Ghost Killer (26 page)

He went to their room door, opened it a crack, and glanced at a zonked out Clare,
turned toward him and frowning in her sleep.

She wouldn’t like what he was about to do, as much as he didn’t like seeing the crows.
He was, technically, he supposed, trespassing on her side of things. Not that she
hadn’t pushed him a few times . . .

Sitting at the table on the balcony, he took his phone and held it like the good prop
it was.

Quietly, hoping he had this bit right and would reach only the dog and not Clare,
he snapped a command in his mind:
Enzo, come here!

The dog appeared, belly crawling across the wood floor with little whimpering sounds.
I am here, Zach. I know I spent too much time with Caden, but he needed me. He needed
me more than Clare did. I thought. Clare had you.

Zach said mentally,
And Caden and you were less likely to get eaten than Clare . . . or me.

A small whine.
But I did GOOD! I attacked the evil ghost! I DID!

Yes, you made a bad choice, then a good one. Good dog,
Zach said.
I want to talk to the Other.

Enzo gave him another fearful look, but before he could say anything, he sat tall
and a different aspect came upon him and his muzzle curled.
You wish to speak to Me, man?

Zach considered him—it—like he would a superior who he had to work with but disliked.
Or the General, his father. Yeah—a light bulb went off in his head—the Other and the
General shared several characteristics.

“What are you doing!” Clare stood just inside the balcony door, rumpled and too pale
and holding her side, and necessary to him beyond all measure.

“Talking to a spirit. In private.”

I am not here for you,
the Other said.
I observe Clare.

Clare gulped, but anger flushed her face. She disappeared for a few seconds while
Zach and the Other had a stare down. She came back in new sweats that she’d consider
barely acceptable for being seen in public. She took a chair closer to the dog than
he, giving Zach a look that told him they’d be discussing this.

“If you’re in on this conversation, you better look like you’re talking to me,” Zach
told her.

Her mouth turned down, but she swung her chair toward him, wet her lips. “I could
use coffee.”

Zach gave her a guileless smile. “Good idea, why don’t you make some?”

“No.”

May as well start that discussion with her now, too. “The investigation is stalled.
Time to shake things up.”

She narrowed her eyes. Oh, yeah, he was shaking her up.

“So why don’t you give us a clue,
Other
.”

The dog’s spine straightened a little bit. So the
Other
liked that alias. Good information to have.

The Other looked at Clare.

I am here to observe Clare, not for You, man.

ZACH SLOUCHED IN
his chair, fiddled with his phone prop.
I bet you know my name, nonetheless. I bet you know more about this situation than
you’re revealing . . . and I bet you don’t like being called a “spirit guide.” Well,
we haven’t been calling you that, you know, because you aren’t helpful or guiding,
but, me, I think that’s part of your duties.

The Other’s eerie gaze slid away, and Zach knew what that meant, even with creepy
supernatural beings.
What all aren’t you telling me . . . us?
he snapped.

Forehead knit in a scowl, teeth showing, the Other snapped right back,
You must ASK. I cannot tell.
There was a hint of a sneer, of a lie.

Maybe I have to ask, but I think that you could be more forthcoming and you aren’t.
Too bad Clare got stuck with a prick for a spirit guide.

Clare gasped. Zach ignored her, went on in a considering tone.
I guess if you reward and punish Clare, and Enzo, that reward and punishment is part
of the Big Scheme of Things by your Powers That Be. That there ARE rules. I can’t
hope to comprehend you—

Of course not.
The Other’s mind voice was hollow, echoing, and, yeah, the chill that slithered down
Zach’s spine showed the intimidation worked, but what the hell, he had a point to
make.

Eventually you, too, will be judged, won’t you? On how well you worked with those
you are supposed to guide. Maybe on such things as your help and compassion.
Zach flicked a hand.
But that’s your business and your choices. Back to what we need now. If this is a . . .
balanced . . . universe with rules, there should be a way for us to discover Em’s
full name. She should not be able to rampage through a town, through a county, killing
with no way to stop her.

“Hmmph.” That was Clare.

The phantom dog just stared at Zach with those scary eyes that, yeah, he had trouble
meeting.

Then the dog’s tail thrashed.

Zach continued,
So, there’s a way for us to find this out. But we are running out of time. Give us
a hint, dog, where we can find the damn name. Because, ya know, if we don’t find the
name in time, we might fail. A lot of people might die. Enzo might die. I might die.
Clare might die, and I’m pretty sure that would reflect on your performance evaluation,
huh?

Zach ignored the little noises Clare was making.

The-Other-in-Enzo sniffed.

So tell us what you haven’t before,
Zach said silkily.

A long pause.
I could give you that information, but it would be best if Clare discovered it herself.
Even she is smart enough to see the clue, if you allow her to rest, then to continue
with her research.

The thing just couldn’t control his hubris and haughty manner, a flaw as far as Zach
was concerned. He’d never thought the dictatorial worked well.

It began to fade, both Other and Enzo. So Zach asked the most vital question of them
all.
Is Clare the only one who can dispose of the ghost?

The Lab solidified again.
And live,
the Other said.
She is of the Cermak blood and so the knife will protect her as well as be her weapon.
That is the reason for the blooding and the tuning. So she can extinguish evil beings
that plague the world, and live.

Zach’s throat had dried, but this discussion had to be followed to the end.
So others might be able to use the knife.

A haughty inclination of the head.
Yes, those whom the knife has tasted. They can destroy the evil, but they will not
live.

