by Ani Gonzalez
They were in Fiona's studio apartment, waiting for the candle maker to close up her store. They'd agreed to meet here for drinks and brainstorming, and had let themselves in with the spare key after Fiona texted that she had a last minute customer.
The apartment was still the Lilliputian, all-white, sparsely-furnished refuge it had always been, but the minuscule kitchenette was now covered in boxes of marzipan and bags of melting chocolate. Luanne and Kat had found a package addressed to Fiona in the lobby and had hauled it up. It took up most of the remaining counter space.
"You're not saying it won't matter," Kat said. "You're saying it shouldn't. Does that mean it will matter?"
Luanne frowned. "You're confusing me."
"I'm confusing you?" Kat rolled her eyes. "You're the one who was talking about chaos and destruction when my pecan cookies burned."
Luanne shook her head. "I don't think the Tower referred to nuked cookie dough. It seemed more significant than that."
"This contest is pretty significant to me," Kat reminded her. "I'd like to be able to buy the store from Yolanda. We can't all be merry nomads like you."
"Hey, that's unfair," Luanne exclaimed. "I've laid down roots. Sean and I moved in together. We even bought a new remote control for the television last week. That's commitment."
"Right," Kat replied. "Guess we should start picking out wedding gowns."
Luanne's eyes widened in panic. "No, we shouldn't. Not at all."
"I thought you said Honoria was starting to get antsy about the whole 'living in sin' aspect. Isn't she dropping hints and whatnot?"
Honoria was Luanne's ghost roommate. She was a teenager from Victorian times and she was a stickler for the formalities. She was also a rabid Supernatural fangirl, which kept things interesting in Luanne's household.
"Yes, she keeps watching Say Yes to the Dress and she steals bridal magazines from the neighbor and leaves them on our bed," Luanne said with a shudder. "But I don't care. Honoria has to learn that it's not the eighteen-hundreds anymore. Sean and I don't have to get married."
"Doesn't Sean get to say something about that?"
"He's too busy worrying about that kid's death."
Kat froze. "Jonas? Sean is still investigating that?"
Luanne nodded. "You know Sean. He's diligent to a fault."
"Does this have anything to do with Liam's vision?"
Luanne laughed. "If it does, Sean will never admit it. But I think it has more to do with the autopsy."
Now that got Kat's attention. "They did an Autopsy?"
An autopsy wasn't visions or scrying or anything magical and subjective like Luanne's usual ramblings. Autopsy results were legitimate scientific conclusions.
"Jonas didn't fall and hit his head on the linoleum floor," Luanne said matter-of-factly. "He had some kind of blunt force trauma."
The words were shocking coming from someone who usually said things like "celestial harmonization" and "intuitive haze."
"Like a baseball bat," Luanne continued, "or a—"
"A rock," Kat said, remembering Liam's vision.
"Something like that. It could still be an accident but—"
"Sean doesn't think so."
"No."
Kat mulled it over. Was this connected to the overwhelming feeling of unease that gripped her yesterday? The feeling had haunted her all day, but was now gone. How strange. Even Luanne's ominous words didn't bring it back.
"So what—" Kat was interrupted by the sound of the front door unlocking.
"Sorry for the mess," they heard Fiona say as the door opened. "I've been baking up a storm—" She smiled when she saw them. "Oh, hi, guys. You made it."
She held the door for someone behind her. "You all know Jeff Santos, right?"
"Yes," Kat said, staring at the fedora-clad paranormal investigator. He was carrying a satchel over his shoulder and his hand held a futuristic-looking sensor. "Hi, Jeff. Er, what are you doing?"
"He heard there was a tanuki in this building," Fiona explained. Jeff turned on his sensor, giving rise to a loud buzzing sound. "And asked me if he could come and take some readings."
Fiona's tone made it clear that "asked" was an euphemism for "demanded."
Jeff put on a pair of headphones and walked around the small room, waving his sensor around. The gadget resembled a stunted lightsaber and its eerie green glow cast shadows around the room.
