Charlaine Harris

by Night's Edge

  Jack caught her chin, lifted it and held her gaze. “Just because they weren’t one hundred percent genuine, Brigham, that doesn’t mean they were one hundred percent phony.”

  “No?”

  “No. This isn’t black and white. There are shades of gray. All kinds of them, apparently.”

  “You sound surprised by that.”

  He pursed his lips. “I never used to believe it. Then again, until recently, I’d never—”

  He stopped himself. She could almost see him stomping on a mental brake pedal. “You’d never what?” she asked.

  Jack shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we make this work.”

  “You think it will?”

  “I think neither of us has any better ideas. Do we?”

  She gnawed her lower lip. “I tried to contact Mr. Miller today, but he wouldn’t take my call, much less return it. He wants nothing to do with this place.”

  “Then we’re left with the ghosts. We can’t solve this unless they tell us what it’s about. No one else will.”

  She pursed her lips, lowered her head. Then raised it again when she felt his hand sliding over hers where it rested on the table.

  “I know you’re scared,” he said.

  “I’m not—”

  “The hell you’re not. I’m scared too, Kiley. And not just about the damn ghosts.”

  A frown tugged at her brow and she stared down at their hands. Then, jittery for reasons beyond her understanding, she got up from the table, slipping her hand from beneath his, turned and began pacing across the room.

  Jack got up, came to stand behind her, very close behind her. “I want this thing solved as badly as you do,” he whispered. “I want it out of the way, so I can see what’s left when it’s gone.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, turning to face him as she spoke.

  “Yeah, you do.” He lifted a hand and gently pushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Then, slowly, he lowered his head, brushed her lips with his. Once, then again.

  Kiley’s heart fluttered and her stomach tied itself in knots. The soft, tender kisses went on, until, trembling, she slid her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and then linked her arms around his neck. His arms closed around her waist, and he pulled her tight to him and kissed her long and deeply. She let her lips part, tasting him, loving it.

  Finally, he lifted his head away, and when she opened her eyes she found his probing them. Kiley licked her lips, tasting him on them. She sought for words, and heard herself muttering, “B-but I don’t even like you.”

  He smiled, and it made her want to kiss him all over again. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Kiley. But trust me, it isn’t gonna change a thing. It didn’t for me, anyway.” He leaned in, nibbling at her mouth again. “And you can get rid of that notion that there’s no affection involved here, lady. We kissed this time.”

  “Is that why you kissed me? To prove it’s not just physical so you can get me into bed?”

  “No. I kissed you because I wanted to. I’d like to keep on kissing you all night. But we’ve got other things to worry about, unfortunately.”

  Kiley wanted him. She wanted to make love to him, now, tonight. She pushed her hands through her hair. “This is so much to deal with. And with everything else going on—ghosts and hauntings and dead women in my bathtub—”

  He nodded, sliding his arms from around her waist. “I know. I’m sorry, Kiley, I shouldn’t have—no. Hell, I’m not sorry.”

  She smiled up at him. “I’m not, either.”

  “Good. So now maybe you understand why I’m in such a hurry to get all that other stuff out of the way.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Okay. So…we’ll have the séance.”

  “Great. I’ve got everything we need out in the car.”

  He turned as if to go out and fetch his props. “No, Jack,” she said, stopping him in his tracks.

  He turned to face her. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?”

  She shook her head. “We’re not doing anything,” she told him, “until I’ve finished my pizza.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  JACK WAS SETTING UP the table in the formal dining room, feeling more nervous than he’d ever been in his life, when the doorbell chimed. Kiley was in the kitchen, putting away the leftover pizza, stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. So he went to the door and pulled it open.

  Chris stood there, smiling. Behind him were two of the psychics Kiley had nailed in her column over the past year. Maya, a thirtysomething witch, blond, blue-eyed and petite, nodded hello to him as he stepped aside to let them in. She wore jeans, a cozy-looking sweater, and a pentacle around her neck. Right behind her was John Redhawk, a shaman. Aside from the turquoise beads and ponytail, he, too, was dressed casually, jeans and a green polo shirt under a denim jacket.

  Jack heard Kiley come in from the kitchen. She started to say something, then stopped in her tracks.

  To break the awkward silence, Jack said, “I, uh—thought you two couldn’t make it.”

  John sent a tight look at Kiley. “If there are spirits trapped here, they need help to get across.”

  Maya nodded. “We can’t punish them for her actions.”

  “Great,” Kiley said. “They’re on the goddamn ghosts’ side.”

  “Fortunately your interests and theirs are the same,” John said, moving farther into the room. “As are your goals and ours—to free them, so they can move on.”

  Jack turned to Kiley, knowing she was about to roll her eyes or make some sarcastic comment. But he caught her in time.

  “No doubt, Ms. Brigham, you think we can’t be of any help anyway,” Maya said.

  Kiley pursed her lips. “I did catch you faking.”

  “You caught us being inaccurate,” John explained. “There’s a very big difference.”

  “You totally ignored all the times we were dead on target with our work,” Maya added, “and focused only on the times when we missed the mark.”

  Chris nodded hard, then put his own two cents in. “You failed to take into account all the people they helped. And the fact that no one was ever harmed by what they did.”

