by R. L. King
Jason let his breath out. “Well, fuck. This rabbit hole just keeps gettin’ deeper.”
Verity followed him out of the alley, thinking over what the man had told them. “Yeah, this could be bad. You think Gary got himself tangled up with this group the guy was talking about?”
“I’m thinking it might be more likely he saw something he shouldn’t have. Remember what the guy said—these guys will let you do anything for a price? Where’s a suburban dad from Ventura gonna get the kind of money you need for an operation like that?”
“Maybe from David Ames,” Verity reminded him. “Remember, we don’t know much about him. He could be connected with them somehow, or maybe he just had enough money and the two of them heard about the place and decided to see what it was about.”
Jason nodded slowly. “Yeah, that could be. That could be why David’s so hard to find now—if they both saw something, maybe Gary got caught and David’s in hiding.”
“I hope Nakamura gets back to us soon—if David’s still in town, maybe he can find him, or at least find out where he was staying. I hate having to wait till tomorrow night. I guess we could still go to the Underground tomorrow, but it’s sounding like it might not be a worthwhile use of time.”
“Yeah…I think you might be right.”
Verity trudged along in silence next to him, hands in her pockets, thinking about Malcolm. The Forgotten had a hard life—many of them mentally ill, all of them constantly on the watch for the Evil, who took every opportunity to get rid of them since they were some of the few people left who knew about their existence. And that was putting aside the grim reality of spending their days living in underground flood tunnels and their nights begging and scavenging for a subsistence living. She and Stone had tried to help when they were here, but there was only so much they could do—or that the proud, prickly Forgotten would accept. And now another one of them was dead. She wondered how long it would be before all of them were either dead or gone, drifted away or killed as their ability to avoid the Evil faded along with their powers.
“V, you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m okay. Let’s go get settled in at the Obsidian—maybe Mr. Nakamura left us a message.”
All the way back to the car, she noticed Jason was even more attentive to their surroundings than usual. She kept her magical sight up the whole way as well.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The Other Side crew had set up a little area in one of the downstairs parlors for the interviews, with a pair of dusty wingback chairs in front of a bookshelf featuring what was probably someone’s old law library (still better than a collection of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books, which was what a lot of people used when they needed to simulate a “serious” wall of tomes in a hurry).
Mortenson went first. Stone hung back with Petrucci and Rita while she sat in one of the chairs and answered questions put to her by Riley. Stone had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that Duncan had been right: the guy was a professional when the cameras were rolling. He stuck to the list of questions Mortenson had been furnished with the previous night, which had been based on the research she’d provided, and kept things going in an easy, conversational style that quickly put the prickly professor at ease. Stone kept magical sight up, watching as her aura settled down from nervous to comfortable as she talked about theories involving ghosts, the veil between this world and the one beyond, and possible origins for Brunderville’s curse.
The whole thing lasted perhaps ten minutes, and required only one restart when she got tongue-tied when trying to answer one of the more complex questions. When Petrucci finally called “Cut!” she slumped in her chair, letting her breath out in a long, loud exhalation of relief.
“Well done, Edwina,” Stone said. “You almost had me convinced that the place is really haunted.”
She mopped at her brow with a tissue Rita offered. “That’s more difficult than I thought it would be—a lot harder than lecturing in a classroom. I was nervous the entire time—could you tell?”
“Of course not,” he lied. “You were brilliant.”
“Your turn, Dr. Stone,” Petrucci said, indicating the chair Mortenson had vacated. On the other side, another assistant was touching up Bryce Riley’s makeup and re-mussing his hair.
Stone sat down and leaned back. The assistant finished with Riley and came over to check him, but apparently his makeup had survived the trip from the trailer without needing further attention. She hooked a tiny microphone to the front of his shirt and then stepped back.
“Okay,” Petrucci said. “Everybody comfortable? Ready? Okay—action.”
Riley flashed his easy grin at the camera. “We’re talking with Dr. Alastair Stone, from the Occult Studies department at Stanford University. Dr. Stone, I’m sure you’ve been inside a lot of haunted houses, right?”
“Oh, absolutely. Or at least I’ve been inside quite a lot of houses rumored to be haunted. The reality doesn’t always match the perception, however.”
“Are you saying you don’t believe in hauntings?” Riley’s brow furrowed as he looked charmingly troubled. This was the basic gist of the script Duncan had told them to go with—Mortenson would be the believer, and Stone the open-minded skeptic.
“No, but I am saying that people want to believe in hauntings far more often than it’s actually warranted. As fascinating as it might be to imagine that your attic or your backyard shed or your old stuffed cat is harboring a visitor from the spirit world, it’s usually best to look for real-world explanations first.”
“Fair enough,” Riley said, nodding. “You and your colleague Dr. Mortenson have done a good bit of research on Brunderville over the last couple of weeks—how do you feel about what you’ve discovered?” He grinned. “What do you think our chances are of finding evidence of a haunting here at the old Brunder mansion?”
