Dangerous Calling (The Shadowminds)

by AJ Larrieu

  Everyone in the New Orleans shadowmind community came. The Gagniers, the Heberts, all of the folks Lionel had known. Even the Robicheaus showed up, a normal married couple who’d stayed at the B&B every year on the anniversary of their long marriage. Missy Gagnier came with a platter full of lemon bars, and her daughter Lanie brought bacon-stuffed mushrooms. They set them on the table next to a feast of deviled eggs, brownies, miniature cocktail sausages—enough food to feed twice the number of people in the house. Lionel would have approved.

  I only saw Mina from a distance. She and Shane were surrounded by a constant, ever-changing crowd of people, all of them wanting to cry or laugh or reminisce. I had a lesser share of mourners. They came with tearful hugs and questions about what had happened. I wore a hat to cover my missing hair, but they still stared at the scars on my face in open shock before they caught themselves, and then they couldn’t meet my eyes. They caught sight of my hand and looked away. Their unvoiced questions grew exhausting, and after an hour, I had to get away. I escaped to the third floor, where Lionel had once shared a room with Bruce. I walked through an empty guest room that overlooked the courtyard and watched from the window while Deborah Hebert poured herself a glass of white zinfandel, took a gulp, looked around and topped it off.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I whipped around. Ian was standing in the open doorway.

  “For what?”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop her.”

  I turned to look through the window again. “I’m not sure you could’ve.”

  “And I’m sorry you lost him,” he said.

  We both watched Deborah’s underage son fish a beer out of the cooler in the courtyard, and I had to smile. I recalled that Ian had lost his family, too, though hopefully not in so final a way. If we could find a way to clear his name, at least he’d be able to see them again.

  “Do you think the cops are still looking for you?” I asked him.

  “Don’t know. Probably.”

  “I think we might have a way to help with that.” I told him about the ledger Shane had found. “Do you think it’ll be enough?”

  For the first time since I’d known him, the tensions he carried in his body seemed to soften. It was the barest change, as subtle as a breath. “If you showed them I had a reason to—to defend myself. It might help.”

  “Your friend Lance. He might be able to get the evidence to the right people. Right?”

  Ian closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, and for once, the bubble of hope growing in his chest was so strong, even his natural guardian defenses couldn’t keep me from feeling it. “Thank you,” he said.

  “I’d better go back down. I shouldn’t be gone for too long.” I turned to leave, but he put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me. The contact startled me, and then the need for a pull rose up, shoving aside the grief that had buried it. I knew something hard had flashed in my eyes, because Ian’s expression went grim.

  “I knew it. It’s not any better, is it?”

  I knew he meant the pulls. I knew he meant the addiction. I didn’t want to admit it, but I couldn’t find the words to lie.

  “It’s worse. Isn’t it.”

  I nodded, the ghost of a movement.

  “What will you do?”

  I stepped away from him, forcing him to drop his hand. “I’ll leave. Make myself dry out, like you said.”

  Ian shook his head. “This isn’t the kind of thing you fight alone. I should know.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like having people around is going to make it easier. That’s like—like putting an alcoholic in a liquor store.”

  “Didn’t say it was gonna be easy.”

  I turned away from him, toward the door. “Yeah, well, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Have you told him yet?”

  A new grief flashed bright and hot in my chest. “I will.” I left without looking back.

  * * *

  My conversation with Ian unsettled me. I wanted to be alone, but the upper floors didn’t feel safe anymore. I retreated to the kitchen, hoping it would be empty, but Diana was already there, making hot chocolate on the stove. When she saw my face, she gave me a cup.

  “You look like you need it,” she said, but that only made tears sting more sharply behind my eyes. It was so much like something Lionel would’ve said. My throat closed up in grief, and Diana squeezed my hand.

  “I’ll let you be,” she said, and carried a platter of mugs out to the dining room.

  I watched her go and sat at the kitchen table, staring at my mug. My scalp itched under my hat. I flexed my ruined hand and felt the phantom pain of my missing fingers. I’d never wanted to drink hot chocolate less in my life. It was as though my whole body was closed up, stoppered, and nothing else could ever get in. I watched the marshmallows slowly melt into foam on the surface.

  “Cassie.”

  I turned and saw Mina in the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes red and her light brown skin smudged dark under her eyes. I stood up as she came to me, and it was all I could do not to break down as we embraced.

  “Are you okay?” I said, my face buried against her shoulder.

  “No. No, not really.” Her voice was muffled too. We stayed that way for several minutes. I didn’t want to dip into her thoughts—she deserved her own space to grieve. We held each other tight and cried. It was enough.

  We sat down at the broad table, and I took off my heels. The grain of the softwood felt unfamiliar through my pantyhose. Mina glanced toward the stove and teared up again.

  “I guess this place belongs to you and Shane now,” I said.

  Her gaze darted back to me in surprise. “I hadn’t even thought about it.” She put her hands flat on the table and curled her fingertips against the wood. “Oh, God.”

  “You kept the books all those years, right? I’m sure you guys will do great.”

