Medium Well (9781101599648) (23 page)

He thought about diplomatic ways to phrase things, but diplomacy didn't seem to cover this situation. “She said she thought you might be going into the family business. She wasn't happy about it, but I think she understands.”

Rosie nodded slowly. “I figured she might have guessed by now. I'm not going to swear you to secrecy or anything, but I'd just as soon you didn't pass this on to Dad or Ray.” Her eyes widened. “Oh Lord, Dad doesn't know already, does he?”

Danny shook his head. “I don't think so. Just me. So you're a medium, like Grandma?”

“Sort of. I mean, I don't do séances or anything, but . . .” Her shoulders moved up in a tiny shrug.

“So what do you do, Rosie? What exactly are you ‘consulting' on?”

Her lips tightened, but she met his gaze almost defiantly. “I have a business—Locators, Ltd. We find missing items, mostly documents right now.”

“‘We'?”

She sighed. “You said Mom told you about the house. There's . . . well . . . we, that is, the Riordan family, we've got . . .” She pressed her lips together, grimacing.

“A spirit guide?” He sat very still. A breeze that felt like an air conditioner set to arctic brushed against the back of his neck.

She nodded. “Yes. Exactly. We have a spirit guide. He's my partner.”

Danny exhaled slowly. Insane conversations had become pretty much the norm over the past few days. Still, this one seemed to be setting a new benchmark in weirdness. “Is he here now?”

His sister shook her head. “No. He took off after he got the information I asked for.”

“So how does it work? You sit in a room someplace with the lights off and ask questions?”

Rosie narrowed her eyes. “I told you I don't do séances—and I never will. They're mostly phony anyway. And very old-fashioned.”

“So what do you do?”

“Our clients send us queries by e-mail or occasionally in person. They think I'm some kind of private detective or something. Not a medium, anyway. I check with my partner to see if we can find the answers to their questions. If we can, the client signs a contract and we pass on the information. We have a money-back guarantee.”

“How does your . . . partner . . . find what's missing?”

She shrugged. “He locates whatever spirit is most likely to have the answers. If it's something like a missing will that a spirit has direct knowledge of, that's relatively easy. If it's something the living have misplaced, that's harder. But sometimes spirits know that, too. Particularly if it went missing around the time they died.”

He leaned back in his seat, trying not to feel dizzy. “Okay. This is all very interesting, but what does it have to do with my demon? I mean, I'm sorry Sis, I want to hear more sometime, but I've got a crisis right now.”

Rosie stared down at her hands again.
Not good.
“Actually, it does have something to do with your demon. In fact, it's got a lot to do with your demon. I asked my spirit guide to find out about him.”

Danny sat up straight again. “Did he talk to the coachman? And Mrs. Palmer?”

His sister shook her head. “Apparently, they're not available. He said they're still tied to the earth, whatever that means. He can't get to them.”

“So could he find out anything?”

“He found your information, but I doubt if you'll like it. He talked to someone who used to own the house. A woman.”

“Mrs. Steadman? I've already talked to her. Sort of,” he amended.

His sister grimaced. “Believe me, the conversations my partner has with other spirits are a lot more clear than anything you or I could get from them. She probably gave him better information than she gave you.”

Danny swallowed. “Okay. What have I got? Ma said I need to know what kind of demon is in the place before I can deal with it.”

Rosie shrugged. “I don't know if that's true or not, but my partner did find that information for you. He said you've got a soul-eater.”

A sudden breeze rattled the antique window glass. Danny's pulse thudded heavily in his ears. “I don't suppose that name's metaphoric.”

“I'm afraid not.” She pulled a sheet of paper off of the coffee table. “I made some notes. It's a demon that derives its power from taking human souls. The more it consumes, the more powerful it becomes. My partner thought that might be how Palmer paid off the demon for the financial information it provided.”

“By giving it human souls?” Danny narrowed his eyes. “How exactly could he go about doing that?”

She licked her lips. “You can't really separate souls from bodies, Danny. He gave people to the demon, and the demon killed them. Actually, according to my partner, the demon probably ate them.”

He stared at her, feeling his lungs seize up. “It eats people?”

She nodded, slowly. “Yes. It devours them. Frequently from the inside out since it sometimes possesses them first. So it can get the soul.”

