That's what I had--not adult ghosts, but children, trapped between the worlds. I couldn't just banish children. I had to help.
When these spirits first contacted me, I'd thought it was a random event. Happens all the time. I go someplace new and I attract some ghosts. But was that really all there was to it? Coincidence? I just happen to be billeted at a house with trapped child ghosts, a puzzle best solved by a necromancer with connections to the rest of the supernatural world?
Where others see coincidence, I see fate. And where I see fate, I see the hand of a higher power. I'm not sure if I see "God" as others would recognize him, but I see someone--a benevolent entity, maybe not as all-powerful as we'd like, but a concerned being with the ability to watch and the power to do something about it.
Maybe that higher power couldn't free these ghosts alone. Or maybe that's not her place--we must solve our problems ourselves and the best she could do was put someone here, in this house, who might be able to help. And maybe I've got too high of an opinion of myself if I think I'd be that person, but I still felt like I'd been given a mission, and damned if I wasn't going to do my best to fulfill it.
I PACED along the cobblestone path, Eve's ring clutched in my hand.
"Goddamn it," I muttered. "You said I could call you. Well, I'm calling and you'd damned well better not be ignoring me, you arrogant Cabal son--"
A sound behind me. I turned. Kristof stood there wearing...skates. And holding what I was pretty sure was a hockey stick.
"'Son-of-a-bitch' is the phrase you wanted," he said. "I suppose it could have been simply 'Cabal son,' which, while accurate, isn't much of an insult." He leaned on the stick, musing. "Or perhaps..."
"I didn't mean--"
"Of course you did. I wasn't ignoring you, Jaime. If you've been calling me for a while, I'm afraid I didn't hear it. But now I'm here."
"If you're busy..."
"I was only in the penalty box. Again. Might as well serve my time here." A murmured incantation. The stick vanished and the skates changed to shoes. "What can I do for you?"
"I need Eve. And now it's urgent."
I told Kristof the story. He insisted on every detail, then tried to make contact with the spirits himself.
"There's something here," he said, frowning. "I can make out...flashes. And I heard the whispers, on both this side and the other."
"As if they're caught between the two."
"I don't like jumping to conclusions, but yes, I suppose so. And they may be children--your deduction is sound enough, but one has to be careful presenting a case to the Fates. Unlike human jurors, they aren't swayed by supposition, sympathy and theatrics. They deal in facts. The fact in this case is that these spirits exist, and they appear to be unable to cross either way. I'll ask them to send Eve back."
"Will it be enough?"
"It better be."
THE CATERER hadn't finished setting up for breakfast, so I went into the kitchen and helped myself to a coffee.
"Another early riser, I see," Becky said, walking in as I added cream.
I told her I'd been outside meditating. If I was going to be spending more time in the garden, it was good to establish an alibi up front, and this was one I always used in any situation where I might be seen sitting on the ground, talking to myself.
"Sounds like you found a little peace in this insanity. Now I really hope that I'm not about to undo that." She looked troubled. "It's about Grady. He's still upset about the other night. I don't think I handled that as well as I could have. Now he's demanding--through Claudia of course--that he get a private performance to compensate."
I could feel her gaze on me, studying my reaction.
"Sounds fair to me," I said.
"Thank God," she breathed. "You're such a trouper, Jaime. I swear I won't let him steamroll over you after this."
"He's not steam--"
"He may be a huge name overseas. But you're a huge name here. I won't let him forget that. There'll be no more costar bashing on this show."
"Costar bashing?"
"I won't stand for it. Now, about this private seance. Do you mind watching, just to show support?"
BEFORE WE headed into breakfast, Becky's assistant, Will, came to tell her he'd conveyed the same invitation to the private seance to Angelique, but she'd refused, claiming she had a manicure appointment. Becky fumed, and I offered to talk to Angelique, but she didn't want me getting involved.
Over breakfast, we discussed the seance.
"First, where to conduct it?" Becky said. "Mr. Simon has checked all records for this house, and the only reference to a death he could find was some has-been producer who hanged himself. For excitement, that rates about a two. Must-snore TV."
