by Linda Welch
“So you don’t know anything apart from what Avery said?”
“I wish.”
“This Dagka Shan, he scares you.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“When Avery gave Royal the message, you faded in and out and your voice went wobbly.”
“I’m not surprised. Shan is a devil and a message from him shocked me almost as much as his method of delivery. Maggie, I feel bad for getting you involved. If I’d known Shan was behind my shooting, I wouldn’t—”
“Really?” she said dubiously. “I think you would. I’m all you have. You wouldn’t have gotten this far without me.”
Royal handed the keys to Maggie. “Get in your car. I’ll check the cabin to make sure nothing implicates you and follow.”
“How? I don’t see another car.”
“Do not worry about it.”
I debated whether to tell her Royal sped from Clarion on foot, which is why he came back sooner than I expected. But how do you explain demon speed?
“Where do you want to go, your place or mine?” Royal asked.
I pictured Maggie’s parlor. “Tell him his,” I said quickly.
She frowned. “Why?”
“Just tell him. Don’t say anything else. We’ll talk later.”
She huffed, but told Royal, “Your place.”
Royal nodded. “228 Twenty-Second, above Bailey and Cognac. I will meet you there.”
Chapter Twelve
“Why can’t we go to my house?” Maggie changed gears as we reached a hairpin bend. “I could use a shower and change my clothes. I think I sweated clean through these.”
“Royal is skeptical of . . . um . . . the spirit world. He reluctantly believes in ghosts because he’s been forced to, but he’s not at all comfortable with it. If he saw your séance room, he’d think you’re duping people.”
“I am.”
“Yeah, but we don’t want him to know. It’ll destroy any credibility you build with him. And be careful what you say to me. Hearing you have conversations with yourself about things you shouldn’t know will make him suspicious. I don’t want to confuse him more than he already is.”
“He doesn’t have to go in my séance parlor.”
“He will anyway. Trust me, he’ll know every nook and cranny in your house better than you do in minutes.” The first thing Royal does in a place new to him is scope it out. Maybe not a government building for it’s guaranteed to rouse suspicion, positively a private residence.
We drove east, taking lesser used roads. Their icy condition made Maggie grip the steering wheel and grind her teeth.
“Another thing,” I said, “Royal has acute hearing, so don’t go whispering anything to me you’d sooner he didn’t hear.”
We came down from Nordic Meadow and I told Maggie to continue east. Reaching Clarion took longer, but the police would take the more direct route across the valley and not spot us on this road.
“So Mrs. Magnusen keeping Avery’s interest in backwoods survival a secret was a delaying tactic,” Maggie said. “She hoped to give Avery more time to get away.”
“Yep. The cops already looked at the cabin but missed the bunker. Anne knew they routinely dig into financials and track purchases and those might lead them to think he has a hideaway someplace. Perhaps they’d take another look at the cabin. Seeing the magazines, or a heads-up from a neighbor who saw them, might clue them in sooner.”
“How did he mean to escape? He doesn’t have a car.”
“No idea.”
“Suppose he hitched a ride to the lake? The cabin is near the resort and it has night skiing, plenty of skiers use these roads. But afterward. . . .”
“His choices were limited. The police are watching airports, bus and train stations, probably sent alerts to car rental agencies. I guess he could hitch across the country. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”
Five minutes later, Maggie said, “I know you’re not technically a ghost, but you are near enough. What’s it like?”
I watched the lake as we followed the east shore. “As if my life took a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. Only shades have physicality in an insubstantial world, when before it was the opposite. Perhaps it’s why we can feel aurae; they’re not part of the solid world.”
Did my voice leak sorrow, to make her say, “I’m sorry,” in a tiny voice?
“No, I’m sorry. I let it get to me every so often.”
“You’ll get back, Tiff.”
“I’m sure I will.” Yet why did a vision of Brenda Lithgow’s last moments as a shade blossom in my head? She looked so happy and peaceful, glowing with silver light. Will the light come for me? Will I welcome it?
