It was a done deal, I could feel it. Ed was no longer restraining the investigator, who was busy asking Reed the details of their contract. I slipped away and no one stopped me. I doubted if they even noticed.
I was still feeling miserable, but rushed energetically for the limo regardless. I rapped the glass twice with my knuckles before popping the door open. Agata was inside, wide-eyed and staring. “Uh, hello,” she said hesitantly.
I ignored her, glancing around the interior. A pair of tan leather bench seats faced each other, and sure enough, swirling in the corner was a ghost. “Come on,” I said to Anastas.
“Where?” Agata asked, afraid and confused.
“I’m not talking to you.” I barely spared her a glance before turning back to her uncle. His image had flickered, showing me the impression of his once living form. His eyes were much like his niece’s, equally wide with confusion. “Yes you,” I assured him. “Come with me, I need to speak with you about dismissing your demon.”
“What?” Agata gasped. She was starting to sniffle and I glimpsed a quivering lip.
“I’m not talking to you,” I repeated, losing patience. I gestured for the ghost to hurry. “Come on, I haven’t got all day.”
Unsurprisingly, Agata started to cry. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” she wailed. I shut the door on her, relieved when the ghost drifted out. He motioned back at the car, expressing his desire to stay with her.
“No, you’re coming with me so I can figure out how to dismiss the demon. When that’s done, feel free to haunt Agata all you like.”
I didn’t get a chance to explain more, the three men came clomping up the wooden planks, mounting the sandy drop-off. The wormy investigator said he’d pull around, preparing to follow Reed home and sign the papers. He no longer felt like shit. Reed strode toward me while Ed ducked into the limo. Agata’s sobbing escaped the interior briefly until Ed shut the driver’s door.
“What did you say to her?” Reed asked.
I shrugged vaguely. “When I started talking she got confused. You should send her to therapy, I think she’s traumatized.” I wasn’t lying, she did need therapy. Anyone would be scarred after seeing their uncle rise from the dead, even if they knew it was a demon that made him do it.
Reed didn’t believe me, but he wasn’t mad either.
I decided it was best to change the subject. “I suppose you expect me to thank you for paying off that asshat.”
“On the contrary,” Reed said smoothly. “I was acting in my own best interests. If your whereabouts were disclosed then I would have nothing to blackmail you with.”
“Your own best interest,” I echoed. “Like telling me about Tim was a ruse, really you were just stalling until my stalker got caught. There I was, nagging about how all I needed was information, and you never once thought ‘Hey, I think I’ll explain to Adelaide what we’re really doing here.’”
“And ruin the surprise?” Reed asked. “Never.”
“You manipulative bastard,” I muttered. I didn’t expect a reply. I’d already turned to my car with the ghost trailing after.
* * *
I told Anastas he had to ride in the back, car rules. I told him a lot of things while I drove. The soulier he was, the better. So I chattered (something very unfitting to my overall personality) and glanced in the rearview mirror every now and again to make sure he hadn’t drifted away.
It wasn’t like riding in the car with Smith, who sat in the passenger seat whether I wanted him to or not. Smith was much more... well, just more. Anastas was thready, his emotions barely coming through. His image was a puff of smoke more often than not, and he seemed perpetually confused. I chalked that up to his being the recently deceased, he was still adjusting.
When we got home I pulled the Ouija board out from under the couch, explaining how it worked. And things would have kept chugging right along if not for Smith. He stepped through my closed front door, took one look at Anastas, and rained down to a puddle of agitated moisture. His loss of control said a lot about his emotions, so did his emotions. He was angry, maybe even jealous.
“It’s not like I’m cheating on you,” I snapped. “I have to help Anastas or the demon is just going to keep using his dead body to hunt around town!”
Smith had re-formed by then, but his image wavered, giving the impression that he quivered in anger. But he did nothing more than narrow his eyes, fuming no doubt. It wasn’t like he could argue back, though I thought it was incongruous that he could hit me. But he didn’t, choosing instead to leave in a snit. I wouldn’t see him for a few days. That was his MO.
