Right. Of course it might not be the kind of reputation anybody wanted. “I can do it,” Danny muttered.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as if Big Al were thinking it over, then a sigh. “I’ll let you go on with it, Ramos, but we don’t have all the time in the world here. We need to start seeing some results. Petrocelli’s already been on my back.”
“Yes sir.” He recognized the code. He had to come up with something soon, probably within a week or two. Otherwise, Big Al would pass it on to somebody else, and Danny would get a black mark on his sales record. And that somebody else might run into a very annoyed demon when they tried to sell the place.
“Good man,” Big Al rumbled. “You keep Araceli informed, now.”
Danny hung up, knowing only too well who had told Big Al about the problems with the carriage house. He didn’t need to keep Araceli informed. She was way ahead of him.
At eleven he called his sister Rosie to ask her to lunch. Rosie was a reference librarian at the downtown branch. He figured it would only take twenty minutes or so to drive down there. Then they could grab a sandwich somewhere on the river and he could talk to her about raiding their grandmother’s book collection. That plan lasted only as long as it took to propose it to his sister.
“I don’t work downtown anymore,” she explained. “Why don’t you come by the house?”
“You’re not at the library? Where do you work now?”
“I’m a consultant.”
He listened for anything in her tone that might explain what was going on, but after several seconds of silence, he understood Rosie wasn’t going to say any more than that. “Okay, sure, I can come over there. Actually, I needed something from your house anyway.” He tried to sound casual, but apparently he didn’t succeed.
“From my house?” He pictured his sister narrowing her eyes. “You’ve never been in my house, Danny. How could you want something from here?”
“Ma thought maybe you might still have Grandma Riordan’s library at your place. She thought I could possibly find some information there.”
“Information?” Rosie’s voice sounded incredulous. “From Granny Riordan’s library? Her library is mainly books on stuff that would make Stephen King giddy with delight. What do you want from those?”
“I just . . .” He fumbled through a list of possible excuses, none of which would work. “I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”
“Well, that’s fairly mysterious, but I guess you can fill me in later. Just remember—Grandma’s collection is sort of . . . specialized. But if you can find what you need, you’re welcome to it.” She sounded amused. Great. He was providing entertainment for his baby sister.
He swung by a sandwich place at the edge of Southtown and picked up a tuna salad for Rosie and a roast beef for himself. Then he headed back into haute King William. The Riordan house was several blocks from the Steadman place, on a much more pleasant street. The architecture was the height of Victorian charm. Two stories, sloping roof with a gable in the front, gingerbread trim hanging from the eaves. Even a metal roof cresting across the top. Somebody—either Grandma Riordan or Rosie—had done a great job of painting out the elaborate trim in a dark blue shade that contrasted beautifully with the creamy paint on the walls. Like the Steadman house, a wide gallery rimmed the lower story, with slender, decorated support posts. Unlike the Steadman house, it looked shady and inviting.
He could have sold the place in a minute, assuming Rosie had managed to do something about the inside. According to his mother, the inside was not what you’d call cozy.
He climbed the wide front steps and pushed the ornate metal doorbell. Somewhere deep within the house he heard a distant chime, remote and echoing. He glanced at the window, but the lace curtains hid the interior. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and he found himself stepping back slightly until the door swung open to reveal his sister.
Who the hell did you expect to answer the door? Lurch? Clearly, the Steadman house and its outbuildings were beginning to warp his view of King William. “Hey, Rosie.”
“Come on in.” Rosie was a carbon copy of their mother—tall, slender, honey brown hair. Like Ma, she could be a knockout when she wanted. Right now, given her cutoffs, ratty Band of Heathens T-shirt and flip-flops, she apparently didn’t want to be. “Let me show you the books before you eat anything,” she said, “although it may kill your appetite.”
She gave him a sly smile, then turned and headed back down the hall, clearly expecting him to tag along. The only thing that marked her as a Ramos was her dark eyes, the color of good bourbon. That, and her unwillingness to put up with crap. Danny and his brother Ray had tried the protective big brother approach when they were in high school, giving her dates a colorful description of the havoc they’d wreak if the boys tried anything with their baby sister. Rosie had told them both that if they didn’t lay off, she’d send their folks copies of every piece of illicit e-mail they had on their computers. Her threat had worked because they absolutely believed her.
Danny had a brief impression of a darkish living room to the left as he followed her down the hall—a room full of shadows. For a moment he thought one of the shadows moved. Steady, Ramos. He followed Rosie into what had probably once been the dining room.
Now it was difficult to say exactly what the room was. A desk was shoved against the far wall with a computer and printer. He was willing to bet those were his sister’s. But he figured everything else in the room had been there long before either of them had been born. He dropped the bag with the sandwiches on a table near the door.
