Authors: Jennifer Rardin
“Nope. Dormal actually looked like she was crying there at the end. I saw her wiping off a few tears as we got close to the door.”
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“They must be pretty tight.”
“Seems that way.” Impatient sigh. “So what do I do?”
I raised my eyebrows at Vayl, who’d spent the whole conversation wiping the sticky off my hands with his handkerchief. He said, “Cole, stop talking to the ficus, or whatever strange pretense you are pursuing to make it seem as though you are not speaking into a microphone. Suggest to Floraidh that perhaps the Haighs should take Rhona back to Tearlach in her car. And give the rest of the ladies a hug. Beginning with Dormal.”
<‹%" onafont size="3">“Dammit!”
Chapter Nineteen
The opening ceremonies had been scheduled to end half an hour after midnight. By 1:15 a.m. the crowd had remixed and decided they were ready to continue with the convention. And they say kids are resilient!
As Floraidh and Dormal helped the jeweler’s wife shove Humphrey into the front of the Bentley, Rhona stared resolutely ahead from the backseat. I’d told Lesley not to let her sleep (if she could even manage that) for more than an hour at a time because she’d taken such a solid knock to the head. It would’ve been best to take her to the hospital, but she’d refused. Arrogant bitch, I thought. She’d never apologized for winging me. Probably never would. Still, I couldn’t quite despise her. At least she’d pulled that shit out of love.
Floraidh and Dormal had warned us all that Tearlach would be the subject of a series of GhostWalks throughout the night. Nobody seemed to care. Even Rhona barely showed any interest in the subject.
“I’m sure we’ll stay clear of the crowds and they won’t bother us a bit,” Lesley said. With a frown at Humphrey she added, “And you can rest assured we won’t be meddling with your ghost should he reappear.”
“How about you, Mum?” Viv asked through Iona. “Will you be all right? Why won’t you let me come with you?”
“I’m certain I’ve got no need to be nursed like some invalid. I’ll just have a cup of tea and go to bed.”
Viv bought the lie, probably because she wanted to. I tried to figure out what was on Rhona’s mind. Since her brains had been slightly battered and she’d been pushed to relive at least part of her traumatic past, I couldn’t quite nail it. Was she going to try to undermine the GhostWalks somehow?
Her hand snuck up to pat her hair back into place and I saw her check her reflection in the rearview. Holy shit, she’s going after Albert while the getting’s good! Should I call and warn him?
She is kind of a lunatic anyway. And after tonight’s episode, God knows what she’s capable of.
Then, out of nowhere, rose the memory of my father marching into my junior English class, where I sat next to gorgeous Mickey Meffort and thought up great names for our future kids. Mallory Meffort. Michael Meffort. Midterm Meffort. Okay, that one needed more work.
Albert carried a green plastic laundry basket full of whites above which loomed his beet-red face.
“When you have chores to do I expect them to get done, young lady!”
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He’d dumped that load of clothes all over my desk and left me there, wishing I could physically melt behind that pile of towels, bras, and boxers. Needless to say Gorgeous Mickey never asked me out, and for the six months I went to San Diego Unified I was known as Jazmaid.
I’m not calling that son of a bitch! Not even if he needs a kidney and I’m the only donor left on Earth who matches him!
I watched Rhona’s Bentley pull out of the lot with such a sense of triumph it was an effort not to Ž
hepump my fist at its taillights. Only Viv’s sad wave kept me from letting out a whoop as I imagined Albert’s face when he opened his door to find Rhona on the other side, wearing a hideous blue negligee and holding out a bottle of zinfandel like she might clonk him over the head with it if he didn’t cooperate.
The Bentley had only been gone a minute or two when another car drove up. Yup, some solid citizen had finally remembered the gun and decided maybe the cops needed to pay us all a visit. Except they displayed such a lack of interest in the whole affair, I kinda wondered how much they would let Thomas Hoppringhill get away with in his own castle before they’d cart him off to jail.
A nice young constable with a nose that tended to drip, which meant he kept having to excuse himself to find a tissue, did ask us a couple of questions. But once we showed him our IDs and suggested he direct the rest of his queries to Interpol, he decided maybe he should swim into shallower waters.
