Dark Demon Rising: Whisperings Paranormal Mystery book seven

by Linda Welch

  “Indeed,” Felipe said.

  As I frowned and wondered if he joshed me, Felipe and Royal went to the door. They stood there a moment, Felipe talking, Royal nodding.

  Felipe presented his hand. “Good luck, my friend.”

  They shook hands and Royal let Felipe out. He left the door open.

  He cleared his throat. “Maggie, they way we travel is unconventional.” A faint smile tickled his lips. “It gives Tiff motion sickness.”

  “She told me, calls it the demon dash.”

  Yep, undeniably a smile and good to see on Royal’s face. “Are you willing to try?”

  “Sure.”

  “Come. We shall go where fewer people are. Let us see how you bear traveling with me and if Tiff can stay with us at speed.”

  What? No! “Maggie, listen to me. You are not going!” I yelled in her ear.

  As if I hadn’t tried to blast her eardrums, her face, turned to Royal, became alert and inquiring.

  “Have you ever seen anyone kill with their bare hands? I don’t mean strangle or beat another person to death. Imagine fingers with talons, punching into a woman’s chest and pulling out her lungs, ripping a man’s backbone from his body. Shan did it and more to his victims.”

  Still nothing. Man, she was good.

  “Maggie, you are supposed to help me, not pretend I don’t exist!” Frustration made me want to shake her.

  I stomped to Royal and waved my hands in his face. “Royal, are you crazy? You can’t take her with you!”

  What was I doing? Royal couldn’t hear me. I spun to face Maggie and eyed her, a pretty little thing with no idea what she was doing. She looked pleased with herself, too. My anger faded, instead I felt sad. My voice sank. “Maggie, I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  She swallowed hard and for a second I hoped she’d change her mind, but she said nothing.

  I sagged. I had rarely felt this ineffective. Being ignored as if the person you speak to doesn’t hear is incredibly aggravating.

  “And what about Mac?” I piped up. “We can’t take off to who knows where for who knows how long and leave him alone.”

  Maggie spoke for me this time.

  “Maryanne agreed to care for him.”

  Huh. Royal must have talked to Maryanne on the way back with Felipe. A student at River Valley University, Maryanne’s schedule allows her to see Mac several times throughout the day and tend to his needs. She grew up surrounded by dogs at her mother Janie’s kennel; Mac doesn’t intimidate her and she doesn’t tolerate any nonsense from him.

  We descended to the street. This time I held Royal’s aura. He cut across to the residents’ parking lot and from there along an alley to Twenty-Third. Maggie trotted to stay with him. We headed east for three blocks, then south, until we reached the site for the new Juvenile Court. The building’s shell rose three floors and a gigantic tarp covered the top. Heavy gauge hurricane fences surrounded the lot. The street paralleling the site was deserted.

  “Maggie,” Royal said, “I’m going to have to hold you to me.”

  Maggie smirked. “I won’t object.”

  I tried not to snarl. “Watch where you put your hands.”

  She ignored me and held her arms away from her sides so Royal might slip his around her. I am happy to say he did so tentatively.

  “Ready,” Royal asked.

  “Ready,” she confirmed.

  “Ready,” I echoed. I held to Royal’s aura with one hand and Maggie’s with the other as if I hugged both.

  Royal sped away, but not as fast as he could. I saw the buildings whiz by and they would have been a blur if he ran all out.

  Damn. I suddenly found myself alone on the sidewalk.

  Now what? Royal had to rely on Maggie to tell him where I waited.

  Because I knew what to look for, I saw the distortion in the air a second before they popped into sight on the road nearby me. Maggie got free of Royal’s embrace, huffing and puffing as if she had finished a fifty-yard dash. “Whooey! That was . . . what a ride!” She wobbled over the sidewalk to the wall and leaned on it. “I’m dizzy.”

  Royal searched the street with his eyes. “Where is Tiff?”

  I waved as Maggie pushed away from the wall.

  Maggie waved back. “Right here.”

  He visibly steadied himself. I couldn’t imagine how difficult this must be for him, knowing I stood so near yet indiscernible from the brick and concrete and glass on all sides.