I knew Smith wanted something from me, expected something. And he just kept waiting. It was frustrating for us both, because I had no idea what he was trying to tell me. And half the time he was no help at all, turning cagey when I asked the wrong questions. That was how I knew he’d be gone for a few days—I was used to his running.
I turned my attention back to the very uncomfortable Anastas. Speaking calmly to assuage his anxiety, I said, “Let’s start.” Having already explained how the Ouija board worked there was nothing more to do but settle onto the couch and begin. “Will I need to know the demon’s name for its dismissal?”
Anastas’ image was breaking, floating tendrils of smoke wafting off as if the wind was stealing him piece by piece. But he did as I said, urging me to stop when my planchette hovered over the correct answer. And I felt his responded yes as if it were spoken aloud.
“Is there anything else I’ll need to dismiss it?”
He didn’t react to yes or no, and at first I thought he was either too new or too stupid to communicate properly, but then I saw him gesturing to his chest.
“Yes,” I said, comprehending, “I know you’re supposed to be the one to say it. But since you’re dead we’re going to have to improvise.” I told him my plan, asking, “Do you think it’ll work?”
Again he seemed to find yes and no both lacking.
I rephrased, “Do you think it’s worth a try?”
Yes.
“Alright then,” I said feeling hopeful, “let’s work on spelling its name out next.”
It was a long and tedious process. By the end I knew what Agata had meant when she said it sounded foreign. I also forgave her for not remembering. No one could have remembered that. It was a monstrosity, absurd by any standards.
R-A-U-L-R-I-E-C-H-M-Y-D-L
“That’s it? You’re sure?” I questioned. “Then let’s go before we lose our nerve,” I said, standing to look for my flashlight.
* * *
I had planned to come home, get pretty, and see Lucas. But those plans were ruined, first by Reed and now the demon. I had to go find the stinky thing, and if I was lucky, cast it back to whatever hell-hole realm it came from.
I packed the flashlight in my satchel, along with a small Swiss army knife. I was hungry, but forewent adding food, thinking I’d need to be on full alert with no time to eat.
The ghost required no coaxing to follow. He was already dead and out of harm’s way. I, on the other hand, was scared shitless. I tried not to let it show, humming throughout the entire car ride. But my throaty vibrations tapered off upon approaching Goodfellows. It looked the same as yesterday, eerie and old.
I parked and my car backfired twice before I pulled the key from the ignition, then came the agitated metal ticking and clicking noises that I didn’t understand. If that didn’t get the demon’s attention I didn’t know what would. I eased out of the car, glancing around cautiously as I went. I didn’t smell anything off, so I was safe for the time being.
“Go look around,” I told the ghost. “Warn me if it’s here.” I waited until Anastas drifted off before moving. I meant to climb the hill, to walk around the cemetery. But I couldn’t make it past the iron arch, my feet refusing to move.
Though it was now summertime, it felt cold out, and I
shivered from a bone-deep chill. Eventually Anastas returned, a spectral mist gliding swiftly over the grass and tombstones. He had nothing to say, which pretty much said it all.
I waited for hours. I waited, hoping the demon would show, and felt grateful when it did not. Besides wait, I had no idea what else to do, no clue where to look. There were numerous places a demon could hide a dead body on the island, swampy places no one would see. But I didn’t want to go trudging through the marshland, so I waited and waited.
I used the time wisely, whispering to the ghost, telling him anything and everything just to make him souly. He was a little sad. I wasn’t sure if it was because he missed Agata’s company, or because he was dead in general. After a few hours I was so hungry I started rooting around my satchel even though I knew there was no food inside. It made me feel better to look, but only until I didn’t find anything, then I just got cranky. And still I waited. I waited until the island seemed to stir, finally dragging myself home by the dawn’s early light.
