Murray’s hold on the book loosened, and it slid out of her hands. “I think you might be right. He’s coming… he’s coming right through that portal… and we’re right—” A brilliant blue light shot out from the vortex and caught her midsentence. She screamed as the ray raced through her body, sending her into a convulsion. Then—in what felt like a slow-mo instant replay—she stiffened and fell to the ground. She landed face first, inches from the corner of the footboard to my bed. Any closer and she would have cracked her skull.
“Murray!” Oh, my God, was she dead? Was she breathing? I dropped to the floor and crawled to her side. As I grabbed her wrist, I prayed for a pulse. Let her live, please let her live. There—faint and thready, she had a pulse. She was alive.
I had to get her out of there. I forced my way to my feet and started to lean over to drag her out of the room, but a sucking noise, like a caterpillar squirming out of a cocoon, stopped me. The sand had run out—the hourglass was empty. Something was coming through the vortex. No time to cry, no time to scream, no time to do anything except leave Murray where she was as I grabbed the loose pages that had scattered out of Nanna’s journal. The light shifted as a dark shadow forced its way through. Hell and high water, Mr. B & U was in the building.
If he had ever been human, it was no longer apparent. The creature stood well over seven feet high and was a silhouette of black hair, matted by some unholy aniniotic fluid. He was illuminated by only his brilliant eyes and by a nimbus of the neon energy that glowed like cobalt. He started toward Murray, then stopped and turned in my direction. Soft laughter echoed through the room, rising like thunder drums. I knew that laughter; I’d heard it before.
I cautiously took a step back and found myself flat against the wall. I could see Murray to my right. She moaned a little and turned, curling into a fetal position. Another person hurt because of me. Furious, so angry I felt like the brilliant white center of a candle flame, I whirled on the creature. “What the fuck are you doing in my house? Get out! Get out now!”
He laughed again, his aura flashing, and his words emanated from deep within the inky silhouette that mirrored his movements. “I was invited.” The voice was sensuous. Dangerous. Mad.
“It was a mistake! Kip didn’t know what he was doing.”
The blue nimbus flared as he threw his head back, inhaling deeply with a satisfied sigh, almost as if he grew stronger with my outburst. And then I realized that he had. He was feeding off my anger and fear. And he’d been feeding off all the worry and pain he’d caused since Kip first opened the door and accidentally let him in. I straightened my shoulders. I had to calm down.
I took a deep breath as he cocked his head, looking at me quizzically. Unable to stop shaking, I tried to force my mind to the task before me. If I didn’t banish him, both Murray and I would die—he’d feed on our essence, draining us dry, then go on to follow my children and terrorize them.
I tore my gaze away from the demon and, in a quivering voice, recited the incantation. “You demon of the dusk, begone from this house, back to the dark core of the universe from whence you came! Begone! Begone! Begone! By all the gods, by all the saints, I order you to vacate this house and never return!”
The creature snarled and lunged forward. I screamed and pulled out the dagger, holding it in front of me to keep him at bay. Again, he stopped, his eyes glowing with a preternatural anger. One step away from total panic, I bit my tongue hard, trying to bring myself out of my fear, forcing myself to remember that if I lost control, everything would be lost.
I needed help. If only I had help. Just a little nudge, a pat on the shoulder to remind me that I wasn’t so totally alone. “Oh, God, Nanna, where are you? I wish you were here. Why aren’t you here?” Unbidden, the plea tumbled out of my lips, words tripping over my tongue.
We squared off—the creature and I—poised, waiting. I had no doubts that he would kill me if he could. It was him or me; there were no other options. The universe consisted of this moment, this one point in time. Only the shadow-eater and I existed. My emotions began to drain away, all fear and pain and joy. This creature had no concept of what it was to be human, his only sensations those of satiety or emptiness. He took his pleasure in sucking the life from other beings. He was the essence of the void, the essence of emptiness—a chasm that would never fill.