  Maggie led him to me. “Did you slip away from us, Tiff? Or did the speed tear you free?”

  “I didn’t feel torn away. I stopped moving. But if you’re asking if I lost my grip, I guess so.”

  Maggie repeated me and Royal said, “Can we try again?”

  I was willing. “Yeah. Let’s see what happens this time.”

  This time, I concentrated on sensation and felt my hands pull from their aura’s from the force of Royal’s movement.

  Double damn.

  Royal found his cell phone in his jeans back pocket. “Then we fly.”

  Royal’s conversation lasted less than a minute, with brief pauses when the other party spoke, but I got the impression he barely listened to them.

  “I need you to fly me to Manhattan.”

  “It could be a matter of life and death.”

  “For Tiff’s sake.”

  “I will tell you when we meet.”

  “Who was that?” I asked when he’d finished.

  “An old friend. He has a private jet.”

  We had two hours to kill until the jet touched down at Clarion Airport, plenty of time to retrieve Jack and Mel. Royal need not fear losing me if he came with us. But, contrarily, I had second thoughts about finding my buddies.

  If my roommates insisted on coming with me . . . what was I thinking? . . . when they insisted, nothing I said would dissuade them and I couldn’t stop them. If this strange place Royal looked for turned out to be real, I knew next to nothing about it or the dangers we might encounter, if any. We could be stranded there. I dreaded the possibility and refused to subject Jack and Mel to it.

  And another reason Maggie should not come. “Maggie, you can’t come with us.”

  “So you said.”

  “You’re supposed to be my personal clairvoyant and you ignored me. I felt. . . . I felt betrayed.” Yeah, lay it on thick, Tiff, make her feel an inch tall.

  She looked away. “I’m sorry, Tiff. I’ve spent years of my life trying to contact ghosts, you are the opportunity I’ve waited for. Do you expect me to step out now, when I can truly help the departed?”

  “I am not departed!”

  “You’re certainly apart from your body. I’m going with Royal whether or not you want me because he needs me.”

  She folded her arms, stared past me mulishly and started humming to herself.

  I wanted to stamp my foot. “Fine. But you’d better get your act together, Madam Magenta. This is serious stuff.”

  She glared in my direction.

  Royal came from the office. “Come. We leave for the airport. And I will not tolerate your one-sided conversations. If Tiff speaks, you will tell me what she says. Otherwise, your silence will be appreciated.”

  I guessed the stress affected him heavily; he rarely sounded this overbearing. Though if he thought Maggie would zip her lips on his say-so, he should think again.

  Maggie jackknifed off the couch and gave Royal a sharp salute. “Yes, Sir. Anything you say, Sir.” Under her breath she added, “Not.”

  Royal got in her face, or as near as possible seeing as he stood over a foot taller than her. “Do not make me reconsider.” Stony faced, he went to the door and we followed him out.

  Clarion Airport is a municipal airport for private planes and is a weather diversion airfield for Salt Lake City International Airport. Royal took me to Mon Ami once, the airport’s classy restaurant. They served excellent food but the maitre de was patronizing to those who didn’t make a reservation, though he had no pr
oblem seating them with half the tables unoccupied. I’d never flown from there.

  A gate guard gave us directions, unnecessary as the airport is so small. We drove between the terminal and small parking lot and parked outside a hangar.

  Lights blinked on a long, sleek, gleaming white jet. A stair went to the open door. Royal vaulted up two steps at a time. Maggie hustled to keep up with him.

  Inside, a voice with a smooth upper-class English accent drawled, “I say, old boy, you didn’t mention another passenger.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “She does not use much space,” Royal replied.

  “I don’t believe it!” I groaned as Maggie reached the door.

  “Believe what?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  Stepping inside the jet, Maggie stopped dead in her tracks and gaped, not at an interior to put any luxury penthouse décor to shame, at the man who smiled at her. Impeccable in a mint suit with a white shirt and silver-gray vest with matching tie, Christopher Plowman lounged on a cream leather sofa with his arm along the back. Pale gray hair cut by glittering black strands flowed over his shoulders in a shimmering waterfall. I had forgotten how startling his eyes are, the same pale gray as his hair with pupils black and glossy as hematite.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this plane belongs to Chris Plowman?” Maggie repeated for me.

