“Only if there’s a contract between the Phantasm and the host,” said a new voice.
Both of us turned and saw Dags at the door.
“Where the hell have you been?” Joe asked.
“Looking around.” He was watching me. “Do you feel it?”
My eyes widened. “Yes—it’s touched my cheek twice. What is it? Does Maureen or Alice know?”
Dags shook his head. “No, but whatever it is—it’s powerful.”
I put a hand to my lips. “The Phantasm?”
He looked worried. “Could be.” Dags held out his right hand, and the circular patterns tattooed there glowed softly. Alice appeared beside Dags, a soft, transparent ghost.
“Whatever this is, Zoë, it’s residual. Its main body isn’t here anymore.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “You mean—whatever’s touching me—is just like an afterthought?”
She nodded. “I’m not sure I know what it is we’re dealing with.”
“A Horror?”
Alice shook her head slowly, but she wasn’t really looking at me anymore. Her gaze was more focused on the room. “I don’t know. The Phantasm has this kind of power, Zoë. It’s strongest here.”
I turned and looked at the room as well. Joe was unchar acteristically quiet as he stood off to the side and watched our conversation. But Alice was right—I’d sensed something when I’d stepped inside the facility—something oogy.
And the oogy was almost overwhelming here. “Where did it take my mom?”
“Too bad I didn’t LoJack her ass,” Joe muttered. “Which reminds me, I plan on doing that to you.”
I looked at him. “Me?”
“Your body’s been hijacked twice and kidnapped once, and just the other day Rodriguez tried to have it taken away as well. Your family’s one big missing persons case.”
We heard footsteps approaching at a dead run. Alice vanished, and Dags lowered his hand as Rhonda came to the door. Her face looked pinched—and she was flushed. “I have to go. Something’s happened.”
Joe shook his head—so did Dags and I. “What is it?”
Rhonda said, “Tyrone Miller—he was one of the last recruited members of the Society before the split. He had an affinity for clairvoyance.” She looked sad as she spoke. “I’d hoped he’d see reason. Maybe open his eyes to Rodriguez’s hidden agendas. But it appears whatever is killing people got to him.”
We all looked at each other. Joe spoke, “Wait . . . I thought Cooper said the victim was still alive.”
Rhonda frowned. “What victim? I just got the call from my aide—that Tyrone’s body was found outside of Rodriguez’s house.”
Well. Okay. That was news.
“Did you report it?”
“No—Haskins was with me. He’ll handle this.”
I pointed to the floor. “No, he needs to handle this—he needs to find Mom’s body!”
Joe held out a hand. “Rhonda, you need to report that body to the police—”
“No.” It was a simple answer. And it was final.
I looked from one to the other. Lovers’ spat?
Neither of them spoke.
Then Rhonda said, “Cooper’s waiting outside for you.”
That was his cue. He looked at me. “You going to be okay?”
I nodded. “I have to be. Hiding in my closet and clutching my stuffed bear isn’t going to help matters right now.” No, but it sure sounded like a plan to me. Only . . . what ever happened to my stuffed bear? The one I used to keep in the closet in the old house?
And then he did something he hadn’t done in a long time—not since that night at the Stephenses’ home. In the basement.
He hugged me.
Joe felt warm, and so very nice as I wrapped my arms around him.
Being held like this—something I missed from Daniel—I almost started bawling like a little girl. But that wasn’t going to help him leave. I knew if I did start to cry, he wouldn’t leave, then Cooper would get mad.
I didn’t want Cooper mad.
When he let go, I was amazed at the emotion in his expression. I was so used to seeing Joe with a permanent smirk on his face—I wasn’t used to him being all—well—human. “If you hear from Daniel, call me.”
I nodded. “I will, only don’t hold your breath.”
He turned to Rhonda and hesitated.
I looked at her too, and was a bit taken aback by the expression on her face. It wasn’t a mad look—after all, her boyfriend had just squeezed the stuffing out of me. It was more of a disappointed look. She held out a hand as he stepped toward her. “I’m fine. I have to go with Haskins. His men will clean up here and get back to you.”