There could be no reasoning here. He lunged again but stopped short, confused, when I held my ground against his thrust. Again, he tilted his head and craned forward to look at me; then he let out a low growl, and the rumble began to fill the room. I shook my hair away from my face, letting a blessed wave of numbness glide through me like a cool summer morning. Once again I repeated the incantation, calmly, my lips carefully forming each word, each syllable. “You demon of the dusk, begone from this house, back to the dark core of the universe whence you came! Begone! Begone! Begone! By all the gods, by all the saints, I order you to vacate this house and never return!”
As I spoke, I became aware of another presence forming in the room. Brilliant and golden, warm, and bringing the scent of lilacs and springtime with her. Nanna.
She stood by my side, her hand on my shoulder, and I felt her strength surge into my body. Joy raced through my veins, energy and sustenance, life and strength. Together we repeated the incantation, our voices rebounding in unison to shake the walls. “You demon of the dusk, begone from this house, back to the dark core of universe whence you came! Begone! Begone! Begone! By all the gods, by all the saints, I order you to vacate this house and never return!”
As the last word fell from my lips, I lunged to meet the creature as he sprang forward. His talons flashed as he slashed at me, but I twisted, turning hard to thrust the dagger directly into his heart. Spark! A jolt of current raced up my arm. I dropped the blade, doubling over from the shock. Mr. B & U let out a terrible shriek as the light began to fold in waves around him. The walls began to vibrate as the force reversed polarities, turning into a vacuum, and sucked the demon back through the vortex, the mist and fog rushing behind him. With a crackle so loud it left the hairs on my arm standing up, the neon glow shrank to a single point, then vanished with a soft “pop.”
Silence blanketed the room. He was gone. Mr. B & U was actually gone.
Every part of my body hurt. As the room cleared, Murray begin to stir. Nanna patted me on the arm. I stared into her eyes, wishing she could hold me like she did when I was a little girl. My heart ached for a chance to say hello, to tell her I loved her. She mouthed the words “I know” and then faded with a flicker of pale light.
I dropped to the floor, exhausted, and reached out to help Murray crawl into a sitting position. “You okay?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” she croaked. “I’m alive, that will have to do. Look…” She pointed toward my vanity.
Dreading what I might see, I took a deep breath and looked. Susan Mitchell hovered near the bench, a horrified look on her face. She glided forward and stopped beside me. Slowly, with infinite care, she reached out one ghostly hand and rested it on my shoulder. Her energy rolled in gentle waves, tickling as she reached out to stroke my hair. I closed my eyes and relaxed. The demon was gone. Susan patted my shoulder again—I could feel the light pressure from her aura—and then she pulled back and moved to my vanity, where she sat on the stool.
I leaned back against the bed. The quilt was covered with a moist layer of goop. Whatever the substance was, it was slimy and dripped off my fingers in long streamers. I scraped up a handful and held it out to Murray.
She examined the slime. “Ectoplasm.”
I coughed. “I thought that was a Ghostbusters thing.”
“Nan, ectoplasm has showed up around a number of paranormal occurrences.”
Wonderful. Cosmic joy-juice, spread all over my quilt. I scooted over, away from the bed, and she joined me, slumping down like a sack of potatoes. Susan, the ghostly member of our little trio, was still sitting at the vanity, patiently staring into space. I wondered
what she was thinking about.
I gestured to get her attention. How did one blow off a ghost? “Uh… can you come back later? We’re fried.” She stood up and dusted off her dress. As we watched, she began to fade, and at the last moment, she gave a little wave.
Murray forced herself to her feet and retrieved the incense. The only thing left of the ouroboros was a twisted hunk of silver; whatever energy Mr. B & U had been working with had melted it to slag. While Murray smudged the room heavily, letting the clouds of incense smoke fill every corner to purify the energy surrounding us, I picked up my dagger and recited the incantations that would close the portal Kip had inadvertently opened. Half an hour later, the bedroom was clear. Wherever Mr.
Big & Ugly had come from, he had gone back via the same route.
We extinguished the charcoal in the brazier and budged downstairs, where we dropped on the sofa, ectoplasm, smudge soot, and all.