No. Remaining this way until Avery Magnusen died was not an option. I was not dead, not a shade, I didn’t have to follow their rules.
What did Dagka Shan mean? Only blood and magic can bring your woman back.
Only Shan knew the answer.
We drove through Clarion to Royal’s apartment and our office. In the dusk, street lamps already glowed on Twenty-Second. The street still hummed with shoppers and early diners. Maggie found a parking spot a block from Royal’s place. Royal waited at the bottom of the enclosed stairwell to his apartment as Maggie wended between pedestrians. He stood aside to let her through. He relocked the gate and didn’t speak as he climbed the steps, expecting her to follow.
I went with Maggie, wishing I felt wrought-iron under my feet.
I knew she felt intimidated and perhaps apprehensive, and dying to say something for she opened her mouth twice, but firmly clamped it shut.
Royal unlocked the door to our office, ushered Maggie inside and came in after us.
He pointed at the client’s chair. “Sit.”
Maggie hesitated. Seeing Royal’s expression, I knew how she felt. His eyes were colder than the icicles hanging from the eaves outside.
Royal flipped the tail of his long burnished hair over his shoulder as he lowered to the seat behind the desk. He gestured at the chair again. “Please, sit.”
Maggie gingerly perched on the chair’s edge. I released her aura and took a few steps to determine I could move in the office.
“Now, Maggie Benson, tell me everything, from the beginning,” Royal said. He leaned his spine on the chair-back and crossed one leg on the other.
“Go ahead,” I told Maggie. “Tell him.”
So she began with me, Jack and Mel surfacing in her house. She said she was sensitive to spirits but didn’t mention her clairvoyant sideline. As she spoke, Royal’s face got stiffer, his mouth harder.
My, this was fun. Not.
Under his stern regard, Maggie began to struggle for words. I didn’t help when, “Hell in a hand-basket! I forgot Jack and Mel!” burst out of me.
Maggie came an inch off the chair.
“My bad,” I whispered. “I won’t say another word till you’re finished.”
How could I forget Jack at Clarion PD and Mel at the Magnusen home? I couldn’t go after them now. Man, I could expect a good chewing out when I saw them next.
Maggie finished, hands clasped so tightly the blood left her skin.
Eyes glued to Maggie’s face, Royal used a pencil and tapped the end on the desk. Oh, no, not the damn pencil. I’d been on the receiving end of his pencil action. The tap tap tap about drove me crazy.
“So Tiff is here now, with you?” he finally said. Tap.
She nodded.
“Tiff needed help and found you. How convenient.” Royal’s eyes closed to slits. “Maggie Benson, or should I call you Madam Magenta. Do you think claiming you communicate with a woman who formerly talked to the dead, a woman hanging on to life by a thread, a woman in the news, will enhance your dubious reputation?”
Maggie’s eyes widened, her hands unfolded to grasp the chair’s arms. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
Great.
Tap. “Did you think I believed what you said when we were in the cabin? I want you to begin agai
n, but this time tell me where you got your information.”
He did believe back at the cabin! I knew he did. But the interim between leaving the cabin and returning to us gave him time to think it through and come up with an explanation. Although it was virtually impossible, he’d decided Maggie had inside information.
Logic can often successfully be applied to the inexplicable but not this time. Royal knew where my roommates’ bodies lay; no one but we two knew Haney did see us in Portland. And no human being knew what happened when I went to Bel-Athaer to find Royal.
“Okay, Maggie, listen. Tell him I’m going to speak to him. Repeat what I say word for word. Don’t say anything else. Don’t argue with him. Let me do the talking. Nod if it’s okay.”
Maggie licked her lips and nodded. “Er, Mr. Mortensen? Tiff wants to talk to you.”
With a violent tap I’m surprised didn’t shatter the pencil, Royal leaned in, but I launched my attack before he said a word.
“Listen, Royal. This is me, Tiff. You don’t get to doubt me. You don’t get to deny me. I’m here and that’s all there is to it.
