A Barricade in Hell (19 page)

The barrage stopped as unexpectedly as it began. A large, heavy-bottomed vase hovered for an instant before settling to the floor and spinning in a circle. Books tumbled off a shelf, but nothing else flew toward me.

The clock in the front hallway chimed five o'clock. Randy waited a few more seconds, gasping, before he stood straight. He got a good look at me and his eyes went wide. “We should send for a doctor, Delia, just to make sure you're all right. I'm going to call the station and have them hunt down the captain. He'll want to come home right away once he hears.”

Dora searched the corners of the room, eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a scowl. “We'll call Gabe soon enough, but first we need to get her out of this room. Quickly now. Help me get her to the kitchen.”

The curio cabinet moved easily enough this time. Randy shoved it to the center of the room, leaving the doorway clear. Dora looked me over quickly, concern and relief warring in her eyes, before wrapping an arm around my waist to hurry me down the hall. My kitchen was swaddled in wards, a necessity to protect my workroom. I'd be safe there if I was safe anywhere in the house.

That the home I'd made with Gabe might not be safe, not for me or for him, struck me hard. Falling into despair would be so easy. I shut my eyes, swallowing tears and nursing a stubborn spark of anger inside until it grew into a raging flame that drove away fear. The ghost thought she'd won, but I wouldn't let her. I refused.

Dora settled me into a kitchen chair and began giving orders. “Randy, close the door into the hall and find me a basin for water. I know Dee has a bowl or something in the cupboard by the stove. You should find clean napkins or towels in the sideboard. And don't open the hall door again unless I say. The seal is stronger with it shut.”

I sat quietly and let her fuss over me, shaken but unable to stop my mind from circling endlessly. Fear and pain receded into the background. All I could focus on was the question of why the little girl ghost attacked me and why she'd spent so much time causing trouble for Mrs. Allen. “Why” was important.

Isadora took stock of my injuries, giving me a running list. Her hands were steady even if a tremor had crept into her voice. “The cut on your cheek isn't very deep. I don't think you need worry much about scars on your face. Your hands and your calf are worse, but nothing is bleeding much. I'd feel better all the way around if a doctor took a look at the gash on the back of your head. I'm so, so sorry, Dee. Damn sneaky poltergeist attached itself to you and I didn't notice.”

“You couldn't have noticed, Dora, and there's no need to apologize. She was already here.” Powdered glass covered my clothes, razor-edged diamond dust that caught the light and warned not to touch. I held tight to the chair seat to keep myself from brushing at my skirts, an old habit born of nerves. “The little girl ghost I told you about was responsible for wrecking my parlor and all the trouble at Mrs. Allen's boarding house. This is all her handiwork, I'm certain of it. I'm equally sure she's not a poltergeist.”

“A ghost did all that damage?” Randy set a basin of warm water and one of my best tea towels on the table. His hands shook, sloshing water, and a dark, wet ring spread across the tablecloth. “When you told me you saw ghosts—I mean, well, I thought you saw spirits like they show in the cinema. I never imagined real ghosts could tip over pieces of furniture. You can practically see right through the ghosts in
Old Scrooge
and that new movie. What's it called? The one with the mad king and the witches.”

“It's called
Macbeth
. And you weren't wrong.” Dora patted his cheek fondly and smiled. She dipped the tea towel in warm water and began wiping blood and layers of dust off my face. “It's very rare for a ghost to be able to move or influence physical objects. But this ghost has already proved to be exceptional. I'm beginning to doubt that she's a ghost, at least not in the way I normally think of spirits. She doesn't follow the rules.”

He flipped another chair around and sat backwards, the way he straddled the chair reminding me a great deal of Jack. My husband had more than his share of rookie cops looking to be just like him, imitating Gabe's mannerisms and the way he worked. I could easily imagine the same type of hero worship directed toward Jack.

Randy laid his arms along the back of the chair, studying Dora's face. “What do you mean?”