"Can he hear us?" Luanne whispered.
"I don't think so," Fiona said. "All he can hear is the buzzing now."
"He just invited himself over?" Kat asked. "That's so rude."
"He said he has never gotten this close to a tanuki before. He was really excited and just barged into the store asking all kinds of questions about the creature. He wouldn't go away until I brought him here and let him investigate."
Jeff raised his wand and mouthed something under his breath. Then he took out a recorder and spoke into it.
"Elevated markings," he muttered. "No EVP yet. May be too faint."
"Oh, you'll hear it all right," Kat said under her breath.
Fiona's tanuki had a rock 'n' roll itch that would not be stopped, and had recently developed a profound appreciation for the work of the Rolling Stones. "Playing With Fire" was its current favorite.
Jeff would definitely hear that.
"What happened to our girls' night in?" Kat asked. "This guy could be here all night waiting for tanuki-san to do his Mick Jagger cover."
"I know," Fiona said. "Maybe we should go get a coffee or something?"
"Nah," Luanne replied. "He'll be done soon. He's not here for the tanuki."
"Really?" Fiona's brows went up. "He kept talking about it."
Luanne shook her head. "He's here to find out about Jonas. Just give him a couple of minutes."
Kat stared at her. "Jonas? What about him?"
"I don't know," Luanne replied. "But this Santos guy has been blowing up my phone asking for a meet. He must have seen us come in and gone after Fiona." She aimed an apologetic glance at the candle maker. "Sorry, Fi."
Fiona frowned. "He did ask me a lot of questions about Jonas."
"About his death?" Kat asked.
"No, about whether Jonas ever investigated the tanuki, which he did."
"Really? Jonas tried to debunk it?" Kat replied.
Luanne grimaced. "Kinda hard to debunk something that plays 'Sympathy for the Devil' loud enough to wake the dead."
Fiona shrugged. "Jonas claimed that there was no proof that the tanuki arrived in Justin's tattoo machine. And, of course, there isn't. How do you prove something like that?"
"You scan the machine, of course."
They all jumped. Jeff had apparently finished his investigation and was now standing next to them, earphones hanging around his neck. He must have found something good because his eyes were glittering with excitement.
"Is the machine here?" he asked. "Can I see it?"
"Not here," Fiona answered. "It's in the tattoo shop downstairs. You can ask Justin about it tomorrow."
Kat stifled a laugh. Their local tattoo artist was no one to be trifled with. Justin Nguyen didn't want any of the town's paranormal drama to interfere with his art, so he kept it all at arms' length. Jeff would need some fast talking to get anywhere near Justin's tattoo machine with his sensor.
"I'll do that," Jeff said. "This is quite a find. I've never heard of one outside Japan."
"About that," Kat said, "how exactly did you hear about it? As far as I know PRoVE hasn't documented the tanuki."
Mainly because Justin wouldn't let the paranormies anywhere near the tattoo shop.
Jeff laughed. "No, they haven't. Which is why I'm so excited about getting there first. Lucky thing Jonas told me about it yesterday. I'll be the first American investigator to document a Japanese tanuki."
"Yesterday?" Kat asked. "But—"
She was interrupted by a low drumming sound that spread across the studio. Jeff jumped, looking around wildly.
Fiona stared at him strangely, "What you were looking for, of course. Don't worry, it doesn't bite."
Jeff grabbed his headphones and lit up his sensor, waving it around carefully, as if scared that something might, indeed, jump at him.
"This is fantastic," he exclaimed as the sensor's green light lit up like a beacon.
Fiona winced. "I think that's 'You Can't Always Get What You Want.'"
"That's it," Luanne replied, holding her hands over her ears. "Drinks at the Mangy Owl? My treat."
"You won't have to twist my arm tonight," Fiona said, opening the door.
They filed out of the apartment slowly, letting Jeff finish his investigation, and headed down the stairs. Kat frowned as she followed her friends to the lobby.
Jeff had met with Jonas yesterday? How was that possible? Liam had said that the Ghost Talk host had arrived at the school right after Jonas' body was found.
