South Asia had an entire category of succubus ghosts: the churel. These were women who had been mistreated, often by their families, and wreaked vengeance by seducing and "draining" male family members, starting with the youngest. Churels could branch out, though, to find surrogate targets for their rage, and were known to wander lonely roads in search of men. And Venezuela had La Sayona, a beautiful young woman who was wronged by her family and exacted her revenge by seducing men and then either devoured them or "mangled" their genitals.
Female ghosts with long hair and white dresses also seemed a popular motif. China had the nu gui, wronged spirits with long hair and white dresses. Central America had the Sihuanaba, women with long hair and white dresses who would lure men away and turn around to reveal the face of a horse. Then there was the more generic "white lady" always with a tragic tale attached. She could be found around the world, and there were many regional instances where she would appear by a roadside, as the infamous ghostly hitchhiker.
"It would help if I knew what kind of ghost you were hunting," Rose said. "Apparently vengeful, but beyond that...?"
He told her the story. When she went still, precisely as he expected, he started to speak, but she beat him to it with, "I've heard this one."
"Yes, I am aware it is perhaps the most common of the modern ghost legends. I'm not concluding that is what we have, but the reports seem to make it clear we have something supernatural in nature."
"No, I meant that I'd heard this specific story. This legend. Twice, in fact. I had a client maybe ten years ago who claimed to have seen her. Then one in the past year. That's not unusual--I often see clients who believe they've had a supernatural encounter. Apparently, a psychic is the one person who might not laugh at you for that." She paused. "And I do try not to, though sometimes it is difficult. I had a woman last week who swore her new house was haunted...by ghosts running behind the walls, making chittering noises."
"Exterminator."
"Yes, and I'll work up to that suggestion after a few more sessions."
Rose reached for the last cookie. Then she stopped and motioned for Gabriel to take it. When he didn't, she moved the plate over in front of him and continued, "These two particular cases--of the hitchhiker in white--were among the more convincing. In the first instance, the man was very distraught. He'd tried talking to his minister, who was very clearly out of his comfort zone, so someone suggested me."
"What was the nature of his encounter?"
Rose gave a story that matched many of the early reports--a young woman in white, a rainy summer night, an empty road. The man picked her up, but once she was in his car, she couldn't remember where she was going and began to panic and cry. He'd tried to calm her, promising to get help, but she'd disappeared.
"What upset him was, naturally, the encounter itself. He was the sort of man who, if he saw lights flicker, would contact an electrician, not an exorcist. But more than just being unsettled by the ghost itself, he couldn't shake the feeling that if she was a spirit, he'd failed to do whatever she needed to set her free. Over the course of a few sessions, I discovered he had a sister dealing with drug addiction, so we worked on addressing that issue, and he decided the ghost had been a manifestation of his feelings of powerlessness there."
"And it was?"
Rose refilled her tea. "One would think so, but I always got the sense there was more to it. That he had seen something, and it triggered guilt over his sister. His mind was looking for rational explanations. When I connected the dots, he could dismiss any foolishness about ghosts and focus on the real problem."
"Do you believe in ghosts?"
"I don't disbelieve. I know Liv had what seemed to be an encounter, and I've met others who've experienced something similar."
"And you?"
She sipped her tea and said, "I've always thought that the greatest barrier to belief in ghosts is the fact we aren't overrun with them. If they exist, why don't we all see them?"
Which was not what he'd been asking, but he only said, "Presumably, it's the same as seeing the future or seeing omens. Some can; others cannot."
"So would a ghost like this stand on the roadside, hoping for someone who can see her?"
"I doubt she has more pressing engagements."
Rose gave a short laugh. "True. Which brings us to the second account. My second client. That one was...troubling. And quite different, despite the fact she described a very similar initial situation."
"Young blond woman in a sundress looking for a ride on a rainy night?"
"Exactly. The descriptions were eerily similar. Both of the young woman and her initial actions. But this one knew exactly where she wanted to go."
Rose related a story similar to Lambert's. Her client picked up a hitchhiker who said she was staying with a friend in the countryside, and it was perfectly fine for the woman to drop her off at the corner. Naturally, she didn't. And for her trouble, she ended up being led, like Lambert, down back road after back road, complete with a seeming loss of time, before ending up in the middle of an empty field. Whereupon the hitchhiker vanished.
"Did she say anything to your client?" Gabriel asked. "Before she disappeared?"
"No. But she was very agitated. The encounter had happened only a day before, and my client seemed to have come to me for reassurance that it wasn't real."
Gabriel's brows shot up.
"Yes," Rose said. "It might seem that a psychic is the last person you should ask that, but it's not that uncommon. When people have strange experiences, they either want me to validate or repudiate them."
"Because, as someone with a connection to the otherworldly, if you say ghosts don't exist, that's proof."
"Better than asking a priest or an academic. For those who want me to repudiate their experience--particularly with ghosts--it is often a matter of faith."
"They believe in a very different afterlife. Whatever their church promises."
"Yes, but in this case, she claimed not to be religious, not to have any reason for wanting me to confirm she hadn't seen a ghost."
