Haunted (29 page)

A tiny smile. “And that’s never good.”

“Which she is about to find out.” I glanced back toward the community center. “I’d better go find Trsiel.” I looked at Kristof. “I guess this is good-bye again, for a little while.”

“I’m never far,” he said. “You need me, I’ll be there. You know that.”

I squeezed his hand. “I do.”

Heartfelt vows of vengeance are easy to make, but rarely easy to carry out. I roared back into hunt mode, ready to track down this demon-bitch and send her soul to the deepest, darkest hell I could find. Instead, I found myself billeted to Lizzie Borden’s living room, while Trsiel hung out with Amanda Sullivan.

Trsiel did his best to placate me, reminding me that so long as Amanda Sullivan saw nothing, the Nix wasn’t in the living world. Fat lot of reassurance that was—the last time Sullivan saw a vision, it’d taken less than six hours for the Nix to persuade her partner to act—less than six hours before three people were dead.

I couldn’t imagine how she’d accomplished that—finding a partner so quickly. Not just any partner, but one who would be in the same building as my daughter that day. Was it that easy to find someone with a motive for murder? Someone who lacked only the guts to follow through on their impulses?

Trsiel’s theory was that the Nix hadn’t been nearly as surprised to find me tracking her as she’d pretended, that she’d known I’d been on her trail, found out who I was, and scouted a few potential partners in the periphery of Savannah’s life, women she could leap into if I got too close and needed a demonstration of her power.

There was no way I was hanging out with Lizzie Borden, not while I still had leads to pursue. We’d questioned Luther Ross, but I still felt as if I’d missed something there, some insight into the Nix and her motivations. Ross had said he hadn’t known why she’d come to his school, and I doubted he was lying, but if I asked the right questions, maybe I could figure out her motive for myself.

Before we’d left Luther Ross, Kris had given him a “safe house” transportation code, sending him to a remote location where he could lie low and, more importantly, where we could track him down if need be. Now I wanted to speak to him again. So as soon as Trsiel dropped me off at Lizzie’s house, I did a quick check-in with her, then zipped off after Kristof.

29

I FOUND KRISTOF IN HIS OFFICE AT THE COURTHOUSE
, talking to a toga-clad client. The moment I peeked around the corner, Kris scuttled his client off.

“I need to find a certain nymphomaniac,” I said, perching on the edge of his desk.

“Nymph—?” Kris laughed. “Ah, and never has that word been more apt. Mr. Ross, I presume.”

“So where’d you tuck him away?”

Kris’s fingers closed over mine. “Let me show you.”

We touched down in a field of white. For a second, I thought the Fates had diverted us to a throne-room waiting area. Then I saw a distant line of trees and, behind them, a mountain range. As I turned to look for Kristof, the ground under my sneaker crunched like broken glass. I knelt and reached down. My fingers sank into something soft and faintly cold.

A white ball struck my shoulder, and exploded on contact. I looked over my shoulder to see Kristof packing a second missile.

“Throw that at your peril.”

The snowball glanced off the top of my head, showering me with snow. I glared at him, spun on my heel, and started to march away. As I walked, I cast a blur spell. The last words left my mouth, then I wheeled, raced behind Kristof, and knocked him flying off his feet. When he hit the ground, I jumped on his back and rubbed his face in the snow.

He sputtered, bucked, and managed to flip me off his back. We tussled for a few minutes, both armed with fistfuls of snow, trying unsuccessfully to give the other a face-washing. Finally, we fell onto our backs, laughing.

Overhead was a faint greenish arch. As I watched, other threads of colored light appeared, reds and blues and yellows, dancing and weaving against the black sky.

“Are you doing that?” I asked.

“Wish I could take credit. It’s the Northern Lights.”

“Wow.”

For a few minutes, we watched the lights dance. The night was so silent I could hear the distant crackle of breaking ice and the occasional hoot of an owl. The air was pleasantly cool, like a brisk fall day.

“So where are we?” I murmured, reluctant to disturb the quiet.

“Remember that witch barmaid in La Ceiba? Said the pirate town was like—”

“Alaska without the snow.” I choked back a laugh. “You sent Luther Ross to Alaska?”

Kristof tilted his head to the side. “You don’t think he’ll like it?”

