She escorted her father to the door, looked down at Scout, and asked him, “Really, Scout. Who would want to hurt me?”
Scout was busy sniffing the wall underneath the captain’s portrait. Whining, he pawed the floor and dug at something. Remy pulled on his collar, afraid he’d scratch her newly polished floors. Scout resisted, and Remy gave up. Her body hurt too much to fight him. She locked the doors, lying down on the sofa and wrapping up in her afghan. Her brain was too tired to think.
* * *
Eli kicked ineffectually at the dog, who bared his teeth menacingly. Remy rose, lifting up on her elbow to watch the dog struggling with something. He was growling, his jaws locked tight, fighting with thin air.
She got on her knees and reached out to grasp his collar, but the dog’s eyes rolled, and he clenched his teeth. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she reasoned. She and her dad were going to have a little talk tomorrow. The dog pulled at an invisible force, rearing back to bark loudly at the wall.
Eli finally got on his feet and climbed up the wall, kicking at the creature now a part of the menagerie he used to call home. He floated above the animal, watching it go mad trying to reach him. It leaped up, snapping at his backside. The damn beast jumped four feet in the air, its feral snarl vibrating in the small confines of the house. First it was the redecorating, then the imp of Satan moved in, and now Cerberus ruled the roost. It was getting mighty crowded in Eli’s home, and he didn’t like it at all. Not at all. “Just who was running this ship,” he demanded of no one in particular.
“This is war,” he thought reluctantly. He didn’t mind the woman, but this was all too much. He tried to warn her when the hooligans followed her in the car. He owed her one after making the mess, but they were fast getting even. He wasn’t too sure about that big lunk of a man who stayed here while she slept. “She’s naive, trusting everybody,” he thought indignantly. He didn’t sign on for the extra duty, and if she didn’t listen to her captain, how could he be responsible for the outcome? He shifted uneasily, worried for her. He hadn’t felt like this for a long time. Issues, lots of issues, boiled inside of him. Women brought responsibility. Responsibility brought commitment. Was he committing to this new family when he hadn’t fulfill the responsibility to his own wife?
Things were not smooth sailing. He felt bad, but a captain has to run his ship the way he sees fit. He walked across his deck, pondering his choices. Time to have another chat with his boarder. He had to let her in on his backstory. If they were going to live here together, there had to be rules, and as he was the captain, they were his prerogative.
Eli closed his eyes and concentrated on filling out his form. He puffed out his cheeks, feeling gravity pull his skin into place. Skin glued to bones, which molded, his face feeling the warmth of the fire burning in the grate. The pads of his fingers tingled. His legs settled on the hard wood of the floor, and his knees made their presence known. Air filled his lungs. Eli resisted the urge to cough. His eyes blinked as though he had just awakened.
He stood tall, feeling his broad back stretch. He looked straight down at the woman and asked her, “Just what the devil d’ya think you’re doing?”
Remy sat up, her back arched, her feet cramping in shock. She tried to rise, but her breath escaped in a long hiss. Her scream sounded as though her throat were squeezed tight. She couldn’t get the sound out. Her head pounded, and her eyes rolled in her head as her world narrowed to a grayish fog. Shadows danced before her eyes. Her arms and legs grew heavy, pulling her down into the fuzzy afghan. Remy collapsed like an unstarched blouse to land in a graceful heap on the sofa, lost to everything in her little world.
Eli cursed loudly and fluently as Scout peed on his stocking leg.
He pushed the animal, but only succeeded in feeling the teeth sink into his leg, holding on as if he were a soupbone. He smacked the stubborn head to no avail. One bitch attacking him, the other out cold on the couch. This place was heading to hell in a hand basket, that was for sure.
Wiggling free, he scooted to the arm of the couch, watching the woman as she lay there. Well, at least she was breathing. He heard her groan before she started to move around. The dog was seated at the foot of the couch, and its brown eyes followed Eli’s every move.
“I’m not going to hurt her, you stupid beast,” he told Scout, who listened intently. The dog yawned, then settled down to watch them both.
“I’m not a stupid beast!” Remy choked out. She had recovered somewhat, sitting straight on the couch, holding her distance from the tall stranger levitating before her.
