build for each other. And even the same hue of basic black. "What happened?"
Rhonda disengaged and looked over at me. "I was looking in the closet—and it just sort of melted right out of the shadows came at me. I was—god I feel like such a girl but I've never had anything happen like that before."
I moved to the closet myself—oh it wasn't that I was brave—I just wasn't in the mood to let some three-foot spook get in my way. I was bigger, and I was Wraith—and that was a good thing. Right? I stood in front of the closet. It seemed unnaturally dark in there and I flipped the light switch on the outside of the door. Nothing happened.
"I did that too."
With a glance around the room—taking in the fact that I wasn't picking up any stray misty shadows like I usually did—this place was picked clean—I moved to the bed and lay back on it. I pointed to Dags, You watch this, and then pointed to me.
I went OOB and stood up. Everything changed. The closet no longer looked like a closet but more like a hole. And there was that spidery misty stuff, only it was concentrated in the closet. What the hey? How B-horror movie was this?
I moved toward the closet and stepped inside, expecting there to be like a cave interior with a fire pit. Nope. Looked like a closet. Clothes hanging to my right, shoes below, and then cardboard drawers stacked three high on the back wall. Those seemed to be the only thing of interest so I moved toward them.
And abruptly there were three of them, misty, shadowy little people that wavered in and out of sight, standing in front of the boxes. I put my hands on my hips. Oh please. Move out of my way.
As I stepped forward the middle one launched itself at me, and I mean sprouted a shadowy mouth like the The Scream painting and then I saw teeth. I instinctively reached out and caught it around the neck with my right hand and it hung there, wriggling to get loose. What did it feel like—kinda like I'd caught air. There wasn't anything to it except a sensation that I had something.
But I wasn't paying attention to the other two. They launched at me, one grabbed at my upper left thigh while the third one went for my arm holding their little buddy. They started biting me with the shadow teeth. I had the sensation of pain, but it was more of an echo. And it was starting to get annoying. I figured there was something in here they didn't want me to find and I'd had enough of the whole chew-on-me game.
Like I've always said, I don't know how this stuff works, but sometimes it seems to be keyed to my emotions. Anger, happiness, hatred, irritation. And I was irritated at the moment—and how would you feel if you had shadow munchkins chewing on your body? I looked at the one in my hands and caught its attention. It looked at me—and by that I mean I could make out two holes I thought were its eyes. And then it trembled and opened up some garish hole below the eyes and screamed.
A similar feeling of euphoria came then, warmth tingling up my arm it vanished in a spray of gold dust. The feeling evaported as quickly as it came, but what happened wasn't lost on the other two. They let go and jumped off, their own sets of hole-eyes wide and their mouths open as well. I motioned for them to move and I went to the boxes, opening each one of them.
About the third cardboard drawer I found a set of journals, a pen, a manilla folder and beneath those I found a book wrapped in a velvet covering. I pulled everything out, stacking it into the crook of my left arm. The two remaining shadows watched me but didn't make a move to stop me or prevent me from leaving the closet.
Dags and Rhonda were right where I left them, but no longer arm-in-arm. Instead they too had wide eyes as I came out.
"What are those?"
I put them all on the bed beside my body. These were in a cardboard drawer—you know the kind you can buy at Walmart or Target? And these little fuckers didn't seem all that enthused on letting me get to them. I turned and pointed to the closet where the two shadows lingered.
Rhonda shook her head. "I can see them—but then not see them."
"You have to look at them almost out of the side—like perphreal vision." Dags turned his head to the side. "Zoë, you can see them just fine?"
Uh huh. Just like in the restaurant.
Keeping an eye on the two by the closet, Rhonda moved to the bed and picked up the velvet covered book. Dags and I picked up a journal. As I flipped through it I realized that's exactly what it was. A journal. A diary that Maureen kept. I moved to the back of the book to the last entry. March 22, 2007. She moved to Georgia and was scheduled to do the Starbucks Experience that night. She was going to be a Barista.
I tossed the book back on the bed—well that apparently didn't work out since she'd been a hostess at the restaurant.
Dags started reading and then sat down on the edge of the bed. Rhonda moved beside me. "Zoë—this is a Book of Shadows."
I raised my eyebrows. Hadn't mom mentioned one of those?
"And—I can't make it out. I can't even figure out whose it is—" she looked up at me. "But I don't think it's Maureen's."
I pointed to the two watchers and then the book and then made an attack motion. I also rubbed my right arm—it was starting to ache where that little fiend bit it. Which in itself should have been clue-bell number one.
"If you're asking me if I think they were trying to prevent us from finding this book then I'd say definitely. But we have to figure out why."
Dags spoke up, the journal in his hand. "According to Maureen's last few entries in this," he looked up at us. "She and someone named Alice found the book and hid it." He looked back at the journal and frowned, then smirked. "A friend named Dags McConnell put up a protection on the apartment."
Rhonda and I dropped our jaws. "You did a what?"
Dags shrugged."Hey, she didn't tell me why or what for. She said her apartment had things in it—that it was haunted. So I did a blessing on this place. That was two days before she disappeared."
Did you do that? I pointed to the closet—but the little shadows were gone. Where did they go?
"I don't know," Dags said. "But I don't feel them at the moment—not anymore. But I can tell the blessing I put on the apartment is corrupted. It's there—but it's got some serious holes in it."
"Does it say whose book this is?" Rhonda held it up.
"No—but maybe we should like get out of here and back to the shop so Nona can look at it?" Dags closed the journal and smiled.
"How come she asked you?" Rhonda said. "To bless her apartment?"
"Because she saw me do what you two saw me do—at the restaurant—when the little fuckers upstairs were braking bottles."
Rhonda stared at him. "So she knew you had power? And it didn't freak her out. Instead she asked you to use it," she touched her lower lip. "So maybe she was a part of the Cruorem as well?"
"Could be," Dags said.
Rhonda took up the velvet cover and the other journal and slid them into her shoulder bag. "Let's go."
I handed my book to her and then slipped back into my body. I would have screamed if—you know—I could have. Fire burned in my left thigh and my right fore-arm. I curled up on the bed and held both of them, almost moving into a fetal position. My god that hurt!
"What is it?" Rhonda was beside me, pulling my left hand from my arm. Her eyes widened. "Oh god—is that blood?"
"Blood?" Dags was on my other side and between the two of them they had my coat off and my blood soaked right sleeve pulled up.
"What the fuck?" was all Rhonda said, echoing my thoughts exactly. "What the hell did that?"
On my right forearm was a bite mark as big as the Cheshire cat's smile and was bleeding pretty bad.
Ow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
This was one hell of a Saturday—and it wasn't going to slow down.
Once home mom did two things: first she grabbed the book and started pouring over the content and saying she could decipher it and second—
She called Dr. Maddox.
The last person I wanted to see was Melvin Maddox—the family physician. And it's not that I really disliked my doctor—but he had an obvious thing for my mom.
Ew.
Oh, and he had a personal ghost—his creepy dead son that always hung about.
