by Meg Benjamin
Something cool and damp brushed against her cheek and she fought the urge to let go of his hands so that she could bat it away. A light danced on the edge of her vision. She took a breath and turned slightly.
A dim ball of light hovered in the corner of the room. Somewhere she could hear Helen whining with what sounded like fear. Her shoulders tensed. If a hellhound was afraid, it was probably a good idea to be cautious herself. The light shimmered for a moment, then began to stretch, becoming longer and thinner, resolving itself slowly into the dim outlines of a body.
“Do you see that?” she gasped.
“See what?”
“Never mind.” She watched, fascinated, horrified, as the dim outlines became more firm, recognizable now as a person. A woman, wrapped in something. A blanket? She swallowed hard. A shroud?
The woman’s arms moved and she realized it was a cape. Something medieval-looking but oddly familiar. The color was dim in the darkened room, but Rose could see enough to guess. Pink. Maybe orange. Maybe . . . red.
“Holy crap,” she breathed. “Alana?”
The ghost turned slowly in her direction, and she saw the woman’s face for the first time. Slightly plump. A knot of frizzy curls on her forehead. Surprisingly ordinary-looking—but a little like the publicity photo from the Nightmare. She flickered, sort of like Skag did when he was upset about something.
“Are you Alana DuBois?” Rose asked more firmly.
Alana’s mouth opened and closed, like a television set with the sound turned off.
“I can’t hear you,” Rose called. “Try again.”
“Who the hell are you?” The voice was still faint, but apparently Alana was irritated enough to be heard.
Evan’s hands squeezed hers painfully. “Sweet mother of mercy, I can hear her.”
“Can you see her?”
“No. Just hear.”
“Who the hell are you, I said?” Alana’s voice was considerably louder now.
“My name is Rose Ramos. I’m a medium.”
“Oh. Like me?”
Rose blew out a breath. “Sort of.”
“Where am I?”
Rose frowned. She was getting the uncomfortable suspicion that Alana might not realize her particular position in this get-together. “You’re in San Antonio. King William.”
“King William?” Her lips spread in a smirk. “Never did a séance in King William before. So what do you want? Just the standard kind of thing?”
“What do you remember about what happened to you?” Evan was turned in the general direction of Alana’s voice.
Alana gave no indication that she’d heard him. “You work for Garcia, too?”
Rose shook her head. “I work for myself, but I know Augie.”
“Cheap son of a bitch.” Alana sniffed.
“Ask her what she remembers,” Evan said more urgently.
“Do you remember what happened to you before tonight?”
Alana stared at her. “What do you mean? When?”
Okay, she was definitely a little out of the loop. “Where were you before you came here tonight?”
For the first time, Alana looked less than confident. “Before? . . .” She drew her cloak around her a bit more snugly. “I was . . . you know . . . waiting.”
“Waiting where?” In spite of everything, Rose felt curious all of a sudden. Skag had never been too clear about what went on when he went to the Other Side.
“In a room.” Alana stared at her, her mouth opening and closing. “Oh God, I remember now. The light. Somebody called my name and then there was light. And it . . . hurt.” Her eyes were suddenly full of tears. She hugged herself around the waist, trembling.
Across from her, Evan leaned forward. “It’s all right. It’s okay. Help us and we’ll find them. The ones who did this to you.”
Alana didn’t look up.
“She can’t hear you,” Rose hissed. “I think she can only hear me.”
Alana straightened slowly. “Is somebody else here?”
Rose nodded. “Yes. He’s okay. He’s with me.”
“And you’re a medium. So this is a . . . séance? A real séance?”
Rose nodded again, more slowly this time.
Alana stared at her. “I’m a ghost in a séance?”
Rose licked her lips. “Yes. We . . . called you, I guess. We need your help.”
Alana stared a moment longer, then her mouth edged up in a wry grin. “I guess it figures. I spent my time pretending I could talk to spirits. Only right that I should end up as one myself.”