“All right,” Zach said aloud. He waved a hand at the Other in dismissal. After forming
the Lab’s face into a scowl, lightning crackled from the spirit’s eyes, then it flashed
gone. The superior being vanished, leaving the dog blinking at Zach.
You have made it mad, speaking those true things,
Enzo said.
And making it talk when it didn’t want to.

“I think it’s piss poor as a spirit guide.”

“It’s what I have,” Clare said. She rose stiffly and opened the door to their room.
“I’m making coffee.”

He wanted to snag her hand, touch her, but she was out of his reach. “That’s great.
Come back out and sit in the sun while we have a chance.”

She looked sternly at him. “I will, and I’ll bring my laptop so I can listen to Buddy
Jemmings’s oral history again.” Her forehead smoothed. “I
know
there’s something in that.”

When she returned with the coffee, she placed a mug before Zach, one at her plate,
and set down her laptop that had an old-fashioned DVD player.

She didn’t open up the computer, but sat and stared at Zach. “That was a very interesting
conversation you had with the Other,” she said coolly.

Zach shrugged.

She stared at him and he could almost see her deciding what issue she wanted to discuss
first. “I can’t believe that you think the universe is . . .” she seemed to struggle
with the words “fair or balanced.”

“Like an accounting ledger.” He gave her his best smile.

She crossed her arms and scowled.

He drew his chair closer to hers, put his arm around her waist, and leaned toward
her. He stayed that way even when she remained stiff and her body didn’t soften against
his. Murmuring in her ear, he said, “I believe in justice. In the scales held by that
lady. Good and evil. Evil shouldn’t have an advantage.”

Her head went back and forth in denial, though she didn’t look up at him. “Life isn’t
fair. The universe isn’t balanced. Evil isn’t always defeated.”

He moved a hand up over her lips. “Such an optimist, you are. So let’s see, that is,
listen, to the oral history again.”

He angled the computer toward himself. She’d given him all her codes. But she put
her hand over his. “I don’t appreciate you contacting the Other—”

“Like I said, the investigation was stalled—”

She raised her voice and spoke right over him. “Without talking to me about it first.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Then said, “Shoot.”

“Right.” She met his eyes wearing that serious look of hers. “We’re partners in this
case.” Her brows came down. “And I’m the
senior
partner.”

He gave her his flat cop look. She glanced away, toughened her body, and came back
with an adorable scowl he didn’t quite believe.

“Who’s going to be killing this ghost?” she asked quietly.

He’d been scheming how he’d do that, but wasn’t stupid enough to say so.

“I will be killing this ghost,” Clare stated. “Therefore I am senior partner for this . . .
project and you will run things by me.”

Zach kept his cop face on. “I hear you.”

Her face tightened more, probably since she didn’t hear what she’d wanted from him.

“I most particularly did not like that talk about people whom the knife has tasted
can kill the evil ghost and die.”

“Clare . . .”

She turned and stared into his eyes. “This is
my
case,
my
job, Zach. I wouldn’t tell you how to do your job, or interfere.” She raised her
index finger. “And even if you know how to fight better than I do. This is
my
case. I can survive the ghost. I
don’t
want you fighting it.”

Then she put both hands on his face. “I care deeply about you, Zach. It would . . .
hurt me if
you
got hurt.” She inhaled. “Me fighting this ghost doesn’t mean I don’t want you with
me. Teamwork, Zach.”

“Teamwork,” he echoed.

Her eyes narrowed, her head angled. “Let me ask you this, Zach, do you have any outstanding
crow prophecies? Particularly one that means death? Four for death?”

He let out his own breath. “No.”

“Okay then.” She took the computer and logged on; everything came up fast. Glancing
at him, she said, “I can probably make you a copy of this and put it on your phone,
if you want to listen, too.”

Slightly conciliatory. He’d go with that. “Sure.”

That was a mistake. Clare sat out at the table, her face knit in concentration, and
he listened to an old and creaky guy’s thready voice fade in and out, rambling about
everything—his anger at his old cabin being modernized by his grandchildren, their
lack of respect, how quiet Creede was compared to the old days . . . Zach went back
into the room and propped himself on the bed pillows to listen to more of it . . .
and the drone popped him right into sleep.

He woke, didn’t think he’d been out long, since the guy still nattered, and decided
to get some coffee, and refresh Clare’s, too. He took the pot and limped to the open
door to the balcony.

She was taking a break, too. She moved across the balcony, might have looked as if
she were doing tai chi or one of those other exercise programs. She wasn’t. She was
practicing knife fighting. Poorly. Not aggressive enough, and that was a problem.

Her body didn’t move with the suppleness that she should have. She favored her hurt
ribs and sometimes put her hand on the wound she’d said the ghost had given her the
first night.

The ghost had nearly gotten her earlier. In his mind’s eye, he could see the stupid
fight she’d gone to alone, how the two had hurt each other, but it had sure looked
to him that Clare was getting the worst of it. Sure she’d saved Enzo, but at what
cost to herself? The whole thing riled him up again.

He withdrew and made some calls. No more than ten minutes later he went to the door,
and saw whatever tiny skills she’d had, had deteriorated. It
did
look like lame exercising. And who had shown her such stupidity?

Stuff that could get her killed.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped.

“I was modifying—” Her lips pressed together.

“Modifying
what
?”

Clare stared at Zach, who’d apparently picked up her anger earlier, made it his, and
simmered with it until this moment.

She shifted from foot to foot and knew even as she did that, it was the wrong thing
to do. People serious about fighting didn’t do that. Like it would put them off balance
or something.

“Just where did you come up with that lame stuff?” he demanded.