Ghosts of Karnak (4 page)

Ginny took a sip of her drink. She was starting to feel normal again, despite the cloying heat, although she thought she might retreat to her room for a nap once Amaury’s friend arrived.

She met his gaze. Could she trust him? The idea certainly sounded exciting—just the sort of adventure she’d been looking for. And he was right—how many other opportunities would she have to see something so spectacular? “Very well,” she said. “I’m intrigued. Let’s say I go along with your little plan. What then?”

“Then you meet me and Landsworth in the hotel foyer an hour before dawn, and I’ll take you on a guided tour.”

She pretended to consider this for a moment, despite having already made up her mind. What was the point in coming all this way if she wasn’t going to take the opportunities it presented her with? And besides, how much trouble could she get up to on an archaeological dig? “All right. I’m in. How could I pass up the chance to meet royalty?”

“Excellent,” said Amaury, holding his glass aloft. Ginny clinked hers against it. “Ah, and here comes Landsworth, too.” He nodded his head to indicate a newcomer to the bar, over her left shoulder.

She turned to see a man in a smart gray suit wending his way through the tables toward them. He looked as out of place as she felt; dressed in the wrong clothes, clearly struggling with the heat, apologizing to everyone as he brushed past their chairs.

Amaury threw up his hand in greeting. “Landsworth! Come and meet my new friend.”

The Englishman, huffing a little with the exertion, arrived by their table a moment later. He peered at Ginny inquisitively, and then, remembering his manners, extended his hand, and smiled.

“This is Miss Ginny Gray,” said Amaury. “All the way from America. I hope you have no objection, but I’ve invited her to visit the dig with us tomorrow morning.”

She took Landsworth’s hand and shook it briskly.

“A pleasure,” he said. “And no, of course not. No objection whatsoever. Provided you’re not with the press.” He frowned. “You’re not, are you?”

“No, just a tourist,” said Ginny. “I’m not about to spill all of your secrets.”

“Good, good,” muttered Landsworth. He glanced at Amaury. “Getting a drink, am I?”

Amaury shrugged. “Why not?” A look of impatience flashed across his face. He clearly wasn’t as taken with his English companion as she might have expected. Ginny decided it was time to make her exit. She stood.

“Well, thank you, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and make arrangements for tomorrow. I’d hate to leave that poor tour guide stranded.”

Amaury stood, offering her a slight bow. “Until tomorrow, then, Miss Gray.”

As she left, she saw Landsworth take her seat at the table, and the two men lean in for what appeared to be a rather heated exchange. She would have to be on her guard tomorrow, she decided. She had a sense that there was more to this dig than Amaury had initially let on. All that stuff about the press—perhaps they really had found something special, and were keen to break the news properly, when they were ready.

Whatever it was, she felt her mood had improved somewhat. She would order another bottle of that water, and then retire to her room for the rest of the day, ready for an early start in the morning.

“And finally, news this morning of a series of extraordinary sightings last night in and around central Manhattan. It seems the police have been flooded with reports of a bizarre apparition, seen floating above the rooftops of Fifth Avenue around midnight. Initial reports suggest that this is
not
the vigilante known as the Ghost, also known to frequent the skies in this area, but rather a ‘glowing figure in white, surrounded by a halo of fluttering ribbons’. The police have issued a statement announcing they are investigating the matter, and that any citizens who do encounter such a character should not make an approach, but direct their reports to their nearest station.”

Gabriel turned the knob on the wireless, clicking it off. The room seemed suddenly silent, without even the ticking of a clock; it was early, and Henry had yet to wind it.

“No appetite for the news this morning, sir?” said Henry, as he laid out the morning cutlery on the breakfast table.

“No appetite for anything much,” said Gabriel. “Excepting, of course, your wonderful eggs Benedict,” he added hurriedly, when he saw the expression on Henry’s face. The valet smiled graciously, and continued setting Gabriel’s place.

“I must say, that business with a ‘floating apparition’ sounds most outlandish,” said Henry. “Don’t you agree, sir?”

“What? Oh, yes,” said Gabriel, “although I’ve come to believe there are stranger things in this world than wailing spirits and ghosts.”

“Quite, sir,” said Henry, with a look that suggested he could think of a few things himself.