Very curious.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"I CAN'T demolish the stable, of course," Caine said. "The tavern has its own section in the town's historical preservation regulations."
"I know," Liam said, yearning for some coffee, or maybe even a cold beer.
They were outside the Mangy Owl, reviewing for the twentieth time this year Caine's long-overdue remodel. These conversations, in Liam's extensive experience, never ended well.
"And, of course," Caine added, "there's that other little detail..."
Liam examined the small stone building for the umpteenth time. It was still just as small and decrepit as it had been the first time he'd looked at it. The wood structure could, he supposed, be described as a stable, but it would be more accurate to call it a haphazardly stacked pile of rocks and logs. Just looking at the crumbling roof beams gave him a headache.
A pain that may very well become real if they kept hanging around here. Few Banshee Creek manifestations caused real harm, but the tavern's resident spirit was definitely one of them.
And it was very protective of its stable.
But Caine was right. He had to expand and modernize the Mangy Owl. The tavern dated from the seventeen hundreds and it was small, with low ceilings and questionable wiring, but it usually had a waiting line that circled the block. In the summer, Caine added an outdoor seating area, which, thanks to the mild Virginia weather and some industrial-strength heaters, carried them through the busy Halloween season. In winter, though, the place was crowded, stuffy, and uncomfortable.
"The ghost stallion," Caine added, "is a pain in the butt, literally."
"So I've heard," Liam said, wondering how exactly did one plan a building around a ghost horse? Did it walk—or trot—around? Would he need to give it an open space? Would it kick his workers?
Would it drop the stable on his head?
According to legend, the spirit had been Jack Jouett's steed. The patriot rode the unlucky stallion to death while galloping to warn Richmond that the Redcoats were coming during the War of Independence. If it took a dislike to the renovation, it would not be dissuaded easily.
Caine rubbed his beard pensively. "Gabe said he might be willing to chip in and build a hotel."
"What?" Liam blurted. "I hadn't heard that."
"Actually, I think it's his partner, the Brazilian. He's the one that does hotels. He's planning something more upscale than the Monster Hunters' Motel, and more modern, with glass and steel."
"Using up the airspace, so to speak?" Liam asked, trying to picture the structure.
"Exactly."
"Would your ghost horse accept a large glass enclosure wrapped around its home?" he asked.
Caine grimaced. "Probably not. That's why I asked Claire to drop by and take a look."
"Claire?" Liam asked, surprised. "Why?"
Caine had to be very concerned if he was bringing in an outsider. This ghost horse had to be a spirit to be reckoned with.
"It's her specialty," Caine said. "We just investigate and document the phenomena. Claire supposedly communicates with them and figures out how to appease them. She says she's the 'ghost whisperer.'" He rolled his eyes. "More like the 'ghost nagger' if you ask me.
"I thought you were skeptical about that."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Caine said. "I need to expand and this stupid equine won't let me. Gabe's partner's idea is a huge opportunity for us, and I can't let it go by. Claire has supposedly caught murderers and banished demons with her powers. She should be able to handle a horse."
Liam frowned. "But it's an animal. It didn't even speak when it was alive. How is she going to communicate with it when it's dead?"
"That's her problem," Caine said firmly.
"She was at the sheriff's station this morning," Liam noted. "She seemed very interested in that warrior cult theory you had."
Claire, in fact, seemed interested in all the Banshee Creek legends. The tanuki, the warrior cult, the ghost horse...
"Oh, that," Caine replied with a sigh. "I'm going to have to build that theory on my own now that Jonas is gone."
Jonas again. What was it about that kid? "He came up with it?"
"It was his pet theory. Weird because he tried to debunk everything he came across, but he really seemed to believe that one."
"That an American Indian warrior cult held sacred rituals on the current site of the firehouse?"
Liam couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice. Jonas didn't buy the Hagen House's extremely well-documented curse, but he believed some rinky-dink Native American myth? Not likely.
