Resolutely redirecting my thoughts to matters more supportive to my muscles—like whether I really believed Bergman’s wrist-launched Mongoose-juice was gonna work against Bea’s head fulla snakes—I made it to the fourth floor without once falling on my butt. When I reached the landing I noted the wall on my right, which led to Floraidh’s room, had been covered with peach-tinted paper featuring tiny white flowers with yellow centers.
Photos of the Scidairan and various women smiling as they posed in woodsy settings hung between the two doors to my left. I peeked in the first, surprised at how deep the linen closet ran. These old houses might not provide much storage space, but by damn when they built one, that sucker offered up some shelving. I didn’t try the knob to the next room, my senses telling me a run-in with Dormal would be the result. And since I didn’t have to play brave at the moment, I could freely admit she scared me a little. Walking close to her felt like sidling up to a pissed-off silverback.
With that in mind, I snapped the band of my way-cool watch, which had been storing up my kinetic energy for just such a moment. As I sneaked past the doors it helped shield the sound of my movements. With that and Tolly’s bracelet to protect me, I felt pretty confident that neither Scidairan could detect me.
As I passed Floraidh’s room, I noticed a unique symbo Vfonl inked on the upper-left-hand corner of the door. It resembled an upside-down Celtic cross. I didn’t stop to study it, but it looked as if a real diamond had been set in its center. A glance at Dormal’s door confirmed the same design.
Assuming Floraidh wouldn’t allow a camera up here, Cole had only asked if he could set up an ectoplasm sensor at the far end of the hall. It perched on a round, cloth-covered table, nestled against a silk flower arrangement like an electronic tumor. It resembled a pair of mini binoculars held upright by a small tripod. On top of the binoculars sat a rectangular scanner whose marquee lights blinked red, green, and yellow in quick succession. Bergman had disguised all the equipment so beautifully it could’ve convinced an avid fan of the Ghostbusters movies. I stuck my tongue out at the double lenses as I returned to the stairs to wait.
I took a seat a couple of steps below the landing, just out of sight of the hallway. My noodly legs thanked me for the break, encouraging me to review the events that had led to their less-than-stellar function. And I’d like nothing better than to lose myself in the memory of the past few minutes. My whole body tingled, like I’d taken a bath in hot peppers. I had a wild urge to run back to Vayl’s room, where I’d demand some sort of exotic striptease before shoving him onto his bed, after which—
Concentrate, Jaz. If Floraidh dies because you were fantasizing about the hunka-hunka-burning-love in the room next to yours, you will never, ever forgive yourself. Even if she is a certified scuz.
Within a couple of minutes I heard a door open. Then a knock. I eased to my feet. “Floraidh?” Dormal murmured.
Another click. “I’m ready.”
“You look worried.”
A pause. Small thump, as if Floraidh had let herself fall against the wall. “He came to me just now. Rose right out of Oengus’s skull. Just a vision, of course, but Lucifer! I could have had a heart attack, it happened so sudden!”
Dormal sounded shaken herself when she said, “What did he want?”
“We have to do it sooner. He said tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“But . . . we’re not ready! We need a thousand more—”
“We have to find a way! That young stud and his chic boss gave me five hundred just now to set up their useless equipment. If we do well at the convention, we might make enough to force him to sell—”
“We can’t press the spell that hard and you know it! Manipulations like these must be finessed, or they’ll be discovered. Especially by a man with as tight a fist as that Haigh fellow. Scidair’s wig, Floraidh, this scheme of yours is going to get us burned!”
“Or make us the most powerful coven ever to walk the earth! Think what we could accomplish if we succeed!”
“Are you sure this isn’t personal?” Huh, I’d have expected worry in her tone still. But that almost sounds like jealousy.
“We’ve been over this!”
“Admi [sizt st to me you don’t miss—”
“This is about us! About our chance at eternity. Even Scidair finally had to leave the Path. If we succeed we will live forever!”
Low-voiced reply that I missed most of. The only words I caught were “I suppose” and “diamonds” before the women paused to think. Finally Flordaih said, “I might have an idea. Come on.” Bustle of big women’s thighs brushing quickly against one another as they rushed to the stairs. I sped down ahead of them.
