Beneath the Mall of Madness (A Jaspar Windisle Mystery Book 1) (2 page)

“If none of those protesters care about ghosts, then why am I here?” I asked. The last time he’d hired me it was because of controversy about the location of an ancient burial site. He already knew it was there, but he wanted to know how the spirits felt about the project. They were fine with it, as they usually are, but I have no idea what use that information could have been to him. It was the living who were delaying his permits, after all.

“In case there’s a problem later. I want you to go over this place before we start building. Those people are determined. I don’t want them to have a reason to demand that we demolish the place to check for artifacts after we’re halfway done.”

“So no one’s complained yet?”

“No,” Steve smirked. “They’re starting with more reasonable arguments first.”

“Okay.” I don’t know why he thought it wouldn’t be a reasonable objection. I could remember several building projects bogged down for years because of claims they were on top of valuable archeology. I knew Steve was too honest to destroy anything he found, so that wasn’t it.

“Is that the psychic?” One of the construction workers asked.

“Yes, this is Jaspar Windisle,” Steve said. “Jaspar, this is Anthony Lott, the foreman.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lott.” He looked down at me.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Windisle. Are you really here to look for ghosts?”

“There are ghosts of some kind just about everywhere,” I told him. “I’m going to ask them how they feel about moving into a shopping mall.”

“Huh.” At least he didn’t seem disgusted by the idea. He just shook my hand and went back to work.

I pulled out my pendant again. This time, I also pulled out the specter who had been napping in my jacket. He’d stayed there peacefully on the entire trip, but now I needed him awake.

Specters look like a cross between a mouse and a fat bee. They’re interesting creatures. Most people can’t see them. It doesn’t seem to bother them; they’re fond of the living anyway. If they find someone who can see them, like me, they’ll immediately cozy up to that person and start gossiping about all the interesting things they’ve heard from the dead. Most of it is dull from my point of view, but you can learn a lot from specters if you’re patient. They normally hang out in graveyards. This one had taken a liking to my pendant and had been following it, and me, for years. I’d named him Sparks. Occasionally he even answered to it. Usually, I counted on his natural behavior to give me clues. He could be quite handy in situations like this where I couldn’t count on specters to live naturally. I suppose it didn’t really matter. Ninety-nine percent of the time it didn’t take any supernatural ability at all to say ‘the spirits are fine with it,’ whatever ‘it’ might be. His normal job was to come out, explore a bit, find nothing interesting, bat the pendant around for a while, and then crawl back into my jacket.

Today turned out to be one of the one percent. He sat up, pawed his face, looked around, and dove back into my jacket. When it became obvious to him that I wasn’t leaving, he came back out, grabbed the chain, and tried to drag it back to the parking lot. Just when I was starting to worry that he’d fly away without me, he sat on the top of my head and channeled the dead.

***

In this case, I learned that a lot of animals had died here. And I do mean a lot. Specters only communicate using words and emotions they’ve stolen from the dead and animals don’t give them much to work with, but I got the message Sparks was trying to send me. It seemed that thousands of animals that had wandered into this area had died suddenly and in pain. If we stayed here too long, we would die here too.

When he stopped giving me information, he went back to tugging on the pendant.

“The spirits are unhappy,” I said honestly. “Very, very unhappy.”

“You’re saying there are dead people here?” Mr. Lott asked. He didn’t sound happy either.

“No, no humans,” I said. “Just an ark’s worth of animals. Maybe instead of a psychic you should hire a geologist.”

“You think there was an earthquake?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know. Animals don’t make good witnesses in the first place, and these were all unpleasantly surprised.” Mr. Lott was staring at my pendant. The chain was extended straight out for half its length, and the rest was swinging wildly, partly from Sparks shaking it and partly from the moths getting upset. I wondered what Mr. Lott thought was happening.

“I need to go,” I said.

“You aren’t going to check the whole site?” Steve asked.

I shook my head. “The only safe direction is back to the parking lot.” I’d got that much from the animals. I didn’t wait for Steve to say anything else; I just turned and followed the specter to the exit.

Steve followed me after shouting to Mr. Lott that he’d be right back.

“Hang on a minute,” he said as we reached the protesters. “I do need you to check the whole area.” I turned to look at him.

“Why?”

“If it’s just that one part that’s bad we can make it the real parking lot,” he said. Sparks had gone back into my jacket once we got back to the field. I put the pendant away.

“I’m afraid the spirits aren’t up to any more today,” I said. Sparks might not be able to use his own words, but he could glare disapprovingly quite well for a floating puffball.

“Then come back later,” Steve said. “I’ll get the soil tested, check for any local legends, see if I can find an explanation, then you can come back and see if that helped.”

I sighed. This was the least helpful I’d ever been to him. I didn’t know what to do.

“There’s a nice little town nearby called Towenridge you could stay in,” he pressed. “We can pick up your expenses until then.”

