Voodoo Shanghai, page 31
Liam Sinclair was standing outside my booth, looking somewhat uncomfortable. His hands were firmly shoved in his blazer pockets, and his light-brown hair was tousled as if he’d just got out of bed and not paid much mind to his appearance beyond the obligatory showering and dressing.
He cleared his throat. “May I join you…” he started, then trailed off as he looked between the closed book and laptop, and my less than welcoming expression.
I thought I caught a slight flush of embarrassment—easy to detect on account of Liam’s pallor, another consequence of Ram’s Inn syndrome.
“I, ah, only wanted to see how you were doing after yesterday’s run-in with Dane. I don’t mean to interrupt your work. I never could stand interruptions—I’m embarrassed to find myself on the giving end.”
I thought about letting Liam continue to excuse himself. He was doing such an admirable job talking himself out of taking a seat, it seemed a shame to waste his effort.
But I was here to work on a murder case. With him and his cousin. He’d saved my ass yesterday from Dane, and my snap judgments over his fame had proven unfounded. A pang of guilt swung my mind in the other direction. Besides, I couldn’t talk about the missing swamp ghosts, but I could get his opinion on the missing Portland ghosts. He worked with a ghost binder, after all.
“Please,” I said, clearing my material off the table and sliding it carefully into my bag. Liam looked undecided, as if not convinced of my sincerity, so I added, “Believe me, I’m probably the last person in this restaurant given to bouts of misplaced politeness. I spend too much time with the dead. I really was finished.” I nodded to my empty coffee cup and cleaned breakfast plate. “I figured I’d try to grab another refill before heading to the barn.” Where I’d have to face Stephan again and see if I could smooth things over. “Please—I mean it, join me.”
And I found, with more than a little surprise, that I did mean it.
Liam slid into the booth across from me and waved at the waitress, who came by with a fresh cup for him and a refill for me. As he reached for his coffee, wrapping both hands around the piping hot cup, I noted the fingerless gloves and extra layers of shirts under his jacket—adding bulk along with warmth. Only a glimpse of his wrist peeked through, but even so, I couldn’t help but note its thinness, the way the skin hung loosely from the bone. I searched his face for the telltale hollowness, noting only a slight sunkenness around the eyes.
No, I decided, the wasting was there, in his eyes, no matter how hard he might have tried to conceal it. I spent enough time with the recently dead to recognize when the living were heading that way.
I kept my observations to myself and sipped my coffee, taking my own warmth from it like every practitioner I’d ever met always did when given half a chance. No, not long now at all.
“I take it you slept well,” Liam said, covering a cough with his hand.
“Ah—Dane didn’t try to kill me again, if that’s what you mean,” I said. I couldn’t help looking at his bone-thin finger peeking through the gloves.
He must have caught my look, because he added, “This damned syndrome steals the warmth right out of my bones, along with what wakeful moments I have left.” He smiled. “Ingrid told me from the start I shouldn’t have taken this case. She was right, mind you, though please don’t let on that I said that. My ego couldn’t take it then, and despite my own imminent demise, it won’t now. Maybe because of it.” He held up his cup. “To a practitioner’s ego. The only reason I think any of us bother stomaching the dead.”
Despite the macabre tone, his face remained animated and his eyebrow arched. “So, Kincaid Strange. Dane didn’t visit you last night. And you look like you had a good-enough sleep—for a practitioner, that is,” he added with a wink. “Either you think you are exceptionally gifted with wards to repel a powerful poltergeist or you figured out what Ingrid and I have suspected since we first caught sight of Dane a week ago,” Liam said, and sat back in his seat.
“Dane can’t leave the swamp,” I said.
“Oh, he can leave—the missing victims’ ghosts and sightings prove that well enough—but he doesn’t have the power to resist a practitioner, not like he did yesterday. He’s got surprising restraint for a poltergeist. Despite wanting all three of us very dead, he won’t venture out of the swamp. Yesterday’s events prove that in my mind.”
I didn’t think Dane could control himself enough to resist the chase after he’d smelled blood. I didn’t think any poltergeist could. But instead of voicing that thought, I said, “Or someone has figured out a way to control a poltergeist reliably.”
Liam nodded and sipped his coffee. “There is that. A theory you and Ingrid have in common.”
“And you don’t share your cousin’s theory?” It was out before I could self-filter.
Liam gave me a terse smile. “I don’t dispute the logic, Kincaid. I’m just not certain it matters.”
I frowned at him. “What is that supposed to mean?” Of course it mattered—the whys and hows always matter when it comes to the dead and Otherside. Especially a poltergeist. As pessimists and perfectionists like to say, the devil is in the details.