  She looked up and met my eyes. Before she could say anything, Shane came through the swinging doors.

  “I barely escaped from Raelynne Hodges,” he said, flattening himself against the wall. “You know she never gave up on Lionel. She had to tell me all about how the time was never right.” He laughed, weakly at first, but then more loudly. After a moment, Mina and I couldn’t help laughing too.

  “She never figured it out?” I said.

  Shane gave a helpless shrug and sat down with us. “She was going on about how it was such a shame he never married. I almost told her he did, it just wasn’t legal in Louisiana.”

  “Poor Raelynne,” Mina said.

  “She always was pretty silly.”

  “It’s not like she never saw Lionel and Bruce together,” Shane said, but his laugh died quickly. We all went quiet as we realized Bruce still hadn’t shown up.

  “I called him,” Mina said. “He was angry.”

  “The last thing they did was fight.” I stared at the table. “That can’t be easy.”

  Shane cleared his throat. “He still staying at his brother’s?”

  “As far as I know.” Mina took out her phone, looked at it and pocketed it again.

  “We should just go,” I said. “Maybe he won’t come to us, but we should just go.”

  “We can’t leave all these people—” Shane began, but stopped. “You’re right. Screw it. Come on.” We all got up and headed for the back door, stopping short as it banged open. It was him.

  We all stood frozen for a long minute. I didn’t know what to say. Shane opened his mouth, but he didn’t have the words, either. After a moment, Bruce just walked forward and collapsed into Shane’s embrace.

  I couldn’t hear his sobs, but his body shook with them. He pulled Mina into the hug and gave huge, wheezing gasps, and I bit my fist to keep from sobbing myself.

  “Always though
t I’d be the one to go first,” he said finally, his voice still clotted with tears. “Thought he’d find me dead of a heart attack one day.”

  Fresh tears leaked from his eyes, and he swiped messily at his nose with the back of his hand. Shane handed him a paper towel.

  “‘S the way he’da wanted to go, though. You know?”

  “I do,” Shane said.

  Bruce gave a great, deep breath, as though he was clearing all the air from his lungs. “Got any hot chocolate?”

  We all gave teary laughs, and Shane went to the stove.

  The rest of the guests left us alone. One of the benefits of having mindreaders for friends—they know when you need privacy. The four of us sat around the battered kitchen table, drinking hot chocolate and telling stories. The time a guest walked in on Lionel levitating a light bulb and he convinced her the place was haunted. The time he used cumin instead of cinnamon in the cinnamon rolls.

  “So you two are gonna run this place now, I guess,” Bruce said. His gaze took in Mina and Shane. When neither of them answered, he misinterpreted their silence. “Don’t worry about me, now. Lionel and I talked it over when he wrote his will. I’ve got my pension—we both always wanted you-all to have this place.”

  “Not me,” Mina said quietly. We all looked at her. “I’m sorry, Shane. I know you always thought it would be me. I just don’t think I belong here anymore.”

  Shane looked shocked. “I can’t run this place on my own.”

  “You’ll do fine. I’ll give you my share.”

  “Mina—you’re the accountant—you know you can’t just give it to me.”

  “Then we’ll set it up so you can buy me out. I’ll teach you how to keep the books. It’s not hard.”

  “That’s not the point, it’s—”

  “I don’t want it.” Her tone silenced him. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this.” And she got up and left the room.

  We watched the swinging door oscillate until it stopped. “Give her time,” Bruce said. “She’ll come around. Now’s not the time to be deciding anything.”

  “Right,” Shane said. “She’ll come around.” His gaze was fixed on the door. I didn’t believe him, either.

  “Where’s Janine?” Bruce asked, and Shane and I looked at each other. I let Shane handle the explanation, and Bruce’s mouth turned down as he listened.

  “Lord have mercy. I never would’ve thought it of her.”

  “She was desperate,” Shane said.

  “And she loved her son.” I thought of Ryan in the bathroom, the blood on the white tile.

  Bruce surprised us both when he said, “Well, she’s burying him tomorrow.”

  We both stared at him. “What?”

  “It’s in the paper.” He unfolded the copy of the local paper sitting on the table and tapped the obituary section. “I always read the obituaries. Old habit, you know. Thought maybe this was gonna be some kind of fake memorial service, what with him in that secret prison and all, but now I see it’s the real thing. Reckon it’ll be closed-casket.” He traced his finger over the newsprint. “Shame about it all.”

  I looked at Shane.

  “It looks like we know how to find Janine,” he said.

  * * *

  The next afternoon Shane and I waited in a stand of trees on the edge of a cemetery while hired pallbearers brought Ryan’s casket down a cracked concrete path. It was a simple box, no ornate flourishes or gilded angels. There was no crowd of mourners behind them, only Janine.

  She was wearing a simple black dress, and her hair was pinned in a neat bun. She wasn’t sobbing, but I could feel the emptiness of her grief despite the yards between us.

  I looked out over the gravestones while the priest gave a simple, standard service. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. All around, headstones were decorated with faded plastic flowers, tangled Mardi Gras beads and weather-ruined children’s toys. It wasn’t until Janine turned back up the path that we stepped out of the cover of the trees and showed ourselves.

