One More Bite (20 page)

“Definitely,” I replied, swallowing hard to keep the relief south of my vocal chords. “But not breakfast. I don’t really want something this special shared among Scidairans.”

“All right, then. Our first free meal after this mission ends will be the one in which we share our news.”

“Excellent!” Maybe I’ll get zapped by Bea and spend the next two weeks in the hospital. One can only hope.

Chapter Twenty-One

Here’s how bad I had it. Walking back to the castle, I wanted to hold hands with Vayl. Like teenagers at a football game. Worse, I wanted to walk into the front hall with that strut in my step that let everybody know I’d landed the captain of the team. Everybody but Albert, that is. Oh, and Cole. Except neither one acknowledged me when I joined the GhostWalk group just inside the entrance, my party line firmly back in place. Albert sat at the bottom of the stairs, patting Jack while he stared off into space, doing his “legally blind” act. And Viv, Iona, and Cole were signing so quickly their fingers practically blurred. Then the three of them would dissolve into giggles.

And there you have it, folks. After just a few hours of concerted effort, Cole has charmed the shy girl and the cold-fish lesbian. Give that man a bonus! And while you’re at it, give me a new damn coat!

I still wore my leather, just because I needed to cover my shoulder holster. But the bullet hole followed by the ghost slash had ruined it. Dammit. I didn’t care if Pete had to squeeze the money out of his own ass, he was going to pay for this one.

The buzz at the back of my brain distracted me, signaled that Vayl had clicked in the camouflage. Since he might need a set of wheels, I handed him the keys to the van and he glided from my side, no one in the group even acknowledging his exit. But I noticed. In fact, I felt his absence like the surgical removal of an organ. Is it gonna be this way every time we have to separate? Because if so . . . I sighed . . . I’m just going to have to learn to stop whining and deal with it.

I glanced up. He’d intercepted the Raisers on their way to their next event. A short conversation laced with hiž>

I caught his eye, mouthed, I love you. He touched two fingers to his lips and lowered them to me, as if real kisses should never be blown, just gently released in your sweetheart’s direction.

Damn, that’s hot! I did a quick personal check to make sure I wasn’t slack-jawed, tongue-dropped

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gawking as I watched him settle into a corner of the second-story hallway, sliding into a highbacked chair like he belonged there. Nobody looked up. And no one walking by glanced his way. It wasn’t that he had the ability to become invisible. Just that he put out a strong vibe that caused everyone close to ignore him. Completely.

I pretended to scratch my ear, checked to make sure I’d reset my equipment correctly, and mumbled the first sensible thought that came to mind. “What kind of fool survives a ghost attack only to go trolling through the countryside in the hopes of finding yet more ghosts?”

“I believe you are surrounded by them,” murmured Vayl. “Now play nice. If you offend the entire group we may never find out what Floraidh has planned.”

I snorted. So much for romance. I guess I’m supposed to keep that totally separate from work like some damn adult or something. This day just keeps getting better. And it’s only been May thirteenth for like—I checked my watch—an hour and a half!

“All right, everyone, gather round, gather round!”

At first all I could see was a ripple of people as the group moved aside for a smaller but more forceful personality who, it turned out, would be our guide. As he mounted the first five steps, the better to be seen and heard by us GhostWalkers, I felt my mouth drop. Cole came up beside me.

“I like his look, don’t you?”

“What would you call it?”

Cole pointed his foot in front of him as he crossed his arms and pursed his lips. In the girliest voice he could manage he said, “Do you see how the orange scarf offsets the tiger-striped shirt, which is quite brilliantly tucked into the black spandex pants so we’re left in no doubt as to the fact that he’s at least two hundred pounds overweight?”

I covered my mouth to hide the smile. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

“Brilliant. I know I want him.”

“I don’t think you’re his type. Look at you. White button-down Western shirt, blue jeans. The only thing that’s not boring about your outfit is your shoes!”

“Let’s introduce him to Albert. See if he can resist yanking out a handful of this guy’s chest hair. Who told him he should unbutton the top three anyway?”

“Maybe his designer’s suffered an identity crisis.”

