Tree's eyes widened. "You can see me, too?"
Val nodded.
Tree blew out a breath. "Shit. And here I always thought you were just..." She stopped. Her eyes slid back to Lena. "You're really here to help?"
Lena inclined her head. "I'm really here to help."
"Shit." Tree let out a heavy sigh. "Thing is, I don't remember much. Jimmy an' me was supposed to get breakfast together that morning, but he never showed. Didn't answer his door, neither. So I left, hit the corner on Market, racked up about fifteen bucks in spare change. I was heading back here to rest a bit, then... I dunno. Nothing."
Lena leaned forward. "Were you attacked?"
"Don't remember." Tree tightened her arms around her knees. "But when I woke up, it was cold. Dark." She shivered. "There was this table with all sorts of different knives on it, like in the serial killer movies, you know? An' a bunch of other shit."
MacMillian shifted in the doorway. Lena ignored him. "What kind of shit?"
"Dunno. Weird shit. Like bones and rocks and fucking nasty-looking bottles of," she swallowed hard, "stuff." She shivered again. "I was tied down. Couldn't really move to get a good look around, you know?"
Lena winced. "Of course not."
Tree's eyes started to shimmer. "Saw Jimmy, though. Fuck, I wish I hadn't. He was already dead and... and..." She shook her head and swiped at her eyes. "Fuck. Not how I wanted to remember him, you know?"
Lena didn't answer.
Tree shrugged. "Then it was done. Over. Like I just blacked out, an' when I woke up, I was here. Half convinced myself it was all just a bad dream, only nobody seemed to see me. Tried talking to Luther, an' he walked right through me. Right fuckin' through me."
Lena's brow furrowed. "Can you remember anything else about where you were? Smells? Sounds?"
Tree gnawed on her lip. "Not really, I just, I thought it must be underground."
Lena raised her eyebrows. "Why do you say that?"
"Dunno. The ceiling." Val shifted, lowered her knees until she was sitting cross-legged. "Could've sworn I heard traffic above the ceiling. And buzzing, kinda like street car lines." She thought some more. "Chinese food. It smelled like Chinese food. Good Chinese food, you know? Reminded me I hadn't eaten yet."
Street car lines? Chinese food? Lena exchanged glances with MacMillian. His face was predictably blank. It only drove home what she was finally coming to accept.
They were wasting their time.
She got to her feet and turned to face Tree. "Well, thanks for talking to me. If there's nothing else-"
"I was pregnant, you know."
Lena stopped in her tracks. Tree was staring out the bay window again. "Six weeks. That's what Jimmy an' I were supposed to talk about that morning. I was gonna tell him." She looked back at them. The raw anguish in her eyes made Lena's throat close. "What do you think happens to a baby when it...you know..."
Lena sat back down. For once, she was at a loss. Beside her, Val's eyes were suspiciously bright. She took a deep breath, then another, finally said the only thing she could think of. "Would you like me to help you move on?"
Tree sucked down a shaky breath. A streak of light trickled down her cheek. "Would I get to be with my baby?"
How was she supposed to answer that? Lena found herself nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, I think you would."
Tree's face softened. Some of the tension left her shoulders. "Then let's do it."
Lena reached out and laid her hand over the other woman's nonphysical one. Tree closed her eyes.
Nothing.
Tree opened her eyes again.
Val's forehead creased. "Was something supposed to happen?"
MacMillian straightened from his position against the door frame. Lena pulled her hand back, looked from him to Val. "I don't understand. This has never..."
She laid her hand over Tree's again, this time poured all her focus and intent into her task. A dull ache formed behind her temples. White specks flashed across her vision.
She held her position for as long as she could, finally jerked her hand back again. Nausea rolled in her stomach. She put her head between her knees.
MacMillian's boots swam into her field of vision. "Easy. Just take it easy."
The concern in his voice warmed an unfamiliar place inside her. Lena took one deep, fortifying breath after another. Finally, the world stopped spinning. She started to sit up. The outer edges of her vision darkened again.
"Jesus. I said take it easy." MacMillian caught her shoulder and slowly guided her to a sitting position. Lena blinked up at his face. Concern made his eyes look almost black.
