Delilah Devlin - Lost Souls

She wished he’d just dropped her off at her door instead of following her inside and making her tea, looking as though he was prepared to stay when all she wanted was for him to leave.

When at last she’d issued her request in a scratchy voice, he sank on a knee beside the kitchen chair where she sat, her hands wrapped around her hot mug. The voices were a staticky, torrential hum, filling her head. She had to look at his mouth to know he asked her if she’d be okay alone.

“Just go, please,” she repeated, and at last, he did, sparing her one sad glance from the door before closing it softly behind him.

She didn’t stay long in that chair. The moment she heard his sedan’s engine roar, she lurched to her feet and grabbed her keys, goaded onward by the voices, which only faded away once she pushed through the door at O’Malley’s.

Cait sat dull-eyed and silent, waiting until nearly closing before her father joined her in the booth. Her hand was clenched around the Nick the Plumber pen forensics had pulled from inside the wall next to Sam’s body.

“Why can’t I see him, Daddy?” she asked, her voice rasping and dry. She’d screamed so much after Leland pulled her out of room 323 that talking hurt.

The TV crew had been moved to another floor. Then Leland had locked the third floor down tight. No one in. No one out. Even the elevator was locked to prevent anyone else using it.

The manager wasn’t happy, but he’d stood stoically as Leland told him he was lucky the whole building wasn’t cleared.

Avery Lewis had remained calm, his eyes glinting with quiet anger.

Even Leland had lost all his bluster.

Cait had been herded past Mr. Lewis and barely managed a single glance his way.

The hotel manager’s lips had curved with the barest of smiles, confirming her suspicion.

He’d won. She’d lost all will to fight him anymore. Without her special skills, the flurry of activity and negative press would fade from memory. He’d be busy with bookings from every nut job and psychic wannabe eager to walk the hallways in hopes of a legitimate “experience.”

All he’d have to do was wait, and then he could resume his killing, carefully spacing the deaths as he had before to avoid too much attention to his killing field.

“Caitydid,” her father said softly, pulling her back. His green eyes gleamed with compassion. The harsh contours of his rugged face softened.

Cait swallowed the burning lump in her throat. “Why hasn’t he come? I tried summoning him. Used the same spell I made for Sylvia. But nothing happened. It’s dead quiet,” she said, then laughed, the sound more like a ragged sob.

“You giving up on Sam?”

She aimed a teary glance his way. “He’s dead. What else can I do?”

“I’m not the person you should ask.”

She blinked away tears, hearing what he said, but not understanding.

“You’re strong, Cait. Everyone knows.”

“Everyone?”

“All of us, ” he said, nodding. “If anyone can find a way to make this right, you can. You have to try, or you’ll never forgive yourself.”

“Maybe summoning him is the wrong thing for Sam. Maybe he’s in a good place. Past the pain and fear.” She sniffed and fought against the burning in her throat. “You didn’t see him, Daddy. Every bone in his body crushed, twisted together like a pretzel with that other cop’s.”

“This can’t be the end for you two, Caitydid. We don’t like unresolved issues, and you two have plenty.”

Her lips twisted in a snarl. “Who’s ‘we’? You ghosts?”

“We O’Connells,” he said with a one-sided smile. “And what the hell are you doing here in O’Malley’s?”

“I didn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“Not Jason or Celeste?”

Cait shook her head. “Jason would’ve, if Leland hadn’t been there. Hell, Leland would’ve stayed the night, but I couldn’t bear the looks he gave me. Like I was some poor, beaten little puppy. And Celeste, well, I’m not sure she even knows,” she said, although she wasn’t so sure that was true. Celeste’s sight was always tuned to those she loved most. And Cait, despite the fact she hadn’t been great at keeping in touch, was family.

“I don’t want to be hugged,” she whispered. “Not now.”

Paddy O’Connell’s solemn gaze reflected her sorrow.

“I’m too brittle,” she rasped. “If I start crying, I might not ever stop.”

“You have a key,” he said, sliding from the seat. He bent near her.

For a moment, she expected to feel his breath on her cheek.

“Use it, darlin’.” And then he was gone. Wisped away.

For a long moment, she thought about what he said, realizing he was right. She couldn’t let things stay the way they were. Couldn’t accept that she and Sam were done. Without resolution. Without him knowing he was everything to her.

Cait slid off the seat, eager to leave.

As she left, she didn’t acknowledge Pauly. Didn’t want him to say again how sorry he was for her loss.

Sam wasn’t hers to lose. Not really. They hadn’t mended the rift that ended their marriage. They’d only just begun to realize that living apart was only half a life, even though being together hadn’t been easy or comfortable for either of them.

Mention of a key, that other key, had made her heart spasm, remembering Sam’s quiet refusal to accept hers. But that wasn’t the one her father had been talking about. Cait felt in her pocket for Morin’s key. One that didn’t actually fit any particular lock but which granted her access to his domain.

She wouldn’t be seeking solace from him. Couldn’t betray Sam like that, even if he was dead. But Morin might help her find some answers.

Even defeated, so empty she felt like a hollow shell, she still had questions.

Stepping outside, she hoped she hadn’t missed the last trolley run; otherwise, the walk to Beale was going to be a long one.

When she let herself into Morin’s shop, she found him sitting on the steps leading up into the library. His face was haggard, his hair disheveled as though he’d been running his fingers through it. But what right did he have to look that way? He hadn’t lost anything except a rival for her heart. Not that she’d ever let him back inside. Suddenly angry, she regretted the decision to come.

He stood slowly, his arms swaying beside him, seeming unsure whether he should embrace her but deciding at the last moment not to. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

“You didn’t check my crystal ball?” she snarled.

“It needs charging. I didn’t see much past you running after Sam in that monstrous hotel.”

She was glad he didn’t make mention of the bodies she’d found. “So you know.”

His gaze sliding away, he nodded.

They stood in awkward silence until Cait swayed.

“You need a bolstering tea,” he said softly.

Blinking against the burning at the back of her eyes, she gave a sharp shake of her head. “I need Sam.”

Morin reached out to touch her shoulder, a tentative caress. “I’ll make tea. We’ll talk.”

Cait shook off his hand. “I don’t want to talk.”

His expression bleak, he nodded. “Then we won’t, but you need to sit down. You’re exhausted.” He began to turn.

“I don’t want tea. I want to sleep, Morin.”

Without looking her way, he asked, “Need a potion?”

“No, I want your bed. Someplace he hasn’t been. And I want to be alone.”

Morin swallowed and then gave her a nod. “Of course. You know the way. I’ll be down here when you awaken.”