Our guide had held up his hands as if we’d greeted him with deafening applause and £g afonmust be calmed down.

“My name is Bartolomé Felipe Penilla and I will be your GhostWalk guide for this evening,” he said in a tone even more feminine than the one Cole had used. I thought his Spanish accent sounded forced. But something at the back of his words stirred my memory. By the end of the tour I might be able to guess his real birth country. “Now, I’ll be wearing this portable microphone”—he pointed to the headpiece threaded through his funky hair, which was spiked on one side and straightened on the other—“so even though we have a group of twenty tonight, you should all be able to hear me.”

A hand shot up in the crowd. I nearly moaned out loud. There’s always one gabber, isn’t there?

“Yes, sir?” said Bart.

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“Where are we going first?” asked the guy, a dome-headed nose pincher who’d evidently never learned how to follow an itinerary. Because it was all written out for us in the program. Even Floraidh’s stop had been penciled in.

Our guide held up a finger. Was that light pink polish on his nails? He’d better not be waving his hands around much tonight. If Albert caught a glimpse he’d tackle the guy and make him cover his hands with dirt. Or worse, Jack droppings.

Bart said, “I think you are going to be quite delighted. This year we have finally gained permission to tour Clava Cairns by night. After that we’ll visit Siorruidh, which is the Hoppringhill cemetery. And that will lead us to our surprise stop. A ghost has been sited at Tearlach this very evening!”

As our guide clapped his hands enthusiastically, cheers erupted from the GhostWalkers. I studied the crowd, young and old, well dressed and grungy, all bright-eyed as a bunch of World War II volunteers. Idiots. Bart went on, assuring them the sites were all within a reasonable walking distance of each other, pumping them up till they were practically drooling, but I stopped listening. Albert had decided to join me.

“What the hell is wrong with these people?” he asked, his voice carrying at least as far as Glasgow.

How refreshing that, for once, nobody knew we were related. “Gosh, Albert, I don’t know. Maybe they’d rather spend time with the dead than insensitive mooks like you.” I know, I know. Nobody can turn me into a hypocrite faster than my dad.

I crouched down to pet Jack. Something told me I was going to need this moment of peace before setting off on a hike with my half-crippled father and a coworker who acted like he wanted me one second and then flirted like a maniac the next. Jealous any, Jaz? I glanced at Cole. Nope. Just worried he’s about to do something really dumb.

The GhostWalk started off fine. The path to Clava Cairns had been mulched and lit at decent intervals with solar lamps mounted to poles. The group spread out, following Bart in a line that stretched the length of a city block. With Albert moving at cracked-knee pace, we quickly dropped to the back. But the pack began to close again as we neared our first destination, which was lit to an eerie ambience with lanterns hanging from the lowest branches of the spideryarmed beech trees that grew throughout the area.

The picture Albert had shown me of Clava Cairns’s burial mounds didn’t convey the feel of the place. Sure, everywhere on Earth is ancient. But the places wher£thee pe people bury their dead seem to hold on to that history better than anywhere else.

As we moved toward the mound Bart wanted to show off, a well-dressed woman who’d decided that spiked pumps were the ideal touring shoe tripped over a smaller circle of stones and would’ve given herself a nasty gash if her companion hadn’t caught her on the way down.

Yeah, this place wants us outta here, I thought as I looked around grimly.

The talkers in the group lowered it to a spooked murmur as the atmosphere sunk into their awareness. We all kept checking out the borders, as if we expected a line of mourners to burst through the trees, chanting and wailing, carrying with them a shrouded body on a litter.

Bart led everyone to the northeast cairn, which stood taller than the average man, a testament to the old race’s commitment. Had they loved and missed their dead as we do? Or had they simply feared that if they didn’t bury them right, they’d return. Angry and famished. Looking for a little

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soul to sup on?

“My friends, this huge burial mound is the source of the most activity,” Bart began, darting his eyes around the group, oozing suppressed excitement. “We estimate that over two thousand people were cremated and/or interred in this space before it was closed over their bodies.” He waved dramatically toward a narrow passageway leading toward the center of the cairn. “Of course, the cairn lost its seal hundreds of years ago and has been open to the elements for all that time.”

