On the drive home, Zoë considered alternative scenarios. Who knew she took gifts to Henry? It wasn’t common knowledge. Of her human friends, only Simone knew about Henry, and it seemed bizarre to imagine she’d tell anyone else. How on earth would it come up? Other spirits knew, like Gran especially, and Zoë might have mentioned Henry to one or two others, like Cecil, who lived at the library, and Drecker, a spirit she’d encountered at the DMV. She’d had time to kill, so she chatted with him, deciding if she was going to look like a total loon talking to someone nobody else could see, the DMV was the place to do it.
Even with going over every possibility she could imagine, few ideas sprang up. Spirits, in her limited experience, didn’t want to hear about each other, or even necessarily, the person they were talking to. They wanted to talk about themselves, their days in life, and their family and descendants. Curiosity wasn’t a usual indulgence. It made conversations one-sided, but Zoë didn’t mind. She liked listening to their stories as much as they liked telling them. But their self-centered conversational style made it hard to think of any she might have told about Henry.
By the time she slipped her key in the lock of her front door, Zoë was exhausted. Even the naps at Alexander’s place didn’t make up for her horribly long day. Her heart clutched when she thought about him. Why had she let herself tumble into bed with a…a non-human entity? Being? Whatever…with someone she barely knew? He’d asked her when anyone could be certain they wouldn’t regret intimacy, and she’d talked herself into thinking that meant “anything goes.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. No matter what the answer to that question was, it surely took more than one date.
Zoë locked the house and stuck her head in the back room to say goodnight to Gran, who hummed to herself as she stitched. The old spirit looked up with a nod and a smile and then went right back to her needlework without a word. The clock on her bedside table told her it was well after midnight by the time she curled up under her duvet. She turned off her alarm. The library wouldn’t open until ten on Saturday, so there was no reason to get up too early. She hoped Cecil would be there, because right now, she didn’t have too many places to turn for help. It took a little time before Zoë could let herself relax, but exhaustion won out eventually, and she slept.
Chapter 10
Zoë woke confused. The sun filtered through a murky haze and diffused shadowless light between the upturned blinds. Her body had the satisfying sensation of recent and spine-tingling sex, but soon the harsher memories invaded: Alexander’s bizarre transformation, the so-called chaos blade, and the unpleasant shock of Kent McGee’s death, and Henry’s disappearance.
After a few minutes of staring at imperfections on her bedroom ceiling, Zoë hauled herself out of bed. She threw on jeans and a polo shirt and shuffled into the kitchen. Sniffing the half-gallon of milk in the fridge, she discovered it had started to turn and opted for toast with strawberry jam.
Once she’d finished breakfast and tidied up, she grabbed her purse, hesitating only a moment when considering what it concealed. The spirit who’d dropped the knife at her feet must have done so for a reason. Alexander feared it, without even stopping to reason that “little Zoë” would never harm him. Are you changing? She asked herself, echoing his question. She had no real answer. “Everything changes,” she said to the empty room and grabbed her keys, heading out to find Cecil, the San Francisco Library’s strongest spirit.
After a tedious time finding a place to park, Zoë entered the main branch building to search for Cecil. She couldn’t help but enjoy the beautiful surroundings and the splay of light as it filtered down from the nautilus-shaped skylight and the spacious floors below. A hundred million dollars well spent, she thought. Though the library rebuild had been controversial, she rather enjoyed the effect and the different types of people who meandered within. Although that included a few obviously homeless people huddled around the lobby, she liked that the library gave them shelter. No one hurried in a library, and that made her relax as she followed the pull of Cecil’s presence up to the Filipino American Center on the third floor.
So far this morning, the small section had only one living occupant. He sat at a table with a stack of books. He smiled at Zoë when she entered, giving her a slightly puzzled look. She grinned back, knowing she looked anything but Filipina. Cecil sulked in the corner nearest the men’s room. He gave her a sour nod.
