“There are probably thousands of descendants of those journeys today, although it is interesting that one of them actually works on the ship.”
Her blue eyes looked into Nicolette curiously, as the woman sat another customer.
Uncertain what to say to this, Annabella nodded. She really didn’t know much about their contact at all. All she had gotten out of Tillie, when they had done a mirror calling to update her, was that Miss Janeway was “not quite” an akukar. What that actually made her, though, she had no idea.
Smiling, she decided to move this on. “I apologize for being late. I kept getting lost.”
Miss Janeway’s head tilted at her. “Is that normal for you, dear?”
“Not really,” Annabella admitted.
“Something to note, then,” her companion nodded, her blue eyes wide.
Annabella supposed so. This being her first real akukar mission, she had no idea.
Keeping her voice low, she wondered. “Did you find out anything about the deaths?”
“I’m afraid so. There have been three of them. One died in his sleep, which seems quite plausible, until you learn there were bruises in the shape of fingers on his arms. One was found sitting on the floor in the Grand Salon, staring in terror at nothing.”
Her merry eyes now grim, Miss Janeway sighed.
“And the third was seen running as though pursued, until he fell over the side of the ship.”
Annabella swallowed. “The ocean or the parking lot side?”
“Onto the asphalt, I’m afraid.”
A cold chill rose up her spine. According to Armand, this mission was supposed to be simple. This seemed to be more on the “stark raving terror” aspect of things.
“This isn’t normal, is it? I mean . . .” Annabella gave up, not even fully certain what she was asking.
“No, dear. Even people dying of natural causes in hotels isn’t particularly normal. It happens—but rarely.”
Miss Janeway wrapped the pink shawl further around her, and Annabella wondered if she were getting rather creeped out, as well.
“To have three people apparently die of fright within two weeks . . .”
Suddenly, Annabella wished she had a shawl.
Armand? she checked.
I’m here. Did you get the details about the killings from Janeway?
Yes. You?
Hubert told them to me.
There was a silence, but she felt him thinking.
Would you like me to walk you back to the room when you’re done?
There was a part of Annabella which told her she was an adult woman who’d survived being raised in an evil house and had once helped fight off her family demon. She shouldn’t be afraid of this place.
The other part—although whether it were the sensible side or just the cowardly one, she didn’t know—told her not to be an idiot.
Yes. Yes, please.
She thought about it.
In fact, it would probably be better if none of us moved around on our own.
Agreed.
Drawn back by Miss Janeway’s smile, she heard the woman say, “Decided to keep in company whenever possible?”
It was clear she knew how Annabella had been communicating.
It wasn’t quite mocking, but there was an element of “you poor, terrifiable mortal, you,” to it.
“Yes. Would you like us to . . .?”
Miss Janeway laughed lightly. “I’m perfectly safe, I assure you. But it’s better for you this way, I agree.”
Not knowing what to make of this, Annabella said nothing.
The old woman went on. “I’ve signed us all up for a ghost tour at two o’clock. Whatever’s going on, it will give us some hint of where the usual ghostly problem spots are.”
Seeing the truth to this, Annabella just nodded, although she did notice a moment later that the man at the next table kept staring at them.
“Miss Janeway . . .”
“Yes, dear. I’ve seen him.”
In some ways, it would be hard not to. He was a well-built and attractive man in maybe his forties with the sort of sculpted face which should seem craggy but was instead quite handsome, salt and pepper hair, and an air of vitality and caution. While dressed in a suit, there was something about it which said that it was merely a formality, and that he was not above being able to spot and deal with the seedier sides of life.
Miss Janeway smiled at her. “Let’s see what he wants, shall we?”
Annabella was about to object, as it didn’t exactly seem the height of stealth, but Miss Janeway was a force to be reckoned with.
Turning in her chair, the older woman looked sweetly over to the man. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you, young man, but aren’t you Neville Warmsblood’s third youngest son?”
The man looked at her kindly. “No, I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
“Oh, dear.”
She looked confused, and Annabella knew it was an act.
“Then maybe Percy Greville’s young cousin, the one who went into accounting?”
“No, ma’am, wrong again. I’m sorry.” His smile was warm.
“Oh, dear. I know I know you from somewhere. Where is it . . .?”
She seemed to be trailing off, as though losing the thread of the idea.
“Oh, yes! You’re Lieutenant Brightbeam’s new detective, aren’t you? Christopher Chamberlin?”
This not only got the man’s attention but actually got him to rise, coming over to her. “Now, how did you . . .?”
Standing beside her chair for a moment, he stared.
“You have to be Miss Margaret Janeway. The lieutenant told me once that, just when I’d least expect it, I’d find you in the middle of an investigation like an outdoor cat that’s disappeared for two weeks casually strolling back in the kitty door to look for a treat.”
It was difficult to tell whether the idea made him happy, angry, or merely bemused.
“Oh!” Miss Janeway tittered in a classical “amused grandma” fashion. “Lieutenant Brightbeam always did have a way with words.”
Despite her polite training, Annabella leaned her elbows on the table, watching them. She felt a bit like she had just fallen into an old-fashioned mystery. Well, except for the people dying of terror and witches investigating the case.
