by Meg Benjamin
“I know who you are,” he blurted. “My great-grandmother, Siobhan Riordan.”
She nodded slowly. “Of course.”
“Can you help us?”
She shrugged. He could see her more clearly now. The sharp face and piercing eyes. More piercing than they’d seemed in Emma’s photograph.
“Why didn’t she attack the Hamptons?” It wasn’t the question he’d meant to ask. Maybe the dream had its own logic.
“I cleansed the house.” She gave him a smile that was just a flexing of her lips. “For a fee.”
“Grunewald?”
“The father. He wasn’t entirely a fool.”
“But you didn’t get rid of her.”
She shook her head. “No. Just put her down.”
He blew out a breath. “What is it? What’s holding her there?”
Her thin lips closed tight. Then she shrugged again. “Something of his.”
“Livingston?”
She nodded.
“What? What is it?” Frustration burned in his belly. “Just tell me, damn it!”
That piercing gaze turned on him again. She stared for a long moment. “She can find it. Listen to her,” she said finally. “Listen to her.”
“Emma? Listen to Emma?”
“Listen and protect. Take care of her.”
“Take care?” He stepped toward her. “Why? What’s going to happen?”
But as he watched, the mists seemed to close in again, obscuring her face.
“Wait,” he called. “Wait a minute. You need to tell me.”
“Ray?”
He blinked, looking up in darkness.
Emma leaned over him, frowning slightly. “Ray? You were talking in your sleep. Are you all right?”
He groaned, rubbing a hand across his face. He’d seldom felt less all right than he did at that particular moment. But there wasn’t much he could do about it. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
She slid down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.
He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. A lot of his world might seem crappy right now, but at least he had this, he had Emma.
For the moment.
He gritted his teeth. He’d have to figure out a way to do something about that, to get her to stay a little longer when this whole séance thing was over—maybe a lot longer. But right now she was here, soft and warm in his arms. And right now, that was all he could ask.
Chapter 20
Gabrielle texted at nine the next morning, giving Emma her arrival time that afternoon, which was two days earlier than Emma had expected her.
She ran through a litany of excuses in her mind, reasons she could give to convince Gabrielle to stay in Houston for at least a few more days. But she knew that none of them would work in the end. Gabrielle was headed their way and there was no stopping her, sort of like a hurricane. Ergo, they needed to find a way to get rid of the succubus before Gabrielle started holding séances in the dining room. If they didn’t, they’d probably end up with a séance that was a lot more dramatic than anybody had bargained for.
Emma was still shaken up by what had happened at the house yesterday afternoon, although she was trying not to think about it. The attack, Ray’s rescue, Ray’s explanation. All of it swirled around in her head like a dust devil. And judging from his expression as he poured his breakfast coffee, something else must have happened later. He sat brooding at the kitchen table, which was never a good sign.
She tucked her phone back in the pocket of her jeans. Jeans she’d have to pack away since Gabrielle demanded that her assistant look professional at all times, even though her definition of professional seemed to be aggressively unattractive. Emma grimaced. She liked the jeans and T-shirt. She’d forgotten what being comfortable felt like.
She’d almost forgotten what she herself looked like when she wasn’t being Gabrielle’s shadow.
She took a breath. “That was Gabrielle. She’s going to be here this afternoon.”
Ray frowned. “Today? I thought we had more time than that.”
“So did I, but apparently not. She’s decided to come down early.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She’ll probably tell me when she gets here.”
“Any way to head her off?”
Emma shook her head. “Not that I can think of. And believe me, I’ve been thinking hard for the last five minutes.”
He sighed. “Okay, that gives us one more morning to work at the house. Maybe you can go through some more of the stuff in the storeroom. I’m going to ward the dining room before she gets there.”
Emma frowned. “Ward it? Ward it how?”
“Same way I warded the bedroom, by pounding some steel nails into the doorjambs. It kept the succubus out in the hall outside the bedroom yesterday—I figure it’ll work in the dining room too.”
She poured herself a cup of coffee. “At least that’s probably better than what we’ve got now, which is nothing. Let’s hope Gabrielle doesn’t call up anything else accidentally during the séance. It would be trapped in there. Maybe with us.”
“Let’s hope.” He set down his cup, staring at the cold coffee for a moment. “I had another dream last night.”
She licked her lips. “Nightmare?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly. Great-grandma again.”
Terrific. They should have known that Siobhan would have something to say about all of this. “What did she tell you this time?”
“Seems she was responsible for putting down the succubus the first time. Alexander Grunewald hired her to cleanse the house.”
“Alexander? He knew there was something in the house?”
Ray shrugged. “Apparently. Maybe he just thought it was Amina Becker’s ghost.”
Emma shivered. She pictured the succubus in the guise of Amina Becker coming on to Alexander Grunewald. “I guess that explains how Siobhan could talk to you in the Hampton house, then. She’s connected to it too.”
He sighed again. “Just another Riordan family project, I guess.”