Zoë walked to the shelf nearest him. “Hi, Cecil,” she whispered.
“Hmph,” he grumbled.
“Cecil, it’s been years. You’re still upset?” Zoë spoke as quietly as she could, trying to appear as though she was reading something aloud from a book she had gotten off a nearby shelf.
“They could have fixed the old one,” he said.
“Cecil. You know why they rebuilt the library. Quit being such a baby. It’s really very nice.”
“Nice? Nice! How about I tear down your house and build some big, gaping monstrosity of so-called modern design in its place. New people will come in and tread all over, moving your favorite books, which you can’t even find anymore.” His upper-class English accent made the rant impossible to take seriously. She didn’t know why, but it did. Besides, he’d had ages to get used to the new place.
“I know, Cecil. It must be hard.”
“And anyway, why don’t you come visit me anymore? You used to come all the time.”
“I’m sorry, Cecil. I tend to read eBooks a lot more these days.”
“Eee books,” he said, the disgust thick in his tone as though she’d told him she’d become a rock n’ roll groupie. “Zoë, my dear, those aren’t books at all.”
She fought the grin that tugged at her mouth. Cecil didn’t like being laughed at, but she couldn’t help it. The shuffle of papers reminded her someone else was in the room, and she glanced over her shoulder to find the other occupant of the room trying very hard not to stare at her.
“I need a favor.”
“Oh,” Cecil said, throwing his arms up dramatically. “You don’t come for over a year, and now you want something. Isn’t that grand?”
Zoë decided to ignore his attitude and just ask. “Remember me telling you about Henry? The, um, guy that lives,” she lowered her voice even further, “in the boiler room at my work?”
“Ah, yes,” Cecil said. “The railroad worker. You told me.” His tone was heavy with disdain.
“Um, has anyone come around asking about him? Or me?”
Cecil’s misty eyes narrowed. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Just, have they?”
“No. I haven’t talked to a living human since the last time you were here. There’s a disturbing lack of sensitives lately. I used to get seen quite frequently. Probably people of any taste won’t come into this horrifying excuse for a library anymore.”
Zoë put back her book and selected another, opening it to a random page. A thought occurred to her. “Cecil, why do you stay here, if you hate it so much?” She watched the spirit closely, afraid for a moment he would fade out. Spirits could be touchy.
“I can’t leave,” he said finally, sniffing as though he still had the snuff habit he’d acquired in life.
“Why not?”
“Zoë, don’t be ridiculous. I can’t.”
She stared at him. “Do you even know why you can’t leave?”
A troubled expression passed over Cecil’s narrow face. “This is my home,” he said, but uncertainty riddled his voice.
“Are you bound by an object?” she persisted.
“You impertinent girl.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Henry is missing, and I have no idea where to look.” She turned around to see the man at the table now openly staring, so she gave him an apologetic shrug. Without a word, he gathered his books and papers and left, probably thinking a table in General Collections sounded good right about now. Zoë rolled her eyes. People could be so intolerant, she thought.
Cecil scratched his chin absently. “I see,�
�� he said, and then as though discussing something shameful, stepped closer and whispered in her ear. The chill of his nearness crept over her skin. “When the old library was destroyed, I found myself pulled back to England. I hadn’t been there long, in my life, so the tie was not strong. But when the rebuild finished, I was here again. Disgusting,” he added.
“I have heard,” Zoë said, choosing her words carefully, “Of spirits being bound by objects as well as places.”
“Necromancy,” Cecil spat, flinging himself away from her. “I heard about your encounter.”
Zoë wondered how spirits knew things when they hardly behaved as though they were interested in each other, or left the places they normally lived.
“Is it true you speak with angels?” he said.
She nodded and looked away. After a pause she said, “Cecil, can you tell me anything that would help me find Henry?”