He closed his eyes, picturing the kitchen at the carriage house. The sea of blood covering the walls, the floor, the ceiling. He wondered where Palmer got the people who had died there. He wondered if anyone missed them. “Holy Christ,” he whispered.

“Yeah.” She nodded again. “It's bad.
Really
bad.”

After a moment, he squared his shoulders again. Being horrified didn't get them anywhere. “Okay, how do I get rid of it?”

She blew out a breath. “You don't.”

He stared at her, his throat tightening. “What do you mean, I don't? You mean I need to call in some kind of specialist? Do an exorcism or something?”

“No. That won't help. Nothing will help. The only thing you can do with this demon is what's already been done—bind it in place and leave it in its cage. Nobody goes in there and the demon stays put. You can't get rid of it, but as long as it's bound in place, it can't kill anybody.”

He blew out a long breath. “I have to sell that place, Rosie. And even if I don't, somebody else will. Big Al's already given me a deadline to sell it or he'll turn it over to another salesman. People have to go in there. We've got no choice.”

“Danny, listen to me.” She leaned forward, her gaze bleak. “My partner says every time you open that door the demon picks up a little more strength—you're that much closer to letting it loose. And once it's loose, you won't be able to stop it. No one will. Palmer may have had a kind of minimal control over the demon, but even that was tenuous. It turned on him in the end. You've got no choice here. Get away from the place, and stay out! Permanently!”

“But it's bound in there, right? How could it get loose just because people are going inside?” Danny managed to keep most of the desperation out of his voice.

“Do you know where it is? Where it's bound?” His sister stared back, unrelenting. “Can you guarantee you won't open a door or a box or a chest and let it out? Or that somebody else won't if they take over selling the place? You said there was a lot of junk in the place—what if the demon's bound in one of those boxes. Besides, it's getting stronger now. Soon it may be able to break out on its own.”

“But how . . .” He closed his eyes, fighting for sanity. “How could it be growing stronger when it's locked up somewhere? All we've done is walk through the place with a few people. How does that help the demon?”

She shrugged. “It feeds off you somehow. Maybe your fear. Maybe just your presence. I don't know, Danny, but it's very dangerous. You can't go in there again. No one can. Why don't you just tell Vintage Realty that the place is unsafe for human habitation. God knows that's true.”

“Because they won't believe me!” He gritted his teeth. “They've got the inspection report. They know the place is structurally sound. Hell, we've been waving it at everybody who's walked through. I can't turn around now and say it's not accurate.”

“Well, brother dear, you'd better figure something out because you can't go in there again. Nobody can go in there again. Unless you want them to be demon bait.”

He sat frozen in his seat, staring at a spot on the slightly worn Persian carpet that covered the oak floor.
Demon bait.
He pictured turquoise eyes, silver hair.
No. No one goes inside. Never again.

“Danny?” Rosie's voice softened. “Look, I'm sorry, I wish I could help you more, but that's the bottom line here. Nobody can go inside this place safely.”

“Right. I understand. Don't worry, Sis. I'll take care of it.” He stood, wiping his suddenly damp palms on his thighs.

Rosie stared up at him, her forehead furrowed. “You'll take care of it how? What are you going to do?”

“What I need to, I guess.” He leaned down, brushing his lips against her cheek. “Thanks for your help.”

Rosie started to ask him something more, but Danny was already moving toward the front door.

“Be careful, Danny,” she called after him. “Please.”

He backed down the bumpy drive, paying no attention to the potholes this time. There had to be a way. Something he could do—something . . .

Maybe he could ask somebody else, maybe Rosie was wrong, maybe his mother . . . He closed his eyes, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he turned. No. From now on, he'd make sure his mother didn't come within a mile of the place. Neither would Biddy.

Rosie was right. He knew it. And he knew what that meant.

His mother's voice echoed in his ears.
The one sure way is to destroy the building. If someone managed to bind the demon to the carriage house, the house and the demon go together.

The house had to come down. Destroy the house, destroy the demon. Simple. Except that he'd never get away with it. Even if he had time to plan, he'd have no idea how to cover his tracks. And he had no time. No matter how he chose to bring the house down, he knew he'd be caught unless he was insanely lucky. And his luck hadn't been all that good lately.