“So it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility Maggie hacked into the FBI database and read Haney’s file. But our trip to England, Carrie and the elemental I thought was a demon at first? Seriously? And what happened with my Uncle, no human being knows.”
Poor Mr. Pencil snapped in half between Royal’s fingers. “I can think of any number of ways you found your information which have nothing to do with clairvoyance.”
No he could not. He hoped persistence would eventually make Maggie crack, although I couldn’t guess what he expected her to admit to. “Huh. I suppose searching the internet told her all about Cicero and your sojourn in his dungeon. How about an addendum: You knew my history but kept it from me for years. You obeyed the Burning Man and ended in his clutches, and I came to find you. Does the name Hecate Bon Moragh ring a bell?”
Royal paled.
“Yeah, I came for you, your personal knight in shining armor. But no white charger for me, I rode pillion on Chris Plowman’s bike.”
I paused to let Maggie catch her breath. She did great, not only repeating my words but using the same inflection.
I changed tactics. I wanted to get him good and riled. “Chris asked me to go with him when he left Clarion.”
“I—”
“You watched us talking in the street and don’t pretend you didn’t listen with your super-duper hearing. Did he tell you he kissed me when we were in Bel-Athaer? How did it make you feel?”
He came halfway off the seat, leaning over with his hands gripping the edge of the desk. “You can guess how it made me feel.”
“No, I can’t. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Were he not my friend, I dread to think what I would have done.”
“Why? You knew it meant nothing to me, right?”
“It meant something to him.”
Although he didn’t see it, I smiled. I spoke softly and Maggie aped me. “Royal, listen to yourself. Who are you talking to?”
He stared at Maggie as if trying to see inside her. “I can’t believe—”
I fisted my hands. Agh! “Ryel Morté Tescién, if you say that one more time, I swear I’ll slap you to Kingdom Come.”
To me, Royal’s eyes truly are windows to the soul. They sparkle like sunlight on mica when he is elated or amused. When he is angry, they darken to a flat, dark bronze, or roil as if a storm boils in their depths. Now, looking into his eyes. I saw the light of hope.
His mouth worked, he wet his lips with his tongue. “Tiff?”
My voice gentled. “Yes, Royal.”
He thumped in the chair.
Maggie trapped her hands between her knees. After half a minute of silence, her heels started bopping up and down. She wanted to speak so badly and I gave her kudos for holding her tongue.
Royal abruptly got up, went to the door connecting the office and his apartment and opened it. “In there,” he told Maggie. “Close it behind you.”
“But—”
“Please. I need a moment with Tiff.”
“She can’t speak to you without me.”
“I know.” He pushed the door wider.
She tiptoe through in an exaggerated manner. The door clicked shut softly.
Eyes briefly closed, Royal raked his hair with one hand before returning to his chair. He put his elbows on the desk and tented his fingers. “Tiff,” he began, and stopped.
He lifted his head and I felt the weight of his gaze, as if he saw me. “Tiff, I am so very sorry I could not protect you.”
He pushed his chair away from the desk. With knees apart, he put his elbows on them, joined his hands and bowed his head. “I do not understand how your . . . your spirit can be present, yet I am convinced you are with me.” He paused, looked up and said in a voice tinged with awe. “You are here.”
I sank to my knees in front of him, wishing this didn’t hurt so much. “I am, Royal. And we’ll get through this, we’ll make it right.”
His gaze circled the room. “I wish I knew where you are.” He lifted his eyes. “Are you in front of me?”
I stood and looked down as he looked up. For a moment his warm copper eyes trapped me and my chest tightened for we seemed to gaze into each other’s eyes.
One hand lifted from his knee. “I want to reach out and touch your hair, take your hand in mine, gestures as natural as breathing.”
Those idiotic invisible tears swamped my eyes.
“I love you, Tiff Banks.”
And now I was bawling.
He sighed heavily and stood. “I’ll bring Maggie back in now.”
