I waited, and then I waited some more. Even Smith who had nothing but time to spare grew bored and left.
The guard stood next to my car, doing his best to remain professional by wearing a stony, noncommittal expression. I hated it, I hated everything about him. I hated how his tubby figure moved in the unflattering generic uniform. And I couldn’t stand his ruddy complexion. I’d completed a thorough list of everything that was wrong with the security guard by the time his boss arrived.
A small, trim man drove up in what I can only describe as a glorified golf cart. He hopped off in a sprite-like fashion, limber for someone with so much gray in his mustache. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked.
I was past being gracious. “This jerkoff won’t let me in,” I griped.
“That’s his job,” he replied calmly.
“It won’t be for long if you don’t let me through,” I threatened.
Tubby handed him a copy of my driver’s license. “Just another phone call,” he said while looking it over, “and we’ll get you squared away.”
The boss (and I knew he must be because he didn’t wear the tacky imitation suit of a security guard) murmured so softly into the phone that I couldn’t hear what he was saying even though the gatehouse door was open. But I could hear the sharp female reply as it came shrilling through the earpiece.
I didn’t hesitate to get out my car and twist the phone loose from who I presumed was the head of security. He let go, appearing unbothered by my highhandedness.
“Karen,” I said into the phone, “if I don’t get inside that house within the next two minutes, I’ll make sure Reed fires you.”
She scoffed, trying to convey the unlikelihood of my threat. Truthfully, I didn’t believe it much either. Reed seemed to harbor a tendre for his crazed secretary. But after handing the phone back I could hear her instructions. They didn’t want to let me in, but enter I would. And that was that.
* * *
The boss introduced himself as Mark, and he was, lo and behold, the head of security. He made me leave my car behind, unwilling to take it through the gate. I figured since they didn’t know the nature of my unexpected visit, they were taking no chances. Bombs, anthrax, and all that…
I had my first ride in a golf cart as we sped down the long and winding driveway. He passed the front door, taking us around the side where Marta waited, disapproving as ever. I entered, brushing by her to find Karen coming down the hall.
“Ms. Graves, causing a stir as always.” Her blonde hair was straight and chic, contrasting with her blood-red button-down. She looked flashy, her appearance meant to cause a splash.
She eyed me in return, taking in the frayed jeans and T-shirt. After the recent fracas my long hair was no doubt a rat’s nest. She managed not to sneer, but only just.
“I need to speak with Reed.” And when she didn’t move to take me I gestured impatiently. “Now.”
“He’s in an important meeting, not to be disturbed.” She took some pleasure in saying so, enjoying the control she wielded. “You can wait and meet with him after.”
“Sure,” I said, pretending to comply.
“I’ll guide Ms. Graves from here,” Karen said, addressing Mark dismissively.
I followed her clacking heels into the bowels of the house. I was led to a large room, double doors opened invitingly. Masculine leather chairs were coupled with feminine settees and set fashionably in little groupings. The walls were bedecked in mirrors and paintings, every surface laced with antiques. It was a waiting room, just a bit more ostentatious than my dentist’s.
“Is that Reed’s office?” I asked while pointing to an unobtrusive door nestled in the wall.
“One of them, yes,” she answered primly.
I watched as Karen moved to what must be her own desk, pulling open drawers and shuffling things around. It was pathetic really. She wasn’t working so much as trying to prove how much she knew, how comfortable she was here in Reed’s home.
I toyed with the idea of telling her I was pregnant with his baby and that I’d come to tell him so. But it seemed a bit drastic for this particular situation, so instead I said, “I’d like some water. Please.”
If I had been a business mogul she would have already offered. But I was an interloper, and my request was met with her outrage and overall hostility, feelings so strong that I had to rub my forehead to keep the tension from building. She stood very still behind her desk, unwilling to move just yet. I stared her down until she said, “I’ll call for Marta.”
“You do that,” I replied, intentionally glib.
I waited until her back was turned before I marched over to Reed’s office, throwing the door open. The sight inside was so unexpected that I stood dumbly in the doorway for a moment, unsure what to say.
* * *
Reed had a woman with him, in his arms to be exact. They sat on a loveseat, she a petit creature tucked under his arm, his hands tangled in her hair. I’d say it was a lovers’ embrace, but the situation was stranger than that. They were not alone, though they didn’t know it a ghost observed them from the corner.
The ghost’s image was weak, flickering in and out. But I recognized him. Not an hour ago his body had been shaking me like a baby’s rattle. More than confused, I looked away before he knew I was watching.
“Busy working, huh?” I snapped at Reed, speaking with more bravado than I felt. “No time for your girlfriend?” I added just to make things awkward.
The woman he was holding stirred, untucking her face from his armpit so she could turn and look at me. Unlike Karen’s fixed do, her hair was a rich, natural blonde. She had a heart-shaped face filled with pouty lips and big soft eyes. All of her features were rounded and full. She was, without a doubt, gorgeous. She was also crying. I noticed the tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, taking in the puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She’d stopped sniffling just long enough to look surprised.