By this time, Detective Chamberlin had taken up her offer to sit with them, still staring at her.
“He also said that, if I was ever to find you in a case and was fool enough to ignore your help, I didn’t need to bother coming back. So what on earth have you seen in this thing now?”
“Oh, my dear.”
She wrapped her shawls around herself more tightly, and Annabella wondered if they were some sort of protective spell.
“I don’t know what you mean. My dear nephews were kind enough to send me on a little holiday. I’m hardly qualified to . . .”
Chamberlin looked to Annabella. “Is she always like this?”
“Oh, Annabella’s just met me. She’s my dear friend’s great-niece, and we just discovered that she and her new husband, the Duke of Winchester, are staying here, as well.”
Miss Janeway beamed back at him.
“It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
Suddenly, Annabella wondered if that wasn’t this woman’s main magical specialty—bringing together the various parts to form a whole picture. Hubert would kill her, but she couldn’t remember what that particular magical ability was called. She just knew that witches with it often went into either police work, genealogy, or reuniting lost friends and relatives.
Chamberlin looked as unconvinced by that statement as Annabella was.
“So what do you know about the three deaths so far?” he wondered.
“Oh, not deaths. Murders, surely.”
Chamberlin still didn’t look convinced but said nothing.
“I know almost nothing, my dear, truly. Still . . .”
She let the word hang there, as Chamberlin waited.
&nb
sp; “Why don’t you come with us on the tour they’re giving of the hotel later today? That way, you can see all the parts of it.”
Chamberlin looked ready to tell her that, as a detective, he could see pretty much anything he liked, but didn’t.
“What time?”
She beamed and gave him his instructions, and he left looking very uncertain.
Annabella was about to ask her about this—not knowing whether the woman actually knew any of these people or was just using some sort of spell—but Miss Janeway’s gaze fixed suddenly on the door.
“Oh dear. Someone’s brought their pet.”
Waiting patiently for a table, Sheba was dressed as though she were headed to tea with the queen. She was exceptionally beautiful, though.
“Oh, that’s my . . .”
Annabella had been about to give their cover story, but Miss Janeway quieted her. “Yes, dear. I know what she is. Here, my dear one,” she called to the ex-cat. “I’ve got a nice treat for you.”
Slowly, Sheba gazed around the room as though thoroughly uninterested. Then she started to make her way to the table, looking as though it were entirely accidental.
“Yes. There’s a good kitty,” Miss Janeway soothed, in a voice which Annabella truly hoped wasn’t overheard. “Let’s get you some milk.”
Pouring out a generous portion of cream into a dainty teacup Annabella would have sworn hadn’t been there before, Miss Janeway smiled, putting it before Sheba, who looked at it for a second before picking it up to sip at it delicately. Annabella was just glad she hadn’t leaned over and lapped.
She really was on her best behavior.
“Yes, I know,” Miss Janeway soothed, patting the girl’s hand, possibly only because petting any other part of her would have truly caused undue attention.
The ex-cat didn’t seem upset in any way, but how was Annabella really to know?
“Human form can be very trying.”
Sheba let out a sound which was a bit like a “mrrp,” but managed to pass as a “yes.”
“So tell me, dear. What’s your name?”
Sheba stopped sipping, putting down the cup to stare pointedly at Annabella for a second. “Kitty,” she announced.
Annabella just smiled and passed the information on to Armand.
It wasn’t like she could complain. It would certainly cause far less attention than calling a woman, “Sheba.”
Chapter 5
Armand
Armand’s time as the Duke of Winchester was not beginning well. First, there had been the multitude of mental adjustments and memorization of a million points about his new job to focus on. Then, it had been convincing his now-human-shaped cat to behave. Now, what had looked to be one last, simple job as an akukar had turned into a clusterghost.
Sighing, he held Annabella’s hand.
If only it were ever easy.
Trying to focus on the ghost tour he was taking with his beloved, his ex-cat, Hubert and Brutus, the Magical Council’s little-old-lady-appearing contact and the uncomfortable-looking detective she’d dragged along, with a few other tourists in tow, he wondered just how this would help them. True, they’d know the usual haunted sites, but what was currently happening was anything but typical. Either there was an outside factor at play, or something had happened which was making the ghosts act completely differently than they always had.
Still, if their contact from the Council thought this might prove useful, who was he to argue? Only a fake Duke who had no idea what he was doing.
They were now on a balcony above the swimming pool area, although the pool was empty. Apparently, it was a ghost hotspot.
Not entirely paying attention, he saw his ex-cat looking around in a way which, when she’d been a cat, meant there was some small creature which wasn’t supposed to be there and which was soon going to come to a rather squishy end. She’d been a heck of a mouser in her time.
Sheba—who now, apparently, was going by “Kitty”—was staring fixedly at the front of the pool.
It was going to take a lot to remember her new name. They’d only just convinced her not to call herself Kitty LaGrange, as it sounded too much like a 1950s stripper.
