Smoke and Mirrors (40 page)

“I believe it's called a nursery,” Tina snorted.

“Fine. Call it what you want. Then Adam, Sorge, and I will take the candles and . . .” As Peter opened the door, the candles blew out. “Shit.”

“Anyone want to bet that's going to keep happening?” Amy muttered.

No one did.

Tony set his laptop on the counter, opened it and powered up. “This doesn't throw a lot of light, but it's a small room. If Tina and Zev check upstairs, I can make it to the ballroom on the replay light.”

Shooting a disdainful glare at Mason as he passed, Lee moved out of the shadows in the back of the room. And Tony really hated that imagery. “
I'll
go with you.”

“No. You can't. It's too dangerous. The ballroom already wants you.”

“I'll be fine.”

“You'll stay right here,” Peter told him, one hand against the borrowed black T-shirt.

Lee sneered at the director's hand but moved back against the wall.

“I'll go . . .”

“No.” Tony threw Amy the book. “Go through this, see if there's anything useful.”

“You found Caulfield's journal?”

“Duh.”

“I don't see where it says it's Caulfield's journal. How do you know?”

How did he know? “When I hold it . . .” He frowned. “There's power there. When I hold it, it feels like my laptop.”

Lip curled, Amy rubbed her hand against her pants. “It feels like it needs a facial.”

A couple of Henry's oldest books, the dark ones, the one the demon had wanted way back when, were made of human skin. “Don't go there,” he advised as she flipped pages. “Tina.” He stopped the script supervisor on her way to the door. “Do you have a mirror in your purse?”

Running full out, Tony made it to the ballroom before Charles impaled his wife. One of the double doors hung open just far enough to allow an eight-year-old access.

“Brianna!” But he doubted she could hear him over the yelling in the front hall and the now constant music. Tina's compact ready in one hand, Tony sidled sideways into the ballroom. No point in opening the door any farther. No point in asking for trouble.

He thought he could hear Brianna's voice, but the music was louder now, even though it wasn't the ballroom's turn. He couldn't see her; there were too many boxes stacked in the way. Apparently while Charles and the missus were in the house—
living
in the house, since they hadn't actually gone anywhere after they died—the ballroom had been used for storage.

Movement to the left.

More boxes.

To the right, a glint of gaslight on expensive jewelry and the rhythmic patter of hard-soled shoes against the floor.

Except, of course, there was nothing there but more boxes.

The replays were beginning to bleed into each other more and more.

So. He'd ignore any distractions, grab the kid, and haul ass back to the butler's pantry. It was
good
to have a plan. Of course, it would help if he knew where in the room the kid was because this replay wasn't one of the longer ones and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in here in the dark. Brianna's voice rose, and the string section very obviously screwed up a few bars.

It seemed she was with the band.

Logically—as much as logic could be applied to this fun house—the bandstand would be at the far end of the room.

The boxes were stacked in no particular order and it seemed to take forever to race through the maze.
I can't believe mice fucking enjoy this!

Certain he heard a familiar protest . . .

. . . he opened his mouth to call her again and remembered just in time there was power in a name. Henry'd taught him that years before Arra'd further complicated his life. Sure, he'd yelled it once, but that had been in the hall and okay, maybe they'd been using each other's names all night but there was still no point in gifting it to the ballroom. Fortunately, there was an option.

“Cheese!”

The indignant, high-pitched descant shut off. He might have been reading too much into it, but a certain bounce as the music carried on suggested relief.

“Tony?”

Clearly, no one had taught Brianna the name thing.

She didn't sound close. Had he gotten turned around?

A heartbeat later that was the least of his problems as the lights went out.

But Brianna had one of the lanterns!

And in a room the size of the ballroom, that meant bugger all. She was standing maybe three meters away in the center of a small circle of orange-red light, the lantern on the floor at her feet, both hands balled into fists and planted firmly on her hips. “What did you call me?” Her eyes had orange-red highlights.

“That's not important,” he said as he trotted toward her, “we've got to get out of here.”

“No. I'm not going nowhere until they do what I say!”

“They?” He grabbed for her arm, but she scooped up the lantern and skipped back out of his way.

“Them!” A determined finger jabbed toward the wall. “I want to hear something good!”

Flipping open the compact with one hand, Tony grabbed and missed with the other. In the minimal light, he could just barely make out the band.

Brianna stomped into the reflection, took up a position directly in front of the band leader, and screamed, “I want something good NOW!”

Holy shit! Was that Creighton Caulfield at the piano?

No.

Another grab. Another miss. It was like chasing a pigeon.

He jerked back, away from the voice. It sounded a little like Hartley. Right, he didn't have to worry about the house discovering his name. The house knew his name. Hell, with Brenda on board the house knew what size jeans he wore.

Too far away now to see the reflection of the band. But there was definitely something there. Something between him and Brianna. A couple of somethings. They might have been waltzing.

