Happy Medium: (Intermix) (15 page)

“And according to your dream girl, we need to find this love token before the spirit in the house gets stronger?” He took a long swallow of wine, hoping it would make the whole conversation seem less weird.

Emma grimaced. “I don’t know whether that’s what she meant or not. I mean, it was all so vague. I’m not even sure she was talking about the Hampton house. I was here when I had the dream. And it was just a dream, after all, even if it was a really vivid one. So I wasn’t going to take it seriously at first.”

His hand tightened into a fist. “Not at first? But now you’ve changed your mind?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, sighing. “Okay, this is the really confusing part. And you have to promise not to think I’m an absolute loon. Believe me, I know how crazy it’s going to sound.”

“I think I can guarantee I won’t consider anything you say to be crazy.” He worked on keeping his voice steady.
“I’ve had lots of experience with crazy over the past couple of weeks.”

She turned and dug through her stack of papers again, finally pulling out a photocopy. “I found this in a book at the historical society this morning.” She pushed the paper across the table to him.

He stared down. A woman stared back. She was dressed in a close-fitting blouse with a high neck and long, full sleeves that buttoned at her wrists. Her hair was gathered on top of her head in a luxuriant heap. She held a shining black cane in front of her as she gazed impassively at the camera. Not intimidated. Not indignant. Just . . . waiting.

It was the woman from his dream. The one who’d helped him drive the predatory ghost away before she could do much more than mark him. Even though he’d only seen her through the fog, he recognized her. His fingers trembled slightly at the edge of the page as he sucked in a breath. “Who is she?”

“Your great-grandmother. Siobhan Riordan. The woman I dreamed about last night.”

Right.
He really should have seen this one coming. Even after death, his female relatives seemed determined to screw around with his life. He sank back in his chair, wondering just how much he’d be able to explain to Emma. Was there any way he could simply let it go? Maybe keep it to himself?
Not if you want to go on working with her. Go on being with her at all.

He sighed. “Okay, here’s the thing. I dreamed about her too.”

Emma blinked. “Last night?”

He shook his head. “No. A couple of nights after the séance. Only I didn’t just dream about her. It was the last night I slept in the Hampton house, and I think I dreamed about the other ghost first. Whoever she is.”

“She?”

Amazing how little he wanted to talk about this. On the other hand, he didn’t have much choice. “She. A woman. I couldn’t see her clearly. It was this very . . . sensual dream.” He gritted his teeth. If he were Emma, he’d probably be blushing up a storm at this point. “Only not good sensual. Sort of scary sensual. Like assault.”

Emma frowned. “The ghost raped you?”

Oh this conversation just got better and better.
“No, not exactly. It was just . . . she seemed sort of insatiable. I felt like I needed to get away from her but I didn’t know how.” He was fairly sure his ears were flaming. “I couldn’t push her off.”

“Okay, but how does your great-grandmother come into it?”

“She appeared in the dream and told me to shove the other ghost away. I don’t know if she helped or not, but after she said it, I managed to get away from her—the bad one, I mean. And the bad one disappeared after I shoved her off.”

“If your great-grandmother was a powerful medium when she was alive, maybe she’s still powerful. Did she talk to you after that?”

“Yeah. Some.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, trying to sound matter-of-fact about something that so clearly wasn’t. “She said the other ghost was dangerous, which I’d already figured out by then, believe me. And she said there was danger in the house.”

“Anything else?”

Listen to the sensitive.
He blew out a breath.
Not going there.
Not going to involve Emma any more than he already had. “Not really.”

“And it was this same woman? Siobhan Riordan?”

He nodded. “I couldn’t see her clearly. Not as clearly as you did, I guess. But she was dressed the same way, with her hair up on top of her head. And she had that cane.”

“Sounds like Siobhan.” She stared down at the picture again. “I don’t suppose it’s possible that either of us saw this picture before, that it’s hanging on the wall in this house somewhere.”