I went to school with Joseph Maddox. We didn't really hang with each other—he'd been catered lunches at school and I'd been more tuna-fish sammiches. He had money—me and mom—not so much. He and his mom were killed in a car accident and unfortunately Melvin's attachment to his son kept Joseph's shade fettered.
To the physical plane. Now I don't pretend to understand any of this, I only knew I could see Joseph, and he was always hanging around Melvin. Usually. Mom and Rhonda didn't see him.
Just me.
Oh joy.
Because of the bites—well they were deep and I was bleeding—mom felt Melvin needed to be there. So I was subjected to an evening of alcohol and a couple of stitches. I wanted to take a long soak in the tub upstairs at mom's house—but that wasn't going to happen since one of the bites was on my leg.
No warm bubbles for me—I got bandages and a needle in my ass.
Mom and Dags ended up in the kitchen as Rhonda tried to explain to Dr. Maddox how I ended up with bites those size on my body—while she was reading one of Maureen's journals.
Even I was a little grossed out by the appearance of the bites. Shadow People had some serious dental issues.
Eventually the smells of something good came from the kitchen. We were in the Botannica. When we came into the Tea Shop I was a bit shocked at the spread on the table. Nona stood by Dags and put her hands on his shoulders. "Zoë—he can cook Japanese foods!"
And he had. There was—well—what was this stuff? It smelled heavenly. And to my happy delight Dr. Maddox got a page and had to leave. Yay!
"It's easy guys," Dags started pointing to each of the dishes as Nona showed Melvin out the door. "This is Tonkatsu—deep friend pork with Panko breading. Over here is sticky rice—and I used Jasmine rice because I like the taste better. Over there is edamome, seaweed salad, cucumber salad, Teriyaki chicken marinade with orange slices, and miso soup." He snapped his finger. "Oh, and I have oolong tea steeping in the kitchen."
I grinned as big as I could.
Rhonda whistled. "Will you marry me?"
Everyone laughed. I looked at Rhonda—and was sure the quip wasn't all just a joke.
We sat down for a nice meal—I ate till my jeans were too tight—drinking more tea than I should have. I had a buzz that wouldn't stop and I couldn't sit still. So while everyone else talked I got up and moved into the botannica.
The room itself was the house's converted livingroom, complete with fireplace and mantel. I stuck my tongue out at the stone dragon on mantel and moved to the section of books in the back of the room. Books, statues, rune bags, candles, all manner of oogie was in this room.
"What are you doing in here?"
Tim's voice scared me and I gave a silent yelp. I turned and glared at the ghost—he wasn't corporeal at the moment but I could still see him. Don't do that.
"Sorry—but you rarely come in here without someone else with you. So—" he held out his long thin hands and gestured at the room.
Too much tea.
He laughed. "I think coming from you, it makes sense."
I pointed to the books. So where in here would I find out stuff on ceremonial magic?
"Why in the hell would you want to learn about that? Its a commanding and compelling art. Something you need stay away from."
I crossed my arms over my chest—and then winced at the pain in my arm and uncrossed them. Damned Shadow freaks. Why would I need to stay away from it? I don't do this stuff.
"No, but you being a Wraith makes you more susceptible to their commanding circles. Ceremonials draw a circle to contain and compel, not to welcome in. You in Wraith form—I think if you got too close you could possibly get sucked in."
Now that was comforting.
That's not why I'm asking. I looked back at the books. The Reverend Rollins somehow made a deal to have a Symbiont—which prolonged his life and his health. Hirokumi was willing to sacrifice his daughter in order to obtain a Symbiont. So, I turned to look at Tim. Would ceremonial magic play into that kind of deal?
Tim nodded slowly as if he were thinking. "Yes—I think it could. There was never any mention on how Rollins made the deal—or how Hirokumi even knew about symbionts other than what he learned from getting hold of Rollins' contract."
I started chewing on the situation. Was I going off the mark? I didn't know, but I was aware of something tingling inside—as if I was guessing right. So I think maybe learning more about Bonville's past might reveal what his motivations are in this? How Maureen got involved.
"I think you need to know that, and what's in that book," Tim said, and I realized he'd heard my musings.
"Zoë!"
That was Rhonda. Tim and I moved from the botannica to the Tea Shop. Everyone had a book—mom had the big book. Rhonda was motioning me to where she sat. "I know how Maureen is involved with Bonville."
I needed my board.
And as if reading my mind, my mom got up—still holding the book—moved to the counter over the cakes and desserts display and picked up my clean board and a dry erase board. Still without looking up from the book she handed them to me and sat back down.
I love you, mom.
"I know."
For a second I thought she heard me, and then I saw her half smile and knew she'd only anticipated my mental response. Or had she?
I scribbled. OTHER THAN WORK FOR?
"No, no—she worked for Alice Bonville—the ex-wife of Dr. Bonville. That's where the "Alice" person comes from. The restaurant is separate ownership—this was something Bonville couldn't touch," she pointed to the journal. "Maureen says in her diary that she and Alice were usually late at the restaurant cleaning, taking stock, and sometimes sharing a glass of wine upstairs. Alice confided in her one night that the restaurant was the one thing that was hers alone. And that's the place she kept all her secrets."
Dags looked up. "Was Allard taking things from her in the divorce? Doesn't it work the other way usually?"
"Yeah," Rhonda said. "But apparently it wasn't him what had the money. She did. And evidently according to what little Maureen wrote in here—her family had a history in Roswell. But she goes on to say that he pretty much hired a dirty lawyer and was able to garner half of her fortune. So she hid most of it—and kept the restaurant. He wanted the restaurant more than anything else—" she looked up us. "You think it has anything to do with the Shadow People in there? Or those documents?"
"I doubt it," Mom said from where she was sitting with the book. "According to this—" she looked up at us. "I have the Cruorem grimoire in my hands."
Well that shut some books. Rhonda sat up. "You're kidding."
"Nope. The encryption used in this is extremely elementary—I'm surprised you didn't see it immediately."
I looked at Rhonda. She didn't look happy. My mom can be a bit much.
Yah think?
"And?" Dags said as he nodded to the book.
"Most of it is pretty much the ramblings of an idiot—though albeit a pretty evil idiot."
"Are there lots of spells?"
"There are lots of grandfathered spells," mom held up the book and we all gathered around. There were lots of older pages, worn and smudged, with a very scriptive handwriting as well as diagrams and symbols. But the newer pages in the back weren't as nicely rendered, nor were there any intricate drawings. "As you can see—the front of the book is part of the older grimoire, and the back is his new stuff."
"So is the spell he used on me for these," he held up his hands indicating the circles that were now invisible. "In the front of the book—the grandfathered stuff?"
"Yes, as is the Shadow Door."
Everyone stopped and looked at her.
The what?
Rhonda licked her lips. "The what?"
Mom held up the book so everyone could see a full page image of a person being sucked through a portal in the air. I shivered. Tim pointed at the book. "That's just wrong."