“Just what Dora said, this ghost doesn't follow the rules spirits are normally bound by. Ghosts normally manifest in one way, take one form.” I flinched, fighting back tears. Isadora smiled an apology and went back to scrubbing cuts and scrapes on the back of my hand. “That form can be as solid and real as they looked in life, thin as a cloud of steam, or somewhere between. A poltergeist is always a poltergeist and a haunt is always a haunt. This ghost had proved she can change form as she pleases. Act as it suits her to act.”

He looked between us, not confused or frightened as I'd expect from someone encountering spirits for the first time, but truly curious. “So what is she?”

“A problem.” Dora's smile was bright, guileless. Randy didn't know her well and I doubt he saw the momentary uncertainty in her eyes, but I did. “I need to resolve this soon before anyone else gets hurt. Now, be a darling and go call Gabe for me. The telephone is in the sitting room. Make sure he knows it's nothing terribly serious, but tell him to fetch the doctor on his way home.”

He left, shutting the door again without prompting.

“He's gone. Tell me what you're afraid of.” I twisted in the chair, ignoring the sting of cuts pulling open again. Looking Dora in the eye was more important. “And don't you dare try to be coy with me, Isadora Bobet, or try to wheedle out of telling me everything. I don't need to be coddled or cosseted because this spirit singled me out.”

Dora sighed and tossed the tea towel onto the table. She dragged Randy's chair over, sitting knee to knee with me and taking my hand. “But she did single you out, Dee, and that has to mean something. I wasn't lying when I said this spirit was a problem. You said yourself that you were in her way when it came to getting at Gabe. Maybe she thinks she can drive you away, and the attack today was only the beginning. It's not coddling for me to be extra cautious in the face of that. I can't say for certain how malevolent this spirit is or begin to guess what she'll do next. I'm not even sure what she is.”

I'd learned that unless she was telling fortunes or holding a séance at a society party, Dora wasn't given to theatrics or exaggeration. If the little girl spirit frightened her or made her unsure of her ground, I had every right to be terrified.

That I wasn't frightened, especially after what I'd just been through, probably said something about my sanity. Instead, I was furious. The things she'd destroyed—photographs of people I'd loved and lost, wedding presents and small remembrances of Esther—couldn't be replaced. This ghost in little girl guise continued to seek ways to come between me and Gabe, and I was just as determined she wouldn't have her way. What she'd done to Katie Allen just added more reasons to be angry.

Anger had carried me through rough spots more than once. “Solving the mystery of what this spirit is seems to be the logical first step. We can deal with her once we know. This might be a good time to dig into that witch's bag of tricks you've mentioned a time or two. I'm keen on discovering what you're hiding in there.”

She smiled, genuinely amused. Doubt left her eyes. “At least one of those tricks is better tried in my house. Have Gabe bring you for supper tomorrow night. I think Randy may prove useful as well, so I'll include him in the invitation. My housekeeper will adore having someone to cook for that appreciates her efforts.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Dora carried the basin of dirty water to the sink and rinsed it under the tap. “I want to try a tarot reading for both you and Gabe to discover why this spirit is so focused on your husband. The spread that comes up for Gabe will be of special interest. I'm hoping to find a hint as to who this ghost was in life.”

“And that in turn will give you an idea of what she is now.” I brushed the damp tea towel over the front of my blouse and down my skirts, attempting to remove the worst of the glass slivers that clung to my clothing. “Why include Randy?”

“Because having him there will make me feel better about your safety. There's always a chance this tarot reading could stir our puzzling ghost into action again.” She leaned back against the sink, staring at the kitchen door as if she expected it to fly off the hinges at any moment. “This spirit relented because Randy came into the room and siphoned off the psychic energy. Otherwise, I'm sure she would have been quite content to pummel you for much longer. I don't want to think about what might have happened if he hadn't been here.”

I stared at the cuts on my hands and the blood splattered on my dress. “You actually believe Randy stopped her from killing me.”

Dora sighed. “Yes, Delia, that's exactly what I think. He saved your life. I won't be leaving tonight until I've taken steps to keep her from entering your house or attacking you again. Wards and charms haven't held this ghost at bay, but salt should do the trick.”

“Salt?” I stared at her openmouthed, unsure if I should laugh or cry. “You could have told me before now. I've been at my wit's end. Knowing I could send this spirit packing with a saltcellar would have been a huge help.”

