One More Bite (4 page)

your stay and you can’t find me, please feel free to ask her.”

I looked up. And then up some more at the coven’s Gatherer. No, I wasn’t referring to new recruits. Or spell ingredients. This one brought in the sacrifices. Her size had evidently gained her the position. She towered over Vayl by a good three inches and must’ve weighed in at three hundred pounds, most of that muscle.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, making a mental note keep any confrontations with her short and sweet. No talking. No wrestling. Just point and shoot.

Floraidh went on. “And this is Humphrey Haigh and his wife, Lesley, also here for the convention.”

“We won tickets!” Lesley gushed, her gray-brown pageboy bobbing as she spoke in an accent so thick it took me a second to understand.

“Oh? That’s great,” I replied. “Where are you from?”

“Just Inverness,” she said. “But it’s been so long since we had a vacation from the store, this feels like a hundred miles from home!”

Her husband nodded and beamed happily.

“Your business sounds demanding,” said Vayl.

“We started with just one small shop selling wedding rings and gold necklaces and the like,”

Humphrey told him. “And now we have a whole chain of them right across the country. Still, we keep our headquarters in the same building. Remember your origins, I say. Don’t I always say that, Lesley?” He glanced at his wife.

“That he does!” she agreed.

He’s as tight as a factory-wound bolt, I thought as I took in the frayed cuffs of his faded brown trousers and the tiny stone in his wife’s engagement ring. Or maybe it’s her. But I didn’t think so. In another time and place she’d have probably been feeding him grapes and kissing his feet, because that’s just what women in her position did. Yeah, she’s pretty deferential in public. But maybe she’s had it up to her eyeballs with playing poor when her bank account must be fat and sassy. Maybe she’s got no access either. Which would give her good reason to find a steady source of income elsewhere. But is she the type who could kill in cold blood?

Hard to say from first impressions. Dammit, when we couldn’t get the warlock, we should’ve insisted on Cassandra. But that might’ve put her in serious danger.

Albert’s descent from the van distracted me, since a couple of grunts and some pops that sounded like fireworks accompanied it. Turned out the explosives were just his knees deciding to hold him up a while longer. I supposed the Marines wouldn’t be using him as a poster boy anytime soon. But he still gave off that proud military air as he inspected the three women who’d lined up beside the Haighs. “Are you from around here?” he asked.

The eldest of them, the one Floraidh had interrupted earlier, had dark, puffy bags under her eyes and the sallow skin of a lady who proclaims that her work is her exercise. She’d pulled her bottled brunette hair back tight enough to give herself a temporary face-lift. The resulting bun sat on top of her head like a tank turret. I wouldn’t be surprised if she used it to shoot bobby pins at uncooperative cabbies and grocery clerks.

She said, “We’re up from London for GhostCon. I am Rhona Jepson. This is my daughter,

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Vivian, though she prefers to be called Viv. She’s deaf.” Rhona announced this last bit of information in such an aggressive tone it sounded like she expected us to laugh at the news. As she spoke she gestured to a petite, dish-water blonde wearing a gray skirt and brown blouse, who gave the girl beside her a rescue-me look before stepping forward.

At first glance, Viv Jepson looked like a runner. And not the type who did it for health. I imagined

Rhona went on. “This is Viv’s translator, Iona Clough.”

Beside me Cole’s stillness became so predatory, if I hadn’t known better I’d have wondered what he was after. One look at Iona made it obvious. Her generous curves were emphasized by a tight black sweater, wide-legged jeans, and a giant steel belt buckle in the shape of a mirrored teardrop. Her smile appeared easily, giving her long face a mischievous appeal, though as soon as it faded she seemed distant, almost distracted. Her hair, parted in the middle, hung straight down her back. And though she’d obviously dyed it auburn, I still envied her the perfect lines of her do, which didn’t stray or muss no matter how many times she turned her head or nodded.

Mine, on the other hand, perhaps sensing the nearness of the River Nairn, had decided to do its Carrot Top impression. I wanted a hat. And some gel. And a Sharpie, because no amount of hair coloring would turn that one white strand that bobbed next to my face back to red again.

“Hi,” said Cole. His smile encompassed both Iona and Viv, who looked to be in their early twenties. Not much younger than me, really, but I knew if we staged a girl’s night out, it would only take about five minutes for me to feel ancient.