Fucking unreliable demons.
Chapter 45
“Good morning,” I said to Francesca, sliding a sprinkled donut across the front desk. Having managed one reasonably agreeable phone conversation already, I thought it was safe to approach her. And after that terrifying night of demon hunting, I hadn’t been able to sleep this morning so I thought I might as well check up on Tim Beckett. The donut was not only a peace offering, but a bribe.
Francesca eyed it, noticing the smear of glaze on the counter. “You’re up early,” she said, quick to wipe up the mess and remove the donut from sight. It went behind the desk, set aside for later on a piece of copy paper. Turning back, she studied me more closely. “You look like shit.”
I nodded in understanding, having already glimpsed myself in the mirror. “I didn’t sleep last night.”
“Oh?” she asked, conveying a whole message in one breathy tone.
“No, I wasn’t having sex,” I corrected. The elderly gentleman who’d been browsing the brochures chuffed in disapproval and moved away. “Is Tim Beckett staying here?” I asked, changing the subject before she could start spouting out more advice.
“Let me check,” Francesca answered, shifting over to the computer. “The name sounds familiar,” she said absently while typing. She stopped. “Is he about our age, real twitchy, wears rumpled clothes all the time?”
“Yeah,” I said, “that’s the guy.”
“I only remember because he got into an argument with Reed yesterday right here in the lobby.”
I thought I could guess why. “Can I search his room?”
She shrugged. “Sure. He just left. But I’m not sure how long he’ll be gone,” she warned, reaching for the spare key. “What are you looking for anyway?”
“A diary,” I admitted, seeing no reason to lie.
“Does it look all old and leathery like a Bible?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Why?”
“Because he just took it with him,” she said, sliding me the key. “342. Don’t get caught.”
I ignored it, asking, “Where did he go?”
“Shh,” Francesca scolded, glancing around to make sure my raised voice hadn’t attracted attention.
The Crowne’s foyer was large, done up to have an elegant island feel. Butter toned marble made the floor appear glossy and warm, with potted palm trees dotted here and there. One man sat reading the newspaper on a large claw foot couch in a windowed alcove. But he was ignoring us.
Francesca flashed a jaunty smile. “I know where he’s going because he asked me for directions.”
“Where?” I impatiently asked.
“That park in Brunswick, the one where we fed geese last year. It’s closed for construction though. I tried to warn him, but he didn’t seem to care.”
I barely had time to call my thanks, promising I owed her big as I ran for the door.
* * *
The parking lot had seen better days. Trucks and equipment were left out haphazardly, parked crooked more often than not. One overzealous driver had popped the curb, leaving his tire to rest in the median planter, shrubs squished flat. A sign had been put up proclaiming the park temporarily closed. I ignored it, coasting around until I found a spot to squeeze into. Mine was not the only car, though I wasn’t sure if Tim drove a Kia. But judging from his personality I would guess yes.
“Wait here,” I told Anastas. He sat in the backseat, following me around obediently. He’d proven more patient and loyal than even my pet ghost. As reward, he was growing more substantial, his form now a transparent body and not a milky mass.
I opened the door slowly, trying to minimize the screech. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to be a little covert. With that in mind I didn’t go dashing off across the park. I hovered behind an empty dumpster, scanning the area.
It was much the same as when I’d been here last, level grounds complete with manicured grass. Most of the trees had been cleared away over time with only the largest surviving, those lucky few that were so old the community agreed it would be a shame to destroy them. Tucked away in one corner was a playground with swings, the area beset by benches for the less active parents. A two lane track ringed the property, weaving through the tree line. It had passed behind the bleachers that sat on the far side of the park. I squinted, finding that the bleachers were gone. What had once been a baseball diamond was now an utter wreck. More equipment was parked over there, much more. It looked as though they were putting in a public pool, if the giant gaping pit was anything to go by.