“The Scidairans are on the move,” I reported, glad that the party line picked up whispers.
“We will meet you downstairs,” said Vayl.
“I’m getting the girls first,” Cole said.
“Bring me back something to eat that isn’t fruit,” Albert demanded. I knew we should’ve left him out of the loop!
I preceded Floraidh and Dormal into the lounge. As soon as they saw me they stopped whispering like a couple of backbiting adolescents and gave me their version of a friendly smile. “Ready to go?” asked Floraidh sweetly.
“Just about,” I said. “You know men. Always futzing with their clothes and makeup. I’m sure they’ll be down soon.”
She didn’t even blink at my joke. Just turned to Dormal and said, “Would you be a dear and check the oven? I can’t remember if I left it on or not.” Her head swiveled back to me as if an invisible hand had cranked it. “You know, if I leave that blessed old cooker on long enough without something stewing inside it, the stench begins to be enough to raise the dead!” She howled, opening her mouth wide to let all the mirth escape in a gust that might have knocked over a less hardy broad. Since I’d left Lucille in charge, she joined in Floraidh’s laughter, though she cut it off as soon as Dormal returned.
“All set,” she said, wiping her fingers on a blue-and-white-checked towel. What had she done in the brief time she’d been gone? She was sweating like a shot-putter at the World Championships. And I was pretty sure that gray smudge in the middle of her forehead wasn’t from bread mold.
What are you biddies up to? Before I could ask any probing questions, the rest of the guests trickled downstairs, first Vayl, then Cole, Viv, and Iona, followed by Rhona and the Haighs.
Iona had changed into a long denim skirt with a brown lace inset. It was held up by her teardrop belt, which she must’ve taken a buffer to since we’d last seen her, because it was now so shiny it almost glowed. Into it she’d tucked a gold short-sleeved sweater. Low-heeled boots completed the outfit.
Viv wore a boring beige knit dress that at least flattered her curves, and a pair of crimson heels with neat black bows at the toes. She and Cole were grinning at each other as they compared footwear, since his red high-tops matched her pumps. He’d opted for a pair of khakis with more pockets than a pool table and a black T-shirt with a Halloween ghost pictured on the front. The caption read, look after you leap club: charter member.
Rhona and Lesley Haigh hadn’t changed, though they’d definitely refreshed their lipstick. Why did o [ickdthlder ladies always go for cherry red? It made them look like corpses. And Humphrey had decided he needed extra cologne, which circled him like a life preserver as he came up to me.
I smiled as my nose hairs began to burn. Humphrey responded with equal kindness. “I couldn’t help but notice that lovely ring on your finger,” he said, motioning to Cirilai. “Curse of the trade, I suppose. Do you mind if I take a closer look?”
“Oh.” Shit yes! Get away from me, you reeking old penny-pincher! I raised my hand. “Not at all.”
He fished a jeweler’s glass out of his pocket and squinched it into his left eye. “Oh, my, that is exquisite. Where, may I ask, did you get it?”
“From Vayl.”
When Humphrey glanced his way, my sverhamin added, “It is a f
amily piece.”
“Ahh.” He turned back to his inspection. “Would you mind taking it off? If I could just take a gander at the inside of the band—”
“Yes,” I said flatly, leaving Lucille to be polite to some other stranger. This one didn’t deserve her anymore. When he raised his eyebrows at me, as if he didn’t take my meaning, I pulled my hand out of his paw and wiped it down my pants. Suddenly I wouldn’t blame his wife if she had picked up a little hobby. This son of a bitch made me want to kill things, and I already had that outlet.
“Pardon me?” he said.
“I don’t take it off.” Okay, I had that one time. But it didn’t count because I’d been under the influence of funky Vampere powers. Plus Vayl had been acting like an ass. For the same reason.
Lesley bustled to my rescue. “Leave the poor thing alone, Humphrey,” she said, laying her hands on her husband’s tweed-covered arm. “Engaged girls don’t like to remove their rings.”
“Well, it’s damned hard on the stones and the settings,” Humphrey declared. “Better get that cleaned and checked regularly,” he said over his shoulder as his wife dragged him toward the front door, past Rhona and Floraidh, who were talking transportation.
