Ghost Phoenix (3 page)

She fumbled around in the drawer. The wisps of the solid items tickled her ghost fingers as she tapped around inside until she found the cheese grater in the back stuck upright. She concentrated again, feeling her fingertips take on their regular weight and become solid so she could shift the grater. When the rough edges of the grater scraped her thumb, she knew she had it. She twisted and it fell on its side.

She pulled her hand back through the drawer and dropped her concentration. Her hand filled out and became flesh and blood once more. She tugged at the drawer again. It came free. Success!

If only she could get her life unstuck as easily.

Jen swept into the house, fussy baby attached to her by one of those baby slings. Little James had not yet reached full howl, but he was definitely showing the signs.

“Dad and Grandfather are looking for you.” Jen rolled her eyes and shifted the baby. He gurgled and stopped fussing. “I told them you were helping and to stay out of your way until the party was done.”

“Thanks, Jen.”

She shrugged. “I'd almost think you're in here avoiding them.”

“Exactly what I'm doing.”

“They're pissed at you about something?”

“You noticed, huh?”

“Screw them,” Jen said. “They're always on your case about something, ever since you discovered you have the family gift. Want to buzz out before they find you? I'll cover. Let 'em stew, that's what I say.”

The baby started crying, and Jen started pacing. Jen's way of dealing with Dad and Grandfather was to avoid them. She'd moved out at eighteen, come back with Scott in tow and then announced she'd taken a job outside the family firm, as an accountant in a bank.

And when Dad complained about her “abandoning the family”, she'd ducked his phone calls until even he got a clue.

Then Jen got pregnant and the prodigal child was welcomed back with open arms. Dad was so happy about having a grandchild that he didn't mention the past. Ever. Dad never liked to fight. It was why he had trouble standing up to Grandfather.

More than anything, Marian wished she could live her own life like Jen did. But Jen didn't have the family's phantom power. Jen didn't have the responsibility of the future of the business falling to her. Marian vowed to make sure whoever came after her would have a choice. She doubted Jen would want James, if he inherited the power, to someday be badgered into illegal and immoral smuggling for the family good.

This was the best way, for everyone. Even if Grandfather didn't realize it yet.

“Actually, Jen, could you tell Dad and Grandfather that I'd like to talk to them right now? Somewhere private?”

Jen shifted her weight again in an effort to soothe the baby. “You have something big to tell them, right? Can I listen?”

“Not that big. Your kid trumps me.” Marian grinned. “Thanks for the offer of help, but I have to do this thing myself.”

“Sure. Good luck! Don't you dare let them guilt you into something. You've done plenty already. You've got a right to live your own life.”

“As you've been telling me for years. I know. Well, I'm listening now.” Marian swept a bunch of dirty paper plates into the trash. “Thanks.”

Even as Marian said it, her stomach soured. This was going to be bad.

Jen reached out and squeezed Marian's hand. “Go get 'em, sis. And you could always stay here to hide out, if you need to. You know Grandfather can't take all the baby's crying. Too much disorder! He would never come here after you.” Jen wrinkled her face in perfect imitation of their grandfather.

Marian hugged her. Carefully, so as not to squish James. “I needed that.”

“I'll tell them to meet you in the living room,” Jen said. “It's the cleanest place.”

“Great.”

Apparently, Jen's cleanest room meant the room was only half full of unopened baby presents instead of being jammed with them.

Marian began stacking the presents next to the playpen in the corner. These would do James no good right now—he'd have to grow into them, just like the playpen.

Grandfather arrived, her father at his heels, as usual.

“You should let your sister clean up, not act as her maid,” Grandfather said.

Oooh…a comment that disapproved of Jen for being messy and Marian for covering the mess up. Two insults for the price of one. She was so tired of this.

“Marian is just helping,” Dad said. “Jen has plenty to do today.”

Marian smiled at her dad. He genuinely loved Doyle Antiquities. He loved doing the research that led to finding ancient, lost things. He had a knack for following the trail of dusty documentation, and clients respected him for his expertise.

She wished Grandfather respected him too, instead of belittling his son for not being charming enough or tough enough and especially for not having the family gift. Dad would get the fallout from her walking away. Damn. What was worse was that he'd never complain to her about it.

Grandfather clasped his hands behind his back. “You wanted to discuss something with us?” He straightened to show off his full height. His brows were furrowed in disapproval. He was the picture of a head of the family, like some ancient Roman patriarch.

Dad lurked in his shadow, his shoulders slumped. They looked like father and son, except her father had never grown a backbone to defy his father, save to occasionally defend his daughters. Marian was not going through her life like that.

“I'm leaving the firm, effective today,” she said.

“One incident and you've lost your nerve. Pathetic,” Grandfather said. “And totally unacceptable. You're not leaving, especially not before you get that elephant back for our client.”

Definitely, Tantor was going to a museum.

“I've made some inquiries and I've been told an application to join a Native American dig in western Virginia will likely be approved. It starts in two months. I'm taking the time in between for a break. I've never had one before. I'm looking forward to it.”

She said the words all in a rush, to get them finally out.
There. Done.

“Marian, are you sure? Maybe you only need a break. We could talk about a sabbatical,” Dad said.

“Thomas, stop trying to placate her. She thinks she's just going to walk away from us. Isn't that right, Marian?”

“I'm done.”

“You are simply afraid. You'll get over it. You'll grow a better backbone, that's all. Perhaps you need some more training with Eunice. She never flinched in a crisis.”

“I didn't flinch. I saved myself from an arrest.”

“And lost our client's item. We're out a million-dollar commission, Marian. That needs to be made good or made up with another commission. You may not care about me, but what about the rest of our employees who depend on the firm for their livelihood?”