Stone was tempted to use a little surreptitious magic to produce some “evidence of a haunting,” but decided not to. At least not at the moment. “I’d say, based on the history and accounts I’ve read, that it’s certainly possible that something’s remained behind here. It will be interesting to see what you and the others discover in your investigations.”
“Have you felt anything yourself? Any chills, sense of foreboding, feeling that we shouldn’t be here?”
“No, but that’s not surprising. I don’t claim any particular affinity for the spirit world. I’ll leave that sort of thing to Dr. Mortenson and Ms. Wanderley.”
Riley glanced over toward Duncan as if asking permission to end the interview, but the producer made a clear ‘go on’ gesture. He hitched up his smile again and forged on: “I’m sure you’ve heard about the so-called ‘curse’ on the town that’s supposed to have originated back in Jacob Brunder’s day, during the Gold Rush. What do you think of that?”
Stone shrugged. “It’s fascinating reading—especially given how little historical record is actually available to describe any details. There’s talk of large numbers of people dying, but no evidence that it actually happened. I’m less inclined to believe in curses, honestly, than I am to believe in hauntings. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like very much to find out more about how it originated. Even if there’s no actual ‘curse,’ the situations and conditions that led people to believe one existed are every bit as interesting to me as a topic for research. Not as exciting for the viewers as mysterious bumps in the night, to be sure, but there you go.”
“There you go,” Riley agreed. “Well, I hope we can find some bumps in the night while we’re here. Thank you, Dr. Stone.” He turned to face the camera, cocky-but-sincere persona firmly in place. “We’re going to make a little change to our usual format today, to see how it works out—Dr. Stone is going to join us for our initial walkthrough, and he’ll be accompanying us later for the night shoot as well. I’m sure he’ll be able to offer some intere
sting insights on what we hope to find. Until then, sit back, turn off the lights, hold that special someone tight, and get ready for some shivers—from The Other Side.”
“And, cut!” Petrucci called. “Great job, guys.”
As soon as the camera shut off, Riley was out of his chair and exiting the room without a word to Stone or any of the others.
Duncan didn’t comment on it; in fact, he looked like it was a common occurrence. “Okay, everybody—take an hour for lunch and be back here at one sharp if you’re part of the daylight walkthrough. Stone—try not to mess up your makeup too much, okay? Stop in to the trailer for a quick touchup before you show up, yeah?” He glanced out the window. “I hope the rain holds off till tonight, or this is gonna be a fucking mess. Oh—and nice job.”
The staff at the winery had brought over a lunch buffet and set it up under the pavilion outside the trailers, but when he didn’t see Duncan anywhere around Stone opted to head back to see if Randy Yates had arranged to drop off the box of papers from his friend’s grandmother yet.
Mortenson accompanied him back. “They won’t be needing me anymore,” she said, not doing a very good job of hiding her bitterness. “I might as well catch up on some work.”
There was nothing Stone could say in reply that would be either sincere or comforting, so he settled for a noncommittal grunt and a change of subject. “If the information from Yates is here, would you want to get started looking through it?”
“Might as well, I suppose.” She straight ahead as she walked, and moved at a much quicker pace than her normal languid stroll. She carried a paper bag containing a few items she’d picked up from the buffet table.
“Right, then.” Stone picked up his own pace, his long strides falling into easy step next to her without much additional effort. To pass the time, he shifted to magical sight to see if he could spot any signs of the red energy. Perhaps it had been nothing, and had dissipated by now.
But no, there it was. Definitely harder to spot out here under the sunlight, but it hovered along the ground and floated through the air like an indistinct fog, uncomfortably resembling an ethereal mist of blood. Was it the curse? Something else? Where had it originated, and why did its area of influence seem to be growing? He stared at it, narrowing his eyes as he focused in, trying to get some feel for what it was and why it was here.
“Alastair?”
He jerked back to normal sight at Mortenson’s sharp call. “What? Oh—sorry. Mind was wandering a bit. What is it?”
“I was just saying that I’ve developed a headache. I think I’ll go lie down for a while. If the papers are here and you want me to look at them, please come by my room before you go back to the shoot.”
“Oh. Right. Of course. I hope you feel better.”
She hurried off—rather more quickly than he might have expected—while he stopped to check in at the desk.
Denise, the hostess, showed up a few moments after he rang the bell. “Well—hello, Dr. Stone. I didn’t expect to see any of the TV folks back here until this evening.” She flashed him her cheery smile.
“I’m not here for long,” he said. “Need to be back a bit before one. But Mr. Yates was going to drop something off for me—a box of old papers. Has he done that yet?”
“Uh—I’m not sure. I wasn’t here earlier. I’ll go check, and if they’re here, I’ll bring them by your room right away. How would that be?”
“Brilliant. I could wait, if you like—”
She waved him off. “No need. I’m happy to do it. I’ll give you a call if I don’t find them.”