The walls were lined with bookcases, some made out of metal that looked like library surplus. But there were several elaborate wooden bookcases that would probably bring a nice price on eBay collectibles. The shelves overflowed with books. He could see some that had classic library binding, and a few that looked like book club rejects. But then there were the leather-bound volumes, the ones that had gold trim on the spines, and the ones bound in materials he couldn’t identify. A couple of covers looked like carved ivory, and he swore he could see something that looked like jewels embedded in the tarnished metal of another.
He swallowed. “Granny’s library?”
“Yep.” Rosie sighed. “Feel free to tell me what you need, but don’t expect me to have a clue about how to start looking for it.”
“No catalog?”
She grimaced. “I assume you’re kidding. I’ve tried to figure out how she organized the collection, but I still haven’t cracked it, even after several months of trying. I’m beginning to think she just stuck stuff on the shelves wherever it fit. I’ve started making a list of the titles, but I haven’t gotten very far yet.”
He walked along the cases, staring at the titles on the book spines. Less than half of them were in English. “Crap,” he muttered. “I don’t suppose you read German and French by any chance?”
She shook her head. “Most of that’s old French and old German, too. Even if my French was good, which it isn’t particularly, I wouldn’t be able to get through that. And there’s also some Latin, which I haven’t used in a decade at least.”
“Crap,” he repeated, sinking into a chair across from the largest bookcase. Great idea, Ma. Too bad it would take me a couple of years to find books that had anything to do with demons. And I’ve got a week.
“What is it you’re looking for, Danny?” Rosie pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down across from him. “I don’t know the whole library, but I’ve looked at some of these. Maybe I could help.”
Now was the time for a really good lie. Unfortunately, the only thing in his mind at the moment was the truth. “Demons,” he said.
His sister blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“Demons. I’ve got a house with a demon and I need to get rid of it. The demon, that is. Alth
ough also the house. But I can’t get rid of the house until I get rid of the demon, and Ma said there might be some books here that would help.”
Rosie stared at him for a long moment, then she sighed. “Why am I not surprised that Ma had an opinion on the subject? It might help if you told me this story from the beginning.”
“It might.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “These days, I’m willing to believe just about anything.”
It took him longer to tell the story than it should have. At first, he wanted to leave out some parts, mainly the ones about the blood and the dreams. He really didn’t want his sister to think he was nuts. But once he’d launched into it, he ended up telling her everything, waiting to see her expression change from sisterly concern to the well-founded assumption that he was a fruitcake. It never did.
Rosie sat with her hands clasped between her knees, her expression blank. When he’d finished, she shook her head. “This isn’t good.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I don’t know if there’s anything here that can help you, and even if we found something, I couldn’t guarantee that it would be accurate. I think Grandma had some of this stuff more for historical reference than for any . . . personal use.”
“I know about her, Rosie,” he said abruptly. “About her and Great-grandma Siobhan, and how they earned their money. Ma told me.”
Rosie stared up at him, her golden brown eyes suddenly opaque. “We’re Riordans, Danny. Both of us. It doesn’t do any good to ignore it. Believe me, I know.”
Somewhere outside he heard a mockingbird trilling, and the sound of a skateboard, probably going along the river path. Inside, the house was absolutely silent.
“What does that mean, ‘We’re Riordans’? What’s going on, Rosie?”
His sister sighed. “It means that I might be able to find out the answers to your questions, but it’ll probably take me a few hours. Call me back tonight, okay? Maybe after dinner. Now give me my tuna sandwich.”
He wanted to ask her where she was going to look, ask to see the book himself. If it was a book. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure. And maybe it was none of his business. “Okay, Sis, let’s have lunch.”
All the way down the walk to his car he told himself not to look back at the house because nobody there would be watching him. But he still felt that itchy spot between his shoulder blades as he drove back to the office.
He wanted to see Biddy again. Badly. Preferably dressed in her Chalk Creek Changelings outfit. Predictably, given the way the day seemed to be going, she’d already left for her gig in San Marcos.
“Ms. Gunter said you’d given her the rest of the afternoon off.” Lois’s voice dripped disapproval.
He wondered if she ever got the two Ms. Gunters confused. Probably not. “That’s right, I did.” He gave her his best smile. “I forgot.”
Lois narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
He managed to find a few chores in the office to fill up the afternoon, then swung by Buentello’s and had a burger for dinner before heading back to Rosie’s house. He had a feeling food would make whatever news she had to pass on go down a little better. Or maybe he was just postponing the inevitable.
In the early evening shadows, the white Victorian seemed to glow, the lights from the living room warming the front gallery. He could hear doves cooing in the live oaks nearest the house as he navigated over the cracked pavement of the drive. He wondered if his sister would like to have the number of somebody who’d do a good asphalt job. He wondered if she could afford a good asphalt job.
Being a consultant couldn’t pay much, could it? They hadn’t really broached the subject of what she was consulting on instead of being a librarian. He thought he might like to know.
Then again, he might not.
Rosie opened the door before he could ring the bell. This time she led him into the living room.
He frowned. “Where are the books?”
“What books?”
“The ones you used to find my demon information.”
