“Your guesses are limited by the fact that it’s a pretty small office. You couldn’t swing a cat in here.” The expression made me think of Boa, so I quickly added, “Not that I’d swing a cat. What a horrible saying.”
Bentley stared through the ghost, squinting. “What’s he doing now? Is he still there?”
“He’s just standing there, probably trying to figure out why two strangers are inside his office.”
“He doesn’t know what happened to him, does he?” Bentley shook his head. “Poor bastard.” More head shaking. “He had a rough morning, and he didn’t even get to take the day off. He’s down here at this sad little office of his, working away in this glorified hamster cage. That’s not very fair, is it? He should be moving on to some better place.”
“They do move on after their...” Don’t talk about homicide in front of the ghost who doesn’t know he’s dead! “After their earthly business is done. Once we find out who chopped off his, uh, cabbage, he can...” I was going to say take early retirement, but Ishmael had turned his attention to me. Judging by the changes in his facial expression, it seemed he could understand some of what I was saying.
“Something’s happening.” Bentley got to his feet and edged along the interior of the L-shaped desk to come stand next to me. He murmured in my ear, “You take the lead, ghost whisperer. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
Ishmael, still staring into my eyes, took three steps toward me. He stopped right in front of me, inches away. The air he occupied was chilly. Being this close to an honest-to-goodness spirit would send most people running to the hills, but most people aren’t witches. I wasn’t frightened. Even so, a couple of my wimpier hair follicles were frightened, judging by the goose bumps. Ishmael took a mini step closer. His chin was practically overlapping the tip of my nose.
Bentley demanded, “What’s happening? I can’t see him, Zara. You have to tell me what you see. Be my eyes.”
I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, “Ishmael Greyson is now standing directly in front of me. His face is right in my face.”
There was a snap, a click, and movement at my side. Bentley had his revolver drawn. He pointed the muzzle at Ishmael’s temple.
Ishmael noticed the gun. His bulging eyes protruded even more than seemed possible. Could a ghost’s eyes pop right out? I hoped not. He didn’t move, except for his bugged-out eyes, which flicked between Bentley’s face and mine.
“Put the gun away,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. “What good do you think it will do shooting a you-know-what? It’s all concrete down here. You’ll probably kill one of us with the ricochet.”
“A gun does plenty of good, even if you don’t fire it,” Bentley replied defensively. “Follow my logic: If he doesn’t know he’s a you-know-what, then he’ll respect the threat.” Bentley shook the gun and continued in a commanding voice. “Talk to us, Ishmael. Give us the names of anyone who might want to hurt you.”
To my surprise, Ishmael seemed to comprehend the question. He mouthed something. Who’d want to hurt me? I’m nobody.
I relayed my interpretation of Ishmael’s lip movements to the detective.
Bentley slowly lowered the gun and put it away resignedly. “So much for getting a helpful answer.” He waved his now-empty hand. “Do your witch thing. Get him to possess your body. I can at least try to interview him once he’s inside you.”
“Do my witch thing?”
“Any time,” Bentley said impatiently.
I would have given him some more sass, but he had a point. I was there for a reason, and that reason was to channel the ghost. No point bickering about what I’d already agreed to do.
“Hold your horses,” I said. “I’m trying.” I tilted my head back and sniffed.
Bentley gave me a raised eyebrow. “Are you planning to sneeze him into talking?”
“They travel in on the breath,” I explained. I sniffed again. My sinuses tickled from the influx of chilly ghost air.
“Is it working yet? You don’t look any different.” Bentley was many things, but being patient about Spirit Charming wasn’t one of them.
I sniffed again, then reported, “It doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Ah.” Bentley nodded knowingly. “A watched pot doesn’t boil. I’ll turn away.” He rotated so he was facing the corner with the coat rack and the bat-like hanging windbreaker.
