Medium Well (9781101599648) (22 page)

Maybe they could put it into a jar or something. He sighed. No, that was genies, and he didn't think they were the same thing. Somehow he had to figure out how to get rid of it—or how to protect the people in the house if he couldn't get rid of it altogether. One thing he was absolutely sure of—Biddy wasn't going back in there again. Not without him. Not if he had anything to say about it.

The tip of her tongue ran across his nipple, and his breath hissed in.

She grinned up at him.

He ran his hands over her slender shoulders, feeling the silken skin across her back. Her lips whispered down a line from his breastbone to his navel, her tongue dipping once, teeth nipping at the edge.

He tried to get enough breath to say something and failed. His brain was suddenly nonfunctional, all of his blood having rushed straight down to his groin.

“Biddy . . . ,” he finally managed to gasp.

“Mmm?” she hummed, her hands sliding up his inner thighs, as she licked the hard surface of his abdomen.

Danny tried to remember what he'd been going to say. Had he been going to say something? Why?

Her mouth moved down as her hands moved up, cupping him, then circling his shaft. And then her lips touched the tip, her tongue running across it. He groaned and gave up trying to remember anything at all.

Cool fingers slid up his shaft as she moved on him, taking him deep into the liquid heat of her mouth. He felt something like a missile launch burning in his groin.

“Holy . . . ,” he managed before his breath deserted him again.

She sank down, taking him in deeper, and then up again—satiny warmth enclosing and releasing. He tried to say something else but his throat was too tight for the words.

Finally, he reached for her, burying his fingers in her hair, silvery in the moonlight. “Come here,” he breathed, and tasted himself on her lips.

Her legs opened to press against his sides and then she reached down to close her hand around him again.

“Condom,” he managed to croak.

She grinned in the dim light, then pulled a foil packet from the bedside table, still straddling his waist.

He managed not to have a heart attack as she smoothed it over him, cool fingers sliding down him once again.

And then her hips rose up, and the same cool fingers guided him into the cloaking warmth of her body. In some dim part of his brain he was aware of her hips rising and falling, the exquisite tension and release. He moved his hands to her breasts, running his palms over the hard buds of her nipples until her quick intake of breath sent an arrow of heat shooting through him.

“I can't last long, babe,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

She leaned forward, running her tongue along the edge of his ear. “Just let go,” she whispered. “Let go, Danny.”

Let go.
As if he had a choice!

He felt the rush coming from the base of his spine, burning through his body, tumbling him along with it until he had no place to stand, until he was rushing headlong into space.

He cried out her name once and then again, his body convulsing in an explosion of heat and light. Above him, she stiffened and then jerked against him, losing herself as he had, sliding down into the warm depths with him.

Finally, Danny lay sprawled beneath her, his arms wrapped around her waist, unwilling to move, to break the connection. For a moment he thought she'd fallen asleep again until she stretched against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest.

“Umm,” she hummed, “so nice.”

He thought about arguing. They needed a better word than
nice
, one that summed up all the tumult, the sweetness, the heat. Not that any language had one.

He ran his hands down her back, cupping her bottom. “Nice,” he echoed, then pulled her head into the crook of his shoulder, stroking the softness of her hair.

After another moment, she raised her head. “You probably should take me home soon.”

He stared up at her. “Why?”

“Because it's late and we have to work tomorrow.”

Danny closed his eyes for a moment. “Stay here. We'll worry about that when tomorrow comes.”

“Can't.” She grinned down at him. “All I have to wear tomorrow is my red dress. Can you see me sashaying around the office dressed like that?”

“I'd like to.” He pulled her down again, gently, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. “I'd like to see the real Biddy Gunter at the office sometime.”

She sighed, raising up to look at him again. “The real Biddy Gunter in the office would cause us both no end of trouble.”

He reached to cup her face. “Biddy, you had a roomful of people screaming for you tonight. You're a star, or as close to one as you can be around here. You need to tell Vintage Realty good-bye and get on with your real life.”

Her stricken look made him feel like a bastard. “No. I can't do that to Araceli. Not yet.”

He shook his head. “Sweetheart, you've paid your dues. You've given it a good shot. It's time to be yourself.”