Inverness’s version of Animal Control arrived shortly afterward, and since they required everyone to clear out of the great room while they worked, we stood in one corner of the front hall, pretending to study the program for the rest of the evening while we watched Floraidh. She and Dormal sat with a couple of black-shirted castle employees at a registration table that had been transformed for GhostWalk signup. Despite everything that had happened, Floraidh seemed extraexcited. Like a senior getting ready for prom, she went all shiny eyes and fluttery hands every time somebody dropped a ten-pound note into the basket and slapped on the Guided Tour sticker.
“What the hell?” I murmured to Vayl. “Surely the money she stands to make from these extra tours won’t bring in the amount she needs?”
“I would not think so. Perhaps she has another plan that requires the tours?”
“You mean as a smoke screen?”
He shrugged. “Or a draw.”
Either way one of us would have to go along with the first group, try to figure out her angle while the others stayed behind to protect the old bat. One guess who that would be.
A ruckus near the front doors distracted me from my thoughts. Raised voices, indecipherable at first. And then a man spoke in a tone I’d never mistake.
“I’m legally blind, you twit! Why else would I bring a dog into a public place? The diabetes might have finished the job, but it started in the Vietnam War when I was hit in the eye with a piece of grenade shrapnel. You have heard of Vietnam, haven’t you? Well, I’ve fought in that war and every one since. So show some goddamn respect for a veteran and let me in!”
Oh. Shit.
Putting my head down as if I meant to bull my way through the mass of Connies who, like us,
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were standing around and planning the rest of their evenings, I strode toward the sound of my father’s voice. I tried to visualize my anger as the flame of a Bunsen burner, complete with control knob. Not the kind my high school chemistry partner had turned on full blast and then aimed at a billowing burner on the opposite lab table. No, we didn’t want to incinerate the science department today. Because then poor Thomas Hoppringhill would never be able t“nevburo convince anyone to return to his castle, Connie or otherwise. So I kept breathing, remembering Tolly’s nuggets of advice. Nobody can make you angry if you don’t let them. And, Most of your fury stems from your inability to control events. So stop trying.
By the time I reached my dad and my dog, I felt moderately sure that the mass of paperwork on the check-in tables wouldn’t burst into flame the second I began speaking.
“Albert! What the hell? I told Floraidh you were zonked on Tylenol PM. So can you stop making such a damn scene?”
He blinked. Gave me his bland face. But he couldn’t hide the red blotching his cheeks and neck, his heaving chest, or the fact that he held Jack’s leash like the rope you throw to a drowning man. “Lucille? Is that you?”
I threw a fake smile at the gap-toothed woman who’d voted herself GhostCon’s bouncer. “This is my employee, Albert Parks. He’s a late arrival, which is why we hadn’t had a chance to clear his seeing-eye dog.”
“Why isn’t the dog wearing a harness?” she demanded, her second chin shaking with ire. “Not to mention a jacket?”
Sudden image of my friendly neighborhood fur ball sporting a tuxedo. Which would give him three tails. Which I suddenly found hilarious. I gulped down a laugh. “Huh?”
“The ones I’ve seen wear a harness with a bar,” she said, jabbing her fat, nail-bitten fingers at Jack’s collar. “Also some sort of signage declaring that they are working dogs. Where’s his?”
“He has back problems,” I said. “The chiropractor trashed his harness and told us if we used it again he’d turn us in.”
“Ch-chiropractor?”
“Yup. If you have a problem with it, I suggest you talk to Thomas Hoppringhill. Tell him Lucille Robinson and Jeremy Bhane sent you. I’m sure he’ll be very interested to know how much you’ve insulted the ghost resters he just tried to hire. The ones he called his own doctor out of bed to patch up after we single-handedly killed the snakes some loony let loose. I believe you’ll find him in the great room.”
“Well!” She raked me over with a scalding look, as if my mere presence was an insult to our gender, before waddling off to intimidate some other Connie. I grabbed Albert’s arm and walked him halfway up the stairs, a punishment to him for descending on me unannounced as well as a chance for me to get a better view of the room.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed. I shoved a program into his hand. “Hold this in front of your face. If Floraidh sees you we’re toast.”