He started to shake his head, then paused. “I’d say no, but I haven’t spent much time around here—mostly I’ve just been in the kitchen and the dining room and the living room. And my bedroom.” He felt a small twitch of heat. Just his body reminding him that there were things he could look forward to after the grim part of the evening was over. “I might have seen something without realizing it. We can take a quick tour if you want to.”

Emma frowned. “I haven’t been around here at all, so I’m even less likely to have seen a picture, but maybe we should look around just in case.”

“Okay by me.” He pushed himself to his feet, extending his hand to pull her from her chair. If nothing else, maybe he could maneuver her upstairs after they’d made a quick circuit. He really wanted to take her to bed and forget about everything else.

“The only room you haven’t seen on this floor is the study—it’s down here.” He started down the hall. Rosie’s study door opened to the right. He stepped inside, then paused.

Bookcases covered every wall, crammed with the oddest assortment of books he’d ever seen. Some looked like the kind of bindings you’d find in a library, but others were bound in metal or leather, and some even looked like wood. He stepped to the nearest case and pulled down a large maroon leather volume.

“
Accounts of Supernatural Occurrences In the Low Country
,” he read. “Looks like a real page-turner.”

Emma wandered along the cases, staring up at the books. “They all seem to be about supernatural stuff—ghosts and spirits mostly.” She reached for a higher shelf, pulling down a bright red book. “This one’s on demons. Is this Rosie’s stuff?”

He shook his head. “Probably left over from Grandma Caroline. I don’t think Rosie got rid of Grandma’s stuff when she moved in.”

Emma nodded absently, moving further around the room, then stopped in front of the fireplace on the far side. “There’s a portrait.”

He stepped beside her, staring up at the painting over the mantel piece. The woman had gray hair, gray eyes, harsh cheekbones. Not somebody you’d want to cross or run into in a dark alley.

“Is that Siobhan?” Emma asked softly.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Grandma Caroline. I don’t remember her well, but I remember her enough to recognize her.”

“She looks like Siobhan.” Emma tilted her head. “Maybe.”

“She was one tough old bird. Divorced her husband after my mom was born. Then cut off my mom when she chose to leave home and get married to my dad. If Siobhan was like her, she must have been a terror.”

“I don’t know. Siobhan didn’t strike me that way.” She shrugged. “No pictures of her here, though.

“No. I think we’ll have to accept that we saw Siobhan Riordan in our dreams and no place else.”

“There’s another thing.” She paused for a long moment.

“Which is?”

“You saw her at the Hampton house. Why?”

Is this a trick question?
“I don’t know. Why not?”

“Because she lived here. It sort of makes sense that I’d see her here. But why did you see her over there?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.” He could feel a tension headache forming at the base of his skull.

She turned to look at him, her blue eyes troubled. “Maybe we should just stop.”

He frowned. “Stop what? Stop looking?”

She shook her head. “No. Just, you know, stop for tonight. Stop thinking about it. Do something else.”

He watched her for a long moment, then brushed his fingers along the line of her jaw, pausing to tip her chin up so that he could take her mouth. She tasted of wine, with the faint scent of rosemary from her hair. “Yeah, let’s do something else,” he whispered.

She pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. “Let’s.”

Chapter 14

They didn’t bother to turn on the lights. Ray was a shadow in the moonlight, leaning over her, his hands like water sliding across her body.

She pushed herself upright on the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down against her. She touched her lips to his cheek, ran her tongue down the line of his jaw and underneath, pressing her hands to his bare chest and feeling his nipples pebble against her palms.

Oh sweet, so sweet.
She brought her lips to his collarbone, then drifted down his body, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He plunged his hands into her hair, moving his fingers across her scalp as her tongue darted into his navel.

She heard the sharp intake of his breath and felt a quick jolt of feminine delight. She moved lower, dropping her hands to cup him.

He sighed. “Easy, babe.”

