Delia's Shadow (38 page)

Gabe ended up moving all the furniture and rolling up the parlor carpet under Dora’s direction. I’d no doubt that was her intention all along, to keep him too occupied to ask questions. Once the floor was clear, she and I spread the white tablecloth, set candles at each corner, and laid sprigs of herbs along all four sides. Dora lit the candles and stepped back.

“Stand here, Delia. This will work just as I explained on the phone.” She positioned me outside the square of herb-ringed damask, my back to the window. Dora squeezed my hand and the smile I got was warm, encouraging. “Remember I’ll be here with you. It’s important that you don’t move unless I say. You’re an anchor point, a beacon for the ghosts to return to the house. The herbs act as a barrier to keep them inside the square until I send them out, so it’s vital you don’t cross that line. Are you ready?”

Fear threatened to turn my knees to water, but I remembered Sarah Miles’s pain and knew my worries were nothing compared to what Sadie might face. “I’m ready.”

Dora walked the edge of the cloth, concentrating on the margin of polished oak floor showing and muttering under her breath. I trembled, reminded once again of arcane rituals and witches of old, and astonished at being deeply involved. She ended the circuit and nodded, satisfied.

“Gabe, please shut the door and stand in front of it. This is a lot like the séance, but more … delicate.” Dora frowned, subdued and completely serious. She took her place to my right and we joined hands. “An interruption at the wrong moment could be dangerous. I’m counting on you to stand guard.”

I shoved aside trepidation and did my best to shut out the sounds of Esther’s grief, and the deeper chatter of policemen just outside the window. Dropping my defenses as Dora had instructed earlier and opening myself to the ghosts was an act of faith. Doing so was also a measure of my desperation to find Sadie. I feared losing my best friend more than losing myself to a spirit’s control.

Dora squeezed my fingers and began. “Two spirits I call who dwell in these walls, two spirits only should answer. In life you were known as Aileen Fitzgerald and Edward Coleman. We seek aid for a child of this house. Your task is to help us find her.”

Three times Isadora repeated the call, each louder than the last. After the third time, mist began to coalesce over the center of the damask square. Tendrils of foggy gray and cigarette-smoke blue swirled around a pivot point, intertwined and separated again, but the shapes I’d come to associate with the ghosts never formed.

Teddy’s ghost tried to take shape. Aileen’s ghost resisted, blocking him. His tie to the house and family was greater, but she was still the more powerful spirit.

“Come to my call, Aileen Fitzgerald.” Dora’s control tightened and her voice became iron-hard. “A child of this house needs to be found.”

“Find Sadie for me.” Isadora stiffened at the sound of my voice, but didn’t tell me to hush. She hadn’t told me not to speak, just not to move, and this felt right. “Sadie belongs here. She needs to come home, Aileen. Don’t let Ethan take her from Jack the way he took you.”

The wall of resistance crumbled and both ghosts took shape, nebulous and barely there. Aileen’s ghost gazed into my eyes and I opened the way wider. The parlor, familiar and safe, vanished. I traveled with the two ghosts and saw the world as they did, but this wasn’t a dream of the past.

We walked along the bayshore, pushing through reeds and splashing across marshy spots of wetlands, following a well-worn path. Gulls keened in a cloud-brushed blue sky, wheeling across the sun and diving toward the choppy surface of the bay. The air was full of the tang of salt and the reek of seaweed rotting in the sun.

The reeds ended on a spit of dry land. Beyond was open water. The pristine sails of pleasure craft and the dingy sails of crab boats billowed in the stiff breeze. A ramshackle pier extended a few yards from shore before ending in a wrack of broken, sharp-edged timbers and rotting pilings.

On the landward end sat a small boathouse. The roof had fallen in closest to the sea and the door hung by one hinge, swinging in the wind. A small cottage sat farther back, safe from the incoming tide and the surge of storm waves. Behind and stretching to either side, a tall, sea-grass topped dune hid the house from view. Traces of a dirt-topped road wound around the dune to the grass-tufted land in front.

A black, two-horse hack, anonymous and nondescript, was parked near the front door. Ethan’s cab.

The two ghosts turned to me. Teddy’s eyes filled with tears and he crumbled, dust scattered on the wind off the sea.

Aileen pointed toward the house and spoke in soft, lilting tones. “Tell Jackie to hurry if he’d save his bride. I’d not like that bastard to take us both from him.”