“I just wondered what you were up to,” he said, flipping open the program. “So. What’s new?”
Breathe. Count to ten. No, make that twenty. “Don’t bullshit with me. You were in for the night. I know what a pain in the ass it is to get a shuttle to come pick you up. That’s half the reason we drove. So give it to me straight before I dump your butt on a plane for America and to hell with
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your big investment. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He thought for a second. “How are you?”
Oh, God, he’s dying. The ghosts are all walking, the Grim Reaper’s come along for the exercise, and he’s found the perfect victim. I knew this because Albert hadn’t even asked about my welfare after I’d broken my ribs (among other things) fighting a nether creature called the Tor-alDegan. And after I’d cracked my collarbone—not even a call. But now—genuine concern in that rough old voice of his.
I said, “If there’s something you need to tell me, you’d better spit it out now. Because if I have to find out from somebody else, I’m going to be spitting pissed.”
He stared down at Jack, who’d managed to wiggle most of his head through the banisters so he could pant from fifteen feet up. I hoped the guy standing beneath him moved before something dripped off Jack’s tongue onto his bald head. Otherwise I’d have to move into a cave. Forever.
Albert dropped his hand to Jack’s furry shoulders and said, “It’s back.”
Instantly I knew what he meant.
It had started with repeated phone calls. Nobody ever spoke. And when he tried to trace the call to its source, it had none.
The escalation had been fast and violent. A two-vehicle crash involving a minivan and my dad’s motorcycle. The driver had since vanished. Albert’s recovery still seemed miraculous no matter what angle I viewed it from.
But while he’d been in the hospital, he’d received a visit from Beyond. Eventually he’d managed to shrug the whole thing off as a morphine hallucination, but I’d never bought his shtick. When your ICU nurse suddenly sprouts a grinning skull over his regular face that says, “Do not try to escape her,” I figure you should sit up and take notice.
I leaned against the rail, allowing a group of about ten Connies to pass us on their way to one of the programs that was being presented upstairs. I searched the crowd below for Vayl, and wasn’t surprised when he met my eyes. Even without Cirilai to message him, he could sense my strongest emotions. Within seconds he stood beside me, having greeted Albert and given Jack a pat that the malamute acknowledged with a short wave of the tail before he stuck his nose back into the lower floor’s business.
“What is happening?” Vayl asked.
“The thing I saw in the ICU,” Albert said. “It reappeared while Jack and I were watching that movie.”
“What did it say?” I asked.
He shook his head. “A lot. I can’t even remember it all now.”
“Okay, start at the beginning. You were sitting, where, in that rickety white chair by the window?”
“No, I’d moved to the bed. I figured I might as well be comfortable while I was waiting for my snack.”
Hell, I’d forgotten I was supposed to bring back food. “So you’re watching Hot Fuzz . . .”
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“And I get to the part where the good cop, Sergeant Angel, meets his new boss for the first time. Angel’s got this constipated look on his face because “s f"3"the drunk guy he locked up the night before turns out to be the inspector’s son—”
“I know, Dad, I’ve seen it.”
Albert held up his hand, his finger raised in his hold-on-I’m-getting-to-the-good-part gesture. “And then Angel’s face just melts off. It makes no sense at all as far as the story goes, so I’m yelling at the TV. ‘What the hell kind of idiot move is that?’ I said, or something like it. ‘The guy offers you cake and your face disintegrates?’ Then the eyeballs roll around, so loose in their sockets I’m wondering why they haven’t bounced to the ground. They stare straight at me and those grinning teeth start clacking. And though the face is a little different, the voice is the same. It’s the ghoul.”
I wanted to tell Albert it couldn’t have been a ghoul. More likely a loeden. But I didn’t say a word. He’d probably just snap my head off before continuing with his story, which I would never get to hear the end of because my ears would be stuck inside his massive jaws.
“So what did it say?” I asked.
“I can’t remember exactly. Something like, ‘Time is dying. Run no more.’”