“We were thinking of following you, if that’s all right,” Rhona said. “But is Castle Hoppringhill hard to find? And will you leave Tearlach open? We may want to return earlier than you’d planned to.”
Floraidh tapped her fingernail to her chin. “The castle is straight down the road, about three kilometers from here. And your room key will open the front door.” She dropped her arms as if coming to a decision. “Do let me know if you decide to leave GhostCon before me, won’t you? I’ll make sure Dormal goes back with you in case you find there’s something you need before you go to sleep.”
Yeah, you sound like a concerned innkeeper, but you just don’t want them nosing around your goodies unsupervised, do you, Floraidh?
As if she’d read my mind, the Scidairan shot me a sharp look. “Where is your man, Albert?” she asked.
The lie slid off my lips ready-made, as if my subconscious had done the baking in advance. I said, “The trip exhausted him, but [ustlie you know how it is when you’re overtired. He felt too juiced to nap. So he took a sleeping pill. He’ll be out till morning.”
Her satisfied smile let me know I’d hit the mark on my earlier guess. Floraidh must have more nasty crap hidden around here than just her bowl-o’-death. The realization made me wish I had the time, and the backing, to spotlight this woman’s ghosts. But since I had neither, I turned to ask Rhona a leading question about snakes.
A clatter from the kitchen startled me into silence. “What could that be?” wondered Dormal. She was such a bad actress she wouldn’t even have made the cut for a high school play.
We all shuffled into the hallway and stared at the kitchen door, as if we thought it might sprout lips and explain the antics of its hidden inhabitants.
“Perhaps one of your cats?” Vayl suggested.
“I can’t abide cats,” Floraidh said. “Dogs are fine, which is why I allowed you to bring yours along. But cats are sly, sneaky creatures. We don’t let them anywhere near the property.”
Rhona’s mouth dropped. I could see her prepping a protest. But Viv’s hand on her wrist held her back. Both women jumped at least an inch off the ground when another series of metallic clangs shot through the door.
“Do you have a maid?” asked Cole. “Because it sounds like somebody’s in there making milk shakes.”
We crept to the kitchen door like the original group of characters you see in a horror movie. If I’d been forced to pick our first victims of the masked serial killer with the steak knife/hanging rope/sharpened high heel . . . Viv and Lesley. They looked about as scared as you can get without puking or peeing yourself. Since they seemed like responsible adults, I assumed they’d used the bathroom before coming downstairs. That left the upchuck. I slipped to the back of the group, giving them uninterrupted aim at Dormal’s broad back just in case their cock-a-leekie soup came unglued.
Floraidh nodded at Cole and he opened the door, pushing it all the way into the room so the ten of us could squeeze into the doorway, as if a photographer on the other side had demanded a group shot of our heads peeking in from every which direction.
Viv hid her face in Cole’s shoulder and Lesley screamed as the brown-suited man who’d nearly wrecked our van hours before yanked another cookie sheet out of the cabinet and let it bang to the floor. He straightened and turned to the women, scratching his short brown beard as he searched their faces, as if trying to place them in his memory. He’d pushed his hat back, revealing the wasted planes of his face, making me wonder if the rest of his body looked just as skeletal. Hard to tell beneath all that loose material, especially the way he stood, with his shoulders hunched over his lean chest, as if he’d been punched by too many bullies as a kid and still felt his midsection needed protecting.
“Who are you?” demanded Iona, her fingers pressed firmly against her belt buckle as if she thought it might snap if she breathed any harder.
He pointed his finger at her. Then he opened his hand to encompass all of us. “King Brude is the master of this territory. Defy him at your peril! [at t h”
Floraidh and Dormal exchanged satisfied little smiles. Expressions I’d have missed if I hadn’t been watching for them.
“It’s a ghost!” shrieked Humphrey. Despite the fact that I could’ve used hysteria as an excuse, I stifled an urge to slap him. There’s always one dumbbell in the group who has to admit the obvious. As proven by his next statement. “He’s gone!”
Yup, as soon as Humphrey’d put a title to him, our visitor had faded. We squeezed through the door, fighting for space since all of us wanted to be the first to touch those cookie sheets, determine they at least were real. I made it through first. Picked one up and put it on the counter, where it banged just like it had when he’d touched it. Damn.