“You don't know what I owe Araceli. She didn't need to take me on when Mom died. She could have settled the estate and then left me on my own. She gave up everything she'd accomplished for herself so that she could be here for me. Right now I'm trying to be what she wants, at least part of the time—and to be what
I
want the rest of the time. I guess, sooner or later, I'll have to make my move, but not yet. Please, Danny. I'm just not ready.”

He started to argue with her, but then he stopped. What would it be like to be her—wildly talented but keeping it all under wraps? Playing Clark Kent to keep her sister happy? In her place, wouldn't he have told Araceli to take a hike a long time ago?

He considered all the times his own family had hauled him out of trouble. Like the way his mom had gone into a haunted house this afternoon and gotten a ghost to give him the goods. Maybe he shouldn't be so quick to judge what other people were willing to do for their own families.

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead on hers. “Okay, sweetheart, I won't push it. But stay here tonight. I promise I'll get you home in time to change tomorrow morning.”

“Deal,” she murmured drowsily, burrowing deeper into his arms.

Chapter 22

Danny did manage to get Biddy to her apartment in time to change for work in the morning, although he did it by not sleeping much himself. He sighed when she came back into the room in her slightly worn navy blue linen. “Welcome back to the hearth, Cinderella.”

She leaned down and kissed him on the nose. “Who are you? My fairy godmother? I'll drive myself to the office.”

“Dinner tonight?”

She shook her head. “Can't. We've got a gig in San Marcos and I'm leaving right after work.”

He started to offer his roadie services, but she shook her head again, grinning. “Take a night off, Danielo. I'm driving up and back with the boys. It'll be easier that way.”

Danny sighed and went to work.

He got his first shock of the day when Big Al called him directly, rather than relaying his orders through his small army of assistants. “Ramos,” he barked, “what's up with that carriage house? Where are you on the sale?”

Danny took a breath, and launched into the opposite of a sales pitch, listing all the deficits he could think of, ending with a vague statement about his ability to overcome them given sufficient time.

Big Al cut him off in midsentence. “You want me to turn it over to somebody else?”

Danny's heart thumped painfully.
Hell yes!
“No sir, of course not. I'm just looking for the right buyer.”

“'Cause I can do that,” Big Al continued as if he hadn't spoken. “Lots of people would be happy to take it on. Great way to make a reputation.”

Right.
Of course it might not be the kind of reputation anybody wanted. “I can do it,” Danny muttered.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as if Big Al were thinking it over, then a sigh. “I'll let you go on with it, Ramos, but we don't have all the time in the world here. We need to start seeing some results. Petrocelli's already been on my back.”

“Yes sir.” He recognized the code. He had to come up with something soon, probably within a week or two. Otherwise, Big Al would pass it on to somebody else, and Danny would get a black mark on his sales record. And that somebody else might run into a very annoyed demon when they tried to sell the place.

“Good man,” Big Al rumbled. “You keep Araceli informed, now.”

Danny hung up, knowing only too well who had told Big Al about the problems with the carriage house. He didn't need to keep Araceli informed. She was way ahead of him.

At eleven he called his sister Rosie to ask her to lunch. Rosie was a reference librarian at the downtown branch. He figured it would only take twenty minutes or so to drive down there. Then they could grab a sandwich somewhere on the river and he could talk to her about raiding their grandmother's book collection. That plan lasted only as long as it took to propose it to his sister.

“I don't work downtown anymore,” she explained. “Why don't you come by the house?”

“You're not at the library? Where do you work now?”

“I'm a consultant.”

He listened for anything in her tone that might explain what was going on, but after several seconds of silence, he understood Rosie wasn't going to say any more than that. “Okay, sure, I can come over there. Actually, I needed something from your house anyway.” He tried to sound casual, but apparently he didn't succeed.

“From my house?” He pictured his sister narrowing her eyes. “You've never been in my house, Danny. How could you want something from here?”

“Ma thought maybe you might still have Grandma Riordan's library at your place. She thought I could possibly find some information there.”

“Information?” Rosie's voice sounded incredulous. “From Granny Riordan's library? Her library is mainly books on stuff that would make Stephen King giddy with delight. What do you want from those?”