Which meant when he destroyed the carriage house, he'd also destroy his own life. Hell, he'd
have
no life after this.

The future. Biddy.

Don't think about it. Not now.
He took one last shuddering breath and turned the car toward the other side of King William.

Chapter 23

Danny knew he should have gone home, but somehow he couldn't make himself leave King William after he'd talked to Rosie. He spent a couple of hours on the terrace at Buentello's, drinking a succession of beers while trying desperately to come up with alternatives—any alternatives. But at the end of his final beer, he was no closer to a solution that didn't involve destroying the carriage house.

The demon ate people. The demon was getting steadily stronger. Everyone who walked through the house was in danger. Anyone who actually bought the house was dead meat—literally. Bottom line, he couldn't see any other way out.

The only way to destroy the demon was to destroy the house. The only way to destroy the house was to burn it to the ground. The only one who could do that—or, anyway, the only one who
would
do that—was Danny himself.

QED. He was screwed.

Now he sat in his car, staring at Biddy's duplex. He couldn't see her windows from the street. She might not be back from San Marcos yet. He might not have to do this right now.

Don't think about it. Just go ahead and get it over with. You've got other things you have to plan.
The ignition point would be the biggest problem. An accelerant like gasoline would be a quick tip-off to any arson investigator. But surely there was enough trash in the place to make a fire look realistic, and it would probably burn like crazy once he got it going. If he could only figure out how to do that without setting himself on fire in the process. His arson experience was limited.

Tomorrow night. He'd do it then. That should give him time to put together something halfway believable.

Maybe a cigarette. He could claim someone walking by had tossed it in. Through a window. That didn't open onto the street. He rubbed a hand across his face. Clearly, his best chance to make the cops believe him would be to perfect the Vulcan mind-meld before they questioned him.

He wished he could talk to his brother Ray. Ray was a contractor. He'd probably have a better idea about what kind of fire might look like an accident.
Right
.
Great idea. Suck Ray into this, too.
Bad enough his mother and Rosie might guess what he'd done. The cops would question them, and he hated making them lie. If everything went south, as it inevitably would, he had to make sure nobody else was going to fall with him. They'd be hurt enough if he got caught. Hell, might as well be realistic—
when
he got caught.

Biddy.
He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest. He couldn't tell her what he was going to do. She might try to talk him out of it, and then she'd be someone else lying to the police on his behalf. Worse, she might want to help.
That can never happen, Danielo.
He couldn't let her set foot in the place again. And he couldn't let her get involved in anything that might send her to jail.

This was the best way to do it. The only way to do it. The way that would protect her. The way that would keep her out of it.

The way that keeps you from having to admit how much in love with her you really are.

He blinked. That wasn't it at all. He wasn't . . . didn't . . . His chest tightened painfully.

He did. He loved her.

But it didn't matter a damn anymore. He couldn't do anything about it, even if he wanted to.

Do you want to?

The pain in his chest throbbed. All those years, all those girls. The bachelor life he'd lived ever since he'd graduated from college.
Ready to give it all up, Danielo?

He took a deep breath.
Hell, yes. In a fraction of a second.
Which, of course, made it even more ironic that he no longer could. Not if he wanted to keep Biddy out of it.

Clean break, Danny. Clean break. Now.
He opened the car door, stepping out into the darkened street.
Don't think about it. Don't feel anything. Just do it.

He'd have all that jail time later to deal with the pain.

***

Biddy stared into the mirror as she removed her stage makeup and tried to decide why the show hadn't been as good as she'd thought it would be. The audience was fine. The band was smokin'. She'd been . . . all right.

She blew out a breath. Okay, she needed to get over this. Danny couldn't come to every performance and she needed to do a good job whether he was there or not. She'd been good before she met him, after all.

And you've been a lot better since.

She wiped off her grin, along with the makeup remover. Enough with the double entendres. They weren't really her style, anyway. At least, she could get some sleep tonight—between the band and Danny, she hadn't been getting nearly enough time in bed.

She grinned in the mirror again. That punch line would be way too easy. She had to let it go just on general principles.