Leaning over to her, he set a quick privacy spell, knowing Annabella could still hear the conversation in their shared thoughts. “What do you see?”
“Little girl and boy by the pool. Staring.”
“At us?” It had never occurred to him to use the cat/human as an auger before. Apparently, some abilities had transcended her change in form.
“Yes.” The word still sounded a bit like a cat noise. Looking at him curiously, she wondered. “You can’t see them?”
He shook his head. “Can you tell me anything else? What they’re wearing, maybe?”
She looked confused. “Clothes?”
He heard Annabella laugh in his mind. Okay, getting a cat to judge fashion may not be the best idea.
While Kitty was coming to like a rather outrageous, “Off to the Royal Garden Party” look, she still wasn’t good at describing it.
Trying again, he asked, “Do they seem curious? Angry?”
He heard the “mrrr” noise in her throat for a second, as she pondered, before it went away, and it was obvious she was trying to repress it.
“They’re just standing, watching. But they aren’t comfortable.”
Huh was all Annabella said to him, but he felt her encouraging him to include his ex-animal companion more.
Smiling at Sh—. . . Kitty, he gave in. Despite the fact that she was seriously overdressing, she had been very well-behaved the whole trip.
Maybe I should give her lessons in how to dress? But I don’t want to hurt her catly pride.
Annabella’s Meh appeared in his head. She looks fabulous, and it fits the role we’ve assigned her, too.
Giving in on this, he moved on.
“Would you like a role to play with us?” he asked Kitty. He would have called it a job, but cats and jobs didn’t mix.
There was a moment of excitement in her eyes before she regained her usual calm. “Suppose,” she agreed, seeming barely interested.
Managing not to laugh, Armand kind of liked it. He had never started living with a cat because he valued obedience.
“Tell me or Annabella any time you see . . .”
He wasn’t certain how to explain this part. Clearly, she thought the boy and girl were normal and wouldn’t know what he and Annabella might see as unusual.
“. . . something no one else seems to be looking at or noticing.”
Just staring at him for a moment, her green eyes searching, she finally said, “Okay.” But he got the feeling she liked it.
It should have made sense that Annabella had been right when she had urged him to include the ex-cat more officially in his work from the beginning. Annabella was always right these days. As at a loose end as he felt in his new role, he enjoyed feeling her newfound confidence.
Breaking into his thoughts, and guessing correctly that he hadn’t been paying attention, she told him, There are child ghosts who’ve been reported here. People don’t see them, but they’ve been heard giggling, and their wet footsteps have been seen.
Miss Janeway was asking in a very excited old ladyish way what time of day people usually spotted them. The mundane detective she’d dragged along had now given her his arm to help her along, but Armand thought he looked a little aggrieved.
Or maybe that’s what that expression is, anyway.
Hm? Annabella questioned.
Nothing, he told her. While he really liked having her in his thoughts, sometimes, they just weren’t all that important.
The guide looked a little uncertain at the question and told her the swimming pool area was usually locked for safety reasons, so it must have been during a previous tour or by an employee or something. The rather-too-perfectly-put-together, averagely-attractive brunette—whose nametag read, “Lara,” and who Armand thought had either been named by a Dr. Zhivago
fan or someone with a spelling deficiency—clearly didn’t believe a word of what she was conveying to them. She gave off every sign of being a Hotel, Restaurant, and Tourism Administration major who saw this as a very demeaning stop on the road to managing somewhere far more impressive. She was just politely passing on the script she’d memorized.
The tour with their uninspired if smiling hostess went on. They saw a few staterooms which were reputedly haunted. There was a corridor with a cold draft, the Grand Salon where a ball was sometimes heard when none was in progress—which was a little odd, since it had been the first-class dining room when in service, not the ballroom—and the place where a man in 1930s clothing was sometimes seen by a railing. They weren’t actually let into the Grand Salon, as they were apparently preparing for an event, but they got the details from outside its impressive double doors.
Thankfully, at each stop, Kitty—he was going to have to get himself used to that name—leaned in with new information. This ranged from “person on bed looking at us” to “imp in air conditioning vent” to “don’t like waltz music” and ended with her stopping dead at a doorway and staring at the railing. “Don’t like that man.”
As her sudden abandonment of the group was getting the tour guide’s attention—she was good enough at her job not to risk any litigation by leaving someone behind, especially as any inattention might strand them in an unauthorized area—Armand and Miss Janeway stayed with Kitty.
Annabella locked eyes with the—now that he noticed—much too attractive detective, and they went to distract their hostess, giving some excuse about Kitty not liking heights, so not wanting to be too close to the railing. Armand wasn’t convinced the detective actually knew what was going on, but he seemed to trust Miss Janeway enough to understand her defection.
“There, now.”
Miss Janeway stroked softly over Kitty’s back, as Armand put his hand on her arm, and even Armand noticed his ex-cat starting to calm a bit at the attention.
“Tell me about the man, dear.”
Miss Janeway had apparently won Kitty’s eternal favor by offering a cupful of cream and some sympathy. Armand wished he were as good at soothing his ex-pet.
Sorcerers, Spirits, and Ships Page 4