She started to speak. He beat her to it. "What the hell happened?"
Her head was still throbbing. She reached up and massaged the area between her eyes. "I tried to move her on. It didn't work."
"Didn't work?" MacMillian took his hand back, rubbed it absently. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know." Yet another question she didn't have an answer for. She turned to Tree. "I'd like you to come with me, just for now. Just until we figure out what's going on around here."
Tree stiffened. "Where?"
"Someplace safe." Lena glanced at Val. She'd never expected to find herself hoping for the other woman's vote of confidence.
Val nodded. "It's okay, Tree baby. They're cool. Ananushka'ta told me so."
Lena floundered. "Ana-who?"
Val drew her shoulders back and looked at her like it was obvious. "My spirit-guide."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"You're kidding, right?"
The Caprice soared over yet another dip in the road. MacMillian tried not to twitch as Lena's leg bumped his prosthesis yet again. Cyrus's backseat definitely wasn't big enough for the two of them.
Ever so subtly, she shifted her knee away from his. "I'm sure it's not as bad as it sounds."
Cyrus snorted. "Really? How do you figure?" He held up the hand that wasn't on the wheel and started counting on his fingers. "Someone's turned Jimmy into the fucking Manchurian Candidate. His girlfriend's been murdered-"
"With others."
"If you believe the crackpot bag lady in 4C." Cyrus glowered into the rearview mirror. "Which, by the way, is another thing. Did I miss the memo that said we're listening to the nutcases now?" He didn't give her a chance to respond. "From what this girlfriend described of her murder site, it sounds like we're dealing with some kind of black magic. Awesome. And then there's this whole not-moving-on business." He blew out a breath. "Seriously, do you two have any news that doesn't suck?"
Lena winced.
Cyrus caught it in the mirror. "Fucking perfect." He stomped on the accelerator. The Caprice shot forward.
MacMillian stared out the window and tried to ignore the little pinch each time his socket dug into his groin. It was a minor discomfort compared to the burn in his chest each time he thought about everything he'd just witnessed. He had never felt so useless on one of his own cases before. Criminals, he could deal with. Street people, addicts, tranny hookers; he had a plan and a backup plan for each and every one.
But ghosts? When it came to ghosts, he was out of his league.
He hated it.
None of them spoke the rest of the drive. Cyrus eased the Caprice up the narrow driveway, to a garage that didn't look remotely Victorian. He opened the glove box and clicked an invisible remote. The door slid open with a mechanical groan, and Cyrus drove inside.
The next few minutes were a blur of activity. Backpacks were removed from the trunk, coats hung up, shoes dredged clean on the mud mat in front of the house door.
MacMillian soon found himself shepherded into what he guessed was the family's private parlor. The room was small, a jumble of damask and velvet, of busts, trinkets, and old family photos. The combined effect somehow managed to be both stately and exceedingly comfortable.
Lena and Cyrus flopped onto an ancient-looking couch with twin sighs. MacMillian hesitated, then perched on the edge of an equally ancient-lo
oking armchair. "So, where does this leave us?"
Cyrus raised a hand, let it fall back down to his knee. "If you're having any brilliant thoughts, now would be the time to share."
MacMillian rubbed his chin. "Maybe we should go back to what Tree told us. That is, about where she was killed."
Lena groaned. "Right. Traffic and street car lines. That was helpful."
"Don't forget Chinese food."
Cyrus shook his head. "That still doesn't tell us anything. Every neighborhood in the city has a Chinese restaurant. Hell, even Bayview has five."
MacMillian and Lena both stared at him. He shrugged. "I like Chinese food."
"Okay." MacMillian steepled his fingers on the head of his cane. Anticipation rose in his chest. Lena and Cyrus Alan might have an advantage over him when it came to hunting ghosts, but this was where he excelled. This part of the game was all about patterns. He saw patterns. Always had.
He leaned forward. "You're looking at this all wrong."
Lena and Cyrus gave him matching blank looks.
"Traffic. Street car lines. Chinese food. You're thinking of each thing as separate, isolated." He shrugged. "When you do it that way, you're right. By themselves, none of them have any significance."