I glanced at the hanging residual and sent up a silent apology to his ghost, wherever it was.
Grady leaned forward, tapping his knife on the table. "Perhaps, but it's the ones whose deaths weren't reported that are the most entertaining."
"Accidental deaths, you mean?"
A smile creased his tanned face. "No, purposeful. Very purposeful. I have felt a dark presence in this house, a force of great evil, death so vile, so despicable that the heart freezes at the very thought--"
Claudia motioned for him to take it down a notch.
He cleared his throat, then sliced into his egg. "I have, you see, some experience with these things."
"And you sense...evil in this house?"
"Not surprisingly. It is in the seats of power that the demonic reigns. Those who crave the trappings of power--wealth, fame, beauty--are often driven into the service of Satan to achieve their goals." He turned to Claudia. "Have we ever visited a castle or an ancestral home where I haven't found evidence of satanic rites or devil worship?"
Claudia gave a soft sigh. "Never."
Grady smiled.
DOWSING ROD FOR EVIL
"I FELT A STRONG PRESENCE down here the other night," Grady said as he led us into the basement. "I know, Becky, that you were simply using the best available space for the party, but you should be careful about bringing spiritualists to subterranean realms. They're simply rife with evil spirits."
"Jaime?" Becky said. "Are you picking up anything?"
"I don't have Mr. Grady's nose for evil, I'm afraid."
"Of course she doesn't," he said. "What evil would dare show its hideousness in the face of such beauty?"
Claudia looked like she couldn't decide whether to gag or scratch my eyes out.
Grady took a compact from his pocket, did a makeup check and hair fluffing, then drew himself up straight.
"Camera, please." He lifted his hands, like a pianist preparing to play. "Robert, are you there?" Pause. "Yes. Yes, he is. Thank you, Bob."
Grady opened his eyes. "I have made contact with my spirit guide."
Huh. That was easy. Eve? Are you taking notes?
"For this session, I have selected Black Robert McGee as my guide," Grady continued. "He was a notorious pirate who terrorized the Caribbean. In the afterlife, he is trying to make amends, seeking redemption by helping my quest against the dark forces. Having lived on that dark side, he is the perfect guide for this segment of my journey."
A pirate spirit guide. Cool. Eve had been known to hang out with pirates, but I don't think that counted. She was, however, well acquainted with dark forces. As for seeking redemption, though...questionable. Very questionable.
Grady and "Bob" proceeded to wander the basement, Grady with his hands out, dowsing rods for evil.
"I see a dark room. Very dark. I--" His head jerked up, eyes closed, and he let out a whimper, then said in a high-pitched voice, "It's dark, Mommy, so dark..."
His head twitched and bobbed like a bird, then his eyes flew open.
"Bob? Yes? Thank you, Bob."
He pivoted and stopped, facing a half-door that led into a crawl space under the stairs. He gave an exaggerated shudder, then looked into the camera.
"Bob tells me we will find the source of th
is great evil under those stairs. Inside there is a room. A room whose walls once ran red with blood. A family slaughtered. The satanic altar is beneath those steps."
"Amityville?" I mouthed to Grady.
"Yes!" Grady's face was feverish now as he spit the word. "Thank you, Bob. Bob has reminded me of another case similar to this. An American case in Maine, I believe."
"Long Island," I mouthed for him.
He nodded his thanks. "Long Island, thank you, Bob. The infamous Amityville horror. I have long believed that the rituals conducted within those walls were part of a wider ring of satanic activity."
"Faked!" I mouthed, gesturing to get his attention.
"Yes, Bob? Bob is trying to tell me about something but--Bob? Are you still there?"
Grady signaled for the camera to stop filming. "He's gone, I fear. This happens from time to time, particularly in places with such intense negative energy." He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck, then looked at me. "Jaime, I believe you were saying something?"
"Amityville was a hoax," I said.