Stone thought that a bit odd, but shrugged and headed back to his room. He wished he had more free time—it seemed that Duncan was going to want him for longer than he’d expected, which limited his available time to investigate the odd red fog. That could definitely be a problem, especially since it seemed to be growing. So far, though, he hadn’t seen any indication of anything disturbing—people certainly weren’t shooting each other or otherwise committing mayhem, and their auras didn’t look any different. Perhaps after the daylight walkthrough he could get a few minutes with Duncan and convince him that there was something interesting behind the brick wall in the wine storage cave. If he could get them to knock down that wall, he could see about finding time to sneak into the tunnel late at night and try a ritual to locate its source.
Someone knocked on his door a few minutes later. He jumped up from where he’d been lying stretched out on the bed and hurried over to answer it.
Denise stood there, holding an old, battered banker’s box. “Randy had dropped by this morning,” she said with another of her smiles. Her gaze traveled from his face down the length of his body, then back up again. “This is what you’re looking for, right?”
“The very thing,” Stone said. He reached out to take it. “Thank you. I’ll—”
“Oh, let me bring it in for you. I feel so bad that we’re not set up yet to provide the full-service experience for your group, so I want to do everything I can to make you feel at home.”
Before Stone could object, she’d stepped past him and carried the box over to the table, where she put it down and turned back to him. “There we are.”
There was something odd in her tone, a purring undertone that didn’t quite go with her normal chirpiness. He shifted to magical sight and glanced at her bright yellow aura, surprised to see faint tinges of red skirting its edges. “Er—thank you. You’re very kind.”
“And you’re very attractive,” she said, eyeing him now with unmistakable interest. “I’ll bet you get that a lot, though, don’t you?”
She was standing between him and the door, which made things awkward. Perhaps some other time, under different circumstances, he might have returned her interest. Now, though, the last thing he needed was any sort of entanglement while he tried to work out what was going on around here. “Erm—Ms…er…Denise…I’m flattered. Honestly I am. But I need to—”
She moved closer. “Oh, I know. You have to be back at one. But it’s only twelve-thirty. You’ve got plenty of time to…take a little break, don’t you?”
More than one woman had come on to Stone before, and usually he rather liked it. But none of them had ever been quite so…assertive about it as Denise. He chuckled a little uncomfortably and took a step back, raising his hands. “Listen,” he said, “I’d love to—er—take a break, but I can’t right now.” He pointed at his face. “Can’t mess up the makeup. And I really need to have a quick chat with my colleague before I head back. Rain check, perhaps?”
Disappointment flitted across her face, but then the smile was back. “Of course. I’m sorry—you’re right. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
“No, of course not. As I said, I’m flattered.”
“Maybe I might convince you to…hold something else against me later tonight after your shoot…?” She tilted her head and gave him a rather seductive sideways glance.
“We’ll…er…see, all right? I’m a bit of a slave to Mr. Duncan’s schedule at the moment, I’m afraid.” He nodded toward the box. “But thank you for bringing that by. I do appreciate it.”
“Take care,” she said over her shoulder as she opened the door. “And please—let me know if there’s anything I can…do for you.” The door clicked shut behind her.
Stone waited a couple minutes, staring at the door in disbelief at what had just occurred. He honestly couldn’t decide whether he really was flattered—she was attractive, after all, and if she was up for a drink or two and a bit of no-strings relaxation later tonight, he might take her up on the offer—or whether the whole thing had been more than a bit…well, creepy. He tried to remember if she’d given him any of those come-hither glances yesterday when he’d checked in, but truth be told he’d been so tired after having to concentrate so hard on negotiating the tric
ky road up to Brunderville in the rain that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if she’d thrown herself at him. And since asking Mortenson about it in her current mood—hell, in any mood—was an all-around bad idea, he decided to just chalk it up to “strange things that happened to me today” and go about his business. He’d find out later, when he had more time, if there was something else to it.
He shrugged back into his overcoat, grabbed the box without opening it, and crossed the hall to Mortenson’s room.
She took a while to answer his knock. She’d changed out of her television finery and jewelry, and now wore lounging pants and a loose-fitting white tunic, with her hair down. She’d washed off the makeup. “Oh—is that the information from Mr. Yates?”
He nodded. “I haven’t looked at it yet—need to get going. If you find anything interesting, you’ll be sure to pass it along, yes?”
She took the box. “Of course I will. I hope there is, or it will be a long afternoon.”
Stone hoped there was too, since so far they’d had bugger-all else on any of the strangeness going on in Brunderville. “Right, then—I’m off.”
“Yes—you go on. Make the department proud.”
He blinked at the bitter resentment in her voice. “Er—you take care, Edwina.”
He got out of there before she could say anything else, acutely aware of her discomfort. Probably best if he just got it over with and didn’t bring it up with her anymore. As it was, he hoped she got over this bad mood before they were ready to head home. He wasn’t looking forward to spending three hours cooped up in a car with her and her personal little hovering thundercloud.
