I huddled on the seat, gaining fresh insights as to why no one ever wanted to sit back here. My knees stuck into Mrs. Kendricks’ seat and the top of my head intersected the roof. I folded myself up into the available space as best I could and tried to come up with a plan to free Mrs. Kendricks from my imposter’s thrall.
I can’t touch them, I told myself glumly, I can’t talk to them, I can’t contact anybody, I can’t use my spells. I’m completely useless. Not-Peter was going to get Dr. Bellowes’ journal and there wasn’t a thing I could do to prevent it. Maybe Dara showed up at Mrs. Kendricks’ house, I thought, trying to fan a tiny spark of hope into life. She might be able to stop him.
Except he looks exactly like you, Little Peter reminded me. She’s not going to attack him.
She did back at the apartment, I countered. She knew he was a Cubist as soon as she saw him.
Whatever the hell that is. If Little Peter had eyes, he would have rolled them.
It doesn’t matter. If Dara’s there, Olivia will let her know what’s happening and they’ll be ready for him.
So that’s your plan? You hope Dara will stab him as soon as he walks through the door?
Do you have a better idea? He didn’t respond and we continued the rest of the way in silence.
Not-Peter pulled over to the curb a short distance from Mrs. Kendricks’ house, scanning the block with a scowl. I followed suit but there was no one else in sight, ghost, demon, or otherwise.
“Get out,” he ordered, turning off the engine, and Mrs. Kendricks obeyed. He hurried around the Mustang to take her arm again as I slipped out and stood nearby. “You have defenses around the house, right?” She nodded slowly. “Shut them off.”
She hesitated, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “I –”
“Do it!” he snapped, shaking her roughly. I seriously considered punching him but since he wouldn’t feel it, I reined in my temper with difficulty.
Mrs. Kendricks raised her arms and gestured, murmuring phrases under her breath. I didn’t see anything different but Not-Peter straightened with a smile. “Much better,” he said. “Let’s go.”
I followed them across the street and up the walkway to the front door. He reached for the door latch and then pulled back. “Open the door,” he told her and she complied. It was unlocked and she stepped inside with him on her heels.
“Peter!” I heard Olivia’s relieved voice from further inside. “You found her! That’s wonderful!”
Not-Peter closed the door in my face but I pushed through it, finding Olivia perched on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. Her welcoming smile faltered as she looked at Not-Peter and then at me and then at him again.
“Peter?” she asked hesitantly. “What’s going on?”
“That’s the imposter,” I informed her tersely. “He’s got Mrs. Kendricks under some sort of mind control spell.”
“Oh my God!” she gasped. “What are we going to do?”
“You have to stop him.”
“Me?” she squeaked. “How?”
“I don’t know! Trip him, hit him, stab him! Anything!”
“Get the journal,” Not-Peter ordered, oblivious to our exchange. Mrs. Kendricks nodded and walked down the hallway towards her bedroom and he followed close behind. Olivia looked around frantically and reached for the one of the knives sticking out of a butcher’s block holder on the counter. It was heavy, though, and it slipped through her insubstantial fingers and clattered onto the counter.
Not-Peter started and spun around, searching for the source of the sound as Mrs. Kendricks continued on down the hall. He eased into the kitchen and Olivia backed away from him nervously. “Do something!” I hissed at her. I tried to grab him as he passed but he didn’t notice me at all.
He frowned at the knife lying on the counter and then looked around the kitchen floor. “Merlin?” he called. “Is that you?”
“How does he know about Merlin?” Olivia wondered breathlessly.
“It doesn’t matter! Grab the knife and get him!”
“But –”
“Do it!”
Not-Peter straightened with a frown, the ring’s engraving flashing as he drummed his fingers on the island, and then his gaze fell on Olivia’s note to Mrs. Kendricks. He snatched it up, scanning it quickly, and then spat a phrase that no human throat should ever have been able to produce. He tore the note up into confetti and threw the bits into the sink, washing them down in the drain and running the garbage disposal for good measure.