Liam looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Well—” he started, then stopped as the waitress reappeared with the bill, a not so subtle hint. It was then I noted that the hotel breakfast crowd had thinned out. I glanced at my phone and saw it was nine-thirty.
Jesus, I’d lost track of time. Stephan might not have given me a start time—or any updates since yesterday’s brief message—but the phrase “bright and early” had been used.
I reached for the bill, but Liam beat me to it. “Allow me,” he said, and then, without waiting for my reply, signed the receipt with his hotel details. At my sound of protest, he glanced up and said softly, “Really—it’s the least I can do for interrupting your work this morning—and for the chat. I confess, I was hoping to run into you and…” He gave me a sad smile. “I haven’t had much opportunity to talk with our own kind since this occurred.” He glanced down at the bill, tucking it back into the black folder, another flush of embarrassment on his face. “I find talking to the living keeps me lucid and the worst of Ram’s Inn syndrome at bay. Besides,” he said, sliding the bill towards the waitress and standing, “I’m willing to wager you think I’ll owe you more than a breakfast if my suspicions are right about what is to unfold today.” He reached into his pocket to check his phone. “Ingrid is waiting outside for me. We’re happy to give you a ride to the barn. Solidarity in numbers, since none of us will be there in time to please Stephan.”
I might have accepted working with a ghost binder, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be carpool buddies. “I’ve actually got—” I paused as Liam’s still-beautiful green-blue eyes implored me. Besides, there had been something in Liam’s cryptic revelation about what he expected from Dane today…“Sure thing, I’d love a ride,” I finished, sliding on my heavy flannel, frowning as I made sure everything was safely tucked into my bag.
I fell in step with Liam as he headed through the lobby.
“What is it exactly we’re looking for today? We searched the site pretty extensively yesterday—even before Dane showed up,” I said. When Liam’s expression turned guarded, I held up my hands and added, “Hey, not criticizing—I’m just trying to understand what we’re looking for—especially if Dane might rear his pastel twin-set and flannel-hating head. Stephan was foggy on the details, and to be perfectly blunt, so are you. No pun intended.”
That at least earned me a smile. Liam swung open the door for me, belying his own weakness. “Suffice to say they managed to remove the body yesterday. I think it’s prudent to take another look at the murder scene, to see if there were any bindings we missed, or may have…” He trailed off, distracted as a new-looking Audi pulled up. I caught sight of Ingrid in the driver’s seat. The car was easily worth more than I made in a year. Maybe two.
I couldn’t stop myself giving a low whistle. “So that’s what celebrity practitioning buys these days,” I muttered.
If Liam heard me, he decided—wisely, I might add—to pretend he hadn’t.
Ingrid smiled and waved as the sole hotel bellboy opened the car doors for us. Liam slid into the front seat and I got into the back, exchanging a quick hello with Ingrid. Maybe if I just pictured her as the Shirley Temple of ghost binders…
It wasn’t until the car had pulled away from the hotel and was heading for the freeway that Liam turned to face me over the seat. “Having a syndicated self-help TV show of any sort comes with its perks. And as to what will happen on site, forgive me if I worried you. Sometimes the dreams and nightmares…” He trailed off. “…seep into my waking hours.” He made a good attempt at a reassuring smile, though I wasn’t buying it. “We’ve seen the worst—and that’s Dane.” He turned back to face the road.
And now I really wasn’t buying it. Liam was afraid of something besides Dane.
I sat back in the heated leather seat as Ingrid pulled onto the highway. Well, they certainly knew how to make a practitioner comfortable. My curiosity, however, wasn’t the least bit sated. If anything, I was even more curious—and apprehensive—about what the day and crime scene held, and what exactly Liam thought he knew that I didn’t.
CHAPTER 15
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING
We reached the barn by ten, Liam offering no more hints as to what he thought we might find there. Ingrid made polite small talk while she drove, and I aimed for cordial if not friendly chatter. Liam’s exhaustion proved a welcome excuse for silence most of the way.
The agents on the scene offered us polite nods as we got out of the Audi. I turned to Liam, who looked a little unsteady on his feet—and then proceeded to faint. I caught him, barely, before he sank to the ground. I knelt down beside him and his eyes fluttered. I held him up, surprised by how little he weighed; it had to be less than me, and he was taller.
“Liam!” Ingrid rushed to his side and knelt beside him, her hand over her mouth.
To my relief, his eyes opened.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
Liam managed to stand on his own, his face even paler than usual. “Fine—I—ah, I’m embarrassed to say I overestimated myself. After yesterday I thought…I’ll be fine—really. I just need some rest—an hour or so. Ingrid, please—I can walk.” But Ingrid insisted, taking him under the arm.
“Stephan should be here. He’ll want to start. Tell him I’ll catch up soon,” she called over her shoulder as I watched her half-carry Liam towards the sole trailer.
