by JL Bryan
Kara didn't look even slightly amused by my joke, though Nicholas, standing just behind her, tossed me a wink for it. Ugh.
I turned the big metal wheel and swung open the heavy door. The interior, in addition to being lined with a layer of lead, was also wallpapered with religious symbols and prayers from just about every major religion you can think of, plus at least a dozen that were so obscure or long-dead that nobody would think of them. Calvin's a pragmatist and believes in hedging his bets. The clear intent, anyway, was that whatever force for good existed in the universe could maybe lend a hand in protecting the rest of the world from the objects secured within the safe.
Though they weren't truly “secured” any longer, I supposed, if they were now passing into the hands of Nicholas, Kara, and their creepy but well-financed friends. They were loose.
“We shouldn't leave this open long,” I said. “Take your information quickly so we can seal it back it up.”
“I will need to know the origin and history of each item,” Kara said.
“Lucky you, we have written case files for all of that. And those are your filing cabinets now,” I added.
Nicholas ignored both of us. He was staring at the shelves and passing a hand close to each object, his haughty smile fallen into a flat, hard line. His eyes darkened. I don't mean that metaphorically. They actually changed color.
“Why do your eyes do that?” I asked him.
He looked at me, and his gaze seemed to penetrate my skull. “It comes with my Sight. It's a rare condition. Mostly associated with people who were burned as witches, in fact. It's pleasant to live in more civilized times.”
“Your Sight? But that doesn't mean you can read minds, does it?”
“I can see every thought you have as clearly as if it were typed on a sheet of paper. Just constant scrolling text.”
“Really?” I shuddered. The way his eyes were staring at me—they'd gone all the way to a dark amber now—I could believe it. I would have probably believed anything he told me at that moment. “Are you...mesmerizing me?”
Kara's laugh sounded like ice cracking across a frozen lake. That broke the spell instantly, and I blinked, looking away from him.
“Mesmerizing,” Kara said, shaking her head. “I think she likes you, Nicholas.”
“If he can read my thoughts, then he knows what I think of him.” Stupid ugly life-ruining pig with demon eyes, I thought at him.
“You're thinking of an angry pig,” he said. "With lovely eyes."
I thought I would be sick.
“Nicholas cannot do all he claims,” Kara said. I doubted she was trying to comfort me—she was probably enjoying jabbing him, since he was, ultimately, a person with feelings that could be hurt, too. “He can see and sense your energy, and sometimes pick up on images and memories. He cannot read your thoughts word for word.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I told her. “Now can we close this vault?”
“Are you frightened?” Kara looked over the assorted items on the shelf, most of them sealed in small ghost traps with leaded glass surrounded by battery-pattered mesh to create an energy barrier.
“It's like a collection of bad memories for me,” I said. “But go ahead. Open them up. See what grabs you.”
“Tell us about them,” Nicholas said, turning all his attention back to the odd assortment of artifacts. “Kara, you're recording, right?”
“I have been recording all of this,” Kara said, waving her smart pen. “I want to make sure the Board of Directors can hear for themselves how resistant Ellie is to her new position.”
“Well, thanks for thinking of me,” I said. “All right. You are now the proud owners of...one broken idol made of volcanic rock...” I gestured to the cracked pieces of what had been a rotund little humanoid with horns, tusks, cloven hooves, and a pot belly. Its clawed hands clasped each other. Its buggy black eyes stared back at me from the fractured head. “The last owner was Captain Augustus Marsh, who used it in his strange, secret rituals, and his ghost stayed closely connected to it after his death.”
“Where did it originate?” Nicholas asked.
“We don't know.”
“I will flag it for the anthropologists,” Kara said, snapping pictures with her tablet.
“You have anthropologists on staff?” I asked.