Lena leaned forward too. "So you're suggesting..."
MacMillian nodded. "Exactly. Start with one, then build on it. The traffic, for instance." He pursed his lips. "Could be anywhere in the city. So let's toss in the Chinese food."
Cyrus sat up a little straighter. "Still could be anywhere in the city."
MacMillian tapped his lip. "Then we add street car lines. Street cars don't run everywhere."
Lena's foot danced against the dark carpet. "He's right. There are only three lines in the entire city. Powell-Mason starts on Market Street at the turntable, runs over Nob Hill, and stops at Fisherman's Wharf. Powell-Hyde starts at the turntable too, and also goes over Nob Hill, but it ends near Ghirardelli Square."
MacMillian and Cyrus stared at her. She looked from one of them to the other. "What?"
MacMillian blew out a breath. "Okay, then. What's the last one?"
"The California Line. Goes from the Financial District to Van Ness. Over Nob Hill, right through..." She trailed off. Her eyes widened. "Right through Chinatown."
Cyrus sat bolt upright. "But that's too... I mean, there's still plenty of... Could that really...?"
MacMillian spread his hands. "Occam's Razor. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one."
The three of them sat silent for a few minutes.
Lena was the first to speak again. "So, what now?"
Cyrus rubbed his chin. "Good question."
MacMillian shifted. His leg was starting to dig into his groin. "We go to Chinatown, obviously. We get under the streets. And we look for this room."
Cyrus snorted. "Well, of course. Let's just do that."
"It's possible." MacMillian stood, couldn't quite stifle a small breath of relief. "I'll bet it's not even that difficult, if our man is able to get down there dragging a likely-unconscious person."
He paced back and forth, silently rejoicing as the pressure from his socket melted away. Only Lena seemed to notice. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't mention it.
He spun on his cane and paced the other way. "Chinatown covers a few blocks, but there can't be that many entrances to the underground, especially ones that fit that criteria."
Cyrus nodded slowly. "All right then. Tomorrow, Lena and I will go to Chinatown and check things-"
"Hold on just a second." MacMillian turned and fixed the other man in his sights. "You and Lena? What am I supposed to do?"
Cyrus raised his hands. "Look, man, I wasn't going to mention it, but you don't seem to be firing on both pistons, you know what I mean? Now, it's none of my business, but-"
"But, what? You're curious?" MacMillian tapped his cane against the metal pylon of his prosthesis. A dull clang resonated through his pants leg. "About this? Wondering how functional I am?"
Lena's eyes were glued to the floor. Cyrus took a deep breath and spoke carefully. "We can't be constantly looking out for you. Especially not underground. Especially when we don't know what we're up against."
It was a reasonable argument, but it chafed nonetheless. MacMillian squared his shoulders. "I don't need to be—how did you put it?—looked out for. I'm not a toddler. I can handle myself."
"That's great, but—"
"You're not leaving me behind." He forced the words through clenched teeth. "I don't know the kinds of people you're used to dealing with, but Vaspurkan's parents hired me to find their son. I don't just back out of a case. Not ever. Not for any reason."
Cyrus's eyes narrowed. MacMillian narrowed his right back. Cyrus opened his mouth to speak.
"I'm going with him."
It took MacMillian a moment to register Lena had spoken. Both he and Cyrus turned to her. Cyrus blinked. "What?"
MacMillian could only stare as Lena stood, moved around the coffee table in front of the couch and positioned herself beside him. "I said I'm going with him." She took in Cyrus's expression, and her face softened. "Look, you didn't see him today, okay? He was good. He had my back. If he says he can handle himself, I believe him."
MacMillian swallowed. A strange feeling rose in his chest. He had the sudden urge to say thank-you, but the words eluded him. He did the next best thing he could think of, and grazed the side of her hand with his fingertips. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. He shrugged.
Cyrus scowled. "Fine." He glared at MacMillian. "But if this goes to shit, don't expect me to carry your ass out."
MacMillian's lips peeled back in a snarl, but before he could think up a retort, a deep, guttural chime echoed off the parlor walls.
