by Ann Charles
As soon as I finished lighting the last one, he said, “Violet, you mentioned on the way here that you brought an item that ties you to this spirit.”
I fingered the picture of Layne in my pocket. “Yes.”
“Good. Sit inside of the triangle and wait for us to finish preparations. No, face the mirror. You need to be looking into the portal.”
I did as told, frowning at my reflection. Purple boots, green jeans, red puffy vest. I wondered what my choice of colors meant for tonight. I tried to flatten my wild hair so that the sight of me wouldn’t scare Ms. Wolff away.
Behind me the old radio sat dark, quiet. I crossed my fingers inside of my pockets, fighting the doubt demons taunting me.
Cornelius positioned Cooper outside of the circle of candles in front of me but slightly to the right of the triangle’s vertex so that he didn’t block the mirror. Doc took the vertex to my left and Cornelius took the one on my right. All three of them faced inward, toward me, making me the center of attention.
“Now what?” I asked, wishing I could be sitting on the outside for once.
“Where is the object that will link you?”
I pulled out Layne’s picture, holding it up for him to see.
“Hold the photo in your lap and focus on it.”
I frowned at my son’s sweet smiling face, my heart thudding hard in my chest. Focus how? On what in particular?
“Coop,” Doc said. “Keep an eye on her, but don’t touch her.”
“Got it,” Cooper shot back.
“Tall Medium,” Cornelius said, settling his one-horned Viking helmet on his head. “You know what you need to do.”
“Yes,” Doc said.
“You may begin.”
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, worrying my lower lip.
In the still of the attic, I could hear the wind whistling outside. The walls creaked and popped. Something flapped outside the window, reminding me of the paper on the basket in my nightmare.
No, I wasn’t going to think of that. I was going to focus on my son, alive and well, on his way to becoming a man. With Doc in the picture, Layne would finally have someone to turn to with questions that made me scratch my head … or cringe.
Cornelius began to hum, a deep rhythmic reverberation that lulled the anxiety bubbling low in my stomach.
I peeked at Doc out of the corner of my eye. One of his knees was raised, his forearm resting across it with his head lowered. A glance the other way found Cornelius sitting cross-legged, his usual position. His one-horned Viking helmet sat slightly crooked on his head, his face a picture of concentration.
I chanced a look-see in Cooper’s direction and ran into a pair of steely eyes staring back at me. He squinted a warning, for what I had no idea. Probably to quit fucking around and get to the business of catching ghosts.
Taking a deep breath, I shook the tension from my shoulders and settled in for the ride. I conjured a single candle in my mind, the flame flickering in the blackness. As I focused on the flame, making it grow and curl at the tips, Cornelius’s humming began to fade, replaced by a whispering sound.
I strained to hear it, letting the candle flame shrink to a single blue teardrop. The whisper grew louder, the sound becoming rhythmic. There was a beat there, one I recognized. I focused on the sound. The flame became a skinny blue line. I heard the sound of cymbals, then a soulful-sounding horn. The whispering grew louder, turning into a chorus I knew well from my memories of hanging out in Aunt Zoe’s workshop. The old record player. The crackling sound of a timeworn vinyl record. The Sons of the Pioneers singing in harmony.
I-ayyyyy. Yippee-i-oooooo!
I crooned along with them in a deep voice, “Ghost riders in the sky.”
I opened my eyes.
Cooper was gone, his spot near the vertex of the triangle empty.
So was Doc.
Only Cornelius remained. He’d removed his Viking helmet, though.
In the mirror’s reflection, I saw the radio. Its glass was lit with a soft yellow glow. The music poured from its speakers. I turned around to look at it, expecting it to be dark in my world.
But it wasn’t. It was lit up, just like in the mirror. The song ended, leaving the scratchy sound coming from the speakers. I knew that sound—a needle at the center of a spinning vinyl record. Dead air.