“Can’t you just not report my reading?” I asked. I didn’t think there was much danger to humans at this point. I was thinking along the lines of contaminated soil or natural gas leaks. Not every animal traveling through the area had died, or Steve would have mentioned clearing away a carpet of dead animals while he was filling me in on the job originally.

Steve sighed and put his hand on my shoulder. He guided me farther away from the protesters.

“I had word from someone who will remain anonymous that this site was spiritually rotten,” he said. “Someone I trust. Someone who may or may not have tried to bribe you with a cupcake earlier. But you know a major corporation isn’t going to stop building because of that. I may be one of the most powerful wizards alive today, but I can’t see stuff like this. Even my anonymous source is only working on a theory. But you can. If you go back there and do a thorough reading, I’ll either know it’s safe, or I’ll know exactly where the trouble is, and I don’t know anyone else who can do that. Even after weeding out the frauds, most practitioners are still relying on someone else’s monoliths or eldritch symbols to tell where a trouble spot is. If you bail on me, I’ll have nothing to take to the board, and I’ll be stuck building the Mall of Death no matter what I do.”

“So what’s your plan for me?” I asked. I found it intriguing that the board of Jesticorps was staffed by people who believed in the occult, but we could discuss that later.

“I’ll do those tests I mentioned earlier, put up some wards, and you can check my work until it’s been cleaned up.”

“I can do that,” I heard myself saying. I didn’t want to, but I did owe him a debt I couldn’t possibly repay.

“Fantastic!” Steve gave me a hug. “The nearest town is Towenridge. Just keep heading the direction you were going until you see a turnoff onto a dirt road. It’ll turn back into pavement eventually. Go past the chain hotels and stay at the local one. Keep your receipts. I’ll call you when I’ve got the next step lined up, and if it’ll be a while, I’ll get you a company card. No, never mind, I’ll get you one tomorrow. The university is on a break so I won’t be able to get a geologist until next week at the earliest.”

“Why should I stay at a local hotel? Usually, I stay at chains.” What can I say? I’d had my fill of quirky individuality back when it was the only option.

“Just take my word for it,” Steve said. “You don’t want to stay at any of them. Anyway, The Gates is a great place.”

“The Gates hotel?” I repeated. “Do you really need my help, or are you trying to get me killed?”

“It’s short for The Gates of Sleep,” he explained. “Just give it a try. I guarantee the owner is not a serial killer.” Oh yeah, that sounded better.

“So you’re staying?” A familiar voice said. Fiona had spotted us and was headed our way, cupcakes still in hand. “One of my cousins runs that hotel. It’s quite nice if I do say so myself.”

“Your cousin? I thought he was your brother,” Steve said.

“No, I’m an only child.”

“Do you two know each other?” I asked. I didn’t need to. She was the only person pushing cupcakes.

“Yes, Ms. Whateley is coordinating both protests,” Steve told me. He didn’t seem upset about it.

“One way or another, we must protect the planet,” Fiona said sweetly. “But I’m getting tired and everyone’s had their fill of snacks. If you’re going to town, could you give me a ride? I can show you how to get to the hotel. It’s a bit more complicated than Mr. Trenton is letting on.”

Ordinarily I don’t let potentially hostile strangers into my car, but Fiona seemed pleasant enough, and I’d noticed that she was walking with a limp. I was pretty sure that if it came down to it I could take her in a fight.

“You didn’t drive yourself?” Steve asked her.

“After last time even I had to admit I can’t drive a stick shift this far,” she said. “I hitched a ride in the hunting lodge’s van. They’re planning to stay for hours though, and they’ve been talking about going out to eat afterward. I’d rather go straight home.”

“You should give in and get an automatic,” Steve told her.

“I manage just fine as long as I stay in town,” she said.

“I don’t mind giving you a ride,” I told her.

“Well then, I suppose I’ll talk to you both tomorrow,” Steve said.

Fiona had a hard time getting into my car. When she pulled up her robe, I saw that she was wearing a full leg brace. One of the old metal ones that looks like a cage for rebellious limbs. She had to sit sideways, undo something in the brace and then swing her leg into the car.

“I don’t have nearly this much trouble getting into my truck,” she told me. “Your car is very low to the ground.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Oh, it isn’t your fault. Things have been going wrong all day.”

“Is that a recent injury?”

“No, it’s been like this since I was a child. Polio, if you can believe it.”

“In this day and age?” I’d thought that polio had been banished from the United States by the seventies. I never get sick, but I’d gotten in line for a polio vaccine as soon as they were available. There’s no way I’m spending the rest of what’s turning out to be a very long life in an iron lung. Fiona laughed. It was a cold sound, with no humor behind it.