Murray shook her head. “We’re insane.”
“Of course we are,” I retorted.
“What do we do now?”
I considered our options. Finally, too tired to think, I held up the phone, as I had so many times during our years as college roomies together. “Pizza?”
She started to laugh. “Make it extra cheese.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Tuesday morning, Murray took off for Seattle as I headed for the shop. With Mr. B & U out of the way, I was left with my original question: Had Susan been murdered? Walter was in jail for killing Diana, but had he orchestrated his wife’s death, too?
When Cinnamon saw me come through the door, she raced over. “I’m glad you’re here. There’s so much that Lana and I couldn’t take care of.” She had organized piles of paperwork on my desk, and once I was settled, she brought me a cup of cranberry tea. I opened my mail, separating the invoices and bills from everything else, and then decided that I owed myself at least a brief glance at the paper.
I shook it open to find the front headline screaming out in huge block letters, “Walter Mitchell—Murderer or Scapegoat?” As I scanned the article, my heart started beating faster. Now that he had been accused of his daughter’s murder, police were checking into his background and reexamining the circumstances surrounding the death of Susan Mitchell. The police were basing their inquiries on information provided by a number of sources, including two local women: Harlow Rainmark and Emerald O’Brien.
Oh, hell. We’d been fingered, probably by some stray comment made when we gave our statements. Neither of us had accused Walter of anything, but the press managed to make it sound like we’d nailed him to a cross. Now what was going to happen? Walter was being held pending bail, but when he was out, would he hunt us down? He’d had plenty of time to stew over his incarceration.
At that moment Cinnamon opened the shop, and a gaggle of customers poured through the doors. I would have to deal with this situation later. I pushed away the paperwork and went out front to help.
As I was rearranging a display, someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to find myself facing the captain from the medical rescue unit. Surprised, I almost dropped the Spode creamer I was holding. After I managed to set it back on the shelf, I reached out to shake his hand.
Dressed in a turtleneck sweater and a pair of Dockers, he looked far too young to be the man who’d held my arm as I panicked about Harlow. “Remember me?” His fingers closed gently around my own. “Joe? Joe Files?”
“Of course I remember you. Thank you, again, for saving my friend.”
His eyes danced over me. “Just doing my job, but I’m glad I was there and able to help. How’s she doing?”
“Fine, she’s doing fine.” I couldn’t figure out what he was doing in my shop.
He seemed to sense my puzzlement. “I’m looking for a present for my Aunt Margaret,” he said.
His aunt? Of course! Margaret Files. She was a sweet old lady, a retired county clerk who came to me for tarot readings. I led him over to the wall display of jellies and cookies. “She loves biscuits and jam,” I said, handing him a couple of packets.
He took them awkwardly. “Thank you. Maybe you could pick out a teapot for her, too?” As I looked around, trying to remember what patterns of china Margaret liked, he added, “Actually, I also wanted to ask if I could take you out sometime? For coffee, or something?”
As his words sank in, I began to blush. Well, bless my soul. Captain Files of the Chiqetaw Medic-Rescue Unit, who had saved Harlow, who had watched me upchuck on the side of the road, and who was probably ten years younger than me, wanted to take me out on a date. His smile was so hopeful that I found myself saying I’d think about it. “But not till after Christmas. I’m just so busy right now, Captain…”
“Joseph, please—just call me Joe.” He blushed again, and I realized that he was as nervous as I was. His sandy hair was shot through with copper highlights, and he was tall and stocky, so obviously Scandinavian. And really cute.
I ducked my head. In the midst of all the spirits and worries over the kids, here I was feeling like a teenager again. Then guilt kicked in and I sobered. What about Andrew? But I looked into Joe’s twinkling green eyes and shoved caution to the wind. “Okay, Joe. My number is in the book. Call me after New Year’s and we’ll meet for lunch.” Satisfied, he left with more than a hundred dollars’ worth of trinkets for the various women in his family.