"Yet she obviously had. As evidenced by her agitation."
"So I made a critical mistake, one that I seem destined to repeat, whether it's with a client or--" She glanced at Gabriel and then took a quick sip of her tea. "My mistake was in pushing. I could see she was distraught. I thought if I could get to the root of it..."
Rose shook her head and drank more tea before putting the cup down with a clack. "I couldn't, and in trying, I pushed her away. Which is really a lesson you'd think I--" She straightened. "She left. Then, I had a dream that suggested she was in danger. From herself."
"Suicide."
"Yes. I called the next morning, and when I couldn't get a response, I went into a bit of a panic. I was trying to find a home address when her mother phoned me back, having gotten my message. My client was fine, and I was not to contact her again."
"Which seems suspicious."
Rose chuckled. "Not at all. Imagine you had a witness who walked out on an interview, and her family told you to stay away. Would that be suspicious?"
"Not considering my occupation."
"Precisely. I've lost clients who do want to continue...and are convinced otherwise by family members. The same as I assume you have with witnesses. I did phone again, from another number, a week later, and got my client on the phone. I didn't try to talk to her--I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She was."
As Gabriel was leaving, Rose handed him a box of cookies.
"For Liv," she said. "Take them across the road and tell her she forgot them."
Gabriel stared down at the box.
"It's an excellent excuse, Gabriel. Give her the cookies and clarify that her job is safe. Tell her that you're looking forward to seeing her at work tomorrow."
He tensed, his fingers tightening on the box.
"All right, then," Rose said. "Tell her you will see her tomorrow, and try to sound happy about it."
"I can
say that I'm pleased she's back. Her workload has been accumulating and--"
"No. Please no. Just hand her the cookies and say you'll see her tomorrow. I bet she'll ask you in, and then you can tell her about the ghosts, letting her know you're still taking the case."
He checked his watch.
"Don't even pretend you need to get home. When is the last time you went to bed before midnight?"
"I meant that it might be too late to call on her."
"When's the last time she went to bed before midnight?"
He set the box on the hall table. "It would be inconsiderate, given her travels. I'll see her in the morning."
He let himself out, saying goodbye as her sigh trailed after him.
THIRTEEN
GABRIEL
Gabriel arrived at the office just before eight. Olivia was already there, at the filing cabinet, pulling out work. When he walked in, she fixed him with her brightest stranger-welcome smile and trilled a "Good morning" that sent his heart plunging.
She swung over Lydia's desk, perched on the edge of it and grabbed a box from the desktop. A very familiar box.
"I have brought cookies," she said. "Rose stopped by last night. She said you wanted to bring me some, but she forgot to make a box before you left. I've only eaten one. Possibly two."
She grinned, and Gabriel had to bolt his feet to the floor to keep from mumbling something, striding into his office and shutting the door. To keep from being inexcusably rude. To keep from making this worse.
Not that it could get much worse. She was acting...well, like herself. Classic Olivia. From the grin to the greeting to swinging over the desk, perching on the edge, joking about how many cookies she'd eaten. This was good-mood Olivia. Bouncy and playful. The side of her that he'd never quite learned how to coax out, like a shaman trying to make the sun shine, realizing he could only wait, and it would come on its own.
This was one of his favorite sides of her, and so he should be happy. Olivia was back and acting like herself, and everything was fine. The sun shone again. Except it didn't. This was Olivia lighting a fire on the mountaintop and saying, "Look, sunshine!"
This was Olivia in fear for her job. Second-guessing herself, uncertain, uneasy. Very un-Olivia. And it was his fault.
When he'd offered her a position, he'd never stopped to consider the power dynamic it introduced into their relationship. His business had grown to the point where an investigator made good economic sense, and Olivia had the brains and the aptitude to learn the job. He also enjoyed working with her, which he'd always thought too much to expect of any employee.
Yet he was the one in charge. Assigning her tasks. Signing her paycheck. That still hadn't seemed a problem--it was a business arrangement that had no bearing on their personal equality. Or so it seemed until he'd gotten "pissy," as Ricky put it, over the Gwynn reveal. Gotten pissy and forgotten the imbalance of their work relationship.
Forgotten? No. A little honesty. Gabriel had known full well what he was doing when he told her not to come into work. Like a child who gets in a fight with a playmate and rescinds a sleepover invitation. I don't want to see you. So there.
Ricky had called him on it. He'd come to the office and spelled out exactly what Gabriel was doing. And Gabriel had ignored him.
I don't know what you're talking about.
You're misunderstanding the situation.
I'm very busy, and I have to leave now. Please let yourself out.
"Gabriel?" Olivia was still sitting on Lydia's desk. Still holding the box of cookies.
Your job is safe.
I'm sorry if I made you worry.
I would never terminate your employment.
She pulled the lid off the box and held them out. "Take one."
He did.
"I'll start coffee," she said as she swung off the desk.
Coffee.
Yes. He should ask her to join him for coffee. They'd walk to the shop down the road, and he'd buy her a mocha, and they'd talk about ghosts. He would tell her what Rose had said, and he would make it interesting.
He stood there, watching her brew coffee.
Too late now.