News of the sightings was troubling, though. For the first time in weeks Gabriel had failed to go out on patrol the previous evening. After his beating at the hands of the Enforcer, and the disappointment of Ginny not arriving aboard the
Centurion
, he’d felt the need to come back here, to Long Island, to seek solitude and a chance to recuperate. He supposed, in truth, he was hiding, holing up for a while to lick his wounds, although the one hurting him most was not the cracked ribs or the swollen eye.

It seemed, though, that his night of rest had left him at a disadvantage. He wondered what this new apparition could signify. He and Donovan had broken a cabal of witches a few weeks earlier, putting a swift end to their occult ambitions, but this sounded different. Was it a message, a warning, a haunting? Whoever or whatever it was, they were hanging around his neighborhood. He supposed he would have to go out that night to look for it.

“May I enquire how you’re feeling this morning, sir? Recovering well from your ‘boxing’ injuries?”

Gabriel sighed. “I’m fine, Henry. Really. It’s nothing.”

“Then perhaps you are troubled by Miss Ginny’s failure to attend your rendezvous yesterday morning?”

Gabriel looked at Henry as if he’d slapped him around the face. “It’s unlike her, Henry. That’s all. A telegram, a postcard—I can’t help feeling she’d have sent word of some kind that she’d changed her mind.”

“Perhaps she didn’t,” said Henry. “Are you sure that she wasn’t on the ship?”

“Insofar as I didn’t see her disembark,” said Gabriel. “If I missed her, she didn’t wait for me.”

Henry gave a little shrug. “Your breakfast will be ready presently, sir,” he said, and left the room.

Gabriel watched him go. What was he getting at? That something might be awry? That Ginny had returned to New York after all, but hadn’t wanted to see him? That he was holding himself back for some reason, and hadn’t done enough to ensure his assumptions were correct? He supposed there was only one way to find out.

He pulled himself up off the sofa, cringing at the sudden pain in his chest. He could hear Henry clattering pans in the kitchen down the hall. He closed the door and crossed to the holophone terminal on his writing desk. A moment later, and a small, wavering image of Donovan’s face began to resolve in the mirrored cavity.

“Gabriel? Where the hell have you been?” he barked, before his image had even clarified.

“Busy,” said Gabriel. “I had a run-in with one of the Reaper’s Enforcers. It wasn’t pretty.”

“For you, or for it?”

“For either of us.”

“Hmmm. Well, we didn’t find anything. The Reaper must have sent in a clean-up crew.”

“He might have thought to send a doctor, too,” said Gabriel. “I’m pretty beaten up.”

“Well, if you’re up to it, I could use your help.”

“This business with the apparition?”

“What? No, of course not. I’m too busy to be chasing phantoms. Whatever that’s about, I’ll bet my last dollar on the fact it’s a couple of kids out to have us all for fools.” Donovan glanced away, looking at something or someone Gabriel couldn’t see. He lowered his voice. “No, I have a dead woman on my hands and it’s… well, it’s complicated.”

“All right,” said Gabriel. “I’ll be there this evening. Usual spot. But I need you to do something for me, too.”

Donovan sighed. “I knew this wasn’t just a social call,” he said. “Go on.”

“Ginny was supposed to arrive back in New York yesterday aboard a steam liner called the
Centurion
. She sent word for me to meet her off the ship, but I waited at the docks and she didn’t show.”

Donovan shrugged. “Maybe she changed her mind, or caught a different boat. There are a hundred reasons why she might not have been there, Gabriel. She might have decided to take an airship home instead?”

Gabriel shook his head. “You’re probably right, but something doesn’t feel right. That’s all. I was wondering if you could get a look at the passenger manifest for the ship, just to see if her name’s on it?”

“I’ll make a call,” said Donovan. “Leave it with me. In the meantime, hasn’t she got an apartment somewhere around Midtown?”

“A rented place,” said Gabriel, nodding. “She kept it on when she took off, somewhere to keep her stuff.”

“You want me to send Mullins over there, just in case?”

“No, I’ll take a look myself. Thanks, Felix.”

“You won’t say that when I tell you about this dead woman.”

“You do say the sweetest things.”

Donovan glowered. “I’m hanging up now, Gabriel.” The line went dead, and Donovan’s face, frozen for a split second, fragmented into tiny blue shards, before dissolving away to nothing. Gabriel switched the receiver off and slumped back in his chair. There was a polite knock at the door.