“Naughty boy. We’ll be lucky if he’ll talk to us after this.” I looked back up at the sky. “So how come you never brought me here?”

“I was saving it. For a special occasion, I guess.” Another glance my way. “You like it?”

I closed my eyes. I could still see the Northern Lights dancing. “Mmm. You’ll have to bring me back.”

His fingers found mine, enclosing them in a sudden surge of warmth. “I will.”

A shout, and we bolted upright. I concentrated and the darkness lifted enough for me to make out two orange jackets moving from a stand of trees.

“
Never
shoot anything around here,” a man said, voice carrying in the stillness. “The drop-off point’s there, remember? That’s fine welcome for a new visitor—getting shot the moment he touches down.”

“But I saw something over there,” a younger voice said. “In the woods, not near the drop-off.”

“Doesn’t matter. You don’t shoot anywhere near here.”

Kristof leaned toward my ear. “Time to make some new friends. See if they’ve encountered your pedagogically inclined nymphomaniac.” He pushed to his feet. “Hullo!”

The older voice hailed him and two hands rose in greeting. As I brushed the snow from my jeans, the men approached. Their voices had suggested an older man and a younger one, but I couldn’t have guessed which was which. Both were bundled in parkas, with fur-lined hoods drawn tight over their bearded faces, as if it really was subzero out here. Matching hunting vests topped their parkas. Each man carried a modified rifle.

“Well, hello there,” the man with the older voice boomed. “Welcome to Deerhurst, Alaska. Population: a few thousand.” He winked. “But only a handful of ’em human.”

“Beautiful place,” I said, looking around. I snuck a glance at Kristof. “You, uh, must get a lot of visitors.”

“Nope,” the man said. “The transportation code is damned obscure, which is how we like it. Just enough visitors to keep things interesting.”

“So I bet you haven’t seen another visitor in…weeks.”

“Not that long, actually. Had a party come through just this morning.” He thumped the younger man on the back. “Billy here came with them. Now, let’s get you folks back to the lodge. It’s getting nippy out.” He shivered for effect. “Time for a hot cocoa and brandy by the fire. A proper Alaskan welcome.” He started to lead us away, then turned. “Damn it, I’ve been out in the bush too long. Always forgetting my manners. I’m Charles. You can call me Chuck, Charlie, Chas, whatever you like…though, given the choice, I’ll stick with Charles.”

We introduced ourselves, then followed Charles across the snowy field.

As hunting lodges went, this one was damned near perfect: a two-story log chalet nestled among snowcapped evergreens, wood-perfumed smoke spiraling lazily into the night sky. Icicles from the second-floor balcony glistened in the moonlight. When Charles pushed open the thick wooden door, a wave of heat rushed out, carried on a current of laughter. Inside, a half-dozen men sat around a huge stone fireplace that took up the entire north wall.

“Got two more,” Charles called as he led us in.

While the men called greetings and introductions, an oversize pet door on the east wall swung open and a gray-brown wolf pushed its way inside.

“Hey, Marcello,” Charles called. “Good hunting?”

The wolf gave a grumbling growl, walked over, and turned, presenting us with a flank splattered in still-wet orange paint.

“Lemme guess,” Charles said as a wave of guffaws rose from the fireplace crowd. “New guy?”

A middle-aged man rose from his chair. “How was I supposed to know he was a werewolf? He should be wearing a collar or something.”

Marcello chuffed and tossed a baleful glare at the man, then strode to the fireplace and stretched out in front of it.

“Marcello prefers his wolf form,” Charles whispered. “Hardly ever changes back. Won’t hear us complaining, though. I had scores of hunting dogs in my day, but none of them compared to Marcello.”

I looked at Charles’s rifle as he laid it down. “So you guys hunt with paint balls?”

He laughed. “The Fates won’t let us use bullets, that’s for sure. Not that we can kill anything here anyway. Doesn’t matter to me. I like it better this way. More sporting…and you never run out of targets.” He looked over at Marcello and lowered his voice again. “He can make that paint disappear with a good shake. He’s just leaving it on to razz the new guy.”

“So…” Kris said as we moved into the room. “How many new guys do you have?”

“Four. All first-timers. Real keen on hunting, though, and that’s the important thing.”