I pushed to my feet, stepping over the candles to move closer to the radio. Was it a record player, too? I didn’t see a way to open the top. I turned the knobs. Nothing changed. The lights glowed. The static continued.
A door slammed downstairs.
I looked toward the stairwell. Light reached up through it. Hadn’t Cooper locked that lower door? Where had Doc and Cooper gone? Had Harvey contacted them? Did we have trouble coming?
The light in the stairwell flickered a few times, then held steady.
Mournful violins began to play on the radio, giving me chills. If this was what Natalie had been talking about playing throughout the night, it was no wonder she was having trouble sleeping. There was something eerie about the golden oldies echoing from the radio. I sort of wished I had my war hammer right about then.
I turned back to the triangle in the circle. Cornelius still sat humming away. I hesitated. Should I stay and wait for Doc and Cooper to return?
Something crashed downstairs.
What was that?
“Doc?” I called down the stairwell.
No answer.
Shit. I searched the attic, looking for answers on what to do next. There was no way I was going to do something stupid and go down there alone. Nope. No way in hell.
“Parker!” I heard Cooper shout from below. “Come here!”
What was going on, damn it? Was Doc okay? Was the crash something to do with him?
I tiptoed down the stairs, peeking out into the lit hallway. It was empty. I stepped out onto the upper landing. “Cooper?” I called. “Where are you? Where’s Doc? The radio is working. You guys need to get up here.”
A creak came from the wide stairwell leading to the first floor. I walked around to the top of the stairs, seeing nobody below. “Cooper?”
A door clicked shut downstairs.
I hesitated on the top step, confused, uncertain, on the verge of goosebumps.
The sconce on the wall next to me dimmed and then brightened enough to make me squint when I looked at it. It flickered before returning to normal.
Up in the attic, the song changed. The theme song to Rawhide resonated down around me.
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ …
I stood a moment, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Everything looked the same, but the building felt like an echo of its usual self. The railing under my hand felt cool, solid and real. I clung to it, a touch of reality, as I made my way down the stairs.
Halfway down, I peered over the railing. Ms. Wolff’s door stood open a crack, a wedge of light leaking out into the hall. Was Hawke back? Did Natalie drop the ball for some reason?
“Cooper?” I whispered, tiptoeing down the stairs and over to her door. The small brass knocker was swinging slightly, like the door had only just opened—or someone had just used the knocker.
Upstairs, the Rawhide whip kept cracking. Frankie Laine’s voice flowed through the old boarding house with that scratching hiss of a worn 78 record.
Through the crack in Ms. Wolff’s door, I heard something creaking steadily. It reminded me of my great-grandmother, sitting in her rocking chair while her gnarled fingers fidgeted with her bag of rune stones.
Inching the door open, I eased inside the apartment, the bright hall light overhead keeping my unease at bay. The music from the attic faded, replaced by steady ticking sounds. Lots of ticking sounds.
I walked into the dining room, frowning at the wall of clocks. They were back, all of them. Had Hawke found …
It all made sense suddenly.
Shit. I’d really screwed this up. I hadn’t lured Ms. Wolff through the mirror, she’d lured me. T
he music, the crash, the creaks, the door slams. I’d followed her trail of breadcrumbs thinking I was chasing Cooper and Doc.
Damn, she was good. Leaving Cornelius behind was brilliant. Had I woken to find everyone gone, I’d have realized more quickly what was going on here.
The urge to return to the attic flooded me. Doc was going to be worried. I needed to backtrack and start over again. Maybe I should sit with my back to the mirror this time.
I turned to head back upstairs, but the door was shut.
I’d left it open, I was certain.
I walked over to it and pulled on it, twisting the knob one way and then the other, but it wouldn’t budge. Fuck.
The overhead hall light blinked on and off several times. Was that a sign? Was the power fluctuation something one of Cornelius’s paranormal gadgets would have picked up if we’d brought them? Or was someone trying to communicate using the electricity in the building?
“Please open the door, Ms. Wolff,” I said aloud, hoping that if it was a matter of communicating, she’d be reasonable.