Evan blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Okay. Tell her who I am. Ask her why she called me about Bradford.”
Rose gritted her teeth. Even without Skag, she still got ordered around. On the other hand, she wanted the same answers herself. “The other person here with me is Evan Delwin, the writer. We’re investigating William Bradford. You called Evan and left a message before you . . . left . . . about Bradford. What did you want to tell him?”
Alana loosened her grip on the cape, so that it fell smoothly around her shoulders again. “I knew him when I was a kid. Willie. Willie Bradinski then. He changed it to Bradford. I kind of kept track of him ’cause he was doing so well. Wrote him a couple e-mails, only he never got back to me.”
“Did you speak to him after he moved down here?”
She shook her head, sending the hood sliding back from her face. “I went to one of those shows of his—expensive stuff. I was gonna go see him afterward, talk about old times, you know.”
Right. Rose guessed that conversation would probably be more about how Bradford could help finance Alana’s career than about how much she missed Millersville. “So did you get to talk to him?”
“I was going to, but then when he came out for the show, I saw it wasn’t Willie.”
“Wasn’t Willie?” Evan’s forehead furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“You mean it was a different person using Willie’s name?”
Alana shook her head again. “Not exactly. I mean, it looked like Willie. The voice even sounded like him. But when he talked, got up and walked around and all, it wasn’t the same. It was like somebody else inside Willie. A Willie puppet or something.”
“Could it have been? . . .” Rose paused, trying to figure out how to put it. “People change when they get successful sometimes. Could he maybe? . . .”
Alana’s mouth drew up in a grimace. “No. I’m not just talking about changing. Even if you change, some things stay the same. This was completely different. Somebody else pretending to be Willie but looking just like him. Like he’d had . . . plastic surgery or something.”
Evan leaned forward. “Ask her if she’d noticed any changes in Willie before.”
“Was this the first time you noticed something different? I mean, had you noticed anything like that when you saw him on TV?”
Alana shrugged. “I didn’t watch him on TV all that much. I mean, I couldn’t see that he was doing anything different from what the rest of us did. But he was making all that money. Didn’t seem fair.” She grimaced.
“So you don’t know when exactly he might have changed?”
She shrugged, grudgingly. “He was still Willie on the TV. Mostly anyway—it’s sort of hard to tell on television. But when he got down here and started doing those live shows of his and those ‘consultations’—he changed then.”
Rose turned to Evan. “Anything else?”
He shrugged. “I guess you could ask her if she knows who did this to her.”
Rose shook her head. “No. She doesn’t. And I don’t want to make her think about it.” She turned back to Alana again. “I have one more thing to ask you. I need to find someone on the Other Side. Could you ask around and see if he’s available?”
Alana bit her lip. “I haven�
��t seen anybody over here yet. I don’t know what I can do exactly. Or if there’s anybody I can ask.”
Rose nodded. “I understand. But I really do need to talk to him. If you could just ask. His name is Skag. Please tell him I need to talk to him. Badly.”
“All right.” Alana blew out a breath. “Am I supposed to get back to you? I mean, am I supposed to be your guide or something?”
“I don’t know,” Rose said slowly. “Maybe. I mean, we’re talking now, so maybe I’m the one you’re supposed to communicate with.”
“I can do that, I guess.” Alana looked pensive. “Kind of strange to end up this way, though.”
Rose nodded. “I can see how it would be. I guess if you don’t want to . . .”
“No.” Alana sounded more certain now. “No. I want to. It’s just, well, who would have figured it?”
“Not me,” Rose said fervently. “We’ll try to contact you again tomorrow. Unless Skag gets in touch with me before that.”
Alana began to fade, slowly, her red cloak turning pale rose, then pink, then transparent. Like Skag, her face was the last thing to disappear. “Nice talking to you,” she said faintly as she disappeared.
Rose sighed. “Not exactly. But close enough.”