"That's neutral magic," Rhonda said. "That's not right—not even in the ceremonial world. You don’t learn that stuff and then write it down for other people to use—you have to go through years of discipline and training to ever learn that level of magic. I mean, if I understand what I’m seeing, this spell actually pulls or pushes someone physically into the Abysmal plane. What in the hell would you use that for?"
"To make someone disappear."
Everyone grew quiet. Finally I erased my board and scribbled. WHAT HAPPENS TO SOUL WHEN BODY IS SUCKED?
I held it up. Dags grinned. I looked at the board, scowled and added IN to the last word.
Jemmy finally spoke up. "That's a good question, there Zoë. No matter how bad you asked it. My opinion on that would be their souls would remain in the Abysmal after the body dies.”
“But remain as what?” Rhonda asked, looking at Jemmy.
The elderly woman had a very sad look on her face as she slowly shook her head. “Shadow Folk.”
Apparently—and I don’t pretend to understand any of it—from what everyone read out of Maureen’s journals—Alice Bonville confided in Maureen about having stolen a box from her old house, believing it contained her grandmother's china—something she hadn’t wanted the bastard to have. The box sat in her basement for several weeks unopened.
But when he arrived one night on her doorstep, demanding the box back, she’d had to call the police to have him bodily removed a restraining order put on him. She’d called Maureen that night and the two of them went through the box.
It wasn’t full of grandma’s china.
More like a box full of gitchie-goomies from hell. Candles, parchment, black ink with a foul smell (Rhonda figured it was blood) as well as the book and a folder full of the papers found in the loft of the restaurant. Maureen described finding jars of things with odd labels and smells, a bag of incense sticks and a manilla folder.
The folder was what freaked both of the ladies out—inside of the folder were four glossy pictures of four different people. Maureen recognized two of them—both working at the restaurant. Alice recognized the other two as having worked at the hospital.
looked up at Dags who was leaned back on the sofa. I was in my usual perch in the pompasan. My arm and thigh were aching and I really wanted to just curl up and sleep. "Your name is listed as one of the photos."
Dags nodded. "Well, if Bonville is Fafner, then it stands to reason that he probably has pictures of each of the Guardians. Four pictures. It also explains why Maureen took a keen interest in what I was doing when I wasn't at the restaurant."
"You think she knew what all the stuff was for?" Rhonda said.
Mom spoke up. "No, but I bet Alice knew." She didn't have one of the journals in her lap but the Big Book of Everything. "The Cruorem are mentioned in this book as being one of the largest and most powerful ceremonial cults in the New World—and it was believed they were responsible for the disappearance of over eight hundred people in that time. They are also associated with the appearance of Shadow Folk."
"You're kidding," Rhonda dissed the journal, leaving it where she'd been on the floor and moved to mom in her wicker chair. "I didn't see that in this book."
"You didn't look under Rumors and Really Scary Tales section."
Rhonda smirked. "Yes'm." She looked down at the book. "Wow…it says here that the Cruorem were untouchable—especially when it came to the law of the land. Many occult groups—including one of the larger influential Wiccan covens in England tried to stop them."
Dags said, "I take it they failed?"
Rhonda looked at him. "They vanished."
I swallowed and eye-balled Dags. And you joined these assholes? You let them mark you?
He looked at me. "So like you've never done anything bone-headed in your life?"
Uh. Well. Hrm. I wasn't gonna pursue that one. I know when to pick my battles. Or so I fool myself into thinking I did. But what I wanted at that moment was to call the hospital and see how Daniel was doing. I'd tried to get mom to do it earlier but she said Cooper had called and said there was no change.
But Daniel was in the same hospital that this wacko practiced in—and what if said wacko figured out who I was? And what if he did some mean ho-jo to my man?
Well—I'd kick his ass that's what.
Zoë...
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I thought I heard my name.
Come here Zoë...
I sat up. There it was again. And I knew on some weird level that it wasn't anyone in here.
"...somewhere in the past fifty years or so the Cruorem lost their power," Rhonda was saying as she read over mom's shoulder. "It is believed that within the family line several known believers were born and believed the family "business" of cursing and running amuck was a bad idea. When Nora Wynne Bonville took over as the head of the family she obliterated the group in one night—and over twenty core members vanished. She was deamed a hero by the locals and went on to settle in North Georgia and became an entrepreneur."
I have the answers...
Shit! That was my voice! Sort of—it had a distinct male timbre to it.
"So you think this Bonville is related to this Chief of Surgery?" Dags said.
I promise not to bite...
And abruptly I felt a sensual gnawing along my neck. And much to my unhappy thoughts, it made me bothered in all the wrong places.
Rhonda shrugged. "Might be. Maybe he learned that his family used to be powerful and he opened up a can of worms and is now up to—something. You know," she stood up and rubbed at her forehead. "There's a bunch of scattered stuff here but no real cohesion. It's like we're missing some vital piece of the puzzle—"
I looked at the windows. The wind was blowing and I didn't have to be outside to know it was cold out there.
—even though you like it.
That did it. I knew who it was—and I was both terrified as well as a little curious to see for myself. But there was only one other being in the world that had my voice besides me.
"—Is missing and according to what Nona found out from Cooper it's not just Maureen's body that's missing—all of the them are missing. And without bodies they're not going to be able to indite Bonville on suspicion of murder."
"So he made the bodies vanish?" Dags sat up.
"Yeah, right out of the morgue as well as the funeral parlors. I think the bastard had his little Shadow People toss all the bodies through the Shadow Door."
They're all wrong—but I can give you the answers…—you want to protect your little cop, don't you?
I moved out of the Botannica. I somehow knew the voice—my voice—was outside. And I also knew I needed my coat. I grabbed it out of the closet in the kitchen and slipped it on.
"Where are you going, Zoë?" my mom called out.
I walked back into the Botannica and pointed outside and mouthed, "Need air."
"Need air?" Rhonda frowned at me and I noticed Tim was looking at the windows. "It's freezing out there."
I waved at them and stepped outside.
Frigid wind slapped me in the face and I was somewhat happy that I had my hair down—though that was up and whipping about. The front of mom's house is a classic porch that wraps around the house, and she'd decorated it like every other southern woman in Georgia would decorate it—she'd put white wicker chairs to the right of the door and a table between the two.
In the shadows outside I could see him, sitting in one of those chairs, rocking slowly back and forth, his long coat splayed over the arm rests.
T.C. smiled at me, and a cold icy shiver raced down my back. "Hello, Zoë. Missed me?"
CHAPTER NINE
The cold outside was nothing compared to the paralyzing fear that abruptly gripped every inch of my body. It was different—thinking of him when he wasn't around. And maybe in a small way, romanticizing his almost—almost—knight in shinning armor emergence that helped me defeat the Symbiont in Rollins.
Romantic? A small part of myself—you know, that little mother look-a-like that sits on your shoulder with the wings—growled at me. You cannot be serious.
I flicked it away like a stray piece of lint. I didn't want that kind of grief right now—this wasn't the time.
You said something about protecting Daniel?
He cocked his head to the side and smiled again. "You need to act fast—destroy the Betrayer."
Why should I believe you?