I pushed my way through the bustle of shoppers into the back room and dropped into my chair. What was I was getting myself into? Should I tell Andrew about Joe? Was it any of his business? We hadn’t talked about dating exclusively. I tried to push the whole mess out of my mind for now; we were swamped, and I needed to focus on business. As I dove back into the invoices, Cinnamon’s voice rose a decibel or two. She didn’t sound happy. I sighed, swigged down the last of a warm bottle of Coke, and made my way back into the fray.
She was arguing with an older woman. As I glanced over the woman’s short, sturdy body, I noticed that she was swathed in what was probably top-notch designer wear. I stepped in. “What seems to be the problem?”
“How dare you slander my son? Just who do you think you are? Walter didn’t hurt anybody.” Her voice was shrill enough to be heard by several browsers, and I hurried to move her to one side, hoping to take us out of earshot of the rest of the shop, but there wasn’t anyplace in which to have a bit of privacy.
The realization that Walter’s mother had come gunning for me shook me up. Nothing worse than a bear protecting her cubs. “Mrs. Mitchell, I assure you—”
“My name is not Mrs. Mitchell. I’m Mrs. Addison. I married Bernard Addison shortly after Mr. Mitchell—Walter’s father—died, and I’d thank you to at least get one thing right about our family.” She sniffed and shook her blued curls at me in a dare to defy her. How was I going to get out of this one gracefully?
“Mrs. Addison, I assure you, I did not tell the police I thought Walter murdered Diana or Susan.” Nope, I thought. Joshua had taken care of that. “I only told the cops that Susan had recently died and we wanted to make sure Diana knew about it.” I offered her a tentative smile. She did not smile back.
“You’re lying. The police questioned me—me—Walter’s mother!—this morning about that awful woman and her daughter. I just want you to know that once we clear my Walter of these charges, you are going to find a lawsuit for slander slapped on your door. Yes, that’s what you are going to find!” With that, she harrumphed and stomped out.
How many of my customers had heard the exchange? But most of them were studiously ignoring me, going about their business, examining teapots and china cups and bone china saucers and boxes of imported Ceylon tea. I was about to call Harl and warn that the old biddy was after us, when a new batch of customers swarmed in—the lunch crowd was here, and they were hungry. I took Cinnamon’s place behind the counter so she could serve the soup and bread. The rush didn’t slow down until Kip burst into the shop and I caught him in a tight embrace.
“Mom!
Can we come home?” He dumped his books in the corner and shrugged out of his coat. I settled down in one of the sturdier chairs, and he leaned against me.
The door banged open again as Miranda rushed in, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I hope you’re happy! I don’t get to go to Space Camp now!”
Oh, God, in all the craziness, I had forgotten! Today was Miranda’s scholarship test, and I hadn’t even called to wish her good luck. “What happened? Did something happen during the test?” I started to give her a hug, but she shook me off.
“They wouldn’t even let me take the test because you forgot to drop off the permission slip. They wouldn’t let me in, and they said it was too late to call you.”
Great. In one single blow, I’d just managed to destroy the progress Randa and I had made this past year. My heart cracked as I looked at her face. How could I let her down? “Oh, Miranda, I’m so sorry. There’s just been no time to stop and think—”
“No kidding—you’ve been so busy with your ghosts and your shop and everything that matters to you that you forgot all about me! Maybe you don’t care if I ever get to be an astronaut, but I do, and now I’ll never get to go because we don’t have enough money. You didn’t even remember to call and wish me good luck!” She burst into tears and rushed into the bathroom.
Feeling like the world was spinning three steps ahead of me, I knocked on the bathroom door. “Randa, Randa, honey… please come out here and talk to me.”
After a few minutes, she edged open the door, glaring at me as she blew her nose on a tissue. “Why do you care? Everybody else matters more than me.”
I took her by the arm and eased her out of the bathroom. “Come here. You know that you and your brother mean more to me than anything else in the world. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t have moved here, and I wouldn’t work my butt off to make sure you have a good home.” I stroked her face, gently holding her chin so she had to look at me. “I love you, Miranda, and I made a horrible mistake.”
CnC 1 Ghost of a Chance Page 22