She relaxed her hands slightly—hurting him would not be a great way to start the evening
.

She scooted down farther, dipping her head to take him in her mouth. She’d never done this before, but she figured she could play it by ear. Or tongue. Something should work. It wasn’t exactly rocket science. She ran her tongue along his length, then twirled around the head, sucking. Above her, Ray groaned.

Okay, clearly on the right track here.
He tasted of salt and musk. She grasped the base of his shaft with both hands, then worked on her rhythm, sinking up and down, running her tongue around the end. Ray dropped back on the pillow as she knelt above him. He closed his eyes.

She braced her hands on his thighs, running her thumbs along the tender skin where thigh and body joined while she raised her head to look at him. His eyes were half-closed as he reached toward her.

She blew out a breath. “Not yet.” She was just getting the hang of this. And practice definitely made perfect. Plus she had a few more ideas she wanted to try.

He closed his eyes more tightly as she moved to straddle him, lowering herself slowly over his erection.

He groaned, staring up at her. “You’re killing me here, sweetheart.”

“Hope not. I have plans,” she gasped, pushing herself up, then letting her body slide down again, grasping him with her inner muscles. She wasn’t exactly sure she was doing it right, never having done this before either, but it felt so good she was inclined to believe she at least wasn’t wrong. She looked down at him again, his dark eyes luminous in the moonlight.

The rhythm was like a slow ride, heat and desire spiraling through her body from their joining. She rested her hands on his chest, gazing down, willing him to keep his eyes open, keep the connection as she moved.
Sweet, so sweet.

He reached up to grasp her waist, then rolled her gently onto her back, reversing their positions. “My turn.” His voice shook slightly, and she would have grinned if she’d been capable of doing anything just then.

I did that. I made him tremble.

He drove into her hard, holding her hips steady beneath him, while she wrapped her legs around his waist, reveling in the fullness and heat. Her eyes drifted shut.

“No,” he grated. “Keep looking at me.”

She stared up at him again, her legs wrapping tighter as their bodies came together. His face was taut, his teeth clenched. “Need you,” he muttered. “Need you now.”

A ribbon of pleasure circled through her, rising, spreading, her body trembling with it.
Triumph
.

“Now,” he whispered again. “Now, Emma.”

And she shattered, her body arching against his, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She heard someone cry out, maybe her, maybe him, then felt him plunge deep inside as he broke above her. After a moment, he dropped to his forearms, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

“Ah, Emma,” he murmured.

“I know.” She stroked his hair, running her fingers down the back of his neck. “I know.”

He rolled to his side, taking her with him, still connected. Her eyelids drifted closed again and she relaxed against him. Cozy, warm, sated.

“Don’t dream,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “No. Don’t you either.” She heard his chuckle as she slid down further into sleep.

***

Ray stood just inside the entrance to the living room.
Well, so much for
don’t dream
.
The place seemed dimmer than usual. Colder too, as if a breeze were blowing through the living room windows that he knew were closed tight.

Crap.
He’d really hoped he could have an uninterrupted night’s sleep, particularly considering the workout he’d had with Emma. Didn’t exhaustion count for anything around here?

“Ah, you’re here.” The voice came from somewhere on the other side of the room.

He peered through the darkness. No fog this time, but he could have used a flashlight. Someone was sitting near the fireplace, but he couldn’t really see who it was. On the other hand, he was fairly sure it wasn’t his great-grandmother.

He blinked. The darkness in the room seemed to be diminishing. After a moment, he realized he had it backward. The light in the corner where the person was sitting was getting brighter. In fact, the person himself was getting brighter, glowing a faint greenish yellow around the edges.

His pulse sped up and his hands closed into fists. It figured that Rosie’s house was haunted too, and that he’d be able to see the ghosts himself, given the whole Riordan “gift” thing. But the fact that the situation made sense didn’t make him feel any better about it. He stumbled forward and collapsed onto the couch. “Could I turn on a lamp?” he croaked.