“My parents believed that vaccines were evil, and I paid the price,” she explained. “I was lucky to get away with one bad leg. It took years of therapy and determination to get use of the other one back. My parents weren’t so lucky. They both got tetanus. Did you know that tetanus used to be fatal seven times out of ten? The odds are better with modern treatment of course, but my parents didn’t beat the odds.”

“Tetanus isn’t contagious,” I said. Not that I’m an expert on diseases but doesn’t everyone know that? “You get it from dirt and rusty nails.”

“Oh, I know,” Fiona said. “The doctors said it was a dreadful coincidence, but there’s no mistaking the symptoms. What about your parents?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m probably an orphan. I don’t remember my childhood at all.”

“How terrible,” she said. “Is there any chance of you getting your memory back?”

“No,” I said. “If it were temporary I would have remembered by now. Most amnesia is permanent.” I’d had hopes when the state of medicine improved, and doctors were able to study the brain in action. Modern medicine hadn’t provided a cure for me yet. If anything it had delivered disappointment. Each new discovery seemed to imply that my missing memory was gone forever.

“So when you looked at the site, what did you find?” Fiona asked.

“Is that why you asked me for a ride?”

“I am tired,” she said. “But you looked shaken leaving the site, and I’ve never seen anyone do that trick you did with your pendulum. It looked unnatural in a very natural way.”

“It isn’t a trick,” I said. “The spirits really don’t like that spot.” I looked at her briefly. She was staring at me curiously. “I hope your hunter friends don’t plan to use that area if they win.”

“They don’t. It’s an important part of the elk migration route, and runoff from the mall will do dreadful things to the nearest steelhead run. I honestly don’t know how Jesticorps got a building permit in the first place.”

“Lots of money, probably,” I said.

“So what did you tell Mr. Trenton?” She asked.

“I told him lots of animals died there unexpectedly. I have no idea why yet. Hey, maybe you’ll get lucky, and they’ll find valuable archeology under there.”

“Animals?” Fiona asked. “No people?”

“No. I would have known.” Specters couldn’t pass up on words. Even if I couldn’t understand what they were saying I would have known if there had been a language in all that screaming. “Were you expecting dead people?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. I’d found the turnoff, and we were bouncing down the worst excuse for a road I’d ever tried to navigate in a compact car. No, make that any car. The last time I’d been on a road this bad I was in the back of an armored truck. I was wondering if we were going to get hung up, but Fiona didn’t seem fazed, even when we plunged into a trench. “There are local legends about it. You’d think someone would have died there.”

“Well, I’ve agreed to go back later and have a longer look, but these would be Native Americans we’re talking about, not pre-cavemen. If someone died there and there were witnesses, they probably took the body with them.”

“So when you say you talk to spirits, their souls still have to be attached to their body?”

“I don’t think souls have anything to do with it. I’ve met at least one ghost, and it wasn’t anything like talking to a corpse. I think I just hear memories.”

“Just?” Fiona said. “I take it you’ve been a necromancer all your life?” She seemed to have figured out what kind of psychic I was quickly unless she was just guessing.

“As long as I can remember,” I confirmed. After a quarter of a mile, the road had become paved again, and the town was in sight. “I take it these are the hotels I’m supposed to be avoiding?”

The first building we passed advertised itself as Hotel 666. The sixes were big, red and outlined in neon lights. The sign blinked on and off as I looked at it, and every time it turned on neon drops of red dripped from the numbers.

“I wouldn’t stay there if you paid me,” I said. The parking lot was full, so clearly others didn’t agree.

“In certain circles we’re a major tourist attraction,” Fiona said. “Certain tasteless circles. Some people can’t resist trying to cash in.”

“Why are there so many cars parked there?” I asked. “Isn’t anyone in this town superstitious?”

“Just about everyone is,” Fiona told me. “I suspect that’s part of the fun. I wouldn’t recommend staying there. Rumor is, it’s not run by very nice people. Besides, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

She was right. If I hadn’t been assured that there was another hotel, I might have picked the Hotel of the Beast as the lesser evil. I’ll just say that the Discomfort Inn’s exterior suggested truth in advertising, and the Tiger Inn might have had actual tigers inside. Once I got over the tastelessness of it all, I wondered if any of the hotels were violating a trademark. I dismissed it as one of many things in life that are not my problem. Soon, we made it past the last of the hotels from hell and into downtown Towenridge.

Main Street Towenridge was aggressively quaint. Not only did the buildings facing the street have white plaster walls with black trim, one of them had the vanes of a windmill mounted on the roof. There were flower boxes everywhere. The sidewalks were red brick, and the street was lined with cast iron lamp posts. The cuteness was only slightly marred by the street signs, which were wrought iron bats with the names and numbers painted on in gothic red lettering. Except for the bats, the town gave off a vaguely Dutch vibe.

“I’ll show you where your hotel is and get you checked in,” Fiona said. “Just keep going straight.” I did, and we were soon in a residential area. Here the houses were more typical of Western Washington, with shingled roofs and wooden siding.