  “Did I not?” Royal replied blandly.

  Chris came to his feet. “I’m sorry . . . have we met?” he asked Maggie.

  Too infuriated to bear in mind Chris didn’t understand Maggie spoke for me, I accused, “Don’t pretend you don’t know me, Christopher Plowman.”

  A perplexed frown barely creased Chris’ brow. “I do apologize. I’d say I could never forget a face as beautiful as yours, but to my utter chagrin, I have.” He lifted Maggie’s hand and caressed her knuckles with his lips. “Please let me make it up to you.”

  Bright color bloomed on Maggie’s cheeks. “Er,” she managed.

  “Ah, Chris.” Royal clasped his shoulder and steered him away. “There is something you should know.” He guided Chris toward the end of the cabin. “Wait there, ladies.”

  “Ladies?” Chris glanced over his shoulder.

  Maggie used a conveniently placed magazine to fan her face.

  Royal and Chris were deep in animated conversation when Maggie’s tongue loosened. “He’s spectacular.”

  Chris turned his head and winked at her. Maggie fanned faster.

  “And like Royal, his hearing is exemplary,” I muttered drily.

  What did Chris look like to Maggie? I only see Gelpha as they truly are. I know how Royal appears to a regular person’s eyes because his photo once hung on Clarion PD’s Homicide Department wall with the other detectives and senior officers.

  Chris and Royal came back to us with Chris in the lead. Chris’ easy demeanor had disappeared, his face taut and voice heavy. “You might have called me about Tiff.”

  Royal closed his eyes. “I did not think of it.”

  “You did not think of me,” Chris said icily.

  Royal’s eyes came open, darker, cooler. “No I did not. You were the furthest thing from my mind.”

  “Humph.” Chris turned a leisurely circle and spoke in a flat voice. “Tiff’s ghost is here? I see.”

  “Do your thing, Maggie,” I told her. She nodded and closed her eyes.

  “You can bet your bottom dollar I am,” I told Plowman. “And don’t you dare come on to Maggie or you’ll answer to me.”

  Maggie’s blush had not entirely faded and now spread to cover her face again.

  Chris stared at Maggie. “She does sound like Tiff.” He smiled, the glint of pointed teeth behind his lips. “Who is hardly in a condition to wreak retribution.”

  “Maybe I’ll haunt you for the rest of your days.”

  He sat on the nearest seat. “I would adore it.” He exaggerated a sigh and toyed with a strand of silky hair. “Sadly, as I can neither see nor hear Tiff without this delightful young lady’s assistance, I doubt she can haunt me.”

  “Can we get this heap in the air?” Royal cut in impatiently.

  This heap was a Gulfstream G65OER, one of the priciest jets available. The interior of cream leather sofas and armchairs, cream carpet, gray tables and stations for various purposes was opulent.

  Royal’s abruptness didn’t faze Chris. “Certainly” He angled to glance at the front of the cabin.

  A woman came through the end door as if magically summoned. Wearing a black suit with a tight knee-length skirt, a crisp white shirt and black high heels, her short shining black hair touched her shoulders. Pencil thin black brows framed wide gray eyes in a square face.

  She smiled and dipped her head as Chris said, “Mercedes, please tell the pilot we’re ready for takeoff.”

  He looked our way. “Mercedes is your attendant for this flight.”

  Mercedes spoke with a gentle Southern accent. “It will be my pleasure.” With another smile, she returned through the door. She passed a small bathroom on the left and stepped into the cockpit beyond.

  She returned in a few seconds. “We’re ready for takeoff. Please take your seats and fasten your seat belts.”

  Royal and Chris took armchairs facing Maggie. Mercedes sat on a smaller chair next to the bathroom.

  “Well now, old chap, this is an extraordinary situation you have gotten yourself into. Are you sure Dagka Shan is below?” Chris tweaked his chin with thumb and forefinger. “Are you sure there is a below?”

  Royal hunched his shoulders. “No, but we have searched the world and found no trace of the Cousins. The Gates are closed. We would have felt their opening and we have not so the Cousins have not attempted to enter Bel-Athaer. What else is left for them?”