The person shrugged. “If you must.” The odd greenish glow seemed to diminish slightly.

Ray switched on the lamp next to the couch.

A man sat in the leather armchair next to the hearth. In the lamplight, he looked like a man, not something supernatural, even though he was still a little blurry around the edges. He also looked like he’d just come from a debutante party, circa 1952. The black tuxedo he wore was immaculate, complete with a satin stripe down the pant leg. The pleated shirt gleamed white and the patent leather of his shoes caught some of the shine. His hair was slicked back from his face with what looked like several cups of hair oil. A cigarette holder was clamped between his teeth, and a thin ribbon of smoke wreathed his head.

Ray’s shoulders clenched again. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

The man removed his cigarette holder, tamping ashes into an ashtray that had suddenly appeared beside him. “My name is Skag. I’m an . . . associate of your sister’s. Actually, I’m a relative, albeit exceeding distant. I’ve worked with the Riordans for generations. And what I want with you is to provide you with my assistance.”

He had an English accent that was vaguely familiar, although Ray didn’t know from where. He took a breath. “Are you a ghost?”

Skag narrowed his eyes, contemplating the ceiling. “I suppose you could call me that. It’s as good as any other label.”

Well, hell.
Ray wasn’t sure he liked an articulate ghost any better than a cryptic one. “What label would you prefer?”

“Technically, I’m a daemon,” Skag said cheerfully. “Please note the extra vowel. It makes all the difference. Daemons are helper spirits. But since I did live at one time, calling me a ghost isn’t inaccurate.”

Ray closed his eyes for a moment, feeling dizzy. “I’m guessing daemon and demon are not the same thing.”

Skag nodded. “Correct. A demon would behave quite differently.”

“And you’re haunting my dreams because?”

Skag leaned back in the chair, blowing a cloud of smoke upward. “Do you really think this is a dream?”

Ray stared at him for a long moment. Then he brought his fingers together to pinch the skin on the back of his hand, grimacing at the sting.

“Painful way to demonstrate consciousness, but I suppose it’s effective.” Skag shrugged. “You’re very much awake, although you may not remember coming downstairs after I called you. That was closer to sleepwalking. Still, now that you’re awake and present, we can proceed.”

“You called me? While I was sleeping next to Emma?” At least his fear was being replaced with irritation.

“I needed to talk to you. And since you’re a Riordan, contacting your subconscious is fairly easy. Can we get on with this please?” Skag clamped his cigarette holder between his teeth again.

Ray held up his hand. “You said you’d provide assistance. With what, and what does that assistance involve?”

The ghost, or whatever he was, grimaced, tapping ashes into his ashtray. “Your sister seemed to feel you needed some help. She prevailed upon me to provide it. Given that we work together, it seemed best to oblige her. She can be quite determined.”

“Rosie?” Ray narrowed his eyes. “Are you one of the Old Ones she talked about? The ghosts who stay around and screw with humans?”

Skag shrugged. “I suppose I fall into that category. At least as far as being someone who’s stayed on earth for a very long time. I’m on the side of our family, however, rather than ‘screwing with’ anyone mortal. Daemon, as I said.”

Ray’s lips edged up in a sudden grin. “You’re her spirit guide, aren’t you?”

Skag grimaced again. “Technically, I’m your sister’s guide. In reality, she doesn’t take guidance well. Riordan women usually don’t.”

“That’s our Rosie.” Ray leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs in front of him. He felt much more relaxed. “So what kind of assistance can you provide for me and Emma?”

“That would depend on what you’re dealing with. Rose said you had a recalcitrant spirit in a haunted house. Correct?”

Ray nodded. “It’s been hanging around the place ever since this phony medium held a séance there. The séance was bogus, but it raised a ghost anyway.”

Skag’s eyebrows elevated. “Did you take part in this séance?”