He shrugged. "Because as you misfits sit around in there and eat your food and talk, the Betrayer has already discovered who you are."
The icy feeling along my back froze my entire body solid. Fear like nothing I could remember before had me in its grip. You mean…you mean Bonville knows who I am?
"Would I lie to you?"
Yes.
I wasn't in the mood to argue who had what minions at that moment. I took a step closer—and he backed up. I mean the spook literally vanished from the chair and reappeared behind it.
Wha—?
His expression didn't tell me anything about what he was thinking. But—was he afraid of me?
T.C. held up the index finger of his right hand. On it he wore a silver ring with a skull on it. Typical. "Cautious."
Stop reading my mind.
"Stop thinking so loud, Wraith." He held out his hands, palms up. "Do you want to hear how we can be mutually beneficial to one another?"
Gimme back my voice first.
He shook his head. "No can do, lover. Are you open to hearing my offer?"
His use of the word lover just pissed me off. And I knew he was goading me on purpose.
And then something dawned on me. I'm usually the first person who will admit to being a secret blonde—I don't always follow the obvious. And sometimes I see things no one else saw which has irritated the hell out of Rhonda on more than one occasion.
As I looked at T.C., and I mean really looked at him, I realized he didn't seem to be as menacing as he had been before. He seemed almost diminished—like there was a vital piece of him missing. Had it been my Wraithy Wail? Or something else? Making the deal with me—had he broken some—
You're in service again, the thought came unbidden, but I knew it.
The look on his face told me I had nailed it. T.C. the bad-ass Archer wasn't an independent anymore, but a Symbiont in service to the Phantasm. Just like he'd been in the beginning before his encounter with me had set him apart.
What's wrong with you?
He straightened up, and seemed to grow in size. "There is nothing wrong with me!"
When I didn't move or flinch, standing on the porch with my hands in my pockets, he finally calmed down. "When our connection was made, the Phantasm wasn't aware of it and I was able to separate long enough to grow strong."
Ahhh…but when you made the deal with me the Phantasm knew—he was there.
"And he took advantage of that," he looked away and I could see his profile. Yep, Vin Diesel. "I have been in his service ever since."
And you think by me helping you—
Hunh. Helping him what?
He looked at me and took a step closer, his duster flaring out about him and he clasped his hands behind his back. "The Betrayer is the same. He sought a contract with the Phantasm—wishing eternal life and wealth. And as you know, the Phantasm can grant such things."
Yadda, yadda.
I made rotating motion with the index finger of my right hand. Speed it up.
TC glared at me. Like that was new? "He was given a symbiont and a contract set. Only the Betrayer wanted even more. So the Phantasm offered him eternal life—"
He can do that?
"Ever heard of the undead?"
Nevermind.
TC moved to the edge of the porch and looked up at the moon. It was full and shown down almost blue on his face. I realized then he wasn't wearing his shades.
Wait…where did the moon come from? And where had the wind gone? Too late I realized everything around us had calmed.
"But eternal life comes at a price—four souls. Each one taken simultaneously during the Fain-Dun ritual of the Seventh Black Seal."
I glared at him. Did you make that up?
"No—the Cruorem did. They have a flare for the theatrical. The ritual was created to transfer eternal life—and during it the four sacrifices are killed and the Phantasm increases his power by giving the fool an undead existence," he turned and looked at me. "Seven out of ten undead go insane after the first one hundred years. They never last for eternity."
Four sacrifices. Four initiated idiots. I thought of Dags. Are these sacrifices marked?
"Might be. I'm not the ritual expert." He turned completely from the moon and crossed his arms over his chest.
What happened?
TC nodded. "One of the sacrifices didn't work—like plugging in a bad Christmas bulb. Made everything else short circuit. In order to cover up the blunder the Betrayer used a forbidden spell to shove the physical bodies of the sacrifices into the Abysmal plane."
Oh geez…the other guardians. Did he only put three in?
"Thirteen."
Shit. Now I knew for sure where all those people went.
"Wraith—placing a physical body inside the Abysmal is like befouling the most holy of sacraments." He arched an eyebrow. "Imagine pouring menstrual blood in the vestal of the church."
Oh god… the very thought turned my stomach.
"Physical bodies in the Abysmal plane cannot survive—and so they dissolve. Painfully. And the remaining soul is tainted—neither living nor dead. Neither Abysmal or Ethereal. They're like gunk in the pipes. They're a cancer in a healthy heart."
Like nuts in a brownie?
And to my surprise he nodded. "You call them Shadow Folk—Shadow People—we call them irritants. And they can only be destroyed by one means."
And somehow I knew that was me. And this is where I come in. So the Phantasm told you to contact me to get rid of the Shadows?
"I'm contacting you because we can help each other. We can destroy the Betrayer and I can retrieve the contracts."
I thought of the contract in the house, the one the Shadow People had showed me. Only I wasn't sure which one that was—Maureen, or Alice?
"They'll be drawn to you and your power—"
Oh great.
"—And then they can be destroyed by your hand. Once they're gone I can take my revenge—" he paused and smiled. "The Phantasm's due on the Betrayer."
I wasn't all that happy about delivering up the soul of any human being to the Phantasm. But then—Bonville had done some pretty awful things to innocent human beings. I thought of Dags and wondered if those marks on his hands would ever go away—or could they be removed at all? And how near he'd escaped being shoved bodily into the Abysmal plane as well.
What's in it for you?
He looked shocked.
Oh get off it—you don't do anything unless you benefit from it.
He held out his hands and bowed deep, actually bending on one knee. "Ah—I must once again marvel at your complexity."
Ass-hat.
"And your vocabulary. Yes—there is something I get out of it. But that something shall remain mine to keep if you want your dear cop protected."
I actually didn't want this bastard anywhere near Daniel—my love was in this pickle because of the Archer. This thing was the cause of all my wacky-ness of my life since I first saw him murder William Tanaka.
We have a maybe.
TC bowed again.
So when do we do this?
"You'll know—on the appointed hour."
Something banged like a door slamming. "Zoë!"
I blinked. And TC was gone. The night sounds of nearby traffic on Euclid returned, as did the fridged wind. I turned and looked to see Rhonda standing in the doorway looking at me.
"What's up? Why did you come out here? And what the hell were you staring at?"
It was obvious she hadn't seen TC which I'm sure he arranged on his own. Part of me wanted to tell her what'd just happened—but for some reason I just smiled and nodded before following her back inside the cozy shop.
Everyone was still in place, though Tim was absent. Where had Steve gone?
"Honey," Mom said before I sat down. "What were you doing out there?"
I pointed to my head before I stripped off my coat.
"You were thinking?"
Geez mom…you didn't have to look so shocked.
I found my board on the pampasan where I'd left it and erased on it as I sat down. After I was done scribbling I held up the board. YOU SAY PAPERS R CONTRACTS WITH SF?
Mom nodded. "Yes—between them and the Cruorem."
Erase. Scribble. DO THEY SAY SHADOW FOLK?