I sniffed yet again, harder than ever. Ishmael didn’t turn to smoke and travel up my nostrils on my breath. Instead, he took a step backward and regarded me with suspicion. His buggy eyes narrowed to the point where they looked nearly as steely as the detective’s. I sniffed, and huffed, and puffed, and wheezed, and even sneezed.
Nothing.
I felt like the big bad wolf, trying to blow down three straw houses to eat the little piggies. I sounded like him, too.
Still nothing but wary looks from Ishmael.
Spirit Charmed though I might be, this spirit didn’t find me charming at all.
The rezoning spell.
My recent experiment with transforming myself had to be the reason this ghost was behaving so different from the other ghosts I’d encountered. If only there was some way I could know for sure. If only...
The room tone in the small office changed, and a female voice came through hidden speakers. “I am Codex. I am at your service. Do you require assistance?”
Bentley jumped at the sound of the voice and took a fighter’s stance, not that it would do much good against a computer.
He frowned at me and asked, “You heard that too, right?”
I nodded. “I may have accidentally summoned her. I think I pressed a psychic call button.”
“You what?”
“I was just thinking about how I wished I could run some diagnostics.”
“I see,” he said. “That’s actually a good idea.”
“Why, thank you, Detective.”
He tilted his face up toward the ceiling, to where the speakers seemed to be situated. “Hello again, Codex,” he said. “We were wondering if you could help us with something.”
“Please state your request, Detective.”
Bentley waved for me to ask. I waved for him to go ahead.
Bentley said, “Can you confirm for us who is inside this office?”
“Scanning now.” The bright overhead lights abruptly blinked off. A wave of green light in a grid pattern washed over the room. The lights flickered on again almost immediately.
Bentley muttered, “Witches and ghosts, and now we’ve got the holo deck from Star Trek.”
Codex replied matter-of-factly, “The holo deck is on a different floor, Detective Bentley.”
“Just tell us who’s in this office,” I said.
Codex responded in her robotic yet sultry voice. “Detective Theodore Bentley, on a visitor’s pass with restricted access. Registered Witch Zara Riddle, also on a visitor’s pass with restricted access. And Junior Agent Ishmael Greyson.” There was a very human-like pause. “That’s odd.” Another pause. “Ishmael Greyson’s vital signs indicate that he is clinically dead. His body is located in the morgue, in the care of Dr. Jerry Lund. Therefore, because Junior Agent Ishmael Greyson is deceased, the presence within his office must be of spectral origin. Shall I scan again?”
“No need,” Bentley said curtly. I detected a note of claustrophobic panic in his voice, but I didn’t check his face because my attention was now focused on Ishmael Greyson.
Ishmael, who had just been informed of his clinical deadness by an artificial intelligence, was taking the news poorly. He flickered, bright and dim, like a light bulb with a loose connection. His lips trembled as they moved. He mouthed the word deceased.
I reached a hand out to steady the young man, but my hand passed right through his shoulder. He looked at my hand and grimaced horribly. My attempt at comforting him had upset him nearly as much as the announcement by Codex.
The air changed. The zone near him lost its chill. The ai
r neutralized, and then rapidly heated. It was getting hot in the tiny office.
Ishmael’s mouth opened in a silent howl. He turned white hot, then orange, as though being consumed by flames. And then, just when I was going to warn Bentley to take cover, the ghost was gone. The temperature was comfortable, and the office was quiet.
I turned to find Bentley reaching for his gun again.
“No need,” I said gently, laying my hand on his shoulder. “Greyson has left the room.” I flicked my eyes up at the ceiling. “I guess he was upset when someone broke the news about his death the way she did.”
Through gritted teeth, Bentley said, “You mean something, not someone.”
Codex spoke again, a hint of amusement in her computerized voice. “Junior Agent Ishmael Greyson is no longer on the premises.”
“Thanks for your help,” I said dryly.
“My algorithms detect sarcasm,” Codex replied. “Is there some other way I can offer assistance?”
“You’ve done enough,” Bentley said.