“Yes, sorry, Henry,” he said, as the door opened. “I was just making a call.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Henry. He crossed to the table with Gabriel’s breakfast. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”

Gabriel frowned. “No Bloody Mary?”

“I fear we’re fresh out of tomato juice, sir.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have the patience to be mollycoddled by his valet. “Henry, I re—”

“And I’ll prepare one of the motorcars for your trip into town,” said Henry, cutting him off mid-flow.

“Very well,” sighed Gabriel. “You win. Coffee it is.”

“Excellent, sir.”

* * *

Gabriel had only visited Ginny’s apartment once before, on the cold January day she’d walked back into his life, dragging him out of the boxing ring and right into a whole heap of trouble. He hadn’t paid much attention to the place at the time, having been more concerned with getting her home safely after she’d consumed the best part of a bottle of gin at one of the local bars. He remembered it was situated on a quiet cross street, however, and found it easily enough, noting the familiar flower vendor on the corner.

He parked his car a little way up the road, avoiding an overflowing trashcan that seemed to have attracted an accompanying heap of garbage sacks. He guessed it was trash collection day in Midtown.

It was warm out, and he passed a group of children playing marbles in the street, as well as a small café serving coffee to people sitting out at small chrome tables. They hardly noticed him as he breezed past, intent on their own conversations, and he decided it wasn’t worth asking if any of them might have seen Ginny.

The apartment itself was a basement flat in a crumbling brownstone, one of a row of such properties lining the street. The two flats above showed signs of activity; the silhouette of someone moving about behind the uppermost window, and from the ground floor he could hear the strains of a badly played piano, and people’s voices, raised above the music.

Ginny’s place, however, looked utterly deserted.

He walked down the steps, noting the gathered detritus in the lobby by her door. Decaying leaves, pages from an old newspaper, even an empty wine bottle had tumbled down here, tossed around by the wind. They were piled up against the door, suggesting it hadn’t been opened in some time. Abandoned post was wedged in the letterbox, and the faded curtains were drawn shut, meaning he couldn’t peer in through the window.

Just to be sure, he rapped loudly on the door, listening for any sound of movement within. When no one answered he tried the handle, but the door was firmly locked.

Despondent, but certain that he hadn’t missed anything, Gabriel decided to leave his car where it was and walk the rest of the way to his apartment. He had to make some more flechettes in the workshop before he went out to meet Donovan that night, and then find something to help take the edge off the pain.

“Don’t touch
anything
. Either of you.”

Donovan grinned as Dr. Vettel led him and Mullins through the labyrinthine corridors of the morgue to where she was keeping the bodies. She’d finally deemed it fitting to carry out an autopsy on the woman they’d found the night before last, Autumn Allen, and was in the midst of examining a male corpse that had been fished out of the river earlier that afternoon.

He liked Vettel—not in an inappropriate sort of way, although he had to admit, she did have her charms—but because she’d evidently decided early on in her career that she wasn’t going to take any bullshit, from anyone, no matter who they were. She had a confident, straightforward manner, and she was damn good at her job. Despite all his years on the job, Donovan couldn’t think of another police surgeon who came close.

Mullins, on the other hand, seemed rather intimidated by the woman, and he dealt with this by adopting a rather brusque countenance in her presence. He’d snapped at her on the way in, and now, realizing his error, was walking one step behind Donovan, attempting to keep out of her way. Donovan found the whole thing most amusing.

“Through here,” she said, holding the door open for them. She was young for a doctor, or so it seemed to Donovan, who might just have been getting old. She was wearing a pleated skirt and a tangerine blouse, mostly covered by a stained white apron. She had an ample, attractive figure, and wore a small pair of glasses that seemed to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her brown hair was tied up in a casual knot, as if she’d hurriedly pinned it there that morning and forgotten to let it down.

Donovan and Mullins filed into the room. It might have been a large laboratory, if it weren’t for the extra workbenches, racks of specimen jars, and operating slabs that had been crammed inside. Over each of the two slabs was a star-shaped cluster of pneumatic spurs, each one bristling with surgical tools. To Donovan they looked like large mechanical spiders, draping from the ceiling, each limb terminating in a deathly blade.