  Janine didn’t startle. “I wondered if you’d come.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” I asked her, but she only shook her head. Tears leaked from her eyes.

  “She killed him. She found out his powers were gone, and she killed him. I asked her to kill me, too, and she laughed. Just laughed. She said I was still useful.” She sniffed and coughed out a sob.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Janine shook her head. “He did a lot of wrong. I know that.”

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t get to mourn him.”

  She gave me a tight smile. “I wouldn’t blame you for killing me.” She sounded almost hopeful.

  My heart broke with a mixture of anger and pity. “You did what you felt like you had to do.” I took the crumpled paper bag I was holding and set it down between us. “This is yours.”

  Janine came forward, heels sinking in the soft ground, and opened it. It was full of bills in hundred-dollar stacks. Thousands of them, everything we had left. Janine lifted one and riffled through it frowning.

  “What—what is this?”

  “It’s yours,” I said, and my voice held a hint of pleading I couldn’t keep out. “Take it.”

  “I can’t do that. Where did it even come from?”

  “It’s doesn’t matter.” I wasn’t going to burden her with the knowledge of this money’s source. It was kinder to let her believe any comforting fiction she chose—I owed her that, at least.

  “Take it, Janine,” Shane said. “Use it to start over.” His voice was soft, and Janine met his eyes. She closed the bag and held it with both hands.

  “Take care of yourself,” I told her, meaning it, hoping she would. She only nodded and walked unsteadily to her car.

  * * *

  That night, we slept in Shane’s old room again. Ian had moved to a different room to allow Mina to return to hers, and Diana was asleep in the Robicheau room. Bruce slept in the Blue Room. He hadn’t wanted to stay in the room he’d shared with Lionel.

  “I don’t want to sell it,” Shane said as we lay in bed together. “Maybe this is a chance to do something with the place. Maybe we should sell the condo, move in here.”

  He and Mina had come to an unspoken agreement not to discuss the running of the B&B, but I knew it was likely to end with Mina going back to San Francisco. I thought of Shane living in the big, empty house alone, and my heart broke. I hadn’t thought there was anything whole left to shatter.

  “I miss him,” I said in the dark.

  “Me too.” He pressed his face against my back, between my shoulder blades.

  Shane eventually slept, but I couldn’t quiet my mind. Diana’s vision lived there like a song stuck in my head. When I managed to shove it aside, the memory of Lionel’s death crowded in and, underneath it, the need for a pull, a clawed thing pacing its cage. It had been too long.

  I slipped out of the bed and paced the dark, quiet hallway. It only got worse, each sleeping signature a beacon in the dark, and before I quite knew what I was doing, I was going downstairs and getting into the car.

  * * *

  The last time I’d been to Bunny’s condo, I’d broken in through the balcony. This time, I opened the entry door with telekinesis and used the stairs.

  It was a nice place. Even the common hallway was beautifully decorated. Potted plants, impressionist reproductions, gold-framed mirrors—it was like being in a boutique hotel. I knocked on Bunny’s door and waited. She opened it wide. She was wearing a pale green silk robe with a lacey chemise underneath. Still not a hair out of place.

  “Decided to use the door this time, I see.”

  “Can I come in?”

  She stepped back and gestured me forward. My palms were sweating. I wiped them on my jeans, and the stubs of my left fin
gers screamed with an oversensitive burning sensation that wasn’t quite pain. I swallowed hard and sat on her sofa without being invited. Everything was scratchy—the tag on the back of my shirt, the buckle on my sandal, my bra straps. I made myself take a calming breath. Bunny disappeared into the tiny galley kitchen and came out a few moments later with a steaming mug.

  “Here you are, darling. Looks like you need it.”

  “Is this—”

  “Just tea. Never fear.”

  You never knew with a healer. I sipped. Chamomile. Bunny sat down in the armchair across from me and waited.

  “I need your help,” I said finally.

  She inclined her head. “I surmised as much. I can’t do anything about your hand or the scars. I’m sorry.”

  She actually did look sorry. I didn’t care about my hand. Maybe that was the silver lining in this whole dangerous mess.

  “It’s not that. I have this—I need—” I should have planned how I was going to talk about it. I rubbed my face, the scars rough and alien under my remaining fingers, and tried again. “I can’t stop it.”

  “You can’t stop what, darling?”

  “The pulls. I’m addicted.”

  She pressed her lips together. I could almost hear the no.

  “Please. Please. You have to help me. If he—if Shane anchors—”

  Bunny held up her hand. She got up and went to her bedroom, and I sat forward on the couch and tried not to shake. She came back holding a small case and sat down next to me.

  “Give me your hand.”

  I reached out with the remains of my left, but she shook her head and grabbed my right, spreading the fingers and holding it firmly, palm up. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

  She opened the case with her other hand. Inside was an old-fashioned stick pin with a jeweled ruby head. I didn’t have time to think before she jabbed it into the flesh at the base of my thumb.