Rhonda reached over to mom and picked the contracts out of the little nest she'd built between she and the wicker chair. She looked over them. "Well I can't read them the way Nona can—but they are a contract of some sort. They use the name Lares, which we know is Roman for the same thing."
Hrm. So the documents didn't actually say they were contracts between the group and the Cruorem. TC said they were—but I still wasn't believing his ass on any of this. He wanted something—and he'd admitted to it. So—I needed to find out what.
Erase. Scribble. CAN SYMBIONTS EAT SF?
Everyone gave me a blank stare on that one. Mom's lips flattened. Uh oh. I got her thinking. That could be bad.
"Zoë," Rhonda frowned at me. "Why do you want to know that?"
Think, think, think. I didn't want to tell them about TC just yet so I needed to make something up really quick. I erased and scribbled, trying to write smaller to fit more on the board. WHEN I SEE DUDE AT HOSP. I HAD FEEL OF SYMBIONT BUT HE NOT SYMBIONT.
Dags cocked his head sideways. "And?"
"Wait, wait, wait," Rhonda nodded at me. "Zoë can sense Symbionts, right? Or you get that metallic thing you talked about before. But you didn't get it with Bonville—and Maureen's journal said he got the symbiont before he demanded more."
Dags' eyebrows rose on his high forehead. "So—where did the symbiont go if it's not inside of Bonville?"
I held out my hands—that wasn't why I asked—but it sure as hell was a poignant question. And it threw everyone off the real reason why I asked. Uh…so it did.
I re-scribbled on sign and held it up. SO CAN SYMB EAT SF?
Rhonda shrugged. So did Dags. Mom answered. "Symbionts consume the essence of the living. Some like the Archer consumed it all at once, gaining a lot of strength—so much so he didn't need a body. But then Rollands' symbiont had fed off his soul for years improving his health. Which is what Hirokumi wanted."
"So does a Shadow Folk have a soul?"
I nodded. So did Nona, who answered. "Stands to reason if the Folk are indeed physical bodies who were transported into the Aybsmal plane. Their bodies can't survive but we're not just bodies. We're spirit as well," she nodded at me. "We're Ethereal."
Never considered my self ethereal but then, I guess I was.
"Well, I say we call it a night," Nona said as she stood. The wicker chair created beneath her. "Tomorrow night's the full moon—and store's gonna have a sale on white candles and Frankincense, so I need sleep." She pointed to Dags. "You need to sleep here. Rhonda, are you staying?"
The look of dreamy in her eyes made me physically want to puke. But then, how often had she put up with that look on me when I thought about Daniel?
Ah poop.
She nodded. "I can make him a nice bed on the couch."
I waved at them to get their attention even as I stood up. I made the motion of me getting in a car and going home. I pointed to mom and made the turn-the-key motion for her to say I needed to borrow her car.
"You sure you wanna go home?"
I nodded. My condo was warded, and I'd been missing from it for a while. I needed to get back there and do a little living in it. I also needed some space to think, and muse over what TC said as well as think of a way I could totally screw him up.
But, Elizabeth the volvo didn't go home—it drove to the hospital instead. Seeing as it was after one in the morning the nurses no matter who they are—weren't going to let me in on the floor to see Daniel. So I found a great parking spot, let the seat back and slipped out of my body.
As I walked/jogged the parking garage, the elevator, the walkway to the hospital, and then in the atrium where I'd seen Mr. Spooky, and then up to Daniel's room, I really wished Wraiths could teleport. That would save sooooo much time.
The hall was quiet, as most of the patients were safely drugged in their beds. I tip-toed past the station to Daniel's room and sieved through the door. Ew. Metal.
Daniel was as peaceful as ever, though the room was bland. They wouldn't allow him any sort of flowers or decoration in CCU. But that was okay. I just loved seeing him.
And then I heard a wretched noise.
It was a snore.
Captain Ken Cooper was sound asleep in the fold out seat, his shoes and clothes still on, his head thrown back and his trench coat over him like a blanket. His mouth was open and I was amazed at how much like a child he was.
I was also touched that he was still here, in the room with Daniel. Awwww.
I went to my baby, but not too close. I learned a little back that close proximity to a Wraith in a hospital room could be bad ju-ju. But I looked at the monitors that were starting to get a little snowy and tried to check his vitals.
The door opened then and two nurses came in.
"Wha—" Cooper said as he came awake. "Freeze…."
It wasn't Miss Tiarra tonight, but an Indian woman with a very stern expression on. "You're not supposed to be here."
Cooper wiped at his face and glared at her. "I'm a cop—so sue me." He stretched as the two woman started working on the machines. One of them actually smacked the side of it. "What time is it? And what the hell are you two doing?"
The larger woman shook her head. "It's way past visiting hours, detective. And this machine's acting crazy. Getting all fuzzy in here—and if you see it out there at the station, it's blank. Like this poor guy's gone all flat-line."
I knew in an instant that was my fault. Spirits, ghosts, astral beings like my-self—they all cause issues with electronic gizmos. So my being here out of body was a bad idea. But I was glad I'd come—and seeing Cooper stay here way past his duty was a nice touch.
"Really? You sure his bubble-headed girlfriend isn't around? She has a knack for screwing things up."
Or maybe not.
I shot him a bird and moved around him, not wanting any part of what he was thinking, which of course happens if I walk through someone.
Once out in the hall way I saw him.
Standing by the nurses station—a metal clipboard in his hand.
Bonville.
CHAPTER TEN
He hadn't seen me yet—and though I was Wraith I was certain he would see me unless I moved. But I was too curious as to whose chart he was looking at.
The presence behind me was startling, but not unexpected. "It's your lover's chart—" TC said on the wind.
Lover's. Hah. That term indicated there was sex involved between the two parties. I could only deduct that the Archer had no idea Daniel and I hadn't—
"Oh?"
Well now shit.
"Are your memories of our time together returning?"
Shut. Up.
Great. I could hear that fucker's laughter all over the hospital. I could also see my presence was garnering unwanted attention. Hospitals house—well—souls. Spirits. Ghosts. Those what don't realize they are dead. And those souls were starting to peak out of all sorts of places. Some were in color, some in pastels, and lots were in black and white much like Maddox's son. There were always the whispy things I saw while Wraith—those pieces of Abysmal-Ethereal-Astral whatsis that looked like the black smoke after blowing out a candle. I had no idea what they were, but they were always around on the edges of things.
Bonville looked up and narrowed his eyes in our direction. Can he see us?
"No, but he knows something's here. And in a second he'll—"
A cell phone rang. I recognized the theme as a well known tune by 3 Doors Down. Bonville reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled his phone out. I felt TC's hand on my shoulder and I batted it away. No touchy!
"Yes—that's excellent news—.no, I don't want a lot of them around. I don't trust them—especially since I can't tell them apart anymore. Cleanse the area and proceed. I want him brought directly into the chamber—no, I'm not crazy. I can use his power to destroy anything it sends after me. I'll be right there—just get him away from that witch!" There was actual spittle on his chin before he slammed the phone closed, turned and marched to the elevators.
Witch? Was he talking about Dags away from mom?