Olivia sidled back towards the counter, reaching for the knife, as he surveyed the kitchen carefully. “Olivia?” he asked quietly. “Are you here?”
She froze in surprise with her hand outstretched. “He can’t see you,” I assured her. “Get the knife!”
She nodded jerkily and then jumped back as Not-Peter took two long strides and grabbed the knife himself. He held it in a fighter’s grip, moving it back and forth menacingly.
“I can’t hurt you,” he growled, “but I can hurt Mrs. Kendricks. Don’t try to interfere or she’ll pay the price.”
“Oh my God,” Olivia whispered. “What do we do now?”
“Here it is.”
Mrs. Kendricks stood at the end of the hall, holding out a small book. It was about the size of a skinny paperback novel, with a worn leather cover bearing the same symbol as the ring. I remembered it now. Dr. Bellowes had consulted it as he prepared to feed Susie’s soul to Metraxion.
“Perfect,” Not-Peter smirked. “Bring it here.”
Mrs. Kendricks complied but I suddenly saw our opportunity. “Olivia, grab that book and run! Don’t let him catch you!”
For once, Olivia acted instantly. She bounded past Not-Peter and plucked the journal from Mrs. Kendrick’s outstretched hand. She ran for the front door, which was still ajar, and then looked back at me. “What do I do with it?” she asked anxiously, staring wide-eyed at Not-Peter as he tried to process the fact that his prize just flew across the room of its own accord.
“Just run as fast as you can!” I urged her. “Whatever you do, don’t let him get that book! I’ll catch up with you later!”
“Where?”
A dozen different places sprang to mind but Not-Peter seemed to know everything about me and probably knew about all of them. Where can a ghost go to hide? “The cemetery!” I shouted. “Go!”
She went, just as Not-Peter surged forward with a look of fury twisting his features, the knife still clutched in his fist. I jumped in front of him, hoping to distract him or slow him down, but he passed right through me without slowing. I raced after him and caught up with him on the walkway, scanning all around, but there was no sign of Olivia or the journal and no way to tell which way she’d gone.
Not-Peter threw back his head and yelled another throat-scarring word at the sky in frustration, pitching the knife all the way into the street where it skittered and bounced all the way to the far curb. He turned away and stomped back into the house and my non-existent heart jumped into my throat, fearful of what he might do to Mrs. Kendricks now that his plans were thwarted.
She was still standing where we left her but she was staring at her hands with a puzzled frown, as if she was wondering what she was supposed to be doing. Not-Peter grabbed her wrists and jerked her forward.
“Forget any of this happened,” he snarled as his ring flared brighter than ever. “Forget about the library and demon possession and all of that. Forget about Dr. Bellowes and his ring and that journal. You’ve been here alone all day. If Dara or Olivia come back here, everything they say about me is a lie. Understand?”
“I understand,” she murmured.
Merlin appeared behind her, a raspy growl filling the air as his tail flicked menacingly. He crouched low with his claws splayed, ready to leap upon the intruder, and Not-Peter shoved Mrs. Kendricks away. She stumbled backwards, forcing Merlin to leap out of the way, and she fell against the wall with a solid thump, sliding to the ground looking dazed.
He stood over her as she tried to push herself upright and his eyes dropped to her cleavage. “Damn it,” he muttered with an angry shake of his head. He turned his back on her and stalked out the front door, slamming it behind him.
I hesitated, dithering between following him and helping Mrs. Kendricks, but since I couldn’t do anything for her, I could only hope that she’d be all right. I phased through the door and ran towards the Mustang as Not-Peter started it up. I made it back inside two seconds before he peeled away down the street.
Now what? I wondered, watching him glare through the windshield. Where’s he going now? Where would I go if I were him? He wants that journal, which means he needs to find Olivia, but he can’t see ghosts. Who else can track her down for him? It has to be someone magical, someone who’s good at finding missing people.