“I dare you to go in,” one young guy with shaved short hair and side mirror ears said to his friend, a tall, skinny dude who walked around with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. I was betting he hadn’t had a date in, well, ever.

“I will if you will,” said Cigarette Lips.

“Fine, I’ll go!”

“Do you hear that, ladies and gentlemen?” asked Bart. “We have two volunteers to lead us into the cairn! Since we’re such a big crowd, however, we’ll have to split up. Ten and ten should do it, I think.” He separated us, grouping our crew with Shaved Head and sending us first.

Jack wasn’t thrilled with the idea of entering the cairn and resisted at first, jerking his head against Albert’s hand a couple of times. But when Cole took Albert’s arm to keep up the pretense that he needed to be led and I grabbed Jack’s leash, he settled down. Iona signed to Viv, with Cole translating, “Are you scared?”

Viv thought a second. Shrugged. “No, not really.” She put her hand on Cole’s free arm and smiled up at him. Together we walked into the cairn.

Chapter Twenty-Two

First I noticed the stifling feeling caused by a combination of my mild claustrophobia and someone’s overactive sweat glands raising a mild stench where we stood in the center of the stones. The mud floor had been swept clean of debris. The stones, held back at their base only by a small ring of rocks, pressed in on me as I looked around. My vision, limited by the presence of so many others, began to blur and fade.

I blinked and looked up at the sky. Breathe, Jaz. Inhale and listen to Bart the Spandex Wonder gush about the Clava Cairns ghosts.

“Maybe if we’re very, very quiet,” he said. And he closed his eyes.

The last thing I wanted was another ghost encounter. I looked around, trying to decide who would be the least pissed off if I decided to shove my way through the meditators. I’d just about picked my route when Jack distracted me. He was digging.

What are you doing! Good God, defacing public property? That’s probably a felony in this country! Stop, you crazy mutt! Sometimes Jack picks up on my unspoken suggestions. Sometimes not. This time he looked up at me and stuck out his tongue.

Don’t give me that; I know you’re not hot! Now cut it out!

But Jack had found something interesting. Probably a bone belonging to some poor schmuck who hadn’t been so great with the flint.

I took a step back. Pulled Albert and Cole together in front of me like a pair of curtains.

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“What is it?” Cole murmured.

“Cover me,” I whispered as I knelt behind them. “Stop it!” I hissed, shoving dirt back into the small hole Jack had made. “If this is revenge for the neutering, I’d just like to remind you, that lamp you mistakenly took for a golden retriever cost me a hundred bucks to replace. And I’m still having issues peeing in my own toilet after catching you . . . ugh! It makes me shiver to remember! So if you think this makes us even, think again!”

He dug like a Caterpillar, making it nearly impossible to keep up with him. I finally leaned my shoulder in to him and shoved him far enough aside that I could refill the crater he’d begun. But as I began to push dirt back into the spot he’d chosen, I felt something rubbery move under my fingers.

For a second I reverted to age twelve, when Mom decided Dave and I were old enough to stay home alone and look after Evie while she worked. At night. We’d felt like big shits in a little bowl until we heard the scraping at the back door. Then, just like now, a moment of bone-deep paralysis accompanied by a dam’s burst of thoughts. Did we lock the door? Maybe it’s the dog scratching. Nope, he died last winter. Could it be the freak we saw passing by the house this morning? The one who looked like his nose was about to rot off? And why am I sitting here trying to figure stuff out when he could already be in the dining room? With a knife! Mommy, I’m scared!

That time we had locked the door. And a good thing, too. Because it had been our neighbor, Mr. Moore. So drunk he’d confused our house for his. When he couldn’t get in, he’d tried the right place, gone inside, and shot his family to death with a .22-caliber rifle.

Now it took me a second to realize I didn’t have hold of a body part. After I’d had a moment to shove my heart back into my chest, reinflate my lungs, and feel around the hole, I realized Jack had dug up something leathery and strappy. I pulled him back to the spot and let him finish the job while Bart waxed poetical about all the souls who hadn’t been able to move on from this place. In particular a nightly walker they liked to call the Chief.