That certainly didn’t sound like Luther Ross. He’d probably touched down, taken one look around, and teleported out again.

A few minutes later, I was on a sofa by the fireplace, legs stretched over Kris’s lap, enjoying a hot chocolate with marshmallows as Kristof chatted up the hunters, trying to discreetly find out if anyone had spotted Ross. I was only half-listening, having already decided Ross was long gone, and was furiously trying to think up a new plan…one that didn’t involve sitting with Lizzie Borden.

I had gotten about halfway through my drink, and nowhere near a good backup plan, when the door swung open, blasting us with cool air. In walked Luther Ross, a pained smile pasted on his face. A young man followed him in and patted his back.

“Got ourselves a real hunter here, boys,” he said. “Could barely drag him back in, even when I promised him brandy and venison stew.”

Ross’s gaze darted about, searching for an escape route.

“Hey, Luther,” Charles called. “Got someone you might like to meet. You know how you were asking if we ever got any ladies up here? Well, you’re in luck. One just landed.”

Ross’s gaze followed Charles’s wave almost reluctantly, as if afraid of what he’d see. When he saw me, he blinked. Then a slow smile lit up his eyes.

“Well, hello,” he said.

“Uh, one problem,” Charles said as the others chuckled around him. “’Fraid she didn’t come alone.”

Ross’s gaze slid to Kristof and his eyes narrowed.

“Told you you’re in trouble,” I murmured. “Better let me handle this one.”

It took a few minutes, but I was finally able to excuse myself from the group. Upstairs, I made a beeline for the balcony. I’d been outside only a few moments when Ross joined me.

I should have known he’d still be in Alaska—he’d have let us send him to Siberia if it meant he’d be safe from the Nix. The old saw about being “a lover, not a fighter” fit Ross to a tee. There was probably a good dose of “yellow-bellied coward” behind that, but I’m sure he would have preferred the first cliché.

I blamed the poor choice of safe house on a transportation-code mix-up, and promised to find him something more suitable…as soon as he answered a few questions. He agreed, and Kristof joined us.

Ross said he’d never asked the Nix anything about herself, including why she’d shown up at his door. There’s a Luther Ross in every bar every night of the week—guys who are willing to sit across from a pretty girl for hours, look deep into her eyes, and entreat her, with near-perfect sincerity, to tell him everything about herself, her thoughts, her fears, her hopes and dreams. But, hey, if you’d rather just hop straight into bed, then your private life is your own, sugar.

So I focused on what
she’d
asked
him
. And that answer did surprise me. The Nix had asked Ross absolutely nothing that didn’t relate to telekinesis and poltergeists. During lessons, she was a little keener, always volunteering to try a new technique, always persevering in the face of failure. Though she hadn’t succeeded in actually moving anything telekinetically, Ross was certain that, had she stuck with the lessons, she would have become one of his success stories.

When teaching sessions ended, the Nix would always withdraw from the group, find a quiet corner to practice in, and keep working. Yes, she had shared Ross’s bed on her last night there, but the postcoital chitchat had been purely business, and she’d apparently used the sex only to get some one-on-one training time.

“Speaking of one-on-one training,” Ross said as we finished. “Send me someplace decent this time, preferably warm, preferably female-friendly, and definitely safe, and you can forget about owing me for those poltergeist lessons.”

“Er, right.” I resisted the urge to sneak a look Kristof’s way, but I could feel his gaze boring into me. “So how about we send you—”

“What I don’t get, though,” Ross cut in, “is why someone like you even wants poltergeist lessons. Not that I’m complaining.” A quick grin. “But, let’s face it, you’re powerful enough to get whatever you want without resorting to parlor tricks.”

“Being able to manipulate objects in the living world would help me solve a problem.”

His brow crinkled. “With the Nix?”

“No,” Kris murmured. “It has nothing to do with the Nix…or anything in this life.”

“It’s to help my”—I glanced at Kris—“our daughter.”

“Ah,” Ross said. “Well, now, that I can see. But I’m not sure how much good poltergeisting would be. What you really need is that demon amulet.”

“Demon—”

Kristof cut in. “It’s a legend. A myth.”

I glanced at him. “You’ve heard of it? What does—?”

“There is no amulet, Eve.”

We exchanged glares. Then his gaze softened, and his eyes begged me to let it go.