“Oh, shit,” I murmured as the answer suddenly came to me. “Susie.”
6
Fear is arguably our most important emotion. From the moment we’re born to the day we die, fear minimizes the risks we take and thereby maximizes our chances of making it through another day. The doubt we experience when confronting a new situation, the fight-or-flight reflex that kicks in when something unexpected happens, the hesitation we feel before leaping into the unknown, give us that precious moment to reconsider our options and, hopefully, make the right choice. Fear is good.
Phobia, on the other hand, is fear gone feral, where the subconscious mind overreacts to the situation and causes more problems than it solves. There are recognized phobias for just about anything you can imagine, from acrophobia – the fear of heights – to zemmiphobia – the fear of the giant mole rat. There’s even phobophobia, the fear of fear itself. If you have that, you’re pretty much screwed.
One phobia that doesn’t come up all that often is sororophobia, the fear of your sister. Melissa possesses some incredibly dark powers along with a number of anger and trust issues but I don’t stay up at night worrying that she’ll go all fire and brimstone on me without warning. Susie is completely different. She might not be able to wreak the same level of havoc that Melissa can but what she can do she’ll do without a moment of hesitation or remorse. In her case, I think a little fear is justified.
Not-Peter drove just fast enough to attract the attention of any police officer assigned to speed enforcement and just slow enough to be let off with a warning. None of Hellburn’s finest spotted us, though, and we pulled up in front of the house without incident.
He jumped out of the car and slammed the door without locking it, either because he was planning to leave shortly or he didn’t care if anyone stole it. He strode to the gate in the picket fence and fumbled with the latch before finally yanking it open with a snarl. He clearly didn’t know the trick to it, which made me feel a bit better about the situation. He didn’t actually know everything I did, although he knew enough to convince the people around him that he was me.
Was he following me around while I was alive, I wondered uneasily, or did he read my memories before he killed me? Neither possibility was particularly reassuring.
I had to run to catch up to him as he hurried to the front door and flung it open, marching straight in. He headed for the bedrooms but a surprised hail came from the kitchen.
“Peter!” Mom stood in the doorway to the laundry room with an armload of folded towels. “What are you doing here?”
He scarcely glanced at her. “I just need to talk to Susie,” he said curtly.
“She’s not here.”
That stopped him. “What?” He glared at her like Susie’s absence was her fault. “Where is she?”
“She went off with Cameron a couple of hours ago. Are you feeling all right?” she asked worriedly. “You looked flushed.”
“I’m fine,” he gritted between his teeth. “Where did they go?”
“They didn’t say. You know how shy she gets when she’s around Cameron.” Susie didn’t have a shy bone in her body, but she did get sullen and resentful whenever Mom tried to pry into her love life. For my part, I was relieved Susie was out of his reach, at least for the moment. That gave us time to come up with a plan to stop him.
Not-Peter clearly didn’t agree with my assessment of the situation. He uttered a sharp four-letter word that I was reasonably certain Mom had never heard fall from my lips before. “Peter!” she gasped, taking a step back.
Behind us, the door to Dad’s office opened and he stepped out, looking us over with a frown. It was strange to see him in a worn plaid shirt and paint-smudged jeans but he had Mondays off.
“Is everything okay out here?” he asked, in a tone that clearly indicated he’d overheard Not-Peter’s expletive.
My imposter visibly composed himself as he casually slipped his left hand into his pocket. When he removed it a moment later, Dr. Bellowes’ ring was missing. “Everything’s fine, Dad,” he said easily. “I just needed to talk to Susie about something. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?”
“I didn’t even know she was out.” He cast a look at Mom, who shrugged apologetically. “Does this have anything to do with, ah,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “magic?” Even though both of them had seen witches and demons in action first-hand, Mom and Dad still had trouble accepting that magic was real.
“No,” Not-Peter told them. “Well, yes, but it’s nothing important. I just wanted her help with something. I’ll try to call her later.”