“Do you have any idea how cheaply one can hire a qualified anthropologist these days?” Nicholas asked. “Even with a doctorate from a prestigious university, they work painfully cheap. Shamefully cheap, even. You almost feel bad for hiring them. Now, moving on...” He pointed to a lead-glass jar holding a handmade rag doll with button eyes, yarn for hair, and a black permanent-marker mouth turned downward in an expression of horror. Needles bristled out all over the doll.
“That belonged to probably the most dangerous little girl I've ever met,” I said. “She used it as a focus for her telekinetic abilities. That's what we concluded. She could act at a distance.”
“Like a poltergeist?” Nicholas asked. “Or a doppelganger?”
“Similar effect,” I said. “Only more deliberately under her control.”
“Very interesting,” Nicholas said, with a meaningful look at Kara, who appeared indifferent and didn't even meet his gaze. “And this?” He pointed to a wind-up soldier that was nearly a hundred years old, and clearly predated all safety and insurance regulations regarding children's toys, with rusty metal teeth and a long, sharp iron bayonet on its musket.
“The soldier sometimes walks on its own,” I said. “It belonged to a boy who developed some homicidal tendencies during his time as a ghost.”
“Interesting.” Nicholas stared at it, his eyes dark. “I'm not picking up on much.”
“Good, because they're supposed to be sealed,” I said. “Plus, I'd really prefer it if none of these things turned out to be dangerous at all. They're mostly here as a precaution.”
“What fun would that be?” Nicholas said. “I'm sure you've found a few powerful things in your time. Speaking of which...you must have a disposal process for the entities you capture.”
“We're catch and release,” I said. “The less harmful ones, we just release them into one or another little graveyard out in the countryside. Walled cemeteries in ghost towns.”
“And the more harmful ones?” Nicholas asked, grinning slightly now, his eyes so dark that they were really starting to bother me. “Where do you keep them?”
“Are you, by any chance...possessed, or something?” I asked.
“Possessed?” Nicholas recoiled, his eyes turning blue again. “I explain to you that I have a simple but rare genetic malady associated with my unusual perception, and you make a joke of it?”
“She was possessed when I met her.” I nodded at Kara.
“And I was meant to remain possessed,” Kara said. “Until you botched it up. We needed Ithaca Galloway's insights. Do you understand how rare it is to find a ghost so eager to add to the general body of paranormal research? A ghost so cooperative with our goals? A ghost so self-aware?”
“Self-awareness is a rare trait all around,” I said. “If you want ghosts to develop self-awareness, maybe you could just send them to your Higher Self Centers for six hundred dollar meditation workshops, kale smoothies included, am I right? Of course I'm not. The kale smoothies are always extra.”
“Do you have a point?” Kara asked.
“Probably.” I turned my attention to Nicholas, answering questions about more of the artifacts while Kara took notes. It felt like I was baring my soul to them, or at least portions of it, revealing bits of my darkest and scariest memories, some of them dating back to my earliest investigations with Calvin. Calvin had seemed dubious about me at first—well, more than that, he had completely rejected my desire to work with him—but after I'd stuck with him through some particularly hair-raising, blood-letting episodes, he'd developed enough grudging respect to actually start training me.
When Nicholas and Kara had finally cataloged the super
natural inventory, I closed the heavy door with a feeling of relief. The basement immediately seemed a little brighter and warmer. I was almost dizzy with all of the frightening memories I'd just conjured up.
“Okay, we can head back now,” I said, edging my way toward the stairs. Nicholas and Kara remained in place, looking around at the old boxes and storage bins, which I knew to be full of nothing important. It was the washed-up this and that of several years, some of it junk that was already here when Calvin rented the building.
“What's the rest of this?” Kara asked.
“I don't really know,” I said. “Make yourself at home sorting through all of it.” I continued toward the stairs, picking up the pace.
“Not yet.” Kara stepped in front of me, blocking my path to the aluminum steps. Her garb could have been that of a corporate raider—black slacks, black jacket, her long dark hair nailed up against her head with bobby pins. The chill in her eyes hinted at something dark within her, too. I wondered what her background was, what her childhood in Russia was like. Not that I wanted to be pals, but I certainly wanted to understand where she was coming from and what drove her, if she was going to have this much power over me.