“Cheese, we've got to go.”

“Don't call me that!”

“You're right. I shouldn't. You should come here and kick me.”

“I'm not stupid!”

“I never said you were.”

Crap.

Mrs. White with the ax in the conservatory. Just after he'd arrived in Vancouver with Henry, Tony'd bought a box of cereal that came with a free CD-ROM of Clue. In the current situation, it wasn't at all comforting that he totally sucked at the game.

Now that he had light, he could see the reflections of the couples dancing between him and Brianna. Couples he didn't know.

“Fuck!”

Hartley was behind him, grinning his fool head off at the reaction he'd evoked. Behind Hartley; more dancers. They all turned to look at him as they drifted by. It wasn't the ballroom's turn, but with him and Brianna standing in the midst of things, that didn't seem to matter.

“No! The way I want or I'll tell my dad!” Lantern on the floor, arms in the air, Brianna was dancing.

Her reflection was dancing with Brenda.

“Bri, come on!”

“I'm dancing.”

She said it like she thought he was an idiot. Brenda laughed.

Two steps toward her seemed to put him four steps back. Eyes closed, eyes open, it didn't help. Brianna kept dancing—one little girl alone in a big room—and no matter how much it seemed like he was running forward, he kept moving toward the door.

“Tony . . .”
Hartley. Pulling him by his name. He didn't remember Hartley's eyes being such a pale, pale blue.

The mirror showed more ghosts now between him and Brianna than between him and the door. The ballroom's replay was next. If he didn't get Brianna out before it started, she wouldn't be leaving alive. He didn't know how he knew that, but he'd never been more certain.

He stretched out his hand.

Were little girls more fragile than glass? The beer bottle had shattered into a hundred pieces.

Seven words. Shouted. Demanding.

Brianna screamed as she flew across the ballroom into his hand. Not fear. Not pain. Rage.

Little girls weighed a lot more than beer bottles. They both went down. Tony grunted as a bony elbow drove into his stomach, got an arm around her waist, and started dragging her backward toward the door. They were close. He could feel the edge of the ballroom behind him.

Hartley had moved out in front of him.

“Oh, sure,
now
you don't want me to leave.”

Brianna kicked and bit, but he hung on. He had no idea where the mirror was, but he didn't need to see what was going on.

Brenda joined the chorus.

And that was Tom finally heard from.

Fucking great. The whole room.

Yes.

He fought the pull of his name. He wasn't going farther in. He was leaving and he was taking CB's youngest with him. He just had to break their concentration for a moment . . .

“My father is going to fire your ASS!”

There should've been a light bulb, the idea was that good.

“Look, ballroom people, I know you're dead but just think for a minute.” He jerked his head to one side as a flailing fist tried to connect with his nose. “Sure she's young, full of potential power you can use, but do you honestly want to spend an eternity of trapped torment with a tired, obnoxious eight-year-old!”

“I am NOT noxious! You're noxious! And you SUCK!”

The last word echoed and there was good chance, given proximity, that his ears were bleeding.

On the bright side, as the echoes died there was a stunned pause in the chanting.

Tony scrambled backward, dragging Brianna with him. The instant he felt his butt cross the threshold—so not questioning how his butt knew the difference, but hey, go butt!—he rolled back, cleared his legs, cleared Brianna, and slammed the door.

Things thumped against the other side.

“Yeah, yeah, give it a break.” Maintaining his hold on the girl, he got to his feet, dragging her upright with him. “Are you okay? Nothing broken?”

“I wanted to DANCE!”

Over the years with Henry, biting had become a sexual thing for Tony. That changed.

“OW!”

Brianna dove for the doors. He caught her again, favoring his bleeding hand.

“Hey, bigger, stronger, smarter here! You're coming with me, so you might as well make it easy on both of us. OW!”

So much for reason. However, actually carrying a fighting eight-year-old was the next thing to impossible. One option left.

“If you come quietly, I'll take you to see the burning baby.”

“Liar!”

“Cross my heart.”

“And hope to die?”

“Not in this house.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Deal.”

“Good. Now let's get back to the butler's pantry before we lose . . .”

The light.

And the lantern was in the ballroom.

“I can't see anything.” She sounded more than a little put out.

“Nope. Me neither.”

“Wait, turn this way.” Small hands tugged him around. “What's that gray thing coming down the hall?”

Didn't seem to be a lot of point in making something up. “I think it's the gardener's right arm.”

The snort sounded remarkably like her father. “Is it supposed to be scary?”

“I have no idea. If we hold hands and I keep my other hand on the wall to guide us . . .” He pressed his fingertips against the paneling. “. . . we can't get lost.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Just walk.”

He felt her twist around. “It's following us.”

“Of course it is.”

Zev met them in the entry hall with the other lantern. A quick glance showed the arm remaining beyond the edge of the light, scuttling back and forth and not looking at all frightening. Still, points for the attempt.