She gestured at the sofa. “Sit down, Danny. We need to talk about this.”
He sank onto a couch that was deeper than it looked, thrusting a couple of pillows out of the way as he did. “What’s up, Sis?”
“What did Ma tell you about me? And this house?” She stared down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.
He thought about diplomatic ways to phrase things, but diplomacy didn’t seem to cover this situation. “She said she thought you might be going into the family business. She wasn’t happy about it, but I think she understands.”
Rosie nodded slowly. “I figured she might have guessed by now. I’m not going to swear you to secrecy or anything, but I’d just as soon you didn’t pass this on to Dad or Ray.” Her eyes widened. “Oh Lord, Dad doesn’t know already, does he?”
Danny shook his head. “I don’t think so. Just me. So you’re a medium, like Grandma?”
“Sort of. I mean, I don’t do séances or anything, but . . .” Her shoulders moved up in a tiny shrug.
“So what do you do, Rosie? What exactly are you ‘consulting’ on?”
Her lips tightened, but she met his gaze almost defiantly. “I have a business—Locators, Ltd. We find missing items, mostly documents right now.”
“‘We’?”
She sighed. “You said Mom told you about the house. There’s . . . well . . . we, that is, the Riordan family, we’ve got . . .” She pressed her lips together, grimacing.
“A spirit guide?” He sat very still. A breeze that felt like an air conditioner set to arctic brushed against the back of his neck.
She nodded. “Yes. Exactly. We have a spirit guide. He’s my partner.”
Danny exhaled slowly. Insane conversations had become pretty much the norm over the past few days. Still, this one seemed to be setting a new benchmark in weirdness. “Is he here now?”
His sister shook her head. “No. He took off after he got the information I asked for.”
“So how does it work? You sit in a room someplace with the lights off and ask questions?”
Rosie narrowed her eyes. “I told you I don’t do séances—and I never will. They’re mostly phony anyway. And very old-fashioned.”
“So what do you do?”
“Our clients send us queries by e-mail or occasionally in person. They think I’m some kind of private detective or something. Not a medium, anyway. I check with my partner to see if we can find the answers to their questions. If we can, the client signs a contract and we pass on the information. We have a money-back guarantee.”
“How does your . . . partner . . . find what’s missing?”
She shrugged. “He locates whatever spirit is most likely to have the answers. If it’s something like a missing will that a spirit has direct knowledge of, that’s relatively easy. If it’s something the living have misplaced, that’s harder. But sometimes spirits know that, too. Particularly if it went missing around the time they died.”
He leaned back in his seat, trying not to feel dizzy. “Okay. This is all very interesting, but what does it have to do with my demon? I mean, I’m sorry Sis, I want to hear more sometime, but I’ve got a crisis right now.”
Rosie stared down at her hands again. Not good. “Actually, it does have something to do with your demon. In fact, it’s got a lot to do with your demon. I asked my spirit guide to find out about him.”
Danny sat up straight again. “Did he talk to the coachman? And Mrs. Palmer?”
His sister shook her head. “Apparently, they’re not available. He said they’re still tied to the earth, whatever that means. He can’t get to them.”
“So could he find out anything?”
“He found your information, but I doubt if you’ll like it. He talked to someone who used t
o own the house. A woman.”
“Mrs. Steadman? I’ve already talked to her. Sort of,” he amended.
His sister grimaced. “Believe me, the conversations my partner has with other spirits are a lot more clear than anything you or I could get from them. She probably gave him better information than she gave you.”
Danny swallowed. “Okay. What have I got? Ma said I need to know what kind of demon is in the place before I can deal with it.”
Rosie shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but my partner did find that information for you. He said you’ve got a soul-eater.”
A sudden breeze rattled the antique window glass. Danny’s pulse thudded heavily in his ears. “I don’t suppose that name’s metaphoric.”
“I’m afraid not.” She pulled a sheet of paper off of the coffee table. “I made some notes. It’s a demon that derives its power from taking human souls. The more it consumes, the more powerful it becomes. My partner thought that might be how Palmer paid off the demon for the financial information it provided.”
“By giving it human souls?” Danny narrowed his eyes. “How exactly could he go about doing that?”
She licked her lips. “You can’t really separate souls from bodies, Danny. He gave people to the demon, and the demon killed them. Actually, according to my partner, the demon probably ate them.”
He stared at her, feeling his lungs seize up. “It eats people?”
She nodded, slowly. “Yes. It devours them. Frequently from the inside out since it sometimes possesses them first. So it can get the soul.”
He closed his eyes, picturing the kitchen at the carriage house. The sea of blood covering the walls, the floor, the ceiling. He wondered where Palmer got the people who had died there. He wondered if anyone missed them. “Holy Christ,” he whispered.
“Yeah.” She nodded again. “It’s bad. Really bad.”
After a moment, he squared his shoulders again. Being horrified didn’t get them anywhere. “Okay, how do I get rid of it?”
She blew out a breath. “You don’t.”
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