I turned in a circle, trying to remember the landscape and unsure if this was a dream. “Where are we?”

“The fishing shack. Jackie and that man of yours will know where it is.” Aileen reached out to brush my cheek. Her fingers were warm, an impossible thing. I was dreaming. “He kept me in that other place for days before bringing me here. This is where he cut my heart out and tossed it into the sea. I wanted to lead you here from the first, but I couldn’t force you to come, you had to be willing. I’m just sorry we left it so late. Make sure Jackie knows his mother’s real proud of the man he’s become. Now back with you.”

Aileen Fitzgerald’s patient green eyes were the last I saw. The bright, sunny beach faded and dimmed to featureless gray. I fell and kept falling.

When I opened my eyes, I was stretched out on the floor of the parlor. Dora knelt next to me and stroked my face, calling my name, again and again. She let out a huge sigh at seeing my eyes open. “Oh, thank God, Dee. Are you all right?”

I tried to sit up, a mistake. The world spun and only shutting my eyes again kept me from being sick. “Gabe … I need Gabe.”

“I’m here.” He took Dora’s place, kissing me on the forehead before clutching my hand. “I’m right here.”

“The fishing shack. Ethan is there and he has Sadie. I saw his cab.” Confusion clouded Gabe’s eyes and the sour taste of fear rose into my throat. She hadn’t lied to me, she wouldn’t lie about this. Not even ghosts were that cruel. “There’s a house on the beach and a ruined pier … and I could see boats on the water. The ghost said you and Jack would know where to go.”

I knew the instant he’d remembered. Surprise replaced the confusion in Gabe’s eyes.

“Damnation, there was a boathouse in Parker’s files. Take care of her, Dora.” Gabe hugged me tight before he ran from the room. “Jack! Jack!”

Dora yanked one of Esther’s needlepoint pillows off the settee and slipped it under my head. She took another one for herself, blew out the two candles still sputtering and flopped down on the floor next to me.

“We’ve done all we can do, Dee. The boys will get there in time.” Tears rolled down her face, smudging her makeup. “They must. I promised Daniel I’d stop drinking myself into a stupor at night. He’ll be extremely disappointed if I can’t keep my word.”

Teddy and Aileen shimmered into view by the windows, looking out toward the street and standing vigil. Madam Isadora Bobet shut her eyes and began to sob in earnest. I held her hand, listening to the sound of Annie singing spirituals to Esther, car engines in the street, shouted orders, and the silence that followed once Gabe and all but a few of his men left.

Silence pressed me into the floor and held me there. Each breath became a prayer, a plea.

Please … bring her home. Please, God … not Sadie, too.

Gabe

Gabe motioned half his men to the left of the beach house and led the rest around to the right. The mares harnessed to Ethan’s cab danced in place and shook their heads, tack jingling, but settled once Baker got a hand on their noses.

He’d brought the squad up from the road behind the house, using the shelter of the dunes and long, blue shadows of late afternoon to conceal their movements. Ethan had finally made a mistake, trading isolation for a clear field of view. Only one small window showed in the back wall and that was boarded over. The house didn’t have a backdoor. One way in and one way out meant their quarry had nowhere to run.

If all went well, they’d have Ethan before he realized they were there. But Gabe had learned not to count on anything when it came to this case. He wasn’t going to take any unnecessary risks, not with Sadie and Marshall’s lives at stake.

“What are we waiting for?” Jack crouched next to him, fingers flexing on the grip of his pistol and voice tight with strain. “We know he’s in there.”

“And we know he has Sadie and Marshall, too. Surprise is the only advantage we have and might make the difference.” Gabe squeezed his partner’s shoulder. “I’d like to take Ethan alive, but don’t hesitate to shoot to kill if necessary. Sadie’s safety comes first. We go in the front on three, slow and careful.”

“Hey there! What are you doing around those horses?” The old man hurrying toward them down the beach had the sun at his back, rendering him difficult to see. He shouted again, waving the fishing pole in his hand at Baker. “Too damn many thieves running loose since the fair opened. Skedaddle before I get the police after you.”

Rusty hinges on the front door gave a tortured squeak. The door slammed shut again almost immediately, rattling windows and vibrating through the walls. Gabe swore and sprinted toward the front of the house, Jack right with him. “Maxwell, Finlay, get him out of here!”

