Justin Gustainis - Those Who Fight Monsters Tales of Occult Detectives

The magician’s assistant, Naomi, cleared her throat, and Roberto chuckled.

“Okay. Maybe I share that honor.”

Naomi smiled at him and picked up a brunette wig behind her, starting to comb it out. In spite of her attempt at humor, frown lines decorated her forehead.

Kiko asked, “Could you see Gigi’s face? Tigerman said she appears with her hair half-hiding her features. Her dress and gloves cover the rest of her.”

Roberto had that dreamy fan expression — he was in Gigi-land, and Dawn wondered if his love for the star had been strong enough to conjure up a ghost.

“I’ve been a fan since I was old enough to watch old movies on TV,” he said. “I know my Gigi.”

Dawn asked, “How long did she stay?”

“Not long. She walked to the top of the stairs, then turned right once she got to the stage. It was during a show, and I was—”

The magician broke in “—flirting with the showgirls while you waited for your next cue?”

Everyone else but Naomi laughed, and Trevor slid her a grin, as if he liked teasing her about Roberto having a wandering eye. She didn’t seem as amused, and Dawn guessed that there was probably something hearts-and-flowery between the numero uno fans.

“As I was saying,” Roberto said, “I was able to run up those stairs pretty fast, but Gigi was gone.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“I saw her in the back of the showroom about a month ago,” Naomi said, “while Travis and I were rehearsing a new trick on stage. When I said something, Travis thought he saw her, too.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” The magician settled back in his chair, all fading boyish good looks. “The lights were in my eyes. You should ask Victor about it, though.” He nodded to the usher. “He’s seen Gigi more than anyone.”

In response, Victor just shrugged. Dawn narrowed her eyes at him.

“How many times?” she asked.

“Three.” He had a voice as dry as a half-drunk martini. “She comes and goes.”

So nonchalant. “You see a lot of ghosts?”

Victor’s attention seemed focused on the pseudo-tattoos that Dawn’s makeup barely covered. She didn’t flinch. Let him stare.

“If Gigi has decided to hang out with us,” the usher said, “I say let her be.”

“I agree,” Trevor the magician said. “I was even hoping to put her in my act.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “Classy.”

Travis grinned at the rest of them. “Gigi was never shy about publicity, from what I hear. She’d be a boost for all of us. A draw. God knows we need the PR.”

Ah, the sweet stench of show biz, Dawn thought. She’d grown up in Hollywood, so she knew it well. It smelled just like piles of bloodstained money.

As Kiko went on to question them about details — how solid did Gigi’s form seem? What were the exact times and dates? —Dawn realized that there wasn’t much of a pattern to her appearances.

When showgirls and other staff began to arrive, Dawn and Kiko’s time was up. Tigerman had invited them to watch the rehearsal — a few tweaks to a rain forest number featuring the statuesque young ladies in towering diamond-shower headdresses, and not much else. Dawn and Kiko had asked to watch from backstage, since Gigi had been seen here the most.

They stood out of the way while the topless showgirls quickly moved past them on their way to the stage. Since Dawn wasn’t much for boobs, she lost interest early, wandering down to the common dressing room and finding a quiet corner in front of a darkened dressing station. She should call Costin and update him, but she was dreading it. He’d hoped to live the rest of his life with her in peace, not picking up the pieces from former Undergrounds.

She looked up, into the mirror. Her eyes, which had gained clarity during this past year of rehab, were shaded again. It was almost like she could see straight to her dormant soul stain.

Just as she was about to look away, she caught a flutter of movement in back of her—

Red.

A dress?

She whipped around, her pulse pounding and, at first, her mind refused to believe what it was registering.

A person … a … thing. One eye barely visible under a curtain of red hair. Shoulders hunched, gloved arms curved by its sides.

All of Dawn’s hunting instincts came screaming back, and she flipped open her jacket, going for the silver-bullet loaded revolver she’d strapped on, just for this case.

No time to get Kiko, so she grabbed a tube of lipstick from a nearby table and scribbled on the mirror: Gigi!

Then she drew an arrow toward the spot where she’d seen the vision. On her way, she caught the eye of Roberto, who was laughing with a showgirl.

Dawn yelled over the music. “Tell my friend where I am!”

She saw him spy the note about Gigi on the mirror. Then she thought she saw … anger?

She didn’t have time to think about his expression as she darted toward the dark nook where she’d last seen the vision — the superstar who’d already disappeared into the dimness.

Her revolver drawn — dammit, would bullets do anything to ghosts? —Dawn entered what seemed to be a maze of wooden pillars, but they faded as it got darker … and darker.

Please be a ghost…

Still, even if that’s what Gigi was, Dawn knew this wouldn’t be the end of it. They’d have to see if they needed to help put Gigi at peace.

To put all of them at peace…

A sound in front of her … a door opening, the hinges yelping … weak lighting…

Dawn sucked in a breath because, right there, solid as could be in the soft illumination, was a woman, half her face revealed under all that falling hair. But this close up, there were wrinkles on her skin. And her expression…

Twisted. Her mouth, pulled down, like gravity had tugged on it and wouldn’t let go. She seemed to be forming a word.

Or maybe she was just smiling—

Something crashed into Dawn and, as she hit the floor, her forehead banged against wood, leaving her gasping under the weight of a body, her world going black over the hazy image of a nightmare in red.

As Dawn came to, she barely heard the voice through the fog in her mind.

“ Are you here to kill me? ”

Husky. But the tone seemed whittled down from its former glory: thinner, an imitation of seduction. The words were slurred, too, like they were coming at Dawn through a filter.

Fighting the needled pain in her temples, Dawn forced her eyes open. It took an instant for the room to come together, so the smell got to her before anything visual did.

Blood: coppery, strong.

She jerked, and that’s when she realized that she was sitting slumped, her back to a wall. As her vision slowly cleared, her stomach roiled.

There were three of them confronting her — people wearing surgical masks, just like cops at a crime scene would, the material coated by Vapo-Rub or something to block the smell. They hovered, stared. Dawn already knew who two of them were because she and Kiko had interviewed them.

Roberto, with his slicked emcee hair and butterfly-collar shirt. Naomi and her Bambi eyes. Also, a dark-eyed man Dawn had never seen before.

Her pulse was racing, but she told herself to calm down because she could already feel the dragon’s blood marks on her right side shifting, like they were connected to her shuddery wariness.

Breathe , she thought, going to that place she’d found in rehab. Right away a sense of control eased through her. It smoothed out her heartbeat first, then everything else.

She’d be fine. Kiko would be down here soon.

But then she remembered she’d hadn’t told anyone but Roberto where she’d been going.

The female voice came again from behind the wall of humans.