He considered her carefully, as though weighing options. “Calling a spirit is unwise, Zoë. It is too close to the black arts, and you may do injury to yourself or to the spirit you wish to call.” He held up a hand to stave off her budding protests. “However, if you have something which belonged to the person when they were living, you may be able to enhance your own abilities, assuming he’s still even in this plane. Henry will likely be someplace of significance to him in his mortal existence, or near an object of consequence. Do you know his descendants?”
Zoë shook her head. “I don’t think he had any. I can try to find out for sure though.”
“That would be a place to start.”
“Thank you, Cecil.” She put the book back on the shelf.
“It was a pleasure to see you again, Zoë.” Cecil gave her a stiff bow.
“Cecil,” she said slowly, without making eye contact, “Do you know anything about chaos weapons or Stalkers?”
Cecil’s embodiment vibrated with excitement. “You have seen such a thing?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you have it with you?” Something in his eyes gleamed greedily.
“No,” she lied. An uncomfortable shiver passed through her body.
“Then no, I don’t know anything,” he said and flickered out of sight.
Zoë stared at the place Cecil had been for a few moments and then looked around to see if anyone had observed the last part of her conversation. The area was still empty, much to her relief. Pausing briefly, she collected herself and then returned downstairs, and went out the Larkin Street Entrance on the second floor.
On the drive home, Zoë considered her options. If she needed something that had belonged to Henry, or to go someplace that had been important to him, she had no idea where to start. The internet was as good a place as any. She’d helped Simone track down information about potential boyfriends before, so maybe it would hold the key to learning something about Henry’s life and family.
Because she didn’t own a computer, she made her way to an internet café close to home, and soon she settled in with a latte in front of a Wi-Fi enabled machine. She pulled a notepad from her purse and began to browse. The first bit of discouraging news was that “Henry Dawkins” was a more common name than she had thought possible. Artists, British Members of Parliament, surgeons and boatloads of regular folks, both living and dead, had shared that name. Damn.
Refining the search with the names of towns and cities he’d mentioned in his stories yielded nothing more. An hour of scouring dozens of websites left her with either too many possibilities or none at all. She was getting nowhere, and she needed someone who knew more about this than she did.
She pulled out her cellphone and hit the speed-dial for Simone. “Hey,” she said quietly when her friend picked up. “How was the big date?” Details poured out. Zoë laughed as Simone described the way Dustin danced and commiserated when she learned he hadn’t even kissed Simone goodnight. Apparently it had been more of an ‘awkward hug’ parting, but Simone hadn’t yet given up hope.
“Listen,” Zoë said as she gathered up her things to go, aware of the annoyance of café patrons around her, “Remember telling me your Uncle Shel was obsessed with genealogy?”
“Hell, yes,” Simone said. “He actually wanted me go to some old cemetery with him. I think he was hoping I’d pick up the baton for the family history. I said no thanks.”
“Do you think he’d look something up for me? I need to find if someone has some living descendants.”
“I’m sure he’d be thrilled. He loves a good family mystery. What’s the name?”
“Henry Dawkins,” Zoë said, throwing her purse into her car and sitting down behind the wheel.
A pause filled the line. “You’re serious?” And then, “Sure, okay, no problem.”
Zoë could tell Simone was covering for an inability to deal with things spiritual and unseen, bless her. If the positions had been reversed, she hoped she would be as open-minded as Simone at least tried to be. “Thanks, Simone. I don’t know if he was born in San Francisco, but he died probably very near here, maybe even in San Mateo where Fiskers sits now. He worked for the Pacific Railroad Company at one time and also in a mining town at Lament, California.”
“Lamont?”
“No, Lament. As in ‘crying’.” Zoë spelled it. “It was between Sacramento and Lake Tahoe.”
“Lament. That sounds ominous. Why would anyone name a town something like that?”
Zoë sighed. “I have no idea.” She said her goodbyes, thanking Simone again for helping her with her research.