Not for the first time, I considered just quitting. I could walk out, leave the whole messy business in the hands of a much larger company, start a new life somewhere else. Michael had even said he was thinking of moving away after Melissa went off to college, if I was game to do it.
At the moment, I was feeling pretty game. But it wasn't an option now—not until Michael was awake again, not until Anton Clay was finally caught and buried somewhere deep below the earth, or maybe in a sealed canister at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, where he could just try to start a fire six miles below the surface of the ocean.
Until then, I had to keep my job. So I bit my lip, held my tongue, and tried not to stick my foot in my mouth.
“All right, Kara,” I said. “What's the problem now?”
“You seem eager to leave,” she said.
“I don't really like to hang out in the basement.”
“There's something you're keeping from us.” Nicholas approached me, his eyes dark, and placed an unwelcome hand on my shoulder. I drew away from him.
“I'm an open book,” I said.
“Yes, in some respects.” Nicholas looked me over, as if reading me. “You were on an investigation last night, or early this morning, before we arrived.”
“We told you, we just ran out for breakfast—”
“I'm aware of what you told us,” Nicholas said.
“It is not very believable.” Kara pointed at my rumpled clothes. “Not even you would wake up in the morning and prepare yourself to go out in public looking like this. You may have had breakfast—we've discussed the jelly stain there on your shirt—but it was only after a night of...well, that is what you must tell us.”
“I don't see why you would hide being out on a case,” Nicholas said. “Cases pay the bills. Anyway, I can see you're lying to us. You might as well be advertising it on a neon sign.”
I felt myself slump a little. Maybe it wasn't physical, but it was definitely psychological. I wanted to keep the Anton Clay situation away from them since it was personal to me, but there was no way I would be able to work on it day and night without them noticing.
“It's more of a follow-up,” I said. “An extremely important one. There's a dangerous ghost on the loose, a pyrokinetic mass murderer. He likes to burn people alive, you see. He used to be trapped in one spot, but recent construction set him free—”
“Who is the client on this case?” Nicholas asked.
“Well...there's not one specific client, but this entity is too dangerous to be roaming the streets. He's going to kill people.”
“But no one is paying you to pursue him?” Kara asked. “The hours cannot be billed?”
“We are talking about a major public menace here. You don't have to assist with it or anything. We'll wrap it up ourselves.”
“Not with our time and resources,” Kara said.
“That's fine, I'll do it on my own time.”
“With your own equipment?” Kara asked, a faint smile on her lips.
“Well, come on,” I said. “Of course we'll need our gear."
“It is no longer 'your' gear,” Kara said. “It is now our gear.”
“That's...actually what I said." I turned to Nicholas, who at least sometimes acted like he sort of liked me in one way or another. “You have to let us take care of this. Trust me. The ghost is going to cause major problems if we don't.”
“If we are fortunate, it will cause problems for someone who can afford to hire investigators,” Kara said.
“You can't be serious,” I said. “People could die, and you're okay with that? Come on, Nicholas. Maybe I can believe she is horrible enough to just sit back and let that happen. Are you the same way?”
“Not all things are left at my discretion, unfortunately,” Nicholas said. “The company has certain policies that must be followed. Our assets—including our people, you understand, including you and Stacey—cannot be put at such risk on a pro bono case. Approval would need to come from high above my head.”
“Then let's reach up there and get it,” I said.
“Your request is declined,” Kara said. She gave me a quick little smile, making me think of a cat who's successfully nabbed a goldfish from the aquarium.
“Seriously? She outranks you, Nicholas?” I looked her over. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” Nicholas said.
“Who put you in charge?” I looked at Kara.
“She's a very powerful medium,” Nicholas told me.
“And what are you, again?” I asked him.
“Telepathic,” he said. “Well, primarily to do with seeing and sensing energies.”