“More sarcasm,” Codex noted.
He put his hands on his hips and growled up at the ceiling, “Did you have to tell the ghost he was dead? You scared him off.”
“Detective, I was complying with your request.”
He sighed and dropped his arms limply at his sides. “Yes, I suppose you were. What else did you pick up on that scan of yours?”
“I detected that Zara Riddle’s witch powers have been restricted.”
“We know about the dampening field,” I said, nodding. “I found out in the cafeteria. I guess your shifter bosses don’t like us witches and our witcher-i-doo.”
“That’s not the restriction I’m referring to,” Codex said. “You have been altered.”
Bentley gave me a quizzical look. “What’s she talking about?”
“Uh...” I was reluctant to admit I might have messed up my own powers.
Codex said, “Zara Riddle, you have been significantly altered recently. There is a rezoning spell in effect.”
“Oh, that.” I waved a hand casually. I could feel Bentley’s eyes on me. And Codex’s. Assuming she even had eyes. I tugged at the back of my collar to let out some steam that was forming. “Yeah, there might be a rezoning spell in effect. I was kind of, um, trying something.”
Bentley’s eyes bore into me. “You were trying something?”
I felt my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Just a wee little transformation spell. It was supposed to help me get control over my powers. Nothing too crazy.”
Codex said, “On the contrary. The rezoning spell you have cast upon yourself is, by your own definition, crazy. It is unadvisable for supernatural beings to take such measures. The suppression of powers may lead to permanent injury, or death.”
I waved my hand again in the air. “Yeah, yeah. Lots of things lead to permanent injury and death.” I coughed into my hand. Sniffing the ghost had given me a dry throat. I desperately wanted to change the subject. Anything to get Bentley to stop staring at me that way.
I coughed again, then asked, “Codex, do you have any idea where Greyson went after he flashed out of here?”
She replied calmly, “My sensors are restricted to this facility.”
Hearing that she was limited to the facility did offer me some small comfort.
“Thanks anyway,” I said. “I guess we’ll show ourselves out now.” I turned to leave Greyson’s tiny, claustrophobic office.
Bentley stretched out an arm and barred my exit. “Is it true? What she said about you doing something dangerous to yourself?”
“She’s just a computer built by shifters. What does she know about witchcraft?”
Codex said, “I am Codex. I contain the collected works of millennia. I know more about witchcraft than any witch, alive or dead.”
I snorted. “Good thing you’re not full of yourself,” I said.
“My sensors detect sarcasm,” Codex replied, almost playfully.
Bentley hadn’t taken his eyes off me. “Zara, it’s probably not my business what spells you cast on yourself, but as your friend, I’m concerned.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” I crossed my arms. “And you’re right about it not being any of your business.”
He winced. “Don’t be so sure of that. If you’ve done something to yourself, and you’re unable to communicate with ghosts, then I have no use for you.”
My cheeks, which had been hot from embarrassment, suddenly burned with rage. “You have no use for me?”
He dropped his arm from the doorway and took a half step back into the hallway. “I misspoke,” he said. “What I mean is, the department has no use for you.”
“Just like that?”
“Don’t get nippy.”
“Nippy? You’re lucky there’s a dampening spell on this facility, or I’d show you nippy. I have just the spell to show you nippy.”
“Zara,” Bentley said in what he probably felt was a very reasonable tone. “We don’t involve civilians in investigations without good reason.”
“No. You just like partnering with them so you can dump them. Twice in one day.”
“I haven’t dumped you once, let alone twice.”
“Check your math, Detective.”
“I’m not dumping you. I just need to know more about—”
I lurched past him and stomped down the hallway.
If I’d had better control over my emotions, I might have explained to him that I didn’t have control over my emotions.
Close proximity to ghosts who were upset tended to stir up my own feelings. When Ishmael had gone all ghost-inferno before leaving, a part of me had caught fire as well.