But where was Tim? Having not seen him I almost gave up, thinking he hadn’t come after all. But then the wind blew to reveal him, setting the branches of a large weeping willow to swing. For just that moment I could see him sitting under the drooping tree. He was propped against the trunk, a book held in his hands.
Tim Beckett didn’t frighten me and I couldn’t think of a better time to confront him than now. I was striding forward when the view hit me, the closer angle giving me a different perspective.
A few shrubs had grown up around the tree’s base. There was a large oval shaped bush which I could easily imagine as the head, and two smaller circular ones where the feet would be. It was a big green turtle, just like the seer had said. A useless bit of prophesy for all the good it did me, fucking seers and their cryptic bullshit.
I pushed the branches aside as if they were a curtain. Tim was stressed out and anxious before he even looked up, but when he saw me he jerked the book shut and pulled it to his chest in a protective sort of way, stress levels nearly doubling.
“Is that the diary?” I asked, not bothering to mince words. It was just like Francesca said, old and leathery, the edges frayed from wear.
“What?” he asked slowly. “I— I came here to read. I thought I would be alone.” He looked pathetic, his sagging khakis rolled up to reveal a truly disgusting pair of sandals. His toes poked out, hairy and pale.
I didn’t want to be condescending, so I did my best not to sneer down at him. But I couldn’t help it. He was just such a weasel. “What were you planning to do with it?” I asked, still standing a few yards back.
He was staring past, unable to meet my eye. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I took a few steps closer, shortening the distance between us. “Did Theodore give it to you, all trusting like? Or did you have to pry it from his cold dead fingers?”
Upset, he started to shake his head in denial. I lunged forward, stumbling to my knees in order to grab the journal. He tried to twist away, but I smashed his foot with my knee and elbowed him in the ribs. Tim doubled over as I wrenched the thing from his slack fingers.
I stood, the journal tucked under one arm while I swatted the dirt from my pants. “You’re a real shit you know,” I said, not bothering to look at him. He didn’t say anything back, and I left him there, heading for my car.
The sun seemed
brighter when I stepped out from under the weeping willow’s cover. I felt marginally better with the book in my hands, though I wasn’t sure what to do next. Drive to Reed’s and drop it off?
Tim jogged up behind me; I could hear him coming. He kept time with my fast pace, holding his ribs and panting from the effort. “You don’t understand,” he whined. “Just give it back and everything will be okay.”
“Go away.”
He wasn’t even looking at me. He kept darting glances over my shoulder to the parking lot. “Please,” he begged, “there isn’t much time.”
“Fuck off!” I snarled.
He whimpered, but not from my harsh treatment. I followed the line of his eyes, discovering what had frightened him. It was Raina Thompson strolling through the parking lot, and what was worse, Beagban was behind her.
Chapter 46
“You were going to give it to them!” I shrieked, rounding on Tim in anger. It didn’t make sense. Why wait all this time to give it away? Perhaps he’d been holding out for more money.
Tim did the most unexpected thing, jumping at me to grab the book back. I jabbed my elbow at him threateningly and he subsided to a sullen standstill.
“You aren’t going to be easy, are you?” Raina called while coming closer, covering the distance with Beagban at her heel.
“Well, I’m not just going to give it to you,” I said, throwing Tim a contemptuous look.
She only smiled, hands on hip.
I edged a few steps away from them all, cradling the journal behind two crossed arms.
“Beagban, get the book. But remember what Lars said,” she reminded. “Do whatever you want, but clean up your own mess after.”
He was filled with anticipation, pleasure even. To feel the satisfaction he would derive from killing me was utterly revolting. I watched with dread as he grunted his assent at Raina, pacing forward with slow and measured steps.
I turned and ran, causing Tim to stumble back as I brushed past. I heard him shout at me, one last plea to give him the book. But I didn’t stop, not even when my flip-flops clacked in protest. I kicked them off without missing a step. With Beagban between me and my car there was only one place to go—the construction site. It was the only thing around that offered cover.