“If you like to go clubbing the clubs are to your right, towards the drop-off,” she said. “But they’re full of crypto-tourists, so if that doesn’t interest you, you’ve been warned. There’s a good bar attached to the hotel, so you don’t have to go far for a quiet drink.”

“Crypto-tourists?” I was hoping for espionage enthusiasts, but I had a feeling that wasn’t what she meant.

“Oh yes,” Fiona said. “If you really want to see a monster this is one of the best places in the country to try.” That was unwelcome news to me. I don’t go out of my way to see monsters.

The Gates of Sleep was at the edge of town as far away from the highway as it could be. Beyond it I could see a wide lawn leading into a marsh that narrowed into a forest wedged between two mountains. Despite the incredible view, the parking lot only had a handful of cars in it.

“You don’t seem like the adventurous type,” she went on “so if you don’t want to see a monster enjoy that view from here. I’ll wait in the car while you get checked in. If I start talking to Jeremy, I’ll stay all day.”

I grabbed my suitcase and went in. On the outside, the Gates of Sleep was as well maintained and cute as the downtown. On the inside, it was more opulent. It had dark wood paneling, brass finishes, and green plush carpet. The person standing behind the front desk looked so much like Fiona it was spooky. This person was almost a foot taller, wearing a tuxedo in the middle of the day, and a man, but their faces were identical, right down to the lack of whites in their eyes.

As a receptionist, he could have used some work. The expression on his face wasn’t at all welcoming. When I got up the nerve to speak to him, my request for a room would have been more warmly received if I’d asked him for a dead pelican.

“The Discomfort Inn has a swimming pool,” he said. His voice was much deeper than Fiona’s, in a way that made the resemblance creepier. “It’s dyed red, so it’s just like swimming in blood.”

“That sounds horrifying,” I said. “Why would anyone swim in it?”

“Don’t ask me,” he said. “Their complimentary breakfast includes spider pancakes.” I sure hoped he meant pancakes in the shape of spiders. I wasn’t sure the alternative was legal in the United States.

“Do you have any rooms or not?”

“We don’t have spider pancakes,” Jeremiah said. “We don’t have pancakes at all. We serve waffles.”

“That sounds great to me.” I wondered if he was going to throw me out.

“Are you sure? What I’m trying to say is, this hotel is not in any way haunted or mysterious. There are no monsters under the bed and no chance that you will be murdered in your sleep by vampires, sparkly or the regular kind.”

“I really just want a good night’s sleep. My boss said this was the best hotel in town, and Fiona seemed to agree.” Jeremiah’s expression cleared at that.

“The best hotel? Really?”

“Well, he implied that the others were terrible. . .”

“They are,” Jeremiah assured me. “This place has been in the family for over a hundred years. We cater to visiting relatives and traveling salesmen who can’t take another night of blood dripping down the walls or spider pancakes.”

“Are the other hotels theme parks or something?” I asked.

“Some of them might be genuinely haunted,” Jeremiah admitted. “I can assure you that this hotel is not. I won’t allow it.” The way he said that, I believed he could quell a haunt by glaring at it until it fled in shame.

“Then I’d like to book a room for a week,” I told him, “although I might be staying longer.”

“Very well,” he said. “There shouldn’t be a problem extending your stay.” He gave me keys and a pamphlet. “Breakfast is from six thirty to nine thirty. We can get you a discount at the café next door and, if you’d like to make a reservation, I can recommend places to eat.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, there is one thing. We have a curfew of sorts. Nothing untoward will happen if you ignore it, but I recommend not staying out past midnight and don’t make any plans to leave the hotel before four in the morning.”

That was more than a little odd coming from someone so insistent that his hotel wasn’t haunted, but I thanked him and went up to my room.

The hotel may have been in the Whateley family for over a hundred years, but it had been remodeled within the last ten. My room wasn’t as luxurious as the lobby. The carpet was light blue, and there were abstract prints on the walls that reminded me of water. The largest picture in the room was right above the headboard. It was an impressively realistic watercolor of a trout.

Looking out the window, I had a clear view of the mountains. On a sunny day, it would be spectacular. There were some signs that the hotel wasn’t quite as up to date as it could have been. There was no internet access, and the TV only got local stations. There was a Nintendo 64 under the television with a note on it that games were available at the front desk. I hadn’t seen one of those in over a decade. If my stay was long enough, I might try it just for the novelty.

Since Fiona was waiting for me, I didn’t bother unpacking. I just put my suitcase at the foot of the bed and headed back to my car. Jeremiah had been replaced by a dark-skinned, middle-aged woman with curly red hair. She nodded at me as I left the lobby.

“Don’t forget to be back before midnight!” she called out.

“I won’t.”

I reminded myself that there were no better hotel options, and headed out to the parking lot.