***
Evan carried the chairs to the dining room, watching Rose put the living room back the way it had been before. She moved like someone with weights on her feet. She should probably be in bed. So should he. Preferably hers.
She paused for a moment, leaning on the table, her eyes closed.
“I don’t want you to be alone tonight,” he blurted. Oh, very smooth. Yeah, that should win her over.
She turned to look at him, her expression wary. “It’s been a long day, Evan. First you walk out on me. Then I find Autumn’s safety deposit box. Then my mom gets attacked. Then Skag disappears. I don’t know how much more I can take here.”
“You found Autumn Patrick’s baseball?” He was intrigued in spite of himself.
She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Skag did. Or rather, he found Clint Patrick and asked him where it was. I went over to Autumn’s house and helped her find the key to the deposit box where he’d stashed it.”
“Oh.” Do not get distracted, Evan. “Okay look, here’s the thing—I don’t think you’re safe here, but I know why you want to stay. Only I think I need to be here with you.” He blew out a breath, hoping that didn’t sound as pathetic as he feared it probably did.
She stared at him again, her face weary, and suddenly logic went out the window. He stepped in front of her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to pull her close. The warmth of her body combined with the faint scent of vanilla in her hair to send a shot of pure desire straight to his nether regions. “It’s okay, Rosie,” he whispered. “I can sleep on the couch. Just let me stay here tonight, okay? For my own peace of mind.”
Rose sighed again, a gust of warm breath across his collarbone. “Oh, Evan,” she murmured. “What makes you think I want you on the couch?”
He blinked. “You want me to go?”
She shook her head. “I want you with me.”
Her bed felt familiar. More than familiar—it felt right. Evan knew he should be kicking himself for doubting her, to say nothing of hurting her, but right now all he wanted to do was hold her. They lay on top of the spread, fully clothed, and it was still one of the most soul-shaking experiences he’d ever had.
She slid her hand under the edge of his shirt, resting her palm against his chest, her cheek against his shoulder. He was pretty sure his pulse kicked up a few beats, and he was pretty sure she felt it. He cupped her breast, feeling the warm weight against his hand. His body was beginning to make some very specific demands, but he was doing his best to ignore them. She’d had a tough day, and a lot of that was his fault. He wasn’t inclined to press her at this point.
She snuggled deeper against him, tucking her head between his shoulder and chin. The moist warmth of her lips touched the side of his throat. “Evan,” she whispered.
“Yeah?” His voice sounded slightly rusty. Like he hadn’t used it in a while.
“Could you make love to me? Just . . . you know . . . slow?”
Right. The slow part was likely to be a challenge. “Are you sure?”
He felt her nod. “I’m sure.”
He took hold of the edge of her T-shirt, pulling it up and over her head as gently as he could. Slow, slow. Her bra slipped off easily, joining her shirt in a pile on the floor, and he stared down at the cool silver of her body in the moonlight spilling through the bedroom window. Her nipples were dark circles against the alabaster of her skin. He leaned down, taking one in his mouth and sucking gently, feeling it pebble against his tongue.
She gasped, the sound a faint echo in the room, and he brought his other hand to her hip, unbuttoning her jeans carefully. She moved to touch him, but he shook his head. “No. Just you. This is just for you.”
He slid her jeans and panties down her legs, feeling the smooth softness of the skin underneath. And then he pushed her legs wider, leaning to run his tongue along the delicate skin at the top of her thighs.
She gasped again, bringing her heels up against the spread. He worked his way down her thigh with tongue and lips, nipping lightly when he reached the joining of her hip and thigh. Rose moaned, her hips moving restlessly. “Shh,” he whispered, “be still now.”
He parted her folds with his thumbs, touching the stiff nub with the tip of his tongue, then sliding one finger into her opening. Her wetness made his groin throb with need—he wondered if doing some multiplication tables in his head would slow things down, but he had a feeling they were way beyond that point.