He edged towards the door, obviously anxious to leave. Mom and Dad watched him with vaguely puzzled looks, as if they were wondering why I was behaving so oddly. I was surprised he didn’t just try to take control of them and avoid this whole conversation. Maybe he can only handle one person at a time, I thought hopefully. Maybe there’s safety in numbers.
“So, Peter,” Dad said, “I thought you were on the midnight shift this week.”
“Uh, yeah, I am,” Not-Peter said, his hand on the door latch.
“Then why are you still wearing your uniform? You’re off-duty now.”
He looked down at himself. “Right. Sorry, I’ve just been running around since I got off work.” He tried on a sheepish smile and failed miserably. “I’m heading over to the apartment to change right now.”
“Good,” Dad nodded. “So how was your first patrol? Anything interesting happen?”
“Ah, no, nothing really. It was quiet all night. Well, gotta go!” He was out the door before anyone could react, leaving Mom and Dad blinking at each other.
“Peter’s acting awfully strangely,” Mom observed, setting her towels on the counter. “Do you think something’s wrong?”
“The shift report said he and Cruz brought in a burglary suspect this morning,” Dad frowned. “Why didn’t he mention it when I asked?”
“Maybe he didn’t want us to worry about him,” she suggested, although she looked pretty worried now.
“He’s in the wrong line of work, then. I’ll call Bill and see if anything happened that wasn’t in the report.” He went back into his office and Mom stood in the doorway, hugging herself as she listened in.
Watching her standing there, I was suddenly reminded that they didn’t know I was dead. It felt like a punch to the gut. I’ll never be able to talk to them again, I realized bleakly. I’ll never be able to hold them and tell them I love them.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I told her softly. “I wish things turned out differently. Don’t be too sad when you find out about me. At least I tried to –” A V8 engine suddenly roared to life outside, reminding me that this wasn’t over yet. “Shit!”
I sprinted outside but the Mustang was already well down the block. I sagged in defeat, kicking myself mentally. It was sheer luck that I crossed paths my murderer the first time, there was no way I’d ever find him again. We were so screwed.
I plodded back towards the house, searching for inspiration. How are we going to track him down and stop him before he takes control of someone else, I thought gloomily, or worse, kills somebody? At leas
t Susie’s safe for now.
I stopped with my hand halfway through the front door. Susie! If she can find Dara, she can find this guy, right? The only problem was, I didn’t know where she was either. Maybe she left something in her room that’ll give me a hint.
I reentered the house and hurried towards Susie’s bedroom. As I passed Dad’s office, I heard him say, “What do you mean, odd? What happened?” I carefully leaned past Mom to peek into the room. Dad was standing by his desk with his cellphone pressed to his ear, listening with pursed lips. “I see. He wasn’t just nervous? Okay. Did you notice anything else?” His brows knitted together. “Should we reassign him?”
“What? No!” I gasped. “I barely had a chance to – oh, wait.” I’d never be going on patrol ever again.
“All right,” Dad nodded. “Thanks for the heads up, Bill. Keep an eye on things and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He hung up and perused his phone.
“What did she say?” Mom prompted.
“He said Peter seemed different when he and Cruz brought in the burglary suspect,” he reported. “He says he seemed arrogant, maybe even cocky.”
“Did it go to his head?” she asked doubtfully. “That doesn’t seem like him.”
“No, it doesn’t. He’ll tell Cruz to watch him on the shift tonight. If it’s still a problem, I’ll have a chat with him tomorrow.”
“Chief-to-rookie or father-to-son?” she smiled.
“Maybe a bit of both,” he said, quirking the corner of his mouth. “So what’s this about Susie and Cameron running off without telling anyone?”
“You make it sound like they eloped,” Mom chided him. “They just went swimming.”
“Swimming?” I perked up at that.
“I thought you didn’t know where they went,” Dad frowned.
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