"She's not the only one," the Archer said and he materialized to my right. He look even more washed out in the bright fluorescent hospital light. Not so—scary.
Should I follow him?
"No," he turned to me. His ink-black shades were back on. "You won't be able to. You'll need to get to him another way."
I burned past the Archer to the emergency exit and took the stairs as fast as I could. It was more time consuming than the elevator, but at least this way I was getting my astral workout. Once on the landing I went through the door (yow, metal!) and made my way back to the parking lot, avoiding any contact with any of the multitude of ghosts that crowded into my way.
TC was at my car when I arrived. I stopped and frowned. How did he—
"I don't have to run."
Bastard.
I sieved into the car and easily back into my body. I righted the seat, putting me back in front of the steering wheel and would have given a full scream when I noticed TC in the passenger's seat beside me. Stop doing that!
"Drive."
Ass wipe.
"Dumbass."
Ah! Get out of my car!
"You need me. Without me the Betrayer will succeed in—"
Hey.
He paused. "Yes?"
Does the betrayer have a symbiont?
The Archer abruptly vanished out of my car. Was it something I said? No matter—if I still had my voice I would be calling mom real fast in order to warn them that I thought Bonville's henchmen—be they physical peoples or Shadow Peoples—were on their way if not already there.
I drove like a bat out of the oven getting back to mom's. All was dark from the outside—and it looked real quiet too. It was close to two-thirty spook time by the Elizabeth's digital. I pulled up with the lights off and then cut the engine. I could either go in physical and of course if I got jumped there was no way for me to warn anybody verbally.
Or go in Wraith where I seemed to have the advantage.
Bing, bing, bing. Wraith!
I leaned the chair back again and locked the doors before sieving out—I also checked my watch—or rather my wrist since I have no idea where my watch was. I could only guess I have about three and a half hours available to me. Give or take what I'd used in the hospital. I hadn't rested enough I didn't think to completely restart the clock. What did worry me was the cold. It was already down near thirty degrees, and I couldn't leave the heater running. Forget a blanket—there wasn't one in the car. All I had was my pea-coat.
Nothing felt oogie as I moved up to the front porch. There were the usual creepies outside the house, little buggers mom's wards wouldn't let in—so I was certain the ward itself was still intact. I moved through the door (yay wood!) and sensed someone to my left through the beaded curtain. I moved through it and saw that someone was sound asleep on the couch. That had to be Dags. That was good.
Two more checks upstairs showed that mom and Rhonda were asleep too.
So—what had Bonville been talking about?
"Zoë?"
Yikes! I jumped and spun, turning to see Steve standing in the kitchen. Oh god don't do that.
"Why are you here—" he pointed to me. "Like that? Where is your body?"
In the car. I told him the story as briefly as I could think it and he nodded.
"There was a bit of a fracas earlier at the ward's edges—they held so I didn't wake Nona or Rhonda. You think Bonville will come here?"
I shrugged and moved into the Botannica— wanted to find those journals and re-read a few parts. Because something wasn't gelling for me. As I passed the couch every door and window in the house blew open. I crouched low as Steve yelled out. Dags sat up abruptly—his hands out, palms up—and the circles on his palms were lit up like fluorescent lamps in the dark.
He started to fade as well, just at he had in the atrium.
The sound of thunder echoed in the house until I realized it was footsteps. Rhonda burst out of the kitchen area, a stick in her hands. Nona was right behind her.
"What happened!" Rhonda screamed out. Wind like a nor'easter gail whipped everything in the house up into a frenzy. "What's going on?"
"They broke through," Screamed Nona. Her eyes found me and then they widened to the size of oranges. "Zoë, behind you!"
But I already knew he was there. I knew he'd been waiting on this. I grabbed Dags' wrist as TC grabbed me and together all three of us vanished from the house on Euclid in Little Five Points.
No one had to tell me we were in the Abysmal Plane. I could feel it all around me. And what frightened me more was that I—well—I enjoyed how it felt. Warm and peaceful, and I could feel strength flooding every fiber of my being.
But was it only because I was Wraith?
I heard Dags screaming beside me and I pulled him to me, becoming as solid as I could to protect him from whatever it was that destroyed physical bodies. If we didn't find a way out of here quick, Dags wouldn't survive, and I was terrified he too would become Shadow.
I opened my eyes to see a daisey covered plain—hills and valleys out of a movie were sprawled on either side of me. I could see a small village to my left and another to my right. White smoke billowed from a chimney or two in both. Flowers sprouted up beside where I knelt with the writhing man in my arms.
Mental Note: reread Big Book of Everything—notate description of Abysmal is WRONG!
I looked down at him and he was looking up at me with pain-filled eyes.
"Z-zoë?" he was shaking. It felt like the sort of shake I always got when I had a fever—the kind I couldn't stop, the kind that chattered my teeth. His dark eyes were turning white. Dead white. "You—you l-look different."
"Just stay with me," I said.
He smiled. "I—I heard you—you sp-spoke."
I wasn't able to answer him as we abruptly were somewhere else. It was quiet, and the smell of fresh flowers was replaced by that of tangy incense and the metallic tang of a symbiont. I heard voices too, and whispers all around us. The voices sounded a bit—surprised.
"What is it?"
"I don't know—could it be something from the otherworld?"
"It is a demon! We should contain it!"
"It is contained you idiot," came a voice with much more authority than the whispers. "We've built a protective circle around it."
Oh? I opened my eyes and looked up. Dags and I were surrounded by a circle of people in black robes (oh for crying out loud), their hoods pulled forward so I couldn't really see much of their faces except their noses and mouths and they were all wearing Phantom of the Opera masks. Just behind them I could make out either rafters or maybe a support beams for a ceiling. Considering it felt like we were underground—I was going for basement.
I looked down at Dags. He was unconscious and I could sense his soul teetering on the edge of life. I don't know how I knew it—but that brush with the Abysmal ( and it had flowers!) had somehow tainted or poisoned his soul—I didn't know which. I did know it hadn't been a good thing for him to go through—not in a physical body. And no matter what happened, I was not going to allow anyone to turn him into Shadow.
So there. That was my righteous southern woman declaration for the month, ala Julia Sugarbaker.
That's when I spotted Bonville. He was in a black robe but he wasn't masked. His robe was all silky and smooth, while the others looked like dime-store knock offs. I set Dags down on the ground, also taking note of the huge-ass pentagram beneath us on a wood floor, and stood up.
Oddly enough I felt—pretty good.
Bonville held up his right hand. "I command you oh demon, to cast out of this circle so that we may continue our ritual."
I don't know what he expected to happen—but it didn't. The others looked a little flummoxed as well. And though I sensed power behind the casting—I sensed it was missing something.
Ah! The book!
He didn't have his big book anymore, 'cause Nona and Rhonda did.
Abruptly the Archer appeared in front me, between myself and Bonville. And I wasn't the only one that could see him. Everyone could. In the basement like this, under all the candle-light, he looked pretty impressive.
"She's wearing bunnyslippers," someone muttered.
Yes I am—wanna make something of it?