Really? It's coffee, not a four-course dinner. Just suggest getting her a mocha at the shop, and she'll gladly dump that.
"So what'll it be today?" she asked. "Black? Cream? Milk?"
"Black, please."
All right. Forget the coffee shop. Get her a mocha later. Just tell her about the ghosts. Sit down with your coffees and your cookies and talk.
He reached into his pocket and took out his notebook.
"I spoke to Rose about ghosts," he said.
"Oh?"
He thrust out the book. "It's in here. Read it, and then we can discuss. I have an appointment at eight-thirty, but I will be free after that."
He accepted his coffee with a murmured thank you and retreated to his office.
Gabriel took his client in the meeting room, which meant Olivia had to clear out--that being the only other area to work in. When he emerged from his office, she was with Lydia, having already vacated the meeting room, as if to be sure she didn't delay his appointment even a nanosecond. He motioned for her to work in his office, and she zipped past without a word.
Once his meeting ended, he opened his door and set her scrambling to gather her papers and laptop, even though she'd been working at the side desk--the spot where she used to sit, sharing the space with him.
"Leave it," he said, gesturing at her things. He pointed at his notebook, now on his desk. "Are you done with that?"
"I...I wasn't sure what you wanted me to do with it," she said.
He frowned. "Read it. Transcribe, if required. I said we were going to discuss it."
"Yeah..." She settled back into her seat. "Last time we spoke, you told me to drop it."
"No."
"You were clear on that, Gabriel. But okay, so you've changed your mind?"
"No."
"If you're giving me those notes so I can moonlight as Patrick's research assistant, I hope that doesn't imply a reduction in my hours." A bit of the old Olivia seeped into her voice. A note of steel that warned it had better not mean that. "You've been telling me how busy you are, so it's not as if you don't need the investigative work."
"I do. And I am not implying that you should moonlight for Patrick. What I meant is that I did not intend to suggest I was dropping the contract."
"Suggest isn't really the word you want there, Gabriel. You said--"
"I was tired. Irritable. Anything I say under those conditions should not be taken at face value."
Her lips twitched. "Can I get that in writing?"
He lowered himself into his chair. "I will admit that I'm torn by this case. I don't need the money. Nor will it bolster the professional reputation of my firm. It is, in short, a zero-sum proposition."
"But it intrigues you."
He made a face. "That's hardly a good reason--"
"It's the best reason. If you've earned the money and the rep, then this is your reward: the chance to solve a puzzle for pure interest's sake."
"One always needs more money and a better professional reputation--"
"Want. Not need. Two different things. And you'd like to solve this, right? It interests you."
"If it interests you..."
She sighed. Deeply. But she also relaxed in her chair, the conversation having slid back toward the realm of normal for them. "Fine, fine. Yes, you know I find it interesting. But don't use that to pull your bullshit."
"My bullshit?"
"Where you pretend you're indulging my whim so you can whine about it later."
"Whine?"
"Grumble. If you want us to pursue this, then we pursue it. If you can't be bothered, then say, I can't be bothered."
She watched him and waited.
After a minute, he said, "My current schedule does allow the addition of this contract, and I believe that the historical aspect may prove useful for bot
h of us, as a research angle we don't often encounter in our cases. It would not be a complete waste of my time."
"Close enough." She reached for his notebook. "So let's talk about ghosts."
FOURTEEN
PATRICK
Patrick saw Gabriel's Jag backing from the alley beside his building, and he broke into a jog, pulling up beside the car and rapping on the driver's window. It rolled down with a "Yes?"
The voice did not sound at all like his son's, and it took another moment to actually look and see a young woman in the driver's seat, one with ash-blond hair and green eyes, her lips pursed, as if she'd bitten into something and found it not to her taste.
"Liv?" He paused. "Why are you driving Gabriel's car?"
"Shhh. I'm stealing it. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
He jogged around the back of the vehicle, which may not have been the wisest choice, as he could swear he heard her playing with the accelerator. She kept her foot on the brake, though, at least until he'd cleared the bumper, and then she let the car roll back. He grabbed the passenger door and managed to get it open and slide in.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Adding kidnapping to the charges."
"Excellent. Now I just need to commit murder, and I'll have a full crime-spree hat trick."
"Still angry with me, I see."
"Not angry. Annoyed."
"You threaten to murder people who annoy you?"
"I'm part fae. I can't help myself. What do you want, Patrick?"
He looked out the side window. "Where are we going?"
She turned onto the next street. "If this is about that ridiculous project you set Gabriel on--"
"You don't like it?"
"Oh, I like it just fine. What I don't like is you sniffing around, trying to ingratiate yourself with him."
"Sniffing around? That sounds vulgar."
"No, just desperate." She took another corner, a little too sharp, smacking him against the door.
He fastened his seat belt as he said, "Are you forgetting that I saved you from Tristan?"
"No, you only 'saved' us from the inconvenience of figuring out what to do with him, and you only did that for this very same reason: to ingratiate yourself with Gabriel. Possibly me, too, as Matilda, but it's mostly about Gabriel. Which is why you started coming around while I was out of the country. Doing an end run around me."
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