“Of the living or the dead?”
“Bit of both.”
“We're not here to be interviewed by you, Ellie.” Kara looked down at her tablet. “We're done with her for now. Come, Nicholas.” She started up the stairs, and he followed.
“Ellie?” Nicholas glanced back at me.
“I'll be up soon.”
“I thought you said you hated the basement,” he said.
“It's starting to grow on me.”
He shook his head as he followed Kara up the stairs.
The anger began to seethe pretty quickly. I hadn't expected their help with Anton Clay, but I also hadn't expected them to forbid me from continuing the investigation. I had no intention of giving up, but it was going to be difficult to accomplish anything with the detective agency's new owners standing in the way.
Chapter Six
While the black-suited vultures combed through the office, I slipped outside to meet Stacey. I'd apprised her of the basic situation via text message, but there was no way to relate how it felt to have the place invaded and taken over by outsiders.
“I can't believe this,” Stacey said, after parking and jumping out of her Ford Escape. “They're really taking the place apart?”
“They're really making a mess, anyway.”
“I'm surprised they haven't kicked Calvin out from upstairs.”
“He gets extra time.” I glanced around to make sure we were still alone outside the building. “They say we can't go after Anton, either.”
“Did you explain—”
“I explained enough,” I said. “They see it as charity work since nobody's paying us for it. Just wait until he sets a building on fire—then maybe someone will hire us to deal with him. That's their philosophy.”
“That's terrible! Does Calvin know about this?”
“He's not in charge anymore. He's getting ready to move out. If we defy them and investigate Anton anyway, we can only use whatever gear we can smuggle out. Also, we could get fired.”
“Seriously?” Stacey shook her head. “This isn't going well at all. But I'm with you, you know? If you want to go after Clay, I don't care w
hat the British or the Russians have to say about it. We can't let him run wild.” Stacey's expression hardened. Maybe she was thinking of how Anton had tied her up and nearly turned her into a charcoal smudge. “People will die.”
“Thanks for having my back, Stacey.”
“Yeah, duh. Now how else can we disobey them and cause problems? Any ideas?”
“They've got us pretty good.” I shook my head. It felt like a huge betrayal by Calvin, but nobody else was going to come along and offer him a huge cash payment for the detective agency, freeing him to go and live near his daughter and newborn grandchild.
The front door of the building opened. One of the apparently-nameless auditors from Paranormal Solutions, a young woman with heavy midnight green eyeshadow, emerged with a smile that flickered and faded in an eyeblink. She wore a Bluetooth-style earpiece and carried a digital tablet and pen, like all the others. “Ellie Jordan?” she asked, looking at me as if she wasn't quite sure.
“Yep. Nice to meet you, Miss...”
“Nicholas wants you to come see him right away.”
“And I want a vacation in Maui,” I said. “A week at least, though it would be hard to bear anything less than a month. Did you know Willie Nelson lives down there?”
“Um.” The woman stood there, blinking. “Okay. Right this way.”
“Oh, I know the way. That's not the issue. Thanks for the message.” I waved as if to dismiss her, but she didn't move.
She nodded, as if someone invisible had spoken to her. Or someone had spoken to her over the earpiece, I suppose that was more likely.
“Now he wants both of you to come,” she said. “He wants to welcome Stacey to her first day at Paranormal Solutions.” She opened the door and leaned against it to prop it open, arms crossed. I could see another one of the young corporate vultures in the lobby, shaking his head at the sparse and not very attractive décor.
Stacey and I shared a quick look. We obviously wouldn't be getting any more private conversation time.
“All right, let's get it over with,” I said.
The young woman, who still hadn't introduced herself, led us back into our building. We passed through the large workshop and over to Calvin's office. Two of the PSI vultures were cataloging the books and papers on the shelves. Nicholas sat behind Calvin's desk, staring at the screen of Calvin's computer, his feet propped on the desk in a way Calvin would have disliked.