Mental Note: bunnyslippers are cool.
I also noticed TC had the book and the documents in his hands. Now how did he get hold of those?
He held the documents up, and Bonville looked a little bit more than frightened. "You recognize these, Allard? The documents you made all of these people sign?"
All of these people—I looked at the group. The Cruorem. They were all looking at each other.
Allard Bonville nodded. "I do. They gave me their loyalty—"
"No, Allard," TC's voice boomed. "You sold their souls so that you could become immortal."
Well that was a lowering of the boom. I could feel the anger running rampant around the room. Oh Mr. Bonville was in trouble now. Neener nee.
"No—what are you talking about? My wife—"
"And what happened to those souls that you were tired of?" TC Looked like he was having a good time here—but I was waiting for all these Shadow Folk to come like he told me they would. "You cast them physically into the Abysmal plane, making them unpalatable for your lord and master."
I frowned. Huh?
Bonville had his hands out. "But I was only doing what she told me to do. I only took the symbiont as a cure—I'm dying. I was dying before. Please, don't take it from me—I'll die."
TC smiled. And I didn't like that smile.
"Then are you finally willing to offer her to me?"
Huh? Who?
Bonville looked terrified. "She'll kill me—I can't do that. She'll kill me!"
She? Who was she?
The book in TC's hand abruptly took flight and floated to Bonville. It opened and the pages flipped until it remained still and hovered before his face. "Bring her to me."
"No—" Bonville shook his head.
"Bring. Her. To. Me."
The command in that voice made my head spin.
Bonville looked at T.C. "But the Shadows…"
"Do it."
What the hell was going on—
And abruptly the whole room's temperature dropped. Bonville was reciting something from the book. There was a swirl inside the circle and every one of the people there were still in their places. I could tell from their expressions—what I could see—they were powerless to move.
Shadows appeared everywhere in the circle. Short, then, tall—but none over three feet in height. Some slithered and some crawled, they walked and they flew! And they flew right at me as well as TC.
I guessed this was my cue and so I reached out to the nearest one and—
Poof. It disappeared in the same gold powder poof as the one I'd touched in the closet.
I felt a slight surge of power as it evaporated and I liked it. I touched another one and the same thing happened. I touched all of them I could, feeling my backbone expand, and my feet nearly lifted from the ground. This wasn't like when I ate that lady in the hospital—or like when I leeched off of Rhonda that time.
This was different.
It was much more fullfiling in a base sort of way.
"What—what is it doing?" Bonville called out.
"The Wraith is taking in the Abysmal that you tainted."
"It wasn't my fault! I only did what—" and then he stopped. "She's coming! They're coming!"
The shadows were gone and I felt as light and as high as a freak'n kite. Man—what rush. I kinda thought on one level I was eating garbage—but man what a great feeling garbage felt like. And even though on some level I knew they were souls, I saw them as tainted souls. Souls twisted by the Abysmal plane.
Yeah..the plane with the flowers and daisies?
Mental Note: okay—something wasn't right here, Zoë.
Dags lay on his back, his arms out in a crucifix position palms out. The circles on his palms were glowing brighter and brighter until a white column of light shot out of each palm. Both columns widened until they were three feet and six foot high. When the light cleared there were two women standing to either side of Dags' palms.
One woman was in her later years, though I couldn't tell from looking at her how old. I just got a sense of maturity. Her hair was almost white as it fell around her shoulders and down her back.
The other woman was much younger, with darker hair and a very unpleasant look on her face. I recognized her from pictures I'd seen of her in her apartment. Maureen?
TC turned at that moment and pointed to the white haired woman. "Betrayer!"
Okay. That's it. I'm confused. I thought dude was the betrayer. I threw my hands into the air and then popped them on my hips. Hello?
The white haired woman laughed. "Did you honestly think I wanted immortality with you inside of me?"
Mental Note: !!!
"I wanted it on my own—with no contracts and none of your hidden agendas," the woman pointed at me. "Have you told her the truth? Does she know what she just did?"
Uh oh.
I realized just then the white haired woman was Alice Bonville. And she was the head of the Cruorem. Not her husband.
Wait…what did I just do to those Shadow People? Was that a bad thing?
The Archer glanced at me—and somehow I could tell this through his shades. "She doesn't need to know because she's not a part of this."
"You made her a part of this, Archer," Alice smiled. "Maureen, please tell the young Wraith what it is she's just swallowed?"
Maureen turned to look at me. That's about the time I realized both of these women were naked. Oh my. Their light was so bright from within them it was hard to distinguish definition.
"The Shadows you took—the guardians that have protected us since our transmutation—are the souls of murdered children."
What—
"The injustice of their demise doesn't make them linger in the physical as shades or even as ghosts. Some go on Miss Martinique, but some find themselves in the Abysmal plane and the essence that creates that plane of existence feeds them, nurtures them, until they become nothing more than primordial essence. You," she pointed a long slender finger at me. "Have just consumed over twenty of these lost souls."
But TC was standing between me and the woman. His shades vanished and I was looking into his solid black eyes. "They were no longer children, Zoë, but creatures of pure hatred, beings that lived only to create havoc and chaos."
I didn't believe him. Why should I believe him? He wasn't feeling the untainted euphoria I was feeling, the surge of power that ran along my backbone and into my soul. I thought of Daniel lying immobile in that hospital bed, about him hanging by a thread on that fire-escape, about the raw hatred I'd had for the Archer on that rooftop. And so it all came to a head just then as I reached out and shoved him away from me.
He blew backwards and smashed into Bonville.
Maureen smiled, the expression of distaste vanishing. "By consuming them, you have freed them and aided them in escaping a fate Alice's ex-husband had bound them too. Because you see, the Archer wanted those tainted souls for himself, but he could only consume him if Alice signed their contracts over to him." .
TC whirled to face Maureen. "That's a lie!"
Alice laughed. "Oh Archer. When you came to me with the offer of immortality—you seemed so sincere, and he always does, doesn't he?" she looked at me. I noticed her eyes were milky white. So were Maureen's. And I sort of knew they weren't human anymore. At least not in a physical sense.
Maureen smiled.
"Yes Zoë, he came to me, bent on joining with me. Because you see, I could do what you did before he touched you. I could leave my body and he wanted the same power from me he got from you. I never knew how he lost it—the truth of how. But I turned the tables on him. I discovered the existence of the Phantasm, and that is where my bid for immortality went."
And then I got it—sort of. Why TC called her a betrayer. Because she betrayed him—but not in the deal—but to the Phantasm.
Maureen nodded. "You understand, Miss Martinique? Once we made the deal with the Phantasm to reveal the Archer's treachery once again, the Phantasm in his glory allowed us escape into the Abysmal plane."
I stepped forward. But he didn't tell you what would happen to you, did he? I didn't know if they heard me, but I had the impression they would.
"No, he didn't," Maureen said and I could sense sadness in her. "The Shadow Door Allard used is what turned the others into Shadows, but for us, there was no door made."