Two of the biggest men, Coen and Thomas, threw themselves against the weathered cedar panel door. It rattled in the frame, locked and likely bolted on the inside. They tried again, putting all their weight behind their assault, but the door didn’t budge.

Low windows sat on either side of the door. Gabe smashed the butt of his pistol against the glass, shattering the pane. Jack wrapped a hand in his coat sleeve, knocking away shards of window glass that clung stubbornly to the frame. Once the space was clear, the two of them scrabbled through the opening, pistols drawn. Officer Polk followed.

Dust laid thick on the furniture in the front room. Sadie’s handbag and hat were tossed into a chair, but that and the metal bar dropped over the front door were the only evidence anyone had been in the house for years.

Polk began to work at getting the door open. Gabe cautiously made his way toward the back of the small house. Only the very real threat of Ethan getting the drop on him and Jack kept him from running. The first bedroom was empty, as abandoned and neglected as the main room of the house.

In the very back of the house was a larger room. A trapdoor in the floor stood open, identical to the one they’d found in Thom Brennan’s old house. Rusty-brown blood splattered the walls and soaked the torn mattress on the iron-framed bed.

Marshall Henderson was sprawled facedown in the far corner, hands bound behind his back. Gabe swallowed the bile rising in his throat and knelt to turn Henderson over and search for a pulse, never taking his eyes off the trapdoor or lowering his pistol.

The relief of Marshall groaning and his eyelids fluttering left Gabe’s knees weak. His face was swollen and already purpling with fresh bruises, evidence of the beating he’d suffered. A gash over one eye bled freely, as did the split in his bottom lip, but his injuries would heal. Gabe’s promising young rookie would live to regret disobeying orders.

Jack fidgeted, fingers flexing around the grip of his gun and weight shifting side to side, but he held his position until Gabe stood and waved him to one side of the trapdoor. His partner’s restraint was more than admirable.

In many ways, Jack was a better cop. If Delia was down in that hole, Gabe didn’t know if he’d have the strength.

He took the two steps down in a rush, trusting Jack to cover him. This room wasn’t as long as the one discovered under Thom Brennan’s house, but still deep enough they could stand upright. Lanterns hung from pegs mounted in the house foundations, casting a flickering, yellow light across the floor.

A jumble of bones, aged and yellowed, filled one corner. Eyeless skulls stared accusingly, remains of the ghosts begging Delia to be found and buried.

Ethan stood in shirtsleeves and butcher’s apron less than ten feet away, knife in hand. He’d shaved the beard from his wedding photograph, revealing a broad scar that ran from the corner of his mouth down his chin. Gray speckled his hair. Other than being tall and heavily muscled, he looked nothing like the description given by his wife.

Sadie was injured, but alive. A gag had been stuffed in her mouth and the rope around her wrists looped through a metal ring, and tied to the post driven into the ground behind her head. Gabe shut out seeing the blood on her face, the crooked angle of fingers on one hand and the bruises on her face. He damped down rage and thanked God she was still breathing.

Most of all, he pretended not to see hope flare in Sadie’s eyes or that she watched him. Gabe concentrated on keeping his gun pointed dead center at Ethan’s chest. “Step away from her, Ethan. Put your face to the wall.”

“My uncle entrusted me with a duty and taught me what it meant. I can’t just turn away on your word, Lieutenant Ryan. I am Anubis.” Ethan smiled. Light glistened off his chipped tooth and emotionless blue eyes. “Osiris will judge her, as he judged all the rest.”

“Step away, Brennan!” Jack circled slightly to the right, drawing Ethan’s attention, his pistol aimed rock steady. He pulled back the hammer. “Move now before I forget I’m a cop and not an executioner.”

The change in Ethan’s smile or the twitch of his fingers around the knife, or the movement of a hand toward his pocket, Gabe was never sure what prompted him to shoot. He pulled the trigger, cocked the gun, and pulled it again.

Again and again he put bullets into Ethan’s chest until he’d emptied his gun, each shot striking with a dull, wet sound. Blood blossomed and bubbled with each impact, telling Gabe he’d found his target. Ethan staggered and swayed, but kept his feet.

Fear snaked its way up Gabe’s spine, accompanied by the momentary doubt that Ethan was capable of dying.

The last shot belonged to Jack. Ethan touched a hand to his forehead in surprise, staring at the blood on his fingers. His eyes closed and he collapsed, limp and boneless as a puppet with severed strings.