Dags held out his hand to Joe. “I’ll take Zoë with me.”
Joe handed him the keys to Mom’s Volvo. “Watch your back.”
“You watch yours.”
Dags’s expression mirrored Rhonda’s. Jemmy’s warning that Dags was in love with me rang in my head. Och. I really liked Dags. He was cute and fun, and he had powers—but he also had two women permanently hanging about. Besides, Dags knew how I felt about Daniel.
But not Joe.
Though I had told Dags about Joe’s kiss. His opinion had been that Joe acted on pure adrenaline, and that it probably meant nothing.
Me? Every time I thought of Joe’s kiss my own toes curled.
I didn’t think it meant nothing—which made me just nervous enough to be uncomfortable around him.
Er . . . when we were alone.
I felt my face heat up as Joe reached out and touched my cheek, then moved out the door.
Rhonda spoke to Dags. “Be careful. I’m afraid Rodriguez’s followers will be after Zoë worse than ever. They’ll blame her for Tyrone’s death, which I’m sure Rodriguez will help along.”
Both of us looked at her slack-jawed. “Excuse me?” I said. “Blame me for a guy I don’t even know? What about pointing at Rodriguez?”
“Yeah, well, we all know followers aren’t exactly the brightest.” Rhonda smiled. “That’s why they call them followers.”
I smiled. Damnit—I missed her. But I was still pissed.
“Rhonda.” Dags spoke up. “Exactly how large is the Society of Ishmael, as opposed to the splinter group?”
“Originally we had close to fifty members, either original participants in the Dioscuri Experiments or related somehow. When Rodriguez’s group split off, the original formation was cut nearly in half.”
“So we’re talking roughly twenty-five members for each?”
She nodded. “But of those maybe ten to fifteen in each are active. But they are dangerous, Dags. My people won’t move against Zoë. I’ve never lied to them about the reality of what Domas was doing and about what effect it had on the subjects.” Rhonda looked at me. “I know you want to find Nona—but your first priority is to get your powers back, Zoë. You have to become the Wraith, or there’s no way to even begin looking. You’ve wasted enough time.”
I held out my hands. “I know that,” I said in a less-than-friendly voice. That comment was uncalled for. But true. I had wasted a lot of time—but it wasn’t my fault I had lost my abilities. “But exactly how do I do it? I don’t even understand how I lost the Wraith to begin with.”
Haskins appeared in the hallway behind Rhonda. “We have to go.” He looked at me and nodded. “Be assured, Miss Martinique, Miss Orly has informed us—me—of what’s happened—and we will do everything in our power to find your mother.”
He nodded to Dags and disappeared.
I looked at Rhonda. “Society?”
She nodded as well. “Haskins has an excellent reputation. We’ll do what we can.” And then she was gone. All business. And so little of the Magical MacGyver I missed.
I turned and looked at the room. At the neat way everything was arranged, including the bed. Everything was neat. “My mom’s not this neat. She never folds dirty clothes.”
“Maybe a clue as to who’s in her body?”<
br />
“Maybe.” I moved across the room to the window and looked out. I saw Cooper and Joe drive off, then watched as Rhonda got into a limousine with Haskins, and I thought—I really don’t know her at all, do I?
“There is one person we haven’t asked advice from,” Dags said. “Someone who seems to know as much about your abilities as you.”
I pulled my gaze from the window and looked at him. I knew what he was going to say, because the same thought crossed my mind as well. “Maharba.”
He smiled. “At maharba dot com.”
22
I’LL admit—trying to get in touch with Maharba wasn’t the first thing on my list of good ideas. But since that list consisted of hiding in my closet and chewing on my shoes—I didn’t have an argument. The first thing out of the gate was figuring out how to contact them.
Yeah—I had the e-mail address. The one I used to send reports back. But I hadn’t heard a peep out of them since the whole SOI Adventure. I’d sat and stared at the computer screen many times while alone in the shop—trying to understand how Maharba figured in the Society of Ishmael or League of Six.