Dora did laugh. “It will take considerably more than a saltcellar to shut her out, but we'll manage. I'll send Jack to call on a grocer I know over on Polk Street. Two or three fifty-pound bags should be enough.” She held out a hand. “Let's get you out of those clothes. Gabe will bring the doctor soon. Better he doesn't see you like this.”

“Very wise.” I stood, grateful for her hand as the room spun for an instant and then righted itself. “I'd hate for Gabe to get the idea that dealing with ghosts might be dangerous at times. That would never do.”

“It's too late for that, Dee.” She smiled and put an arm around my waist. “I'm fairly certain he already knows.”

 

CHAPTER 12

Gabe

Gabe switched off the desk lamp and slumped back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't focus on the reports littering his desk. The image of shattered glass on the parlor floor, broken furniture, and dusky bruises on Delia's arms and back overlaid the words each time he tried.

He'd spent many a strange night on foot patrol or working cases, but nothing so outlandish as what he'd done last night. Two hundred pounds of brining salt ringed the foundation of their house, sealed the thresholds and casements. He and Jack had spread the salt according to Dora's instructions while she followed behind, muttering charms to make the barrier tight.

Remembering the relief on Delia's face when they'd finished roiled his stomach. That she believed this ghost meant to kill her made him believe too. He'd kept an arm around her all night, starting awake at the smallest sound.

Gabe didn't know how he'd protect her from a vengeful ghost, just that he'd do anything to keep her safe. He wouldn't lose Delia that way. He couldn't.

A cursory rap on the door was all the warning Jack gave before waltzing in, arms full of more report folders. The neat creases in his trousers and freshly starched collar were Annie's daily contributions to making him look the part of a police lieutenant. Not even Annie could disguise that his partner looked as worn and harried as Gabe felt.

Jack dumped the folders on the existing pile. “You look like hell, Captain Ryan.”

“So do you.” He covered his mouth, attempting to stifle another yawn. “It was a rough night. I kept waiting for the monster to crawl out from under the bed. Any progress?”

“Depends on what you mean by progress.” Jack dragged the visitor's chair to the side of the desk and sat. He riffled through the folders, finally pulling one up to the top and handing Gabe the paper inside. “At least ten, maybe fourteen people went off with Effie Fontaine's men and never came back. All but the two young women on that list signed on for a night's work. Leanne Schaffer and Greta Taub told the boardinghouse landlady Mrs. Jacobs that they were going to attend one of Fontaine's lectures. That evening was the last time she saw them.”

Gabe scanned down the list, noting names and ages. Looking for a pattern. “Their landlady didn't report them missing?”

“Mrs. Jacobs saw a well-dressed man help Leanne and Greta into a car and drive off. Henderson said she went on at length about there being only one reason for them to drive off with a man.” Jack made a sour face. “She apparently didn't think much of the girls' virtue. Rent was due by the end of the week. Leanne and Greta still hadn't shown up by then, so Mrs. Jacobs boxed up their things and rented the room to a new boarder. Neither girl has any family that the landlady knows of.”

He looked the list over one last time. Names alone didn't tell him much, but he could guess. They were all alone in the world, people no one would miss or wonder where they'd gone. Unlike Thad Harper, they had no one counting on them to come home again.

“We can connect ten of these names to Fontaine for sure.” Gabe rocked back in his chair, fingers steepled on his chest. “What about the other four?”

Jack frowned and tugged another piece of paper out of the pile. “All of them were part of a work crew hired by Fontaine's men sometime in the last two or three months. They vanished later, not the same day. That makes connecting their disappearance to her harder.”

“But not impossible.”

None of what they knew made any sense, and each time Gabe tried to think of a possible motive, or what Effie Fontaine had to gain, he came up short. All he was certain of was that the scattered facts and bits of evidence disturbed him in a way he couldn't explain. And Gabe dearly wanted an explanation for all of it. He tossed the list of names on the desk and stood. “I think it's time for us to pay Miss Fontaine a visit. People who cross her path have a bad habit of disappearing. I want to hear her tell me why.”