He went to the connecting door and opened it. Maggie stood in the middle of the living room. “Miss Benson?”
I sniffed down my tears so Maggie didn’t ask what upset me.
“I’ll talk to Tiff now,” he said when she rejoined us.
She sat with her knees together and hands clasped on them.
“Go ahead,” Royal said.
Where to begin? I smiled—forget Dark Cousins and mysterious messages, Royal knew what must be foremost on my mind and would be perturbed if I didn’t immediately ask about Mac.
“Royal, I know about Mac. Jack, Mel and I left the hospital with you and went to my house, and to Mike. You’re living at my place so you can look after Mac. And I heard your conversation with Mike.”
I hoped he didn’t consider it a major intrusion.
Royal consciously inhaled deeply to steady himself and replied somewhat dazedly. “You were with me?”
“Yes,” I said in a small voice.
“I did wonder about Jack and Mel when Mac made a fuss, but did not imagine you were there.”
“No way you could.” I sniggered. “Never thought I’d see the day when you spoke to Jack and Mel.”
“Sometimes I surprise myself.”
I dreaded asking, but had to know. “Do I have brain damage?”
His hands squeezed so hard the light bronze faded to white. “A low velocity bullet penetrated above your right ear and barely entered the frontal lobe. They removed it. Swelling caused the brain to push on the brain stem but they relieved the pressure before it caused damage to the reticular activating system controlling brainstem neurological function. Tiff, the brain is a miraculous organ with the ability to heal itself and they do not think the angle of entry and level of penetration can have caused brain damage. They can find no reason why your body will not function unassisted.”
Royal’s gaze slid away from Maggie. Speaking to me, knowing he heard my words, but seeing them come from another person must be hard. He kept trying to find me in the room.
My voice shook, although Maggie’s didn’t. “I’m not dead yet, Royal. Don’t pull the plug on me.”
“Pull the. . . .” He frowned. “Do you mean take you off life support?”
“In the hospital, I heard you say the doctors advised it.”
His expression cleared. “
I began to say they suggested I talk to a Harvard neurosurgeon. He is one of the ten best in the world.”
“Oh. What a relief.” I felt stupid. All the stress for no reason. “You won’t give up on me?”
Uncannily, his gaze settled on me. “I never will, Sweetheart.”
Chapter Thirteen
I worked on keeping Royal calm. I’d seen him lose his composure but never this badly. He acted close to manic in his demand I speak through Maggie.
Maggie croaked on the last word. Her eyes looked tired. “Well done, Maggie. Take a break,” I told her.
“Thank you.” Her muscles relaxed and she lolled on the chair. “I think this is what’s called being emotionally drained.”
Royal’s head jerked as his gaze tripped around the room. “Tiff?”
“She’s hasn’t gone anywhere,” Maggie said. “She told me to take a break.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said quietly.
“I thought I could take a break?”
“Tiff, talk to me,” Royal said.
“I should be paid for this,” Maggie said to me.
“I will pay you. Name your price,” from Royal.
This was getting out of hand, fast.
I eventually made him see I would not disappear and suggested letting Maggie rest her voice for a while was to our benefit as well as hers. And the girl was not a machine, she had needs.
Royal fixed her the best Reuben sandwich and home fries she ever tasted. After eating and a bathroom break, her shoes drying near the heat register, Maggie stepped up to the plate again. Bless her. She closed her eyes when repeating my words and I think it made Royal more comfortable. It also provided the advantage of indicating the words he heard were mine, not Maggie’s.
“Helps me concentrate on what you say, blocks the distractions,” she mumbled, eyes pinched shut.
A major distraction sat across from her. Legs splayed, head lolling, Royal sat on one of the couches in his apartment. He tore the leather band off his pony tail and his hair fell in loose waves on his shoulders. His blue jeans and cream, long-sleeved waffle-weave shirt might have been spray-painted on.
“Good idea,” I encouraged Maggie.