All Maharba had requested was information on what Francisco and Knowles talked about in that room—and then they gave me advice on the Eidolons—albeit after we’d already heard about them. They had helped.
And then there’d been nothing.
Not a word. I’d e-mailed Maharba several times—offering my services. I’d needed the money to keep paying for Mom’s health care. But they’d never answered.
It was close to dawn by the time we made it back to the shop—me with reassurances from several of the officers under Haskins that they would follow up on all leads to find my mother’s body. What I feared was that the nurse’s story of her getting up and walking out would snowball into something reaching the proportions of an urban legend.
And to be honest—I really didn’t want Mom’s ego to get any bigger than it already was.
The air was chilly again—winter not wanting to let go. It’d been the weirdest weather pattern I’d seen in Georgia. But then as my mom always said, “Don’t like the weather? Wait a minute.”
I flipped on the light in the tea shop and moved into the botanica. I half expected Tim or Steve to show up—asking questions—offering to make tea.
Steve loved tea.
But there was nobody there.
Not even the Stone Dragon faced me. As far as I knew it was still in pieces in Stephens’s basement. With a sigh, I opened the fireplace curtain and grabbed up a few pieces of old newspaper and wadded them up into loose balls for kindling. I had a small fire nearly started by the time Dags came into the room, a steaming mug of what smelled like hot chocolate in each hand.
He’d snagged Rhonda’s recipe, and I was damned grateful. That wench made the best hot chocolate around.
He handed me a steaming mug topped with melting whipped cream. I gestured to the closed iBook on the coffee table. “Rhonda left the computer down here.”
Dags set his mug on the coffee table and took off his long coat. After tossing it on the sofa, he settled down in front of the computer and lifted the lid, his back to the slowly warming fire. His face was immediately illuminated in the light from the screen. “You still have Maharba’s e-mails?”
“Yeah.” I turned away from the fire, feeling a bit blah, and plopped down beside him to lean up against the papasan. “Just open MAIL.”
He did and to my surprise a red 1 popped up on my dock icon. Dags clicked on it and a single piece of mail was bolded in my in-box.
We both leaned in close to the screen, me setting my mug on the table, and read the sender.
Maharba.
I looked at the mail date. This had arrived less than an hour ago.
Dear Miss Martinique,
First let us express our utmost distress at the catastrophe that has befallen your family. We have unlimited resources at your disposal—you have only to ask. We would also like to congratulate you in your recent evolution. Your increased growth should prove to be even more exciting as the year progresses.
The reason we write to you now—we have learned of a larger threat. Apparently there is a Horror let loose within the physical plane. This creature has already misused its power and killed four souls, not to mention the soul of the body it is inhabiting. We must warn you—without your power, you will be helpless to stop it. And it MUST be stopped. We had cheered at your recent evolution because such a power would be necessary to defeat such a creature.
We are aware of your present condition and have taken steps as before to rectify the situation.
Maharba
I sat back, blinking. Son of—
Son of a bitch.
Sonofafuckingbitch!
“What do they mean ‘rectify the situation’?” Dags shook his head. “ ‘Steps as before’?”
Dags pulled out his phone and dialed a number. After several seconds he said, “Hey, it’s Darren. I’m going to forward you an e-mail from Maharba. Give me a call when you get it.” He disconnected, put his phone on the table, and gently took the laptop from me. A few quick clicks—forwarding the mail to Joe Halloran and Rhonda—and he pushed it aside.
Then he moved behind me and started rubbing my hunched shoulders. It was a tentative touch at first, then he grew bolder and applied more pressure.
It was wonderful.
Human contact, no matter who you are, is essential to the human condition. We all need physical contact, the tactile certainty that we’re not alone. It’d been so long since I’d had any kind of reassurance like that. My mom had been quick with a hug, or a kiss. Always touching me. Even Rhonda and I were good at hugging.
Daniel had been very affectionate.
Once.
And even Joe—
Yes . . . even his touch, both with his hands and his lips . . . had made me feel warm.