He stepped forward, moving his fingers in elegant accompaniment to his words as he spoke. “I’m Del Taylor,” he said aloud and silently. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that Cole knew how to sign. Languages were one of his specialties, along with sharpshooting and driving me crazy. If I’d asked how he’d gained this particular ability, he’d probably tell me he’d dated a hearing-impaired honey during college.

“Why’d you dump her?” I’d inquire, because that’s how it always went down.

His reply would be something off-the-wall like, “She talked too much. At the end of the day my hands were so tired I didn’t even have enough juice left in them to play video games.”

Viv’s face lit up like a Broadway marquee. She focused on Cole as if he’d just told her she’d be quizzed on this conversation at a later point and every wrong answer would cost her money. Iona, noting her reaction, began to sign as she spoke. “You can sign! And you’re American! How amazing!”

The girls traded impressed smiles. Cole gave them his awshucks grin that still assured them he outranked every stud they’d met before by a factor of ten. “My little brother lost his hearing really young, so, you know, it was either learn this or beat the crap of him without explaining why he should never touch my G.I. Joe action figures.”

Iona laughed. But because she knew it was expected of her, as if she’d given Cole all the attention she could spare and now her mind must swing back to whatever had been occupying i thn occupt before he showed. Viv, on the other hand, practically glowed. She had to nudge Iona to remind her to translate her half of the conversation for the rest of us. “Uh, why have you decided to come to the Con this year?” Iona asked

Cole chuckled as his fingers flew. “We have plenty of ghosts to choose from on our side of the Atlantic. But we’re sure you have a lot more over here. Which means steady work for us. I’ve got some great ghost stories I could tell you. Are you ladies going to the opening ceremonies tonight? We could ride together. Our van holds, like, ten people. Twenty if we sit on laps,” he

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added with a smile that said he knew they weren’t the type, but he was.

Viv nodded, but her mom jumped in. “We drove here for the express purpose of having the freedom to come and go as we pleased. I’m sure we’ll see you around the place.” The pinch in her lips assured him she was just being polite and if these were more savage times she’d have built a fence around her daughter, chopped his head off, and left it on a pike outside to warn off the other undesirables.

When he gave me his this-doesn’t-happen-to-me head tilt, I sent him a reassuring smile. She’s probably the assassin anyway, I told him silently, hoping he’d get my signal.

But maybe not. All the women we’d just been introduced to scented human to me. Not as in, Sniff, sniff, geez you poured the Chanel on kinda strong tonight, didn’t you, Gloria? My Sensitivity runs deeper than nasal cavities, back into my brain where it developed after I died. Yeah. As in, Should we give her last rites? Nope, never mind. Raoul the WunderSpirit has brought her back to life, because some people are just meant to fight the extra scaries. Besides, she’s not Catholic.

She is, however, almost as suspicious of people and circumstances as her former roommate and present tech guru. Bergman would’ve taken one look at Rhona and Viv, leaned into my ear, and asked, “Why isn’t the mother translating? Don’t family members usually learn sign language the second their relatives go deaf? Cole did.”

Huh, good point. Maybe she has arthritis? I glanced at her hands. Nope, they looked nimble to me. Okay, then. Something simpler. As long as she doesn’t learn to sign she doesn’t have to admit her daughter has a permanent disability? But Rhona didn’t seem the type to bury herself in denial. Suddenly I missed Bergman. Though his paranoia generally made me want to pinch his little head off, at the moment he was just too far away for my own good. I’d have loved to get his take on all these women.

As Vayl came around the side of the van toting half our luggage, Rhona pointed her long nose at my dad and said, “So you people are professionals?”

“Uh—” Before Albert could say something stupid and screw us over for good, Vayl put down his suitcase, released my trunk’s handle, and stepped forward.

“Indeed, we are.” I felt his powers lift, a slight cooling of the air that made Rhona adjust her stone-gray blazer. Most of the women smiled, as did Humphrey, charmed by the big man with the antique cane. Only Floraidh and Dormal seemed unaffected. Vayl said, “I am Jeremy Bhane and this is my associate, Lucille Robinson.” He gestured to me, so I nodded and smiled as he went on. “Our company, Rest Easy, specializes in locating and releasing ghosts.” He reached into his coat pocket for business cards, whithess cardch he distributed with the flare of a magician who’s just pulled a quarter from his volunteer’s ear.