“But it means Siobhan wasn’t successful with the cleansing since the succubus is still around. Is that why she’s so concerned with what we’re doing—she feels guilty about not getting rid of the succubus in the first place?” In fact, Emma had a hard time picturing Siobhan feeling guilty about anything, but maybe this was a first.
Ray shook his head. “She was successful as far as putting it out of commission until we stirred it up. That puts her ahead of us. Maybe she didn’t have the means to destroy it completely.”
Emma sank back in her seat at the kitchen table, letting the coffee cup warm her cool hands. “What about cleansing it now? Did she have any suggestions?”
He shook his head again. “She didn’t tell me anything new. The thing that ties the succubus to the house is something of Livingston’s, but we already knew that.” He raised his gaze to hers, his warm brown eyes troubled. “She said to listen to you. And to take care of you.”
“To me?” Emma blinked. “I don’t know anything.”
“Maybe you do without being aware of what you know. Or maybe you don’t know anything now, but you will.”
She blew out a breath. “Just what I need, a little more pressure. I better get packed.”
“Packed?” His eyes widened. “You’re leaving? Why?”
“Because Gabrielle’s coming back.”
“What does that have to do with where you live? She doesn’t stay with you, does she?”
“No, but . . .” She paused, trying to put it together. “I guess I just assumed that my staying here was a short-term thing. You know, until Rosie got back. Or Gabrielle.” She ignored the slight ache around her heart. Time to get real.
He c
aught her hand, pulling her closer. “Don’t leave, Emma. Stay here. With me.” He gave her a faint smile. “I need to take care of you. Great-grandma said so.”
She started to tell him all the reasons she should head back to her motel room, but suddenly her mind went blank. What were those reasons, anyway? Why should she leave? Did she want to?
Well, no.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Good.” He blew out a long breath. “One less thing to worry about. Let’s head back to the house.”
She spent the rest of the morning clearing out junk in the storeroom. And it was junk, for the most part—junk that had nothing to do with the Grunewalds or Amina Becker. As she dug through and discarded the stuff that was left, she stacked more boxes of trash in the hall for Ray to carry outside when he got the chance.
She heard him hammering for most of the morning. There were three doors in the dining room, two to the main hall and one to the kitchen. He seemed to be filling all three doorjambs with steel nails. If Gabrielle wore anything magnetic, they’d probably have to pry her loose with a crowbar.
Emma dug through the last carton. Like the others, it was full of Hampton memorabilia—high school yearbooks, photo albums, certificates from long-forgotten golf tournaments. She felt around the edges, looking for anything that might constitute a remnant of Livingston Grunewald being a murderer, and found nothing but dead silverfish.
Maybe they were symbolic of Livingston, but they weren’t exactly what she was looking for.
At noon, she dusted her hands and headed back to the dining room. “I need to go back to the house and get cleaned up before I pick up Gabrielle. She’ll probably want to come back here this afternoon.”
He nodded. “I’ll give you a key to Rosie’s place. I’ve got this room as secure as I can make it, but see if you can talk Gabrielle into doing some of the filming during the day. Or outside, if she needs to stand around at night. The less time she spends in here the better.”
Emma grimaced. Asking Gabrielle to do something in a certain way almost guaranteed that she wouldn’t do it. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He stepped next to her, his hand outstretched. “Here. Put these in your pocket or something.”
She stared down at the small pile of nails. “Why?”
His jaw hardened. “Protection. You might need them.”
Her throat tightened as she thought of Ray stabbing the succubus the previous afternoon. Somehow the nails seemed puny in comparison to the threat.
“Just take them, Emma,” he said gently. “It’ll make me feel better if nothing else.”
She nodded slowly, tucking the nails into her jeans pocket. Maybe she could put them in her purse when she changed. “I’ll see you later. Stay safe.”
On an impulse she went up on her toes, brushing her lips across his cheek. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that left her breathless.
“You too,” he murmured. “You too.”
***
Ray wasn’t sure what was wrong with him exactly. He was pretty sure he was losing it, at least on some level. He didn’t want to let Emma out of his sight. When she left to pick up Gabrielle, he had to reassure himself that she’d be all right without him.
Hell, she’d probably be safer than he would, given that she wouldn’t be in the Hampton house for the rest of the day. At least he’d managed to dissuade her from moving out of Rosie’s house. For the moment.
Protect her. Take care of her. It wasn’t like Great-grandma had to tell him to do that—he was already pretty much obsessed with that part of the job.
He checked his handiwork on the doors in the dining room. The crisscross of nails looked decorative, so maybe nobody would notice them. Around noon, the delivery truck arrived from the antique store and he helped the driver wrestle the heavy oak table into the center of the room, then carry the rejected table back to the truck. The new table did look suitably medieval.
It also looked pretty barren considering that they had no other furniture in the room to go with it. He wondered what Emma planned to do for chairs. There were a few scattered around the house, but he wasn’t sure how well they’d fit with the table.