But there hadn’t been any of that in over a month. Nothing. Jemmy had been a good friend, but I’d always sensed she was still slightly afraid of me.
And Dags—I still remembered Jemmy’s words.
“He’s in love with you.”
That was just . . . ridiculous. Wasn’t it? I’d always seen Dags as a sidekick. Like Rhonda. During the whole investigation with him and Rhonda and the Shadow People, he’d always seemed so standoffish. Like he was a little intimidated by me.
I had to wonder—now that I wasn’t Wraith—was he no longer afraid of me?
I was never afraid of you.
The voice in my head surprised me, and I twisted where I sat, looking back at him, looking at me. The computer screen had shut off, and the fire was the only illumination on the left side of his face. His dark hair fell in chopped elegance along his forehead and in front of his ears, like one of those animes Rhonda was forever watching.
“I hear you—”
He nodded. “We never lost our communication.”
I shook my head. “No.” And I shifted where I sat and faced him. He settled in with crossed legs, and I crossed my own. “So I wonder what they mean by ‘rectify’?”
He shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Who are they?” There was a clump of hair, over his eyelashes. I reached up and moved it to the side.
“I don’t know.” He reached up as well and touched several strands of my hair on the left side. “I miss the streak.”
I nodded. I did too. And the mark on my arm. Somehow they made me different. Special.
“Zoë.” His expression looked pained in the shadows of the fire. “You are special. There isn’t a badge or a button that will make you that way. You just are.”
“Look at me, Dags.” I pointed to my chest with both index fingers. “I can’t do anything anymore. At least for a while I could OOB and gather information for people. And, okay, yeah—so I went all scary recently and killed my ex-best friend.” I winced at that memory. “But I brought her back. Twice, really. But now—I’m nothing more than some mall girl, fit only for selling cloth
ing. Or shoes.”
Dags reached out and put his right hand on his right knee and his left hand on his left knee. Then he turned them over, palms up. The circles weren’t visible. “You think these make me special? I don’t, Zoë. I think what they are—what I did to myself—what happened after—I see them as reminders that I stepped into an existence with greater responsibility to the world and the people in it. I can’t lead a normal life anymore.”
I looked down at his palms and put my hands on top of his. I traced the circles with my fingers, and he flinched. He smiled. I smiled as well. And I was amazed at how smooth his palms were. With tattoos I thought there would be scars.
And they were warm. I pulled his right hand up to my cheek and brushed it against my skin, again amazed at how warm his skin was to the touch. I hadn’t realized I’d closed my eyes and opened them. He held up his left hand and hesitantly brushed my hair back from my face.
“Zoë, I—”
“Ssshhhh . . .”
Looking back, I don’t really know why I did what I did next. I tried to justify it over and over in my mind—maybe thinking it was just a weak moment, or my overactive libido.
But when pushed against the wall, the only reason I could come up with was . . . because I wanted to. And I knew on deeper levels that he wanted to as well. It wasn’t in the way I used to pretend Daniel wanted me, or the way I sensed Joe’s desire in his kiss, but in the way I felt when I was with Dags.
It was how I used to feel with Rhonda—before truth reared its ugly head.
Safe. Protected.
Loved?
I reached out with my right hand and touched his dark hair, like silk against my cold fingers, and pushed it back behind his ear. His jaw was set and his eyes wide as he looked at my face. I moved my hand to his neck, and felt the smoothness of his skin there, dazzled by the shadows the flickering light of the fireplace cast on him.
His right hand moved from mine where I clutched it. He touched my face, his fingers warm against my cool cheek, as if his body held a fever. His fingers traced my ear, my neck, then he threaded them into my hair, pulling me close.
But I was already easing him to me as I flattened my hand against the back of his shoulder. His head inclined to my left and I tilted mine to the right as our lips touched. Just a hint of hesitation for both of us. His were soft and supple against mine, warm and shy. Small, sharp kisses grew longer as our confidence matured, and we pressed ourselves in deeper, his tongue soft and gentle before his lips moved from mine and kissed my cheek, my neck—
Phantasm Page 19