But, since I didn’t have control over myself, I didn’t explain any of that to Detective Bentley. What I did do was call him a few bad names and threaten to cast a whole bunch of painful spells on him as soon as we were topside.
Chapter 24
Ice cream. I needed ice cream. What do you do when you feel like you’re an erupting volcano? Cool the lava. With ice cream.
“Mom?”
I looked up from my sundae to find my daughter, in her pajamas, staring at me. Her hair was tangled on one side from sleep.
“Did I wake you?” I asked.
“Not at all,” she said. “Technically, it was the doors that woke me. The front door. The cupboard door. The freezer door.”
I winced. “Sorry about that. Will you accept half of this delicious sundae as an apology?” I used magic to open the utensil drawer across the kitchen and lift out a long-handled sundae spoon. After having my powers dampened underground, even the smallest touches felt luxurious.
My sleepy-eyed daughter looked down at the sweet peace offering. “Are those gummy bears in your sundae?”
“You bet. I love how they get extra firm when the ice cream partly freezes them.”
“Ooh. That is nice.” She plucked the floating spoon from the air and joined me at the kitchen island. “Apology accepted.”
We excavated our way through a third of the sundae, reaching the ladyfingers and jam layer, before she spoke again.
“How did date night at the morgue go?”
“As you may have guessed by the girth of this planet-sized sundae, it did not go well.”
She smirked. “No kiss goodnight?”
“Bentley didn’t even drive me home. He passed me off on Persephone Rose.”
“Who?”
“Persephone Rose.”
“I heard you the first time. Who is he or she?”
“Persephone Rose is a silly young woman from the Wisteria Police Department who has a giant schoolgirl crush on Bentley. She did nothing but talk about how wonderful and brilliant he is the whole way home.”
Zoey’s eyes twinkled. “Now I understand the door slamming. You’re jealous.”
I snorted. “She can have him. If he has any use for her. He has no use for me, apparently.” I stabbed through the ladyfinger and jam layer, into the grano
la. “Can you believe that? I spent my entire Saturday helping him with his homicide case, and just because I didn’t do the witcher-i-doo song and dance at his command, he dismissed me! Not once, but twice. Like I didn’t have anything else to offer!”
She gave me a puzzled look. “Song and dance?”
“The ghost thing.” I waved my spoon, dropping chunks of granola and beheaded gummy bears on the counter. “The whole Spirit Charmed thing.” I took another bite. “You know, there’s a lot more to me than my ravishing good looks and my wicher-i-doo.”
“Mom, I love this thing where you start at the end of the story and rant like a crazy person, but it’s two o’clock in the morning. I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I think we should go to bed and talk about this tomorrow, when you’ve calmed down.”
“I’ll never calm down. Never.”
She raised her eyebrows.
I sighed. “Okay. I’ve already calmed down a bit.”
“What happened? Did Bentley really kick you off the case again?”
I growled. “Now I’m riled up again! How dare he take up my whole Saturday, then give me the bum’s rush out of there just when it gets good?!”
“Start at the beginning,” she said. “You seemed happy enough when you left here tonight for your date at the morgue. Start there.”
“Good idea.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “You’re such a brilliant kid. So logical and thoughtful.”
“You left here with Bentley. Then what?”
“We drove to the WPD, where we used a secret elevator to go underground to the DWM.”
Zoey cocked her head. “It’s underneath the police department, too? Wow. It must be enormous. It must run underneath half the town.” She looked down as she dug through striated layers of sundae. “Like an ant colony. Or a mole burrow.” She met my gaze, her hazel eyes twinkling. “Did you know that animals that burrow underground are called fossorial?”
“Fossorial. I feel like I should know that word, but I don’t.”
She beamed. Zoey loved springing new vocabulary on me as much as she loved beating me at Scrabble. I used to think she was the reigning champion at the game because she dominated the board spatially, but I was starting to think she also knew more words than I did.
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3 Page 49