He carried the last of the trash out to the front curb for pickup, glancing up the stairs to the darkened upper floor as he did so. Even though he knew the succubus was too weak to attack during the day, it still made his skin crawl to think of her hanging around up there. Waiting.
He didn’t know what time Gabrielle’s plane got in, but he hoped it was early. He really didn’t want to have to fight the demon off for two evenings straight.
Emma’s car pulled up in the driveway a few minutes after three. Gabrielle climbed out of the passenger side, shaking her curls.
“Oh dear, I’d forgotten how decrepit this place is. Not that being decrepit rules out spirits, of course, but I’d remembered it as being more picturesque. I’m just not sure about this, Emma. Not sure at all. But of course it’s far too late to change. Perhaps we can stage it a bit.”
Emma looked like she was gritting her teeth. Ray assumed she must look like that a lot around Gabrielle. She was wearing one of those navy blue suits again. She might as well have been wearing overalls since it had the same effect, along with her subdued hair and careful makeup. He hadn’t realized how much he preferred her jeans and T-shirts and loose curls until now.
“It’s a great example of early twentieth-century architecture, Gabrielle,” she said. “And it’s in the most historic neighborhood in San Antonio. We’ll be able to do lots of great background shots.”
“Perhaps.” Gabrielle sighed.
She wandered up the stairs to the front porch, the picture of resigned dejection. Ray held the front door open for her. Gabrielle gave him a shrewd look, assessing then dismissing him. She’d apparently decided not to come on to him this time. He wasn’t sure why she’d suddenly decided he wasn’t worth pursuing, but he wasn’t about to question his good luck.
Thank God for small favors.
“You remember Mr. Ramos, Gabrielle. He owns the house.” Emma’s teeth were definitely gritted this time.
Gabrielle gave him a vague nod. “A pleasure,” she murmured, then walked by him into the side room.
“Well, this is a disaster.” She shook her head sadly, examining the stripped floors and walls. “We can’t shoot here.”
“We weren’t planning to. We’re using the dining room for the séance, and the parlor’s in good shape if you want to use it. Down here.” Emma walked past her to the hall.
After a moment, Gabrielle sighed and followed her to the dining room.
She walked into the middle of the space, her arms folded, doing a quick survey. Ray did one of his own. It wasn’t great—it needed paint and the woodwork needed to be refinished—but it wasn’t all that bad. Compared to the other rooms, it was pretty good.
Gabrielle attempted to furrow her suspiciously smooth forehead. “We can’t use an empty room, Emma dear. Where’s all the furniture?”
“The house is being renovated, Gabrielle. There isn’t any furniture yet. I rented this table for us yesterday because you didn’t like the first one.” Emma stroked her fingers across the tabletop, walking in a slow circle. “I think it looks really great in here, but now we’ll need some chairs. Maybe I can rent some from the same antique store.”
Gabrielle sighed again. At this rate she’d be short of breath soon. “Chairs are only the beginning, I’m afraid. We need other furniture—a breakfront or a china cabinet with plates. Maybe a sofa or two. And we certainly need to get something on these walls because they look naked.”
“I don’t know how much more furniture we can squeeze in here. The room really isn’t that big.”
“Well, do what you can. And be sure to fix the walls. I cannot do a séance without atmosphere. Ba
re walls would be the kiss of death.”
Ray refrained from making any comments about death and séances. He figured he was already skating pretty close to losing his contract with American Medium. He wondered if that would be such a bad thing. Probably no worse than letting the succubus have Gabrielle.
“We can find pictures for the walls.” Emma did a quick turn, checking out the space. “There are some in the storeroom here. They fit the period of the house.”
Gabrielle looked faintly annoyed. “I’m not concerned about whether they fit the period or not. Just make sure there’s something up here by tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night.” Ray folded his arms across his chest to keep from giving Gabrielle’s shoulders a solid shake.
She nodded. “Tomorrow night we’ll shoot this segment.” She turned toward the windows. “Oh my, that’s a great dead tree out there in the backyard. Tell Willis I want him to be sure to get it in some shots.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Emma nodded mechanically. “Gabrielle, have you considered shooting in the afternoon instead? The light’s much better in this room. That dead tree looks really spooky in afternoon light and it won’t be nearly as effective at night. It won’t stand out.”
“Have a séance during the day? Absolutely not. We need the darkness for atmosphere. We can start in the late afternoon—that way we can get lots of shots of the tree as the light changes. The twilight should be perfect.”
Twilight. Hell. Ray glanced at Emma, but he kept his mouth shut—if she couldn’t convince Gabrielle to avoid the night shooting, he figured he’d have even less chance of doing it.
“Well, but . . .” Emma gazed around the room somewhat desperately. “We could make it atmospheric. I mean, just look at the shadows in the yard.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Emma. The subject is closed.” Gabrielle’s voice lost some of its artificial sweetness. “Get some pictures up on those walls and some other furniture in this room before tomorrow. Now you need to get me back to the hotel. I have a dinner date.”