"Actually, it's the other way around. The firehouse and the sheriff's station lie on a protection node. The warrior cult was one of the first groups attracted to the site. There was also a colonial militia sited there, as well as a Civil War regiment."
"A protection node?"
That sounded even less likely than the warrior cult. Could Jonas' theories get more outlandish?
Caine nodded. "Jonas was tracking all of it down. It sounded pretty interesting, if a little farfetched. I'm going to have to find someone to continue that project now that he's gone. But I'm not going to follow-up on his Armageddon theory. That was just absurd."
Apparently they could.
"What Armageddon theory?" Liam asked, remembering Luanne's Tower card reading.
Caine shrugged. "Something he found in one of the Delacourt files. I didn't pay that much attention. Everyone has some kind of end-of-the-world theory in this business. Gus thinks the rise of the rainbow bagel heralds the breaking of the second seal."
"Do you really have a file on Claire and her show?" Liam asked.
"Yes, we do," Caine said, his tone indicating that this was perfectly normal. "But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm referring to the family documents."
"Her family also has a file?" That sounded extreme. Did Caine think he was running the paranormal CIA or something?
That made him wonder, did PRoVE have a Hagen file? Probably. Did he want to take a look at his family file? Probably not.
Caine laughed. "Several, in fact. They've been around for a century, maybe more. Jonas was tracing her family tree, but it's hard because they traveled around a lot and changed their surname often. They were in England for a while and the Wild West. Still, it seems there has always been a Delacourt in Banshee Creek."
"And now Claire is back," Liam said, wondering what linked Jonas and Claire.
"Yes," Caine nodded sadly. "The kid was really excited about that. He didn't buy Claire's 'gossips with ghosts and dishes with spectres' celebrity persona, but he was really into the history of the Delacourts and the secret society and end-of-the-world stuff."
Liam's head spun. "What secret society? Did Claire join a cult?"
"No," Caine said, laughing. "Although that would explain a lot. One of her ancestors wrote a book, Secrets of the Octonomicrom, about a secret society dedicated to bringing demons into the world. It's a bit of a Lovecraft rip-off, tentacles and undecipherable language an
d such, with a James Bond bent. Derivative, so no one pays it much mind. Jonas loved it, though."
"So, made up?" Liam asked, trying to confirm. You always had to verify and cross-check with the PRoVE guys. Their "truths" were often stranger than fiction.
"Naturally," Caine answered, chuckling. "Like I said, Lovecraft fanfiction. Claire's family had a vivid imagination." His lips curved into a smile. "I suspect Claire inherited that."
"Did Jonas manage to talk to Claire about it?"
Caine shrugged. "He met with her when she first arrived, but he didn't want to discuss what he'd gotten from her. He said he'd found some contradictions in her statements that he wanted to run to ground."
"Of course he did," Liam replied. That fit Jonas' personality. If he found a problem, he wouldn't be able to let it go.
"He also said that he'd found some disturbing information about her family," Caine threw up his hands. "Not sure what that would be. Everything about the Delacourts is disturbing. Witchcraft, conjuring, hallucinations, apocalyptic visions, you name it."
"And he wanted to talk to Claire?" Liam asked. "About the, er, apocalyptic visions?"
And don't forget the contradictions and the unsettling information. Claire had a popular business, including a television show and various best-selling books. How would she react to being interrogated by a teenager obsessed with proving she was a fraud?
"He was going to confront her about it." Caine shrugged. "But he never got the chance."
"No, he didn't," Liam muttered. And that was a disturbing coincidence. "I wonder what happened to him."
"Talk and die syndrome," Caine said.
"What?" Liam asked, wondering if that was an arcane paranormal term.
"Delayed bleeding between the skull and the brain stem. You hit your head and feel fine, but the injury keeps bleeding and eventually you collapse and die."
"That's what happened?"
"Apparently. Seems like he fell and hit his head on the owl statue in front of the school. A group of kids came by to prep it for the traditional Christmas paint job that they do every year. They found a sticky red substance on it and called the sheriff."