Lena breathed a blatant sigh of relief and swept around to the door. "Saved by the bell. I was about to asphyxiate on all the male hormones in here."
MacMillian let out a surprised bark of laughter. By then, Lena had disappeared into the hallway. Cyrus glared at him again, rose to his feet and followed. MacMillian smirked and trailed after them.
Outside the parlor was a short, dark hallway. MacMillian followed the sound of Cyrus's footsteps to a small door at the end. He pushed it open, and found himself in the front reception hall. He took a few more steps, and realized the door was set into the base of the immense staircase. Sunlight spilled through an oculus above the third-floor landing, and set the crystals in the chandelier blazing.
Just inside the front door stood two young men. Both were slender and wiry, both clothed head to toe in black. The one on the left had a wide-brimmed black fedora pulled low over his eyes. MacMillian paused under the shadow of the staircase.
"I thought you said you were going to visit more often." Lena pulled the man in the fedora in for a hug. Something itched at the base of MacMillian's throat. He shook off whatever it was as the man chuckled.
"Ah, you know how it is. Mysteries of the universe to protect, and all that."
MacMillian blinked.
The second man scowled. "Not to mention the energy barrier around this place." His words contained the barest hint of an Eastern European accent. "Honestly, why you won't let us install a labyrinth..."
Cyrus tensed, but then the first man jumped in. "Don't listen to Puzzle. He just doesn't have the stomach for mundane travel anymore." He winked at Lena. "Gets carsick."
The man called Puzzle snorted. "Do not." He lowered his voice and nodded toward MacMillian's hiding place. "You are aware we're not alone?"
Lena slapped a hand to her forehead. "Damn, I almost forgot." She turned towards the stairs and called, "Come on over, let me introduce you."
MacMillian reluctantly stepped out of the shadows and crossed the hall. The men in black watched his progress. He assessed them while he walked, and knew they were doing the same to him.
By the time he reached them, the skin on the back of his neck felt itchy. It wasn't often he met someone he couldn't read, much le
ss two at the same time. The man in the fedora looked pleasant enough, but the other one looked like a predator eying a possible meal. MacMillian returned his calculating stare with one of his own.
It soon became clear neither of them were going to be the first to look away. Lena cleared her throat, and hooked a hand through the first man's arm. "Emil, this is Mr. MacMillian. He's the private detective helping us out with this whole Jimmy situation."
MacMillian forced himself to return the man's nod. How much had she told them already?
Lena caught his eye. "MacMillian, meet Misha Kaslov—Puzzle—and Reverend Emil Stone. Emil and I grew up together."
MacMillian narrowed his eyes at the man in the fedora. Neither he nor his friend looked a day older than nineteen, at most. "You're a... minister?"
The man's lips twitched. "Of sorts."
Puzzle tugged his sleeve back and checked the utilitarian black watch strapped to his wrist. Sinewy muscles rippled in his forearm. "These introductions have been touching, but perhaps we could get back to why we're here..."
Emil rolled his eyes. "I swear, he's like a pit bull. Hopeless." He turned to Lena. "Might we move this to the library?"
"Of course." Lena motioned for them to follow, and led the way to one of the doors on the opposite side of the hall. MacMillian fell into step behind Cyrus, all too aware of Puzzle's presence at his back.
He'd never been in a house with an actual library before. Parquet floors amplified the sound of their footsteps as they filed in. Inside, a long, ornate wooden table practically bisected the room. Dark wooden bookshelves extended two stories to the coffered ceiling. A wrought iron catwalk ringed the entire second level, and a mammoth gaslight chandelier hung down the open center.
Lena stopped directly under it, in the epicenter of a strange, circular design inlaid in the floor. MacMillian drew in for a closer look. It reminded him of a Masonic symbol, the top-secret kind members would guard with their lives.
Ghost prisons, secret symbols; what kind of person lived in a place like this? He looked up at Lena, chattering brightly with the Reverend. Underneath the dresses, the artsy aprons, the fashion sunglasses, who the hell was this woman?
A World Apart (Shades Below, #1) Page 7