Karen ran up from behind me, her shoulder shoving into mine as she pushed through the doorway. “Mr. Wallace, I’m so sorry. I told her to wait.”
“It’s quite alright, Karen,” he said, throwing me a black look. “I’m sure you did.”
Feeling smug, she threw me a triumphant look of her own. It lasted until Reed said, “It’s good that Adelaide’s here though, she can stay for this. You may go, shut the door behind you.”
She sauntered out, offering me a deadly glare on the way. I was momentarily grateful my car was not parked out front. She would’ve slashed my tires in a heartbeat.
“Adelaide, this is Agata Demidov, Anastas’ niece.” Reed turned to Agata, smoothing her ruffled hair. “Agata,” he said, “this is Adelaide. She’s been helping me try to discover the whereabouts of your uncle’s journal.”
Speaking to me, he said, “Agata’s just arrived. I had her flown down from Canada after the incident.”
Agata, who couldn’t be much older than myself, started to cry again. She burrowed herself into Reed’s chest, muffling the sobs.
“Incident?” I prompted, indifferent to the tears.
“There was some trouble with the funeral preparations,” Reed explained, “and Anastas’ burial was delayed for a time. But when the service was finally set to start it was discovered that his body had gone missing.”
Agata’s weeping grew louder.
The more agitated the ghost grew, the less control he had over his form. Mostly he was a churning haze, but every so often a faint flick of his image would appear. His gaze never wavered, remaining steady, every ounce of attention resting on his niece, the pair of them tormented together.
“Anastas,” I said to Agata, “he wasn’t by any chance wearing a pinstriped suit the last time you saw him, was he?”
Agata gasped. “You’ve seen him?”
“Unfortunately.”
Reed’s blue eyes were no longer sympathetic and soft, they’d sharpened somehow. I hated
that look, it was sharkish. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded.
I wasn’t even tempted to resist. I did as he said, describing everything except for Smith. When it came to his part I made up some story about how I got lucky and escaped by the skin of my teeth. But I didn’t stop there, continuing to rant about Reed’s sorry excuse for a staff.
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted in exasperation. “I’ll make sure you have access to the house from now on.”
“So,” I said after a long pause, “Anastas Demidov’s body disappeared in Canada, when was that?”
“Five days ago.”
“Five days,” I repeated. “In five days his body went from Canada—”
“—Ottawa,” Reed supplied.
“—to St. Simons.” Well he didn’t take a bus, and if his mangled feet were any indication, then he had been walking the whole way. No, running more like. “But that doesn’t explain much, I’m obviously missing something. What was the incident you spoke of?”
“Something happened to Agata shortly after the body disappeared. I wanted to bring her here sooner, but she was named Demidov’s executrix, and there were some arrangements to be made. This is the first time I’ve really had a chance to speak with Agata in person,” Reed said pointedly.
Yes, I understood. He’d been charming the details out of her when I burst through the door. From the tears I could guess most of what she’d say.
I lowered myself into the chair across from them, settling in. “Well, let’s hear it then,” I said to Agata.
Reed frowned, disapproving of my callous behavior. I guess he wasn’t interested in playing good cop/bad cop then.
Agata pulled away from Reed to sit upright on the loveseat. He kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders, watching intently as she wiped her nose with the crumpled tissue she’d been clutching. Every time I looked at her she seemed younger somehow, more fragile. Executrix? I couldn’t imagine anyone leaving her in charge of anything.
“I...” she said, sounding uncertain. She paused to sniff once. “Well, my uncle’s body went missing, so then I had to file a police report, and it took a while. I didn’t go home afterwards because I had a lot of stuff to sort through at his house, so I went there to work.” Her hands began to tremble. “I was just packing up some of the art,” and here she turned to Reed. “He collected it you know.” He nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I’d just wrapped up a painting when my... when the body appeared.” Turning to me with those big, teary eyes, she said, “It was just like you explained. He... it, asked for the book. At first I didn’t understand what it meant, but it just kept saying the same thing over and over again.” She broke off, having gone somewhat hysterical. Reed began to rub her back, speaking a slow stream of soothing babble.
I grew impatient and hastened to end the story. “So you told him about Theodore Dunn.”
“Yeeess,” she bawled in remorse.
“Really there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I said truthfully. “I would have told him too if I’d known where it was.”
Reed looked at me, his expression turning flinty. “I find it odd that Demidov’s body singled you out so quickly from an entire island of people.”
“It’s a small island,” I said flippantly. This only increased his suspicion, and I was forced into yelling. “What! I don’t have the journal. You think I’d keep it from a... a... Well what the hell is that thing?”
“A demon,” Reed answered.
Chapter 42
“Really?” I said, voice squealing my disbelief. “Huh. I would have guessed zombie, though obviously your answer makes more sense.”
“Agata looked through the journal before passing it to Theodore. She read enough to know that a demon is using her uncle’s body.” To Agata he said, “Would you try to remember exactly what you read? It would help us immensely.”