The rhythmic creaking sound reached my ears again. It came from the other end of the hall, beyond the dining room full of clocks. Fear kept me glued in place. If my great-grandmother were sitting in that rocking chair in the living room, I’d know I’d stumbled onto the lidérc’s newest lair. Damn it. I should have brought my war hammer.
You can do this, I cheered to myself. When that didn’t make my feet move, I pulled Layne’s picture from my pocket. I needed to do this for him and Addy. I had to see who was waiting for me in Ms. Wolff’s living room. And why.
Taking a deep breath, my feet began to move again. I walked deeper into the apartment, rounding the wall and stepping into the living room. A sense of déjà vu struck me as I stood there looking at the rocking chair, which rocked on its own. I even remembered the creaking as it moved back and forth, or at least I thought I did. This all seemed so familiar—frighteningly so.
The rocking chair slowed to a stop.
“Where are you?” I asked, sounding brave, as if I wasn’t worried about my bladder letting loose at any minute. I cleared my throat. “Show yourself.”
The old country music started again, only it sounded even more scratchy, like it was being piped into the room.
I crossed my arms, tucking my trembling hands into my chest. “I don’t have time for games tonight. Show yourself and let’s get this over with.”
The music grew louder, enough so that I could pinpoint the source: the antique phone.
It sat on the end table beside the rocking chair. The lamp next to it seemed to spotlight it. The receiver was off the hook.
I moved to it, picking up the receiver and holding it to my ear.
“Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds …” crackled through the earpiece.
Chills spread up my arms and down my back.
“Hello?” I whispered, even though the tumbleweeds continued to roll along in verse.
In my peripheral vision, something moved.
With the phone still to my ear, I slowly turned my head, my heart slamming against my ribs.
In the shadowy corner of the living room, not ten feet away, stood the white-haired juggernaut. He was watching me.
My breath seeped out of my frozen throat, whistling like a dying breath. My body started to shudder, my muscles quivering so hard that my knees grew rubbery.
As we stared at each other, his snake-like eyes seemed to glow brighter. His body took on a more solid form, separating from the shadows, becoming more real. He took a step toward me. The lamp lit half of his craggy face, deepening the shadows around his eyes, adding more angles and ridges. In his hand was the medieval battle-ax I’d faced and dodged before, the blade shiny. Recently sharpened?
From my viewpoint, he looked to be straight out of Hell.
“Scharfrichter.” The name rolled off his tongue syllable by syllable.
My paralysis broke.
I screamed, stumbling backward, and tripped over my own boots.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Our plan had a flaw.
A big one with white hair, snake-like eyes, and a deadly weapon.
I tried to catch my balance as I stumbled, my arms flailing, but still fell on my ass. Prudence would have been so proud.
Twisting and pushing up at the same time, I sprung toward the door like a sprinter off the blocks. Head down, hell bent, I was getting back up to that attic immediately.
I’d made it two steps and rammed the top of my head into something solid in the empty air that sent me spinning sideways into the dining room table. My feet tangled with a chair and down I went again, rolling into the wall, jarring several clocks above me.
What the hell had I hit? The juggernaut? He must have moved at lightning speed. I sat up, blinking, searching for it. Where was he? My gaze darted to the living room, the bedroom doorway, the …
Through the legs of the dining room table and chairs, I saw something move. Breath held, I lowered my head, peering between the legs, and saw blue jeans and a gray thermal shirt.
Gray thermal … Cooper? I scrambled to my feet and raced around the table.
He sat up, holding his hand over his left eye. With his other eye, he glared up at me, his face contorted in pain and anger.
“Cooper! You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?” I glanced toward the front door, which was still closed. More important, “How did you get in here?”
He got to his feet, his mouth moving, but no sound came out.
Cocking my head to the side, I stepped closer. “What?”