Ray sighed. “I was there.”

Skag shrugged. “Then that’s why the ghost appeared. Your presence called it up, however inadvertently.”

Ray gritted his teeth. “Which doesn’t tell me how to get rid of it.”

“All in good time. Describe this ghost.”

He blew out a breath. “It’s female. Maybe connected to a suicide in the house back in the twenties—a woman killed herself when her lover told her to get out.”

“How do you know it’s female?”

His jaw flexed. “She tried to give me a blow job one night.”

Skag tapped his ashes into the hearth. “Interesting. What else?”

“What else? You mean besides the sex thing?”

The ghost nodded. “What does she look like? What does she do when she isn’t attempting sexual congress?”

“Around the house she’s invisible—the only way I know she’s there is when she throws something or slams a door. I saw her in a dream when I was sleeping over there. But I didn’t see her face.” He flexed his shoulders to relieve the sudden tension.

“In a dream?” Skag narrowed his eyes. “Was that when she tried to seduce you?”

“I wouldn’t call it seduction. She wasn’t giving me a lot of choice. Until Great-grandma helped me push her off.”

Skag dropped his cigarette holder into the ashtray. “Siobhan? Siobhan was there?”

Ray nodded. “She told me how to shove the ghost away, then told me I was in danger and I needed to listen to the sensitive.”

“The sensitive.” Skag elevated an eyebrow again as he retrieved his cigarette holder. “That would be Ms. Shea?”

“Looks like it. She appeared to Emma too—Great-grandma did, that is.”

Skag shook his head slowly, frowning. “Extraordinary.”

“Why?”

“To my knowledge, Siobhan has never appeared to any member of your family before. Or to anyone else as far as that goes.” He shrugged. “Perhaps that’s an indication of the seriousness of the threat. Let’s get back to this ghost. She wanted to have sex?”

Ray blew out a breath. “Yeah. Really wanted. As in she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I see.” Skag blew another cloud of smoke as he stared upward. “Actually, I don’t. Are you saying she assaulted you?”

“She had my cock in her mouth and she didn’t back off until Great-grandma showed up.” Ray’s jaw tightened.

“And this wasn’t something you’d initiated?”

Ray shook his head, his jaw aching.

“That suggests several possibilities, most of them unpleasant.” Skag stared at the ceiling. “Tell me more about the suicide that took place in the house.”

“It happened in the late twenties, 1927 I think. The guy who lived in the house had set up his mistress there.”

“Names?”

Ray paused, rubbing his temples as he tried to remember what Emma had said. “Grunewald. Livingston Grunewald was the guy. The mistress was named Amina . . . Becker, I think.”

Skag frowned. “Not anyone I’m familiar with. Although the Grunewald name rings a few bells for some reason. Go on.”

“There’s not much more to it. He set her up in that house. His father, who owned the place, found out about it. He told Livingston to get rid of her. Livingston told Amina to get out. Amina hung herself and left Livingston a love note.”

Skag ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. “And you think this ghost is Amina Becker?”

“She’s the best possibility we’ve turned up so far. Nothing else unusual has happened there in the last hundred years so far as we can tell.”

Skag sighed. “Unfortunately, I doubt I can contact any of the participants. It happened too long ago for the spirits to still be here in their original form—I can’t talk to them.”

Ray stared at him. “You talk to other ghosts?”

“Of course. Contrary to popular opinion, we’re not a solitary lot. Actually, I should amend that statement—I can talk to
some
ghosts, those newly dead for the most part. But if your ghost is Amina Becker, she’s been dead for more than eighty years. I can’t reach her unless she wishes to speak to me. And given the way you’ve described her, I doubt that she does. She seems to have more . . . active interests.”

“Does that mean she’s stuck around longer than she should have and that she’s one of the Old Ones?”

Skag paused as a new cigarette appeared in his holder. “Perhaps.”

“And you can’t talk to other Old Ones?”