“I just . . .” He fumbled through a list of possible excuses, none of which would work. “I'll tell you about it when I get there.”

“Well, that's fairly mysterious, but I guess you can fill me in later. Just remember—Grandma's collection is sort of . . . specialized. But if you can find what you need, you're welcome to it.” She sounded amused.
Great.
He was providing entertainment for his baby sister.

He swung by a sandwich place at the edge of Southtown and picked up a tuna salad for Rosie and a roast beef for himself. Then he headed back into haute King William. The Riordan house was several blocks from the Steadman place, on a much more pleasant street. The architecture was the height of Victorian charm. Two stories, sloping roof with a gable in the front, gingerbread trim hanging from the eaves. Even a metal roof cresting across the top. Somebody—either Grandma Riordan or Rosie—had done a great job of painting out the elaborate trim in a dark blue shade that contrasted beautifully with the creamy paint on the walls. Like the Steadman house, a wide gallery rimmed the lower story, with slender, decorated support posts. Unlike the Steadman house, it looked shady and inviting.

He could have sold the place in a minute, assuming Rosie had managed to do something about the inside. According to his mother, the inside was not what you'd call cozy.

He climbed the wide front steps and pushed the ornate metal doorbell. Somewhere deep within the house he heard a distant chime, remote and echoing. He glanced at the window, but the lace curtains hid the interior. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and he found himself stepping back slightly until the door swung open to reveal his sister.

Who the hell did you expect to answer the door? Lurch?
Clearly, the Steadman house and its outbuildings were beginning to warp his view of King William. “Hey, Rosie.”

“Come on in.” Rosie was a carbon copy of their mother—tall, slender, honey brown hair. Like Ma, she could be a knockout when she wanted. Right now, given her cutoffs, ratty Band of Heathens T-shirt and flip-flops, she apparently didn't want to be. “Let me show you the books before you eat anything,” she said, “although it may kill your appetite.”

She gave him a sly smile, then turned and headed back down the hall, clearly expecting him to tag along. The only thing that marked her as a Ramos was her dark eyes, the color of good bourbon. That, and her unwillingness to put up with crap. Danny and his brother Ray had tried the protective big brother approach when they were in high school, giving her dates a colorful description of the havoc they'd wreak if the boys tried anything with their baby sister. Rosie had told them both that if they didn't lay off, she'd send their folks copies of every piece of illicit e-mail they had on their computers. Her threat had worked because they absolutely believed her.

Danny had a brief impression of a darkish living room to the left as he followed her down the hall—a room full of shadows. For a moment he thought one of the shadows moved.
Steady, Ramos.
He followed Rosie into what had probably once been the dining room.

Now it was difficult to say exactly what the room was. A desk was shoved against the far wall with a computer and printer. He was willing to bet those were his sister's. But he figured everything else in the room had been there long before either of them had been born. He dropped the bag with the sandwiches on a table near the door.

The walls were lined with bookcases, some made out of metal that looked like library surplus. But there were several elaborate wooden bookcases that would probably bring a nice price on eBay collectibles. The shelves overflowed with books. He could see some that had classic library binding, and a few that looked like book club rejects. But then there were the leather-bound volumes, the ones that had gold trim on the spines, and the ones bound in materials he couldn't identify. A couple of covers looked like carved ivory, and he swore he could see something that looked like jewels embedded in the tarnished metal of another.

He swallowed. “Granny's library?”

“Yep.” Rosie sighed. “Feel free to tell me what you need, but don't expect me to have a clue about how to start looking for it.”

“No catalog?”

She grimaced. “I assume you're kidding. I've tried to figure out how she organized the collection, but I still haven't cracked it, even after several months of trying. I'm beginning to think she just stuck stuff on the shelves wherever it fit. I've started making a list of the titles, but I haven't gotten very far yet.”

He walked along the cases, staring at the titles on the book spines. Less than half of them were in English. “Crap,” he muttered. “I don't suppose you read German and French by any chance?”

She shook her head. “Most of that's old French and old German, too. Even if my French was good, which it isn't particularly, I wouldn't be able to get through that. And there's also some Latin, which I haven't used in a decade at least.”