Heading home, Zoë tried to formulate a plan. Shel’s research should help with the possibility of descendants, so now she had to tackle the other prong: finding a place significant to Henry’s life. She had no idea where exactly Henry had worked for the Railroad, except that he had been a stake-driver. The idea of finding a precise location seemed remote, at best, considering he’d worked his way over miles and miles of California. She figured there was likely a Railway museum in San Francisco somewhere, but there was no way they’d have anything of significance to one person.
Lament, California was over two hours away, but a drive sounded like fun, and she had the entire weekend with no commitments. It wasn’t like she expected her new maybe-boyfriend to call and ask her out again. Did she want him to? If she was honest, yes, she most certainly did, and not because of the toe-curling sex. Well, not only because of the toe-curling sex.
When Zoë arrived home, she parked on Guerrero Street and waved at Mrs. Paez, who was outside fussing with some plants on her porch.
“How’s that nice young man of yours?” Mrs. Paez was beaming at her like a wistful elderly aunt.
“He’s doing great,” Zoë said.
“Seeing him again then?”
Zoë grinned. “I hope so, Mrs. Paez.” She waved again and made her way indoors before her neighbor could ask any more questions. She liked that she had a neighbor who cared. Up to a point.
She threw snacks, bottles of water, a road atlas and a few CDs into a rucksack. A road trip sounded like fun, she thought, but she sort of wished she wasn’t going alone. It took a moment before she even let herself go upstairs and fetch the stone Alexander had given her. She could think of ten reasons to try to put this angel stuff behind her, as soon as Henry was back where he belonged and cleared of Kent’s death, that is. And not an overwhelming quantity of reasons sprang to mind in favor of seeing more of him.
He was hot in bed, but she didn’t want that to be the deciding factor. Maybe she’d never met anyone so celestially hot. But you can’t have everything, she thought. As much as her brain filled up with cons, the one pro outweighed them all: she really liked him, and she couldn’t help herself. He accepted what she was without question or disbelief, and maybe that wasn’t the best reason to be with a guy, but it wasn’t too shabby a place to start.
She turned the stone over in her hand and considered. “I can always take it with me, and decide once I get there.” It wasn’t as though Alexander would have any difficulty
meeting her there. The dark stone felt smooth in her fingers, and she could almost detect his scent on its faintly striated surface.
A loud banging sounded at her front door. She stuffed the rock in her pocket and ran to answer it. She saw a male form through the stained glass of the front door. Her heart beat faster as she rushed to open it.
Alexander stood there, with a faint smile on his lips. “You called me,” he said.
It was all Zoë could do not to respond, “I did?” She’d figured she would have to say his name or…what? Dammit, she told herself, life was too short to throw away a chance like this. She hesitated only a moment before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her slightly off the floor and walked in, all the while engrossed in her lips.
“Are you sure no one saw you whoosh in?” she asked and then realized that might sound as though she was ashamed of him coming to see her. Fortunately, he didn’t look offended.
He grinned. “I can be unseen if I want to.”
“Really?” Of course, that made sense. “I wonder if I can sense your presence when you are invisible. Let’s try,” she said and stood back.
“Okay.”
After a moment, she said, “Well?”
“Well?” he repeated, cocking his head to the side. His skin had taken on a slightly bluish tint, and for a moment, she feared he was going to transform, but nothing happened.
“Do your thing.”
“I am.” A frown crinkled his forehead. “You can see me?”
She nodded. “You sure you’re doing it right?”
Alexander looked up at the ceiling. “Yes.”
Zoë shrugged, “At least now I know you can’t sneak up on me.” She tiptoed up to kiss him lightly on the lips, and when he still frowned said, “Anyway, I was going on a road trip today out to Lament. You’d said you wanted to come, but then, last night was kind of weird. I mean the ending. Not the sex part. The sex part wasn’t weird. I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to. Or what. But if you want to come, you can.” Shut up already. Jeez.
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