  Kiley pursed her lips, lowered her head. “I get it, Chris.” Then she lifted her eyes again, took a breath. “You two just admitted you’re not always right. I suppose I need to do the same.”

  John nodded slowly. “Some of the people you condemned in your column were frauds, Ms. Brigham. Some of them were doing harm, and were sorely in need of exposure. I was glad to see them go. They just make the rest of us look bad. But it’s a mistake to paint all psychics with the same brush. And it’s just as bad to hold us up to standards that are impossible for anyone short of a god to meet.”

  She nodded. “I’m starting to realize that.” Then she frowned. “But if you’re not batting a thousand, then how the hell can an outsider ever tell the difference?”

  “They can’t,” Maya said. “But we can. We know who’s for real and who’s just running a scam to make a buck. Maybe in the future, you could work with us, instead of against us.”

  Kiley blinked, clearly stunned. “You…would do that? Work with me? My God, I never thought—”

  “Because you never asked,” John said. “But believe me, we’d love to help you put the frauds out of business.”

  Kiley shook her head in something that looked like wonder.

  “Chris filled us in on the details,” Maya said, changing the subject. “So where are we doing this?”

  “I’m setting up in the dining room.” Jack led the way, looking with hypercritical eyes at the stuff he’d set up. Candles around the room in holders, lots of them, all white. Charcoal tablets, already lit and turning slowly white with heat, filled censers in various spots, each with a small dish of herbs beside it.

  “Anything else you want to have in here?” he asked.

  John lifted a dish of the herbs. “What are y
ou using?”

  “Dandelion, sweetgrass and thistle,” Jack said.

  “Mmm.” John tugged a pouch from his jacket pocket. “I’ll add a little tobacco. I’ve had good results with it.”

  “And vervain,” Maya said, adding a pinch of something from her own knapsack. “To make it go.” She looked around the room. “I’d feel better if we did this within a circle and if we marked the boundary with salt, and placed representations of the elements in the quarters.”

  John nodded his agreement.

  Chris looked at Kiley. “C’mon, I’ll tell you what we need and you can help me find it.” The two of them went into the kitchen.

  Jack sighed, turning to the others. “Thanks for coming. I mean it, I’m in way over my head here.”

  “Why?” Maya asked. “It’s not as if you haven’t done this before.”

  Jack glanced toward the kitchen. “I always assumed the problem was in the minds of the clients. That’s where I solved it. Hell, I went through the motions, but I wasn’t really doing anything. You know that, you just finished saying you could tell the real psychics from the frauds.”

  They looked at each other, then slowly back at him. John said, “We can, Jack. And you’re one of the real ones.”

  Jack stood there gaping, even as Kiley and Chris returned. She carried a bowl of water, and he had a box of salt.

  “Good,” Maya said. “Set the bowl in the west—that would be over here.” She pointed. “Move one of those censers so it sits opposite it, in the east, and put one of the taper candles in the south.” She took the salt from Chris, and poured a small pile of it in the north position.

  “Ready, everyone?” she asked.

  Kiley looked at Jack. He found himself moving closer, taking her hand. “We’re ready.”

  John was moving around the room, lighting each candle, and adding pinches of the herbal mixture to each censer. Chris shut off the lights. Then they took their seats around the table, as Maya walked in a large circle around them, pouring a boundary line of salt as she moved. When it was all poured, she set the salt box down and walked the perimeter again, moving her hands like a mime as she created a circle of protection and power.

  When she took her seat at the table, all was silent.

  John looked at Jack. “Take the lead, my friend. This is your project, we’re just here for backup.”

  Jack almost refused, but then he realized how that would look to Kiley. Even though he thought things had changed between them, he wasn’t ready to admit to her that he was a fraud. He was terrified—not that she would expose him. Hell, he didn’t even care about that anymore. No, his greatest fear was that she would turn away from him. And he didn’t think he could stand that.

  So much more than his business was at stake now. He cared what she thought of him now.

  He took a breath, tried to remember all the usual mumbo jumbo, and said, “Join hands.” Beside him, Kiley slid her hand into his. Impulsively, he drew it to his lips, and pressed a kiss there. She squeezed a reply. He closed his eyes and instructed everyone through several deep breaths in an effort to relax them. Finally, he addressed the spirits.

  “Those of us here at this table call out to those of you elsewhere in this house. We know you’re here. We know you have something you want to tell us. We’ve created this sacred space and we invite you in. You are welcome here, provided you mean us no harm. You are welcome here, so long as your intentions are for the highest good. Come now, join us.”

  A door slammed.

  Jack’s head came up, eyes flying open and he saw the others on high alert as well. They met each other’s eyes around the room, in the flickering candle glow. And then, suddenly, a gust of icy wind blew through, and every candle in the room went out.

  Jack felt himself sinking, as if his chair had dissolved beneath him. He fought it, tried to cling more tightly to the hands on either side of him, but it was no use. They fell away and he plummeted downward, right through the floorboards, hitting the basement floor so hard it knocked the wind out of him.