I explained. The house had been the site of infamous killings--a young man who'd murdered his parents and four siblings. A year later, a family bought the house, claimed they saw blood dripping down the walls, demonic pigs, what-have-you, but stayed there--with their terrified kids--until they had enough details for a book. A best-selling book. And the guy who killed his family? His lawyer had been trying for a "devil made me do it" defense, and had been in contact with the haunted homeowners. The lawyer later claimed he and the couple had dreamed up the whole scheme over a bottle of wine. The family had since admitted, in court, that at least some of the things they claimed had never happened.
When I finished, Grady glanced at Claudia, who eyed me as if suspecting I was making it up.
"All true," Becky said. "A couple of years ago the Catholic Church revealed it had submitted a list of inaccuracies to the book publisher...which ignored them. Big hoax. Paid well, though," she added with admiration.
"I'm not surprised," Claudia muttered. "It's America. Land of 'anything for a buck.'"
Grady waved her to silence and went still, head cocked as if listening. "Bob has returned. We may begin again."
The camera started rolling.
"Thank you, Bob. Bob tells me the events of Amityville were, I fear, a false case predicated on greed and the lust for fame." A slow, sad shake of his head. "Unfortunately, such counterfeits do exist and we must be vigilant for them. However, as Bob also says, we must be careful not to let one falsehood blind us to the overwhelming truth of evil. It seems those responsible for Amityville used real events elsewhere as the basis for their fabrication, and here, in this house, we see one such example--"
His head jerked back, eyes closing. He started shaking so violently that Becky tensed as if fearing a convulsion, but Claudia waved her down.
Grady's arms shot around his body, hugging himself, his teeth chattering, and I realized that his "convulsions" were supposed to be shivering.
"Momma?" he said in that high-pitched voice. "It's cold, so cold and so dark. I'm s-s-scared." A whine, more like a car engine than a child. "The bad man is coming. The bad man is--"
Grady roared, his head whipping back, teeth bared. His eyes flew open, rolling. Anyone who'd watched enough of his shows would have seen this coming, but Becky jumped and dropped her clipboard. As she scrambled for it, Grady allowed himself a tiny smile of satisfaction that morphed into a snarl, his head jerking back and forth, hands clawing the air.
"He's fighting possession by an evil spirit," Claudia explained in a monotone.
"I see," Becky said. "Is there any chance this spirit will win?"
"About ninety-five percent."
Becky smiled.
Grady jolted up onto his tiptoes, then went still. A moment's pause before he collapsed against the wall, panting and trembling.
"Damn," Becky muttered.
"Wait," Claudia whispered.
"Outside," Grady said between gasps. "Bob has shown me a room, a small, dark room. We mistakenly believed it was this one, but now he has realized his error and says we must go outside, to a shed."
He motioned for the camera to stop filming.
As Grady marched for the stairs, Becky hurried up beside him.
"The shed idea is great," she said. "It avoids, you know, connotations of Amityville, but there's a small problem. There isn't one."
"One what?"
"Shed."
He threw a smug smile over his shoulder as he started up the steps. "My dear, I never said there is a shed. I said there was one. It has, of course, long since been torn down...to hide the evidence."
OUTSIDE WE went. On the way, Grady thanked me for the information about Amityville. While unwarranted, he appreciated the thought. It was a step back into his good graces.
He stopped beside a koi pond. As our shadows passed over the water, the fish zoomed from under the lilies, their mouths breaking the surface. Was someone feeding them in their owner's absence? Probably. They looked expensive.
"Here, Bob?"
Grady lifted a hand for silence, although no one had spoken. Then he checked to make sure the camera was rolling before continuing.
"The shed was here? You're quite certain?" He paused. "No, no, I understand."
Grady turned to the camera. "Bob says he can't be certain this is exactly the right spot. The sense of darkness in this entire yard is overwhelming. This, however, appears to be reasonably close to the original location."
And so, Grady picked up where he'd left off, channeling the "spirit" of the dead girl. I tried to relax, but startled at every noise and movement, waiting for the children to come and make their presence known.