"So here we are, neither shadow nor human, neither dead or alive," she looked down at the unconscious bartender. "And now we are grounded—locked—to the doorways on this man's hands. Because my husband," and she glared at him. "Didn't know what he was doing."
You'd already gone to the Abysmal plane when he brought Dags in? I'm confused—I thought he was creating guardians in order to—
"He was trying to bring us back," Maureen said. "Because only we could unlock the contracts."
And it all became clear—the death months ago—was only a disappearance. And Bonville had recruited psychics, talents, in order to somehow open the shadow door and bring his wife and Maureen back.
I looked at Maureen. It happened to you later?
She nodded. "I was trying to help Alice when the Archer came to me. The Phantasm offered me the same deal after the Archer faded away—only there was no way Alice could warn me."
I put a hand to my face and moved past the women to where the documents lay on the floor. I picked them up.
Mental Note: Alice and Maureen—lovers—reason for divorce. Duh!
"Because you have released them the contracts pertaining to the Shadows are now voice."
I held up the papers. And these?
"Those are the contracts—the signatures of blood—between the members of the group and the Archer," Maureen said. "Those are what he's truly after. Those are the ones Allard created so that he could keep his symbiont."
I looked at TC. He was getting up and dusting himself off. "Give me those," he said to me.
Why? So you can suck all thirteen of their souls—
And I knew it was the truth. Contracts that were supposed to be given to the Phantasm—he hoped to give him power once again.
The Phantasm had warned me all those weeks ago. He'd warned me not to trust the Archer.
You bastard. I held the papers up. Maureen and Alice hid these, as well as that grimoire to prevent you from lying anymore to Bonville and making him do even more stupid stuff for your gain.
I nailed it. Oh boy I nailed it.
And I also knew what I had to do with those contracts.
TC lunged out to grab them from me—but I was faster. I was juiced up to my eyeballs with Abysmal stuff. I was beside Maureen and handed them to her.
"Thank you," she said and abruptly the documents burned away.
TC threw his head back and screamed.
And one by one the people in the robes vanished.
I freaked out.
"They're not dead, but simply put back into their homes," Alice said. "They'll have a headache, and a faint memory of a bad dream. All of this is my fault initially, for beliving the Archer. There's nothing I can do about the members that were destroyed in the failed attempt."
I frowned. Explain to me—Allard tried to bring you back but because somehow the ritual failed—
Alice sighed. "We're now bound to this boy. It was his unconscious power that realized what was happening and broke the connection that tried to pull us back into a physical existence that no longer wanted us."
All eyes turned down to Dags who lay oblivious on the floor. I noticed he wasn't looking so good either.
"We're now a part of the guardian summoning."
You're guardians? I thought he was a Guardian?
"Guardian familiars," Alice said. "Or that's the best I can do with it. We don't have free will over it, but we're a part of him. We protect him and those he summons us for. He has no memory of us—the spell working mostly on instinct."
Wow. That was kind of—neat.
"No!" Maureen screamed.
That's when I saw TC hovering over Allard, the only robed figure remaining. Allard was on his knees and TC's right hand was up. I recognized the glowing red orb in the center, and I could remember the feeling of utter ephoria being pulled into that red light could give. TC was stealing his soul.
On my own instinct I yelled at TC. And I mean yelled—just as I had that night on the roof. As I had that day in the shop when Mitsuri had gone after Daniel.
The foundation shook and groaned but it had the effect I wanted. TC vanished—not like he had on the roof—no. I hadn't blasted him that hard though I'd wanted to. He was holding Allard and I didn't want to zap a human being—no matter how guilty–out of existence.
But the Archer was gone.
Allard Bonville collapsed back and lay still.
"Thank you, Miss Martinique."
I looked at the two woman. They really were starting to look a like—tall, well built and totally naked. Wow—if only Dags could see this. I pointed to him. Will Dags ever know you're there?
Alice shrugged. "We don't know. So far he has no idea. And when he wakes up, he won't remember anything."
"Neither will you," Maureen said. "You won't remember us. You'll remember the Archer unfortunately. And he'll remember you. You hurt him, but you didn't destroy him. Be prepared against him, Miss Martinique. He is a vile enemy."
Yeah, yeah. So sue me. So I won't remember either of you?
"No. But I have something I want Dags to remember," and she knelt down beside him and put her hand on his heart. I didn't know what she was doing though, or what it was she wanted him to remember.
Alice said, "I will put this memory into your heart—the energy you absorbed can be transferred, and it can be used for healing."
The two women vanished.
I sighed and sank to the floor besides Dags.
EPILOGUE
Needless to say mom and Rhonda were cheezed to find my slowly freezing body in Elizabeth. When I didn't respond I was once again rushed to the hospital where I woke up. Mom was there, her bag of knitting beside her and demanded to know what the hell happened.
Evidently there was a call to 911 placed at the residence of one Allard Bonville. The cheif of Surgery was rushed to the hospital along with an unconscious young man, both found in his basement. Bonville was found in silky black robes and the young man, later identified as Darren McConnell, was in a pair of flannel pajamas and a tee-shirt.
"You have anything to do with that?" Mom was knitting, not looking at me.
I pursed my lips at her and shook her head. I had my board and wrote on it. GOT A FEEL'N, CAME HOME AND FOUND SF AROUND HOUSE. WENT OOB.
She read it but kept knitting. "But you don't remember anything after that?"
I shook my head, which was the truth. I didn't remember anything other waking up in the hospital. I did remember going Wraith and sneaking into the house and then poof. Total black out.
"Seems Dags can't remember anything either. Very curious."
Uh huh. Erase. Scribble. CAN GO SEE DANIEL?
"No, you have to stay in bed. Melvin thinks you had another diabetic coma—and it appeared like that. We told him you left and what he thinks is that you got in the car but slipped unconscious and that's where we found you the next morning."
I nodded. Sounded reasonable. Maybe.
In a pig's eye.
"Right now Dags is resting. So is Daniel. You rest too. I have three of you in the same damned hospital, rooms 116, 123 and 245. I want you to know I hate hospitals, Zoetrope. I dispise them."
Me too. Erase, scribble, scribble. "Rhonda with Dags?"
"No, she's not. Apparently he told her he was mourning Maureen's death and didn't want to get involved with anyone. So she went home. To her place I guess. Not to the shop. Jemmy, Steve and Tim are watching that."
Oh. Wonder what that was about?
Now why did he do a thing like that? Dags hadn't struck me as the type of person who would mourn anyone too long. Or had it been Maureen that did it?
Wait—who was Maureen?
Later that night—and I couldn't tell you what night it was—I slipped out of my body and headed to Daniel's room. I had an overwhelming need to see him. To touch him. I had to give him something. But I had no idea what.
No one was in the room when I sieved through the door and I moved as quickly to him as I could. I became solid and took his hand. The skin around the IV was irritated, black and blue. And he was loosing weight as he lay here un-moving.
But I had to—
I was supposed to do something—
I needed to—
The inability to finish the thought pissed me off, so I simply sat in the chair, took his left hand in my left hand, put right hand over his heart and closed my eyes.