  He swore and got up, brushing himself off, rubbing his tailbone gingerly. Looking up, he expected to see the hole above him, but the ceiling was perfect. Flawless.

  And then he heard someone speaking softly, and he turned to look.

  There in the corner was a man of perhaps thirty. His slicked-back hair and dated glasses made him look like something out of a ’70s sitcom. Knife-sharp crease on his plaid pants, thick belt with an oversized buckle and a tie so wide it was almost funny.

  Jack said, “Hey. Who the hell are you and what are you doing down here?”

  But the man didn’t hear him. He went right on with what he was doing. And what he was doing, Jack realized, was smoothing new concrete over a portion of the floor. He knelt there, moving a trowel over the smooth, slick gray mush.

  Jack strode across to him. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. And when the man didn’t answer, he reached for him, to spin him around and make him talk. But his hand moved right through the guy.

  “Jack?”

  The voice was Kiley’s. It was coming from above.

  “Jack, are you all right? Come on, Jack, wake up!”

  He felt her hands on his face, her breath on his skin. And then he was rising again, rising as if on an elevator at top speed, leaving his stomach somewhere below. He jerked his head up, opened his eyes. Kiley was standing over him. The lights were on. Maya, John and Chris surrounded him. “Jesus, what happened?”

  “You passed out,” Kiley said.

  “He went into a trance,” Maya corrected.

  “He left his body, journeyed into the realm of the spirits,” John put in.

  “Well? Which is it, Jack? What happened to you?”

  He sat up straighter in the chair, rubbed his forehead. “How long was I out?”

  “Fifteen minutes or so,” Kiley said.

  “It felt like about fifteen seconds.”

  She stroked his face. “Are you okay? I knew this was a bad idea. I just knew it.”

  Jack licked his lips. “No. No, it was a good idea. I…I saw something.”

  She frowned, staring at him. “What?”

  “I think it was Mr. Miller. He was spreading concrete in the cellar.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  KILEY STOOD OVER THE SOFA, where she’d made Jack lie down. John, Maya and Chris had left, at Jack’s insistence. He swore he knew what he needed to know now, thanked them for their help and told them to go.

  “I’m not sure what happened back there, Jack.”

  He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Neither am I.” He held her gaze. “Only thing I am sure of, is that I need to see that basement.”

  An icy shiver rippled through her entire being. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “I think it’s the only way to end this thing, Kiley.”

  She pursed her lips. “It’s not safe down there.”

  “You stay up here. I just need to take a look.”

  Firming her jaw, she shook her head. “No. Not alone. If you’re going down there, I’m going with you.”

  He studied her face for a moment. “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  Sighing, Jack reached out to cup her cheek. It was a touch that seemed tender, protective in some strange way. “You’re braver than you look, you know that?”

  “Is that supposed to pass for a compliment?”

  “Just a fact.” He got to his feet.

  “Oh,” she said. “You meant, right now?”

  “No. No, not right yet. There’s something else, first.”

  “Is there?”

  He smiled softly, reached for her and pulled her to him. “This.” He cupped her face and tipped it, so that he could kiss her the way it suited him. He took his time, probed and licked, tasted and explored. Kiley felt herself melting for him.

  “Jack,” she whispered.

  “I know. This is no time for—but God, Kiley,
I can’t stop thinking about how it felt when we—”

  “I know. I know.”

  He slid his hands down to her waist, then up again, raising her little T-shirt with them. She lifted her arms overhead, so he could take it off her. No bra. He hadn’t brought her one when he brought her clothes, and she had no doubt that was deliberate. His hands covered her breasts, then he bent her backward and used his mouth instead, tasting, suckling. She let her head fall backward and stopped fighting the moans of pleasure. He was wrestling her jeans free now, shoving them off her hips and driving a hand down the front of her panties, cupping her there. He held her, arched backward over one arm, mouth attacking a breast, hand attacking her center. It was almost too good.

  “Jack, please…”

  He laid her on the sofa, tugged the jeans off the rest of the way, stripped away her panties. Then he yanked off his own jeans, frenzied now in his rush. She was on fire, gripping him, pulling him to her even before he had his jeans off. And then he was there, sliding inside her, filling her just as he had before. But this time he didn’t stop. He drove into her, and when she clutched his buttocks and dug her nails into his firm flesh he did it again, harder and deeper with every thrust. She twisted her legs around him, tilted her hips to take him, cried out his name with every breath he forced from her lungs. His hands held her butt, pulling her hard to him so he could plunge even deeper. His mouth took her nipple, and he used his teeth now, in gentle bites and nibbles that made her cry out in sweet anguish. He moved faster, harder, driving her to the edge of what she could bear, and finally, beyond that edge, into sweet oblivion. The orgasm broke like a tidal wave, and she shrieked his name as her entire body shuddered in spasms of release. And then he was there, too, groaning deep in his throat as he drove more deeply than ever, and held her to him as he poured into her. She felt the rhythmic pulse in him, the milking contractions in herself, and she clung to it, rode it out, until slowly the waves receded and her muscles relaxed.

  He slid onto his side, pulling her close, wrapping her in his arms. “That was incredible.”

  “It was supernatural,” she agreed. “Why did we waste so much time hating each other?”