He sucked against her again, lips, tongue, and the edges of his teeth, running his tongue quickly around the nub again. His fingers were slick with her moisture, her heels moving beside him. She speared her fingers into his hair, rubbing against his scalp as she moaned.
“Ah, Evan,” she murmured. “I need you inside me.”
He half-rose to his elbows, staring up into green eyes glazed with need. “Let me finish you, sweetheart.”
She shook her head. “No. Inside me. Now.”
He pushed his clothes down, bringing his hips against hers, closing his eyes for a moment so that he wouldn’t see her desire—he had a feeling he wouldn’t last long if he did. Sheathing himself seemed to take twice as long as it should.
Rose rocked her hips back, opening to him. And then he was plunging deep, the whole slow thing long gone. He couldn’t be slow with her, not when he’d almost lost her through his own boneheadedness. Not when she’d opened herself to him again.
Ah, Evan, you so don’t deserve this.
And then the climax shot up his spine like a bottle rocket, taking him over and bringing her with him. “Rose,” he groaned. “Sweet Rose. My Rose.”
Maybe not the most articulate pillow talk he’d ever come up with, but at least it was accurate. Now all he had to do was show her he was worth it.
Chapter 25
Evan fell asleep holding Rose tight, feeling the complete relaxation that only came when he was next to her. He slid easily into the gray zone between sleeping and waking, then he slipped deeper and deeper, sliding down an endless well of darkness.
Skag was waiting for him at the bottom. He seemed oddly dim—as if he were flickering between opaque and transparent. “It took you long enough. Do you think I have all night?”
“You’d know that better than I would.” Evan looked around the dreamscape. Crumbling stone walls. Ceiling so far overhead it was invisible. Cold stone blocks beneath his feet. Barred iron door in front of him.
“Shit. The dungeon again.”
“Yes, the dungeon,” Skag growled. “Of course, the dungeon. Does your subconscious ever go anywhere else?”
“My subconscious doesn’t usually
ask about my preferences.” He sank down onto a stone block, folding his arms over his chest. “Where the hell were you tonight? Rose needed you. She still does. Why haven’t you contacted her?”
Skag shook his head, grimacing briefly. If the man wasn’t already dead, Evan would have sworn he was in pain. “Listen, just listen. I don’t know how long I can talk to you. I’m being . . . constrained. And I have information you need.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“Bradford—or rather, the force behind Bradford—killed both mediums. I’m not sure why. Possibly because they suspected he’s something other than what he appears to be.”
Evan took a deep breath, thinking of all the questions he wanted to ask but wouldn’t. “How exactly has he or they or it been doing that, the killing part, I mean?”
“The spirit assumes the form of a calling ghost. Rather primitive, but quite effective in some situations. The ghost calls your name. If you turn around and look at it, the ghost consumes you.”
“Consumes?” Evan raised his eyebrows, ignoring the chill in his blood.
Skag nodded. “It feeds on human souls, becoming stronger with each one. The basic soul eater agenda. I didn’t know exactly what was happening until Rose described the way the last medium died. I did some double-checking to confirm it. That’s a calling ghost at work, but few live to talk about it.”
Evan shivered, remembering Brenda Cerrone’s glowing body. “Soul eater?”
Skag shook his head impatiently. “Ask Rose. Her brother encountered one not long ago.”
Evan started to pursue the question, then thought better of it. “Is that what happened to Rose’s mother?”
“It tried to call her, too, but it wasn’t entirely successful.” Skag shook his head. “Deirdre managed to get inside the front door so that the wards around it could protect her. The blast injured her, but it didn’t kill.”
“The wards?” Focus. “What’s wrong with her? What can we do?”
“She’s soul-lost. The calling ghost tried to consume her, but the house offered partial protection. However, her soul became separated from her body in the process, and the soul eater has been trying to lure her deeper into the shadows. If it succeeds, her soul will be lost permanently—she’ll die. You and Rose must stop it.”