Rhona began polling us. “Did you see it? You did? Are you certain?” When she was satisfied she announced, “We have all seen a collective apparition! Here, in Tearlach! History has just been made!” In an aside to Lesley she added, “Wait’ll I tell the girls on the GAPT—Ghosts Are People Too—committee. They’ll be so jealous!”
Viv had collapsed into a chair, pale, shocked past tears. Iona knelt beside her, rubbing her hands as if she’d just come in from a blizzard. “Did you get that recorded?” Floraidh asked Cole. “With your spectrum doohickey, I mean?”
He shrugged. “I might have. Let me check.” He pulled out his Monise, a portable computer Bergman had designed. A multi-talented gadget, it talked to all the cameras as well as our laptop. “Un-freaking-believable,” he murmured.
“What is it?” asked Vayl, who’d come to stand beside me next to the stove. I badly wanted to crack it open, see if the death bowl still rested inside.
“No video from the kitchen. At least, nothing until we came in.” He glanced up at Floraidh. “I’m going to have to tinker with the settings. This shade is giving off much lower impulses than our equipment is built to record. But I think I can adjust it to pick up its energies if it comes back again.”
As she nodded, Rhona strode up to her and grasped her arm. “You must let me help this ghost. The GAPT group was made for this very purpose! To protect innocent souls like the one we just witnessed from the foul specters in their own plane as well as the crass abuse of establishments who would use them as little better than zoo specimens!”
Floraidh narrowed her eyes until Rhona snapped her hand away, as if the Scidairan’s skin had suddenly become too hot to handle. “We are a proper business. In my point of view, he was trespassing. If he returns, I can’t be responsible for who sees him. And if it happens to be a group of tourists who have come calling just for that purpose, so much the better. I’ve got to make a living same as anyone else.”
“WHAT!”
Viv leaped at her mother, with Iona following so close
ly the three of them resembled a huddling football team as Viv’s fingers flew. Iona turned her back to Rhona as she interpreted. “Viv says maybe we should all get going. The convention organizers won’t wait for us, even if her mum is presenting later in the week.”
Rhona tried to shove through the shoulders of the younger girls so she could confront Floraidh a [ont wis she spluttered, “You can’t just put him on display like some sort of trophy! He’s an innocent man!”
“No man is innocent, especially not that one.” Floraidh made an I’ve-sucked-the-lemon-now face as she realized she might’ve let a little too much information slip. Then she rushed on, maybe hoping that none of us would stop to wonder how she knew the dead guy from the late nineteenth century. “I’ll be welcoming tour groups through during the GhostCon if they wish to come. They won’t be allowed to disturb your rest, of course. But if you prefer to find another place to stay, I completely understand.”
“There IS no other place to stay! Every room within fifty miles has been sold out for the past six months!” Rhona declared.
“Well, then, I’ll just have to do my best to see that your time here is as pleasant as I can possibly make it.” Syrupy sweet, that voice, and so fake that if somebody could’ve given it shape and form, a plastic surgeon could’ve used it to round out some flat-assed woman’s derriere.
“Oh! Oh!” said Rhona, her tank turret bouncing as she bobbed her head like she was trying to click off a few rounds and fuming because some blockhead had loaded all the guns with dummy shells. I looked into those bloodshot brown eyes of hers. Yup, if she could’ve, she’d have blown Floraidh to bits right there on the shiny wood floor. Which made her a more likely suspect. And me less inclined to stop her once she made her move.
I needed a conference.
Chapter Thirteen
While Viv’s fingers flew and Iona murmured in a comforting tone, Floraidh moved to take a rectangular black silk shawl off of its spot on the coatrack by the front door. She flung it around her shoulders, covering the V-neck of her silky brown blouse, which complemented the teal in her stretchy slacks rather nicely. In contrast, Dormal’s Alice in Wonderland ate-the-cake size probably made it tough for her to find socks that fit. Which might explain why she’d pulled on a white pantsuit whose jacket wouldn’t button over her powder-blue polyester shirt and whose bottoms stopped an inch above her ankles. From the way she kept shifting they also looked to be giving her a permanent wedgie.
Jaz Parks 5 - One More Bite Page 4