Her mouth went dry. The guilt trip was working.

“Aunt Eunice didn't have to worry about the new rules and regulations when coming back from overseas. Customs officers are all over the place now. There are full body scans, cameras everywhere and God knows what else. Do you have any idea how much harder it is for me to navigate this than it was for Aunt Eunice?”

“My sister Eunice always did the family proud.”

“Good. Talk her out of retirement and put her back to work. I bet a little old lady just might be able to fool security better than me. Problem solved.”

“Marian, I know you're scared, and you have every right to be,” Dad said, pushing past Grandfather. “We can talk about it, maybe change some things for you. You're right, you're on the front lines. We need to make things safer for you.”

“You're coddling the girl, Thomas,” Grandfather said.

“Dad, you're not helping. Please be quiet and let me talk to my daughter.”

There was Dad, defusing the conflict again, trying to make everyone happy.

“Dad, you don't need me. You're great at this. The firm can survive on entirely legal jobs. You and Grandfather have all the contacts. The firm won't miss me.”

“You're the only one who can live up to the legacy of the Doyles, Marian,” Grandpa said. “You owe us this. You can't walk away.”

“Legacy? You mean the Doyle history of stealing?”

“Oh, so now all your ancestors are as equally to blame as I am? They're the ones who built the firm that allowed you to be well fed and clothed all these years. Yet you sneer at them.” Grandfather shook his head. “And all to cover that you're a coward.”

“Maybe I just don't like breaking the law!” No, she hadn't meant to lose her temper. This was a stupid argument. They couldn't force her to do anything. Hell, they couldn't even stop her from ghost walking through the back wall to get away from them.

So why did she feel so guilty and miserable? She tasted bile in her throat and wondered what the old man would say if she threw up on him.

He'd probably call her
pathetic
again.

“Marian.” Her father hugged her. “I didn't realize you were so unhappy. You're right, that last flight was a wake-up call. We can do something to fix it, give you more time off, maybe you could go on your dig and come back. Let me work something out. This is just such a bad time to leave. Give us another chance, please, sweetheart?”

“Dad. No.”

She backed away. She was immune to Grandfather's insults but not her father's concern. Jen apparently had the right idea all along. Run away and don't look back.

“Dad, please. Let me go. I've had enough. I've done enough.” She looked down at the floor.

“You talk as if the phantom ability is a curse to run from and not a birthright to be proud of,” Grandfather sneered.

Marian glanced at her dad. He stood between her and his father, frowning. More than once, he'd told her he wished he had the family gift instead of her, so she could have a normal life. He would always follow Grandfather's wishes, even if it came to being arrested. He enjoyed pleasing his father.

Dad took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“It's not your fault, Dad.” Yes, she liked making him happy, as he liked making his father happy. “You know the firm is in good shape. Think of it as a challenge to build us up legitimately. What if something happens to me? Or if no one gets the gift in the next generation? You'd have no choice than to be legitimate then. This works out better for the long-term.”

“Long-term doesn't always pay the bills in the short term.” Dad sighed. “The work you do will also ensure your new godson has a bright future. Jen and the baby deserve our help too.”

James. She was letting her godson down. She was letting her sister down. “I don't want…”

Don't let them guilt you
, her sister had said. And here they were, doing exactly that. “Jen would agree with me.”

“As your father said, this is a very bad time to talk about this,” Grandfather said. “Stop acting a spoiled child who doesn't realize how good she has it. Do you think you would have your lovely loft in SoHo without us?”

“And my next home might have bars if I'm caught. I can give up the loft. I can give up everything. Okay, you're right. I'm scared. But it's more than that. A hundred years ago, even fifty years ago, this smuggling and looting wasn't a big deal to anyone. But times and attitudes have changed. These precious items belong to their native heritage, not in the hands of some private collector. At the least, they belong in a museum. We're being selfish and greedy and helping no one but ourselves.”

“I see you've learned political correctness at college,” Grandfather said. “We're doing what we've always done. We're making sure beautiful objects get in the hands of those who appreciate them.”

“No, we're putting them in the hands of those who can afford them and locking out anyone else who might appreciate them. Fine, I'm a coward. But I'm brave enough to give it all up, Grandfather. That means the travel, the nice clothes, the spacious loft and all the rest of the money. Could you do that? So who's the selfish one here?”

Dad held up his hands. “Marian. I hear you. But did you hear me? This is a very bad time for you to leave.”

“It's always a bad time.”

“We have a unique job that requires your skills. We just found out about it today.” Dad's voice ended on a whisper that sounded like a plea.

“It's always a unique job that requires my skills.” But her voice wavered.

“It's the most important job you will ever have on behalf of our firm,” Grandfather said. “We have to take it.”

“What the hell could be that important?” Tantor had been a million-dollar job. What could be more important than that?

“This job is from our special patrons, the Court,” Dad said, taking off his glasses.

“The Court?” She collapsed on the couch, next to the baby blankets. “You're kidding. You mean that fairy tale about the mysterious Court of Immortals who've hired us through the centuries?”

“It's no fairy tale. They rarely come to us, but when they do, we are duty-bound to do what they ask. These are not people to piss off, Marian,” Dad said.

Marian swallowed to bring moisture to her dry throat. She was being sucked back in. She should run. Phase. Get away somehow.

Grandfather sat in the single chair in the room. Something squeaked. He reached back and pulled out a rubber duck from the cushions. With a grimace, he tossed it aside.

“What do these supposed immortals want?” Marian asked.

“Obviously, they need your phantom talent,” Dad said. “And don't joke. They're very real.”

“Right. Of course they are.”

Dad sat down next to her and put his arm over her shoulder. “Isn't a part of you curious about meeting an immortal?”

She sighed. “Maybe. If they're real.”