His mouth moved again, his right hand waving in the air to emphasize his point. He was tense, no doubt about it. As I continued to watch him, trying to figure out what he was saying and why I couldn’t hear him, he stopped and shook his head. His chest rose and fell in agitated huffs. He pointed at the eye he was covering and then at my head.
Oh. He was what I’d plowed into during my haste to escape. I must have rammed my head into his face. No wonder he was so pissed.
I pointed at my ear. “I can’t hear you. It’s like you’re on mute. Can you hear me okay?”
He nodded, his mouth set in a hard line.
I reached out toward him. He reared back.
“Hold still, damn it. I’m testing something.” I reached again, touching his shoulder and then poking his chest. “Hmmm, I can feel you and see you, I just can’t hear you. Can you feel me?”
He lowered his hand covering his left eye, his teeth gritted as he undoubtedly cursed me.
I crossed my arms, trying not to cringe when I looked at the damage I’d done to the left side of his face. The area around his eye was already turning a dark reddish blue, showing the signs of turning into one hell of a shiner “That’s not my fault, Cooper. It was an accident.”
His face darkened, his mouth moving a mile a minute. He jabbed me in the shoulder, hard, bruising.
“Hey! It’s not like I did it on purpose. I couldn’t even see you standing there. Next time, stay the hell out of my way when I’m freaking out. I’d have thought you’d learned that lesson in Mudder Brothers when I broke your stupid nose.”
His eyes narrowed, the fury tightening his face scaring me a little. His right hand chopped the air as he let loose on me, but I only heard the tick-tock of the clocks on the dining room walls.
I watched him, feeling like he was on the other side of a wall of glass, or a television screen—a silent movie in the making. I was impressed with the amount of emotion the pissed-off detective could portray without making a single sound. Thanks to that lack of sound, I didn’t feel like jumping in and going head to head with him nearly as much, not even when he flipped me off with both birdies inches from my face.
Holding up my hands, I said, “Sorry, Cooper, but I don’t read lips well.”
I left him then, making for the front door. It was still locked. Shit. I strode back over to him, ignoring his glare.
“I sa
w the big white juggernaut,” I explained. “He was standing over in that corner. Did you see him?”
He looked in the direction I pointed, shaking his head.
“Shit. I was hoping you’d seen which way he’d gone. He was carrying that damned battle-ax of his.” What had his twin brother called it? A scythe? Whatever. I was calling it an ax.
Cooper pushed me aside, not very nicely either, and headed toward the bedroom.
I followed. “Cooper, stop! Where are you going? We need to get out of here and back to the attic. I screwed this up somehow.”
He pushed open the door to Ms. Wolff’s bedroom. The light was on in there. We stood in the doorway, looking in at the full wall of clocks, the bed, the dresser, the unbroken mirror—everything was just as it had been the first time I’d stepped into this room that day Cooper showed me Layne’s picture in her dresser mirror.
The mirror … I looked at the dresser. Layne’s picture wasn’t there. I felt in my pocket. Because I had the picture.
I pulled it out, frowning down at it. If I had the picture …
Cooper grabbed my arm, tugging me away from the doorway into the living room.
“Damn it, Cooper.” I tugged back. “You almost made me drop the picture.” I shoved it in my pocket.
He stopped so fast that I ran into him.
Shoving him to the side, I growled, “Don’t stop right in the—”
The words froze on my lips.
The juggernaut stood on the other side of the living room, seeming even larger than before. He was a hulking presence compared to the woman at his side, who was close to my height but willowy. Her hair was long and white, her cheekbones high and strong, reminding me of the drawings in my kids’ history books of Sacagawea, the Shoshone woman who helped Lewis and Clark, only with every part of her faded white. Her eyes matched her companion’s, though, with snake-like slits for pupils.
“Cooper,” I whispered, stepping closer, bumping into him. “Do you see them?”
If he answered, I couldn’t hear. He tucked me behind him, shielding me. I would have suggested we make a run for it, but they were standing between the door and us. There was no way we’d both make it past the juggernaut and his blade, at least not in one piece.