She nodded, a little in awe of him, happy to do anything he asked. “According to my uncle, demons can only enter this realm when invited, no, called, or maybe it was summoned.” She sighed. “I don’t remember the word for it,” she admitted, rubbing her eyes. “He wrote about the process in detail, but since I didn’t understand I skimmed through it.”
I wanted to groan, but remained tactfully silent.
“I did read about the bargain he made. My uncle wanted information, you see, so he made a deal. The demon answered all of his questions in exchange for limited use of my uncle’s body.”
“What? They don’t have bodies of their own?”
“Apparently not,” Reed answered.
“I don’t think so,” Agata agreed. “My uncle described the demon as an evanescent creature with an inconceivable appearance and personality. He wrote down its name, but it was strange and foreign sounding so I don’t remember that either. It might have started with an R.”
I ignored that last comment as well, asking the next, most obvious question. “So if your uncle is dead then why is this demon still running around inside his body?” She shrugged, but I was already looking to Reed for the answer.
“It’s all conjecture at this point,” he said. “The demon has taken great pains to track down its own information. I would assume that it revealed some secrets to Anastas that it thought would never be passed on.”
“Yeah, but how is the demon still running around in Anastas’ body?” I pressed. “Wouldn’t you assume that his death was a deal breaker?”
“My uncle wrote pages and pages warning how dangerous dealing with demons could be.” I thought he should have taken his own advice. “They’ll manipulate the most minor oversights, and they’re often wily with interpretations. He said that, my uncle.”
“So what are you saying?” I asked her. “That he was careless and left a loophole in their agreement?”
“No,” she defended, “he was careful. My uncle would never agree to anything without thinking it through first. I read the stipulations, and he was very specific about the duration his body would be used and the condition of its return.”
Anastas Demidov was an idiot.
Agata must have read my thoughts, or maybe just my expression, because she grew angry. “How could he know he was going to die?” she yelled. “How could anyone plan for such a thing!”
Yep, she was really mad. And I was the recipient of her emotions, both because I was an empath and an easy target. The ghost was pretty pissed too, but not at me thankfully. He was an agitated mist, churning in the corner, frustrated by his own foolhardy past and the current helplessness of the situation. It was a set of emotions I recognized often in Smith.
“So...” I said, attempting to defuse the situation. “How does one go about getting rid of a demon?”
“I just want my uncle’s body back!” Agata wailed. “I need to bury him,” she sobbed. “I shouldn’t have sold his journal, I shouldn’t—”
Her words broke off as Reed pulled her close, her face pressed to his chest. He laid his cheek on her hair, murmuring, “Don’t worry, I’ll get him back. I’ll take care of it.”
She was comforted by his promise, and the weeping soon subsided. It was strange to experience someone else’s reassurance, especially to the words I had always mistrusted.
But I knew better because I knew Reed. Beneath his current tender exterior was an impatient man. There was no sympathy, no affection, only an indifferent intent. This was business for him and nothing more.
Agata had calmed, though she continued to snuggle up and snot all over Reed’s expensive suit. He spoke over her head. “Our options are limited. If Anastas were here he could revoke the invitation, sending the demon back to its own realm.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“She told me earlier.”
Agata was awake; I could see her eyelashes flutter. But she remained silent, even as we talked about her, as if she was letting the grownups speak.
“And the other options?” I asked.
<
br /> “I’m looking into both ritual and religious rites concerning the expulsion of spirits.”
My eyes goggled. “An exorcism?”
He nodded.
“If the demon is just after his secrets then why can’t we hand the book back when we find it?”
“No,” Reed said forcefully, and I felt something akin to greed. “We’re not sure what this demon is after,” he hurried to explain. “For now we can only guess. Besides,” he added, “you haven’t even found it yet.”
I’d underestimated how badly Reed wanted the journal for himself. He wouldn’t turn it over to the demon for anything, relying on an exorcism instead. But there had been another option, something Reed couldn’t hope to achieve. But I could, because I was staring at Anastas Demidov, the only one capable of uninviting his guest.
* * *
“I’d like to sleep on your couch if that’s okay with you.” You would think that after all the time I spent fantasizing about this moment, it might be, well, different.
I hadn’t gone home, driving straight to Lucas’ instead, knowing I was too tired to climb the fence. After a little of my knocking he’d opened the door wearing only a pair of sagging cargo shorts. A pleasant sight. But I hadn’t come to ogle. I had come because I couldn’t stand to go home.
Between being burgled by Raina and assaulted by a dead man, the last two days had been rough. Not to mention that Stephen was now mad at me. Add him to the growing list. I just wanted... comfort, I guess.
Lucas opened the door wide, stepping back to let me pass. I trudged into the living room, thinking of all the things I wanted to do. Getting out of my smelly clothes and showering were high on the list. I was also a little hungry. But all that fell in line behind the bone-deep fatigue. It was hard just to mutter, “I’m tired.”
“Come on,” he said, gesturing to the stairwell. “Sleep in the bed.”
“No,” I protested, though I was already following him up the stairs. “I couldn’t make you sleep on the couch.”
“You’re not. I’m sleeping in the bed too.”