“Oh, how wonderful!” enthused Rhona as she read her card. “I’m giving a talk on the entrapment and exploitation of ghosts by certain members of the tourism industry. I wish you would sit on the panel.”

“Certainly, if I have time. But Lucille and I must do a great deal of networking in the next few days if we are to continue to grow our business.”

“Of course.”

I said, “Before we go in we should really apologize to the guy we nearly splatted just now. Floraidh, maybe you can put us in touch with this Sean McGill. Or if it wasn’t him, would one of you others have seen a brown-bearded man in his thirties wearing a coffee-colored suit at least

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three sizes too large for him?”

I kept Lucille’s sweet smile on my face, but my inner eye narrowed when nobody responded, allowing me to ask the question I really wanted answered. Which one of you bitches is going to die this week? Humphrey jerked.

“Are you all right?” asked Floraidh. She went over to the man, patting him on the shoulder as she hovered.

“I think something just stung me,” he said. He grabbed at the back of his arm, began rubbing it.

“Lucky thing I’m not allergic to bees.” The whole time he spoke, Iona signed to Viv, who did a remarkable job of catching the gist of her conversation while also taking in the view, since her eyes often wandered off course. She signed something to Cole, whose brows rose into his unruly bangs before they dropped back to base.

He said, “Viv wonders if it was an Africanized bee. They like to swarm, you know.”

“We have no Africanized bees here,” Floraidh responded instantly.

“How do you know?” asked Rhona.

“I simply wouldn’t allow it.” She went to the back of the van, grabbed a couple of cases that contained our ghost hunting supplies, and said, “Shall we go inside? I believe the opening ceremonies start in just under an hour, which will give you time to unpack and freshen up before we must be off.”

“Oh, you’re going too?” I asked. We’d figured whoever was tailing Floraidh on any given shift would be spending craploads of time hanging around Tearlach. Now it looked like our plans were changing.

Floraidh’s laugh trickled out her bow of a mouth like a bright meadow stream. “Of course. I haven’t missed a GhostCon in ten years! I always bring a tableful of goodies to sell. Homemade cookies, puddings, and shortbreads to tempt people to stay at Tearlach next year. But my biggest sellers are the protection amulets and charms I bring for ghost hunters who fear to meet angry souls during their journeys.” She put her hand beside her mouth, as if she was sharing a state secret. “I get them from a Wiccan in Edinburgh.”

“Ah.”

She led the way through the trellis, past garden beds lined with gray rocks bigger than my head. I didn’t recognize all the flowers, but I knew a lily when I saw one. And damned if she didn’t have some poisonous bloomers growing among th wawing ame innocents, including foxglove and a couple of different kinds of nightshade. Though it was a beautiful evening and most hosts might’ve suggested we enjoy the gardens, she towed us right inside. Which meant the subject of our mysterious stranger fell flat on the walk, half chewed and regurgitated, just like the cigar Jack had eaten.

Next to it lay my Spirit Eye, snoozing. Oh sure, I’d sensed the Scidairans the second they’d walked out of the B and B. Big whoop, I’d expected that dark tweak to my Sensitivity. The fact that nothing else had stirred it, though I’d met every other guest, had left me thoroughly disappointed. Surely a Medusa scented at least as gross as your typical vamp. But everybody who was a suspect seemed . . . normal. And that should’ve been my first clue that most of them weren’t.

Chapter Six

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Tearlach tried to reach out and embrace us. The second we entered the arched double doorway of the bed-and-breakfast’s wide central hall where we temporarily stowed our luggage, we found ourselves surrounded by homey details designed to remind us of Granny’s house. If Granny had been rich.

To our left a floor-to-ceiling pocket door had been opened to reveal a room that could be closed off at its far end by a similar door. But Floraidh had also slid that aside to reveal the room’s twin. Just what a B and B needs. Double lounges with fireplaces at each end and comfy chairs upholstered in pink and blue, as if to give the boys and girls a clue where to sit. At our end of the house the chairs grouped around a TV; I figured Floraidh’s for the comfy one beside which sat a basket full of multicolored balls of yarn.