“I wasn’t talking to you. I meant the bitch—the dog,” Eli explained, his voice softer. No need to put her into another swoon. Where was the backbone he saw in the daughter?
“Am I dreaming?” the woman said.
Woman? Pah! She was little more than a girl. He watched her reach out to touch him. He knew she would feel him. He was not quite solid, but of a nature that you knew something was there. She would feel the cold of him, and if she were as adventurous and brave as her daughter, she would be able to define the shape of his body.
Remy looked at the bearded face, then glanced at the mural, her mouth open in astonishment.
“Aye, it’s me, all right. I’m here to have a ‘come to Jesus’ meeting with you,” he told her gravely.
She gulped, her amber eyes filling, then brimming over. “Am I to die, then?” she asked in a small voice, her thoughts only on her daughter. Briefly her mind flitted to Hugh. Was she to miss out on that too.
“Oh, wisht, gel. Why do they always go there? We’re going to have a little chat, is all.”
Remy gingerly scooted over. She prodded his leg. Her hand felt him, but was able to penetrate the apparition.
“Cold as ice, I am. Cold as death,” he advised her, his voice gruff.
“Are you a. . . ?”
“Aye, and you have turned my home upside down, you have. You and the devil’s handmaiden.”
“Devil’s handmaiden?”
“The limb of Satan—that daughter of yours.” He stood.
“Livie?” Remy’s eyes went round. “My Livie?”
“Aye, your Liv-ie. Afraid of nothing, that one is. I had a seaman like that once. I don’t want to tell you what happened to him,” he said in a grave tone.
Remy shivered involuntarily. The captain shook his finger. “Aye, consider this fair warning.”
Scout growled, but Eli was in command once again. Giving the dog a stern look, he nodded in approval when the dog lay down. “Good girl.”
“It’s a boy. The dog is male.”
“I may be dead, but I am not blind. ’Tis female she is. Have you seen her piss? I have.” He showed her his wet ankle. “If it were a he, he would have reached my thigh. Turn her over if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh.” Remy’s mouth opened, then closed abruptly. She rubbed her eyes. Glancing at the portrait, she looked at Eli, then back to the mural. Placing her hands over her mouth, she stifled a scream.
“Before you start to caterwaul, I’d like to know your stance on chickens.”
“Chickens?” Remy’s scream was diverted.
“Can’t abide by them myself. Make a racket, they do. Run around without their heads.” He flitted his fingers in small movements. “Make a fuss. You don’t need the mess either.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “Oh my God.” Remy inched closer to him. He stood tall; she barely reached his shoulder. As she walked around him, he smiled back at her, admiring her as well.
“You’re a fine piece yourself, my girl, but these shenanigans have got to go.”
Remy leaned toward the coffee table, bending slightly to grab her cell. Eli seized her wrist and held her tight in his frigid embrace.
“I can’t touch you for long, gel. Your skin will freeze. Think what they’ll do with you if you say something. They put old Pat away, and he was deader than a doornail a few weeks later.”
Remy stoo
d firm and bit her lips.
“Fancy a stay in a nuthouse?” Eli continued.
Remy released the phone, and just as quickly, Eli let go of her wrist. Remy rubbed the cold skin.
“I don’t believe this is happening,” she whispered.
“Most don’t. You better sit down before you fall down, miss. You got into quite a kerfuffle, you did.”
“Wait a second. I heard you.” Remy sank onto the couch. “You were in the car. I saw you. What are you doing in my home?”
Eli walked back and forth before her, his hands crossed behind his back.
“Aha, there lies the crux of the matter. Your house? No, no, no. I hardly think so. My house. My family home. I live here—always have.” He bent down low so that they were face-to-face. While he was pale, Remy admitted the portrait did him little justice. He was stunningly handsome. Though his eyes were blue in the picture, now they were black pits filled with swirling clouds in the deep depths.
Scout growled low in her throat, and the captain spun and pointed a long, pale finger at her. “Stop!” he commanded. “Or it’s the plank for you!”
“I thought you were whaler, not a pirate.”
Remy was sure that if he had blood, he’d be blushing. When he tightened his lips, she knew she had struck a nerve, even if it was dead. Remy stood her full measure, which she had to admit wasn’t much. Hands on hips, she stared up at the captain.