Her doorbell echoed through the apartment, and she dropped the washcloth, checking the clock. Twelve thirty. Who came around at twelve thirty? The corners of her mouth edged up.
Danny. Had to be.

She peered through the peephole on the door. It was.

She played it cool, more or less. She didn't throw her arms around his neck, but she couldn't keep herself from grinning. She probably looked like an idiot. “Hi.”

He gave her a smile that was more like a grimace, a quick wince of his lips. “Hi.”

She blinked. “What's wrong?”

He looked away from her into the living room. “Nothing. Can we sit down for a minute?”

“Sure.” She stepped back, trying to ignore the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, then followed him.

“How was your show?” He balanced on the edge of her sofa, glancing around the room at the posters he'd already seen two or three times before.

So
not good.

“Okay. Good for a weeknight.”

“Glad to hear it.” He looked at her for a moment, then glanced away again. “I've got some news.”

“Oh?” She sank down into the chair opposite the sofa. Whatever it was, she was pretty sure she needed to be sitting down when she heard it. “About the demon?”

“What?” He grimaced, shaking his head. “No. Not about that. I've had an offer. From Selkirk Associates. For a promotion. I'm changing jobs.”

She licked her lips. “Don't they sell new developments?”

“So?” He shrugged. “I can do new stuff as well as I can old.”

“Oh. Well. Congratulations.” She tried to ignore the cold feeling that spread now from her gut toward her heart.

“Thanks. I just wanted to let you know. I'll write you a recommendation before I leave.”

“Leave?” She stared at him. “You're leaving San Antonio?”

He nodded. “The job's in Dallas. One of the new developments.”

“When . . .” She swallowed quickly. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon. Maybe next week.” He was looking at the walls again.

Suddenly, she wanted to pummel him with the sofa cushion. Or maybe slap him until he looked at her for longer than five seconds. She balled her hands into fists in her lap. “Are you breaking up with me, Danny? Is that what this is all about?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened, but he finally looked at her again. “I'm moving to Dallas, Biddy. You've got a career here. It's better this way.”

Better for whom?
She sat still to keep herself from saying all the things that crowded her mind. “What about the carriage house?”

“What about it?” He shook his head. “Tomorrow I'll tell Big Al I'm not up to selling it. He can assign it to someone else.”

“And the demon?”

He grimaced, lips thinning. “Not my problem anymore. Not yours, either. Let somebody else deal with it. We're done over there.”

“Somebody else.” She blinked. “You'd let other people walk into that place, knowing what you know?”

For a moment something flickered behind his eyes, then he was on his feet. “Like I say, not my problem. Don't worry about it. The whole thing was probably just overactive imagination anyway. And suggestion. I'm not sure I believe in the whole demon thing anymore.”

Her mouth dropped open. For one of the few times in her life, she couldn't think of a single thing to say.
Demons. Nightmares. Ghost cats. Overactive imagination my ass!
“How can you say that? You know it's not true!”

He shook his head. “True or not, I'm done with it. So are you.”

Biddy's chest clenched. She took a shuddering breath. “You're a coward, Danny Ramos.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. Good luck with the Chalk Creek Changelings. I'll let myself out.” He strode out of her living room before she had time to react.

She sat very still, staring at the sofa where he'd been sitting, waiting for her heartbeat to slow down again. She chewed her lip absently. This was really going to hurt very soon. She knew it. Even though she felt numb right now. She wondered when it would finally kick in.

Something warm rolled down her cheek. Her throat was suddenly tight, and her chest ached. She caught her breath in a strangled sigh.
Okay, there's the pain. Right on schedule.

She closed her eyes, pressing her hands to her mouth in a largely useless attempt to hold back the sobs.

***

Danny sat in his car again, staring at the lavender plant in Biddy's front yard, smelling the night-blooming jasmine. For the rest of his life, he'd associate that smell with her. Right now, of course, the rest of his life didn't seem all that appealing.

Maybe that was the right frame of mind for arson and demon fighting. Maybe he wouldn't care much if the rest of his life weren't that long anyway.

You should be so lucky. The best you can hope for is a cell in Huntsville with a forest view. And a long time to remember this night.

He leaned forward slowly, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. It didn't really matter a damn. Without Biddy, the rest of his life would feel like eternity, no matter how long it lasted.