  “I reluctantly agree we should look into it, though logic tells me otherwise. Downside is a myth, Royal.”

  Royal didn’t reply. Chris sank his pointed teeth in his lower lip. “I wonder if the other Cousins are involved.”

  “I hope not, for then we will have to deal with all of them.”

  “When he is Dagka Shan, one is more than enough.”

  I heard the pilot talking to the flight controller as the jet began to taxi, Royal and Chris speaking quietly, otherwise the long cabin was silent. I wished I could relax on one of those leather seats and have Mercedes bring me a drink.

  We were in the air minutes later. Unlike other planes I have flown in, the jet was quiet, the engines heard as a low hum through the fuselage. Once it leveled off and Mercedes announced everyone could unbuckle their seat belt, Royal rose and looked at Maggie.

  Head on her backpack, she had fallen asleep.

  Royal went to her. “I need to speak to Tiff.”

  Chris got in his way. “Let the poor girl sleep.”

  “I did not bring her to sleep.”

  “Easy, Royal. Didn’t you notice her exhaustion when you boarded?”

  Hands fisted, lips compressed, Royal twisted away. His attitude was so unlike him, it hurt me to see.

  Chris bent to unbuckle Maggie’s seat belt, eased her down and lifted her legs so she lay along the sofa. Mercedes brought a pillow and Chris swapped it and the backpack with remarkable sleight of hand. Maggie’s eyelids fluttered. With a small sigh, she burrowed into the pillow.

  Chris seated himself; after a minute Royal joined him. I listened to them talk, their voices low so not to wake Maggie. Mercedes brought them chilled white wine but Royal didn’t touch his.

  Royal told Chris he saw Ethan Magnusen’s obituary in the newspaper. “I recalled Ethan and his father’s reputation as a marksman. I went to the boy’s funeral and Magnusen was not there. His absence gave weight to my suspicions. I went to the family home after the funeral and heard the mother and her brother talk after everyone else left. The mother virtually admitted Avery Magnusen shot Tiff.”

  With his heightened demon senses, Royal can hear conversations from a distance away and is an expert at concealment. He l
oitered outside the house when Mel and I prowled inside.

  He went on to say he noticed Maggie’s Mini parked on the street when he left the house and remembered seeing it outside the cemetery’s east gate. He followed us, and the rest is history.

  Chris sipped from his glass and carefully placed it on the table between them. He studied it for a moment before meeting Royal’s eyes. “My friend, I don’t know how to say this and not insult your intelligence, but are you positive the girl isn’t a charlatan? I find it hard to believe she’s channeling Tiff, and Tiff is with us now.” His tone lacked its habitual drawling cynicism. “Her words did have something of Tiff about them but the girl may have studied her.”

  “She spoke of people and events known only to Tiff and me.” Royal returned Chris’ gaze levelly and spoke with solid insistence. “No one but we two, and now Maggie, knows what she told me, Chris. No one.”

  As Royal tried to convince Chris, I went to a window and gazed out. The cloudbank below us looked solid, a vast puffy pillow, as if one could step out on it. If I went through the fuselage, would I float among the clouds forever?

  The New York City landscape spread beneath us as far as my eye could see. Earlier, I heard Chris tell Royal he always avoided the hell in JFK, and flying into Newark International Airport meant taking the Holland Tunnel to lower Manhattan, and at this time of the evening that route added more than an hour to the drive. So we made for LaGuardia. Maggie still slept deeply when we landed. Although the inability to talk to anyone bored me out of my skull, waking her seemed a shame.

  We waited more than half an hour for a gate to come available. Ever the gentleman, Chris gently shook Maggie’s shoulder, a glass of ice water in his other hand.

  “Wha . . . ?” Maggie pushed up with one hand and slumped on the sofa’s back. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Are we there?”

  “Here, my pretty.” Chris offered the glass.

  Maggie didn’t take her eyes off him as she took the glass and sipped. She handed it back, and conscious of her rumpled appearance, raked her fingers through her short teal-colored hair. Chris rose and held his free hand to her, but she struggled upright unassisted, adjusted her clothes and grabbed the backpack.