“I don’t think so, mister. This is my house now.” She felt her knees quake with fear, but locked her legs, ready for battle. No one was going to boss her around in her own home. Balling her hands, she held them loosely at her sides.
Eli turned back to the scared girl. Her blanched face looked as angry as a spitting kitten, he thought with amusement. Throwing back his head, he roared with laughter.
“Instead of a chicken, I got stuck with a bantam cock!” He wheezed a few times, lost in the laughter. “I haven’t laughed like that in years, gel. Aye, put your weapons away.”
Remy looked down at her fisted hands, feeling foolish. She didn’t have anything to combat him.
As if reading her thoughts, the captain agreed. “You don’t have much. I’m not here to hurt you. But truly ’tis my house. I lived here with my wife and. . .someone else. I remember a little girl.” He was quiet for a minute and added, “And a babe.”
Remy sat down again. How was she going to describe this to anyone? “Well, you don’t live here now. What’s your full name? I want to look it up.”
“Eli Gaspar. Captain Eli Gaspar. I don’t mean you no harm. I’m a friendly sort. I don’t—”
This time Remy broke into chuckles. “Friendly? Oh my God, I don’t believe this.”
“What’s so funny, gel?”
“Do you watch TV in your hauntings?”
“Don’t abide with it. Pat never bothered with things like that.”
“I’m being haunted by Gaspar the Friendly Ghost.”
“I fail to see the humor.” His brows darkened, his face settling into a scowl. Remy had a fair idea what kind of captain he was.
“Oh, trust me, this is funny.”
Eli shrugged, his attention diverted to an empty corner. Not even the dog noticed whatever was disturbing him. He stalked over, raising his fist angrily. “What is it now, you fiends of hell?”
Well, that didn’t sound good. Remy walked up behind his broad back, peeking over his shoulder to see nothing but air.
“Do you mean the dog?”
“Avast! Leave us alone!” He bellowed so loud, Remy covered her ears.
“He’s angry,” Marum observed drily.
“So what else is new?” Sten spoke without moving his mouth.
“What does he hope to accomplish by doing this?”
“He’s got a plan and doesn’t want us listening. Just ignore him.” Sten stilled himself so that he nearly faded away.
“I see you, I do!” Eli shook his fist filled with fury. “Leave the gel alone.”
“As if it’s us,” Marum said, smoldering.
“Simmer down, Marum,” Sten said quietly. “You know you’re not to interact. Don’t think he doesn’t know that as well. He’s just showing off.”
“What? What do you see?” Remy asked.
Eli turned, his eyes glowing red. Remy back away, frightened. He grabbed her arm, holding her. His grip tightened, but he was looking through her, his face shocked. He touched his head, whispering, “Char. . . Charlotte? I have to find Charlotte.”
Marum reacted, but Sten held up a hand to stop her. “I want to see what he’s planning.”
“He’s not supposed to touch her,” Marum said hotly, then added a hasty, “Sir.”
“Patience, Marum. You have to learn patience.”
Urgently Eli looked into Remy’s face. “I remember now. I have to know what happened to my little girl, my wife. You see, I can’t find them. I’ve come home. I have to know. You must help me.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Remy pulled at her imprisoned wrist uselessly. She pounded against his dead hands. A cold lassitude started freezing her movements. Her eyes drooped. She stopped resisting and whispered, “You’re hurting me.”
Eli released her so quickly, she fell on the green rug.
“Forgive me,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t hurt you, no, not at all. Maybe your hell-born babe.” He held up a hand to halt her. “Aye, avast there, mother lion. I wouldn’t harm a strand of her hair. It’s just that, you see. . .” He fell to his knees, wincing a bit when the bad one hit the floor. He touched her forearm with mute appeal, then said, “I can’t find them.” His voice was small. “I need to find them.”
“Marum,” Sten ordered. “Stay put.”
“Let me throw him a bone. Please, let me help him remember. After all this time, I think he really wants to know, Sten.”
“If he wanted to know, he wouldn’t be here.” Sten observed Eli intently, then nodded curtly. “All right, go ahead, but it can’t be obvious.” She heard the warning in his voice. Marum bent next to the dog, sliding the newspaper between her paws.
“I don’t know how to help you,” Remy said, her heart breaking for him.