“Crap,” he repeated, sinking into a chair across from the largest bookcase.
Great idea, Ma. Too bad it would take me a couple of years to find books that had anything to do with demons. And I've got a week.

“What is it you're looking for, Danny?” Rosie pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down across from him. “I don't know the whole library, but I've looked at some of these. Maybe I could help.”

Now was the time for a really good lie. Unfortunately, the only thing in his mind at the moment was the truth. “Demons,” he said.

His sister blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Demons. I've got a house with a demon and I need to get rid of it. The demon, that is. Although also the house. But I can't get rid of the house until I get rid of the demon, and Ma said there might be some books here that would help.”

Rosie stared at him for a long moment, then she sighed. “Why am I not surprised that Ma had an opinion on the subject? It might help if you told me this story from the beginning.”

“It might.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “These days, I'm willing to believe just about anything.”

It took him longer to tell the story than it should have. At first, he wanted to leave out some parts, mainly the ones about the blood and the dreams. He really didn't want his sister to think he was nuts. But once he'd launched into it, he ended up telling her everything, waiting to see her expression change from sisterly concern to the well-founded assumption that he was a fruitcake. It never did.

Rosie sat with her hands clasped between her knees, her expression blank. When he'd finished, she shook her head. “This isn't good.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I don't know if there's anything here that can help you, and even if we found something, I couldn't guarantee that it would be accurate. I think Grandma had some of this stuff more for historical reference than for any . . . personal use.”

“I know about her, Rosie,” he said abruptly. “About her and Great-grandma Siobhan, and how they earned their money. Ma told me.”

Rosie stared up at him, her golden brown eyes suddenly opaque. “We're Riordans, Danny. Both of us. It doesn't do any good to ignore it. Believe me, I know.”

Somewhere outside he heard a mockingbird trilling, and the sound of a skateboard, probably going along the river path. Inside, the house was absolutely silent.

“What does that mean, ‘We're Riordans'? What's going on, Rosie?”

His sister sighed. “It means that I might be able to find out the answers to your questions, but it'll probably take me a few hours. Call me back tonight, okay? Maybe after dinner. Now give me my tuna sandwich.”

He wanted to ask her where she was going to look, ask to see the book himself. If it was a book. Suddenly, he wasn't sure. And maybe it was none of his business. “Okay, Sis, let's have lunch.”

All the way down the walk to his car he told himself not to look back at the house because nobody there would be watching him. But he still felt that itchy spot between his shoulder blades as he drove back to the office.

He wanted to see Biddy again. Badly. Preferably dressed in her Chalk Creek Changelings outfit. Predictably, given the way the day seemed to be going, she'd already left for her gig in San Marcos.

“Ms. Gunter said you'd given her the rest of the afternoon off.” Lois's voice dripped disapproval.

He wondered if she ever got the two Ms. Gunters confused. Probably not. “That's right, I did.” He gave her his best smile. “I forgot.”

Lois narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

He managed to find a few chores in the office to fill up the afternoon, then swung by Buentello's and had a burger for dinner before heading back to Rosie's house. He had a feeling food would make whatever news she had to pass on go down a little better. Or maybe he was just postponing the inevitable.

In the early evening shadows, the white Victorian seemed to glow, the lights from the living room warming the front gallery. He could hear doves cooing in the live oaks nearest the house as he navigated over the cracked pavement of the drive. He wondered if his sister would like to have the number of somebody who'd do a good asphalt job. He wondered if she could afford a good asphalt job.

Being a consultant couldn't pay much, could it? They hadn't really broached the subject of what she was consulting on instead of being a librarian. He thought he might like to know.

Then again, he might not.

Rosie opened the door before he could ring the bell. This time she led him into the living room.

He frowned. “Where are the books?”

“What books?”

“The ones you used to find my demon information.”

She gestured at the sofa. “Sit down, Danny. We need to talk about this.”

He sank onto a couch that was deeper than it looked, thrusting a couple of pillows out of the way as he did. “What's up, Sis?”

“What did Ma tell you about me? And this house?” She stared down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.