"What the hell is that?"
I jumped and glanced over to see Kristof staring at Grady, who was waving his arms, rolling his eyes, shaking and moaning.
"I think he's possessed," I said.
"By what? Epilepsy?"
"He's a famous TV medium from the U.K.," I said, as if that explained everything.
Kristof sniffed. "Not so famous that he can afford a decent tailor, evidently. Or acting lessons."
"They aren't letting Eve come back, are they?"
"No." He spat the word. After a moment, he went on. "I have, in the past two years, on occasion, tried to find reasons for them to let Eve return, if only temporarily."
"And they think you're tricking them again."
A humorless laugh. "Not 'again.' I haven't tricked them yet, damnable spirits. Eve's tried too. No luck. You can't blame us, but they get..." A dismissive wave. "Offended, as if we're insulting them, when the fact is that we are the ones who should be offended. We play by their rules. We assist in their enterprises. We are--" a twist of his lips, "--their humble servants, and yet when we ask for the briefest respite from our bargain, you'd think we were the most unrepentant convicts asking for a day pass."
I had no idea what he was talking about, but knew he couldn't explain.
"So they said no."
"They'll 'look into it.' And, perhaps, should I prove to be telling the truth, they'll find someone to help you."
"But not Eve."
He looked away, but not before loneliness and disappointment pushed the bitterness from his eyes. "No. Not Eve."
He pushed to his feet. "This is ridiculous. They cannot expect us to wait on their forbearance and trust that they will find someone suitable. Eve isn't the only person who can help us. The Fates won't like my choice, but that is their problem."
It seems to me that forbearance and trust are things a higher power can reasonably expect from mere mortals. But men like Kristof Nast are not accustomed to being refused, and being dead didn't change that. If his insolent determination helped my case, I wouldn't argue.
"Who are you--?" I began.
A dismissive wave. "You'll see."
NATURE AND SCIENCE
I HAD ANOTHER INTERVIEW after the seance, then nothing. Jeremy would be her
e in a few hours. Robert hadn't found anything useful. Kristof hadn't returned. So I was stuck cooling my heels. I decided to call Paige, check what she knew about rituals involving children. This wasn't a call to make in a public place, so I headed outside.
As I sat down on the front porch, Will hailed me. I greeted the portly young man and he handed me an icy bottle of water.
"I saw you heading outside and thought you might need this. The sun's a killer today."
"That's so sweet. Thank you."
"Oh, and I also wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your segment the other day, with Tansy Lane. Incredible. The whole crew's still talking about it. I think you've made some believers, Ms. Vegas."
I laughed. "Jaime, please. And I hope they're still believers when all this is done, because that definitely wasn't a typical summoning for me. I got lucky, which I can only hope is a good omen for the show."
My gaze strayed toward the cell phone in my hand--a subtle hint that there was something I'd come out here to do.
He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I also wanted to commend you on how well you handled Angelique."
My mouth opened in protest, ready to say I hadn't "handled" her at all, but he continued before I could.
"I can't believe they brought her on the show after the things..." He coughed. "Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, as far as most of us are concerned, you're still at the top of your game, and we're looking forward to seeing you put her in her place."
I could tell by his expression that he was willing, even eager, to go on, but would it help me to know what she'd said? No. If I heard her insults or insinuations, I would indeed want to "put her in her place" and I couldn't afford to do that. Not on this shoot.
"I appreciate the support. Now, if you'll excuse me--"
"Absolutely. And thank you for helping with Mr. Grady this morning. Becky really appreciates it. She was really afraid this was going to be difficult, knowing you're lining up a show of your own, and Grady's hoping to relocate here."
"Relocate--?"
I snapped my mouth shut. This one was tougher to ignore. A lot tougher. But I promised myself I'd investigate later. Right now, I had to concentrate on the ghosts.
As he headed into the house, I stepped off the porch and caught a flash from the shrubs, like the sun reflecting off a mirror--or a camera lens. A slower, more careful look around, listening for the rustle of a quick retreat. Silence.