Kat Richardson: Poltergeist

I stood up. "I'll leave the ghost-bottle with you while I talk to Carlos. That way he can't get it from me. And I'll see what I can do about dismantling the séance room. That's the closest thing there is to Celia's 'home and possessions'. I'll call you when I'm done with Carlos and we can go on from there. OK?"

Mara nodded, a satisfied smile on her face.

Ben closed his book on his finger. "All right. We'll be up."

I nodded and headed back out, poking my cell phone.

Tuckman was not interested in helping me. He refused flat out to dismantle the séance room or to help me do it, in spite of the best arguments I could muster.

When the boss stonewalls, go for the secretary. I sat in the Rover by the side of the road and dialed.

Denise Francisco sounded like she had a cold when she answered her cell phone.

"What?"

"Hi, Frankie, it's Harper Blaine."

"Oh. You were at the funeral, weren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Were you, like, close enough to hear it?"

"Hear what?"

She snuffled before answering. "Mr. Gorgeous—you know, Ian, the looker? — he threatened his girlfriend, the Chinese girl, Ana. She dumped him for the Indian guy."

I sighed. Some people regress under stress. Frankie had bounced back to fifteen. "I don't know anything about it," I said. "But I do know you're the one to call to get anything important done and that's why I'm calling."

"Oh?" She made a noise like a goose stuck in a mangle—blowing her nose, I guessed. When she spoke again, her voice was clearer. "What needs doing?"

"We have to break up the séance room."

She paused. "Does Tuck know this?"

"He knows, but he won't do it. The project's shut down, right?"

"Yup. So… you want to break up the room so they won't get back together again?"

"That's it."

"Why?"

"Do you want the truth or a plausible lie?"

"I love it when they lie to me—but tell me the truth, 'cause you're not my type."

"Celia needs to go away. Tuck agrees, but the way to make Celia go is to break up her things and Tuck doesn't want to do it. So, since Tuck won't do the right thing, I'm asking you to help me do it. Before someone else gets hurt."

"You mean 'hurt' like that thing with Ice Queen Stahlqvist, or 'hurt' like… dead?"

"They're both bad."

I could hear her draw her next breath. "OK. When do you want to do it?"

"Tomorrow. Can you do that? Can you get the key?"

"I'm entirely sweatless. How 'bout ten o'clock? It's a Christian school, so chapel service is from ten to ten forty-five every Sunday and no one will be in the other buildings. Good?"

"Good. I'll meet you at St. John."

"Done deal. See ya."

There was a different clerk at the counter of Adult Fantasies that night: a slim young guy with curly blond hair cut so close to the scalp it had become a riot of cowlicks. As I walked toward him, the chilly reek of vampire hit me. I stopped and squinted at him, seeing a cloud of red-swirled smoke dancing around him through the Grey. His black T-shirt read, "Don't make me send my flying monkeys after you." His violet eyes sparked when he caught me reading the words and he smiled with an expanse of sharp white teeth. "Hey, Harper."

I hadn't recognized him until I saw the unusual eyes; he'd changed a lot from the crippled newbie vampire I'd found in a parking garage. "Cameron. How's it going?"

"Mostly it's going good—except for the occasional dead guy. Carlos is a demanding teacher, and I… I miscalculated on that one. I really owe you for checking him out." A big, ugly pause swelled between us.

He tilted his head side to side with a wry expression. "It freaks you out that I killed someone, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. I remember when it would have freaked you out, too."

He nodded, eyebrows rising. "Yeah. Sometimes I forget you're not like me. We went through so much together it feels like you ought to know everything I know."

"I don't want to."

"I get that. But this you should know—I didn't kill him, or he'd have sat up again the next night. It's kind of a complicated thing—"

I put up my hand to stop him. "Please don't explain it right now."

He looked surprised, blinking, then shrugged. "OK."

"I just need to see Carlos."

"He's out, but he said you can wait in the office, if you want." Cam pointed, a thick scar flashing white on the underside of his wrist. He noticed my gaze, but said nothing about it, just dropping his hand and giving me a vague smile that kept his paranormal presence in check. "He should be back soon."

I nodded and headed for the storeroom door, banishing speculation about the weal on Cameron's forearm. What Carlos was teaching him, and how, was none of my business and nothing I wanted to know.

I could hear the thumping of sexually suggestive music from above as I wedged myself into the chair in the stockroom office. It was a few minutes past eight o'clock on a Saturday night and the peep show upstairs was just hitting its stride. I considered propping my foot on one of the boxes to relieve my irritated knee, but thought I'd rather not display such obvious disability to a vampire, whenever Carlos got down to me. Cameron had made no comment on it, though he must have seen it, just as I'd seen his wrist.

I forced my mind from that and wondered what level of trust was implied in being allowed to lurk in the gloom with a safe full of quarters and small used bills, in a room filled with boxes packed with thousands of dollars worth of sex toys and bondage gear. Of course, it could always mean that Carlos had put some sort of necromantic curse on the goods that would reduce a thief to a lump of rotting flesh.

I shivered at the thought and dropped a hand onto my knee to check for heat. If rot was imminent I'd expect it there first.

I closed my eyes a moment, acknowledging the day's exertions. I'd been in and out of the Grey three times since morning, brushed it again just minutes ago in Cam's presence, and felt close to exhaustion now. My knee and shoulder ached, though not much worse than a lot of nights when I'd still been dancing for a living. The mild headache and vague nausea were more upsetting, since I associated those with Grey things, for which there was no pill. The nausea worsened and a chill pressed upon me just before the door opened.

I opened my eyes to see Carlos glowering down at me in speculation. His gaze rested on my knee a moment.

"Your quarry plays rough."

"You could say that." I paused as he moved inside and closed the door. "Cameron seems well…"

He waved that aside as he stepped back to the desk but didn't sit. "I have very little time for you tonight." He kept his eyes on me, but without the ire he'd displayed last time. Now he was merely impatient.

"I don't need much. I've found the master of the poltergeist and trapped the thing itself in a bottle. I don't believe that's much of a solution—"

His eyes gleamed. "A respite only."

I nodded and went on. "In theory, lack of input from the group will weaken it enough to dissipate, but I don't think I can wait that long. It has been suggested that dispersing its property and burning its image will break it down faster, but that's a guess. I have to get rid of this thing as fast as possible and you're the expert. Will you tell me what to do?"

He rumbled, thinking, no doubt sizing the situation up for his advantage. "Dismantling the setting where it was made—its place— will weaken it only."

"Better than nothing."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "This entity is no true ghost, so I can't help you in this directly. So long as the thing's master continues to feed it, it will maintain its cohesion. Even while it is in your bottle. So long as he finds it useful, it will remain, even if the others withdraw from it. It will be weaker without them, but to get rid of it requires an act of destruction. Its true existence lies in the Grey, so it must be dismantled there. That falls to you."