A pall of despair settled over the room, filling her heart with his anguish. His pain became her pain. She could feel a heaviness in her own chest. “Look, I don’t even know if I believe this is really happening.”
“There is a woman.” Eli went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I need to speak to her. Bring her here. She will tell me what happened to Charlotte and. . .my boy. I need to know.”
“I can’t do that. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Find her,” he said as he became transparent. Both he and his voice were fading. “Find her. Her name is Georgia. Georgia Oaken.”
“Who?” she asked.
Remy blinked, and he was gone. She stared blankly around the room, silent but for the panting of her new protector, Scout.
“Some watchdog you turned out to be. The least you could have done was bite him. Do you believe what just happened? Scout?”
Scout’s paws held her father’s discarded newspaper. The dog whined, lifting her paw in appeal. Remy looked around the room, seeing nothing.
Reaching over, she slid the paper from the dog’s grip. The paper flopped open to a picture of a woman with two-toned hair, white in the front, black in the rear. She had penetrating obsidian eyes that pulled you to her face. In bold letters it spelled out her name.
“Georgia Oaken,” she said aloud. She had heard that name, but where? She couldn’t place it. She scanned the page. “Author of Ghost Followers and television personality appearing at the Cold Spring Library Sunday, 7:00 p.m. Contact Molly Valenti for tickets.” Aha, Molly mentioned a Georgia, she remembered now. That was tomorrow night.
“Why couldn’t I have bought a house with Scooby Doo as a roommate instead?”
* * *
“He is crafty!” Marum burst out. “He was playing on her emotions.”
“In a way, he’s cheating. Using us.”
“Is that what he’d doing, Marum, or is he surviving? We certainly haven’t helped him.”
“I thought it was forbidden to assist them. It slows their spiritual growth. They’re supposed to figure it out by themselves.”
“True.” Sten nodded his head. “But you have to reward someone for ingenuity. Well, fledgling, what do you want to do?”
“You’re asking me?” Marum said, her iridescent eyes wide with joy. “You’re really asking me?”
“They were very happy with your work with Tessa and Gerald. Hemmings House resolved itself very well. I have been given word to let you run the show from here on in. Go ahead, run the show.” Sten smiled, and the entire room filled with bright light. “They’re growing, you know. Every day. It is thrilling to watch.” He pointed to her back.
Marum turned her head to look at her back. Sure enough, the wings were bigger. Not as big as Sten’s but certainly noticeable by now.
“Go ahead, flex them,” Sten urged. “Try them out.”
Marum bunched her shoulders, feeling them stir. She flapped them a bit, and a smile spread across her luminescent face.
“Sten?”
“Yes, dear,” the older sentinel answered absently.
“Do you think they make my ass look big?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The phone rang, jarring the quiet of the house. It was Olivia checking in after school. Yes, she was having fun. No, she didn’t start her homework. There was a plaintive note in her child’s voice, but Olivia would not reveal what was bothering her. They kissed each other good-night for the rest of the evening, saying the usual silly phone ritual, and Remy hung up with an uneasy feeling about her daughter. She wished Livie were home. She would have been if Scott hadn’t asked for the extra night. Remy punched a pillow, angry she’d agreed so easily. Maybe it was better if Olivia wasn’t at home tonight. If she believed what she was seeing, could she be placing her child in jeopardy with the apparition? What if he tried to hurt her daughter? She sat on the couch, curled in a ball, wondering if the whole episode was a hallucination. She began to doubt everything, the gargoyle of insecurity landing on her slumped shoulders, pressing her inward. Maybe she imagined the glorious feeling with Hugh too. He hadn’t called all day. Her parents had called twice. They wanted to bring food. She told them she had eaten. Remy had no appetite. She never lied to them, but she found herself answering their questions with monosyllabic answers. If she revealed what she thought had happened, they would insist she move home. If Scott knew, he’d take Livie away. Really, what had happened? She had dreamed of a ghost, probably the product of her slightly disordered mind. Face in hands, Remy watched the corners, willing the captain to come back. Just to make sure he wasn’t a dream. She wondered if her situation looked better if he was real. Her eyes kept returning to the mural, observing the captain, watching for any change to reinforce what had happened.
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