“Strange!” I heard Stephan shout.
It took me a moment to spot him, huddled with three technicians over a box full of earth—from the barn, I imagined. There was no sign of Aaron—for which I was glad. I’d hoped on the ride over that he’d make a point of working off-site today after our fight last night. Knowing Aaron, he would have started early, so if he wasn’t here…
But I still had Stephan to deal with.
Dust off the people skills and let’s see what you can do to smooth things over, Kincaid.
He gave me an impatient look as I approached. I cleared my throat.
“Ah, you did say bright and early, and it’s overcast, so technically…” I trailed off.
Contrite and apologetic, Kincaid. That was snarky and stupid…
Stephan shook his head and dismissed the forensic team. When they were out of sight, he crossed his arms and leaned against the truck.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said simply. “There were extenuating circumstances.” Which I needed to discuss with Bergen, if not Stephan.
The tension in his posture eased, albeit reluctantly. “You used a lot of Otherside yesterday. I know practitioning…” He trailed off. “Early morning was ambitious. Ingrid and Liam?”
“They’re here. In their trailer. Liam fainted and Ingrid is helping him. She shouldn’t be long.”
Stephan nodded, taking it in stride. “Come on. I want you to have another look in the barn now that the body’s been removed. Ingrid can join us later. I have a theory I want to run past you.” He gestured for me to follow him and we headed towards the barn, grass crunching underfoot. “I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. You were trying to do your job and in retrospect I put you under a lot of stress.”
What was this? An apology? I didn’t get those often, reluctantly or not.
“Thanks, Stephan. And I should have been more sensitive about your family’s connection to the swamp—considering the circumstances.”
Stephan nodded, though his shoulders tensed once again. “Consider us even. I’ll try to be more objective about Gran and the family swamp, and you can try not being an asshole.”
“An asshole?”
“Your words, not mine.”
He sat down to switch out his shoes. I did the same, and glanced over at him. Clearly, we were not even.
“Oh, and there are way more ghosts missing than your family’s and Dane’s victims. Try almost every ghost in Portland starting last year, which your grandmother knew about.”
It took him a moment to catch up with what I’d just said. “Every goddamn ghost in Portland?”
I nodded. “Starting last year if…” I paused, not entirely sure how much Stephan knew about the Portland underground. Best to err on the side of caution. “According to my source.”
Stephan nodded, a look equal parts disgust and resignation on his face. “Figures. Why they’d go straight for the swamp ghosts never added up to me. Gran should have told me that part, though I’m sure if I ask her, she’ll say she had her reasons.”
I really did need to have a little chat with Bergen—to see what else she was hiding and why. “Does your grandmother keep things from you often?”
Stephan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. I counted to five before he opened them again, looking calmer, though far from relaxed and still tired.
He glanced around the inside of the barn. No one was in earshot. His eyes softened as he turned to me. “I have a love-hate relationship with the Otherside,” he said. “I love my family and appreciate everything they’ve taught me about their world, everything that’s gotten me here.” His eyes hardened. “But I hate the way they cut me out, the way they keep secrets just because…” He shook his head and focused back on his shoes.
“You can’t see Otherside, can you?”
He made a face. “Oh, I imagine if I tried hard enough, I could, but witchcraft doesn’t work like that. It’s more—inherited. Witches live like they’re already one of the dead, though, just like practitioners. But you’re right. Whenever my gran showed me and my sister the swamp when we were kids, I felt like I was missing something. I didn’t have it—still don’t. My parents…” He shook his head, the tension and anger back, but this time I had the sense it wasn’t directed at me. “Forget it. It’s my hang-up. It just hurts having a complete stranger walk in and know more about my home from looking at it than I do. I’ll get over it.”
More technicians and agents filtered in, and we finished pulling on the clean overalls in silence.
Well, I had an answer for one lingering question. It was clear Stephan wasn’t a witch—or was it warlock? Somehow it didn’t feel right to press Stephan on nomenclature.
The silence stretched uncomfortably while I decided what to say. I couldn’t help but think of my own tendency to keep things from Aaron. I’d been hiding, well, let’s be honest, everything from him lately. The underground cities, Gideon, my reluctant and partially coerced foray into sorcery. Oh, I told Aaron things—but only when I absolutely had to. And now I’d ejected him from my life.
“You’re right,” I finally said. “We keep a lot of secrets. But there are really good reasons for that. And maybe I’ll realize I’m wrong someday, but the only thing any of us, your gran included, can do is follow their gut.” I looked at him and waited for him to meet my eyes. “And my gut says, even though you don’t see Otherside, you’re not planning on sharing half of what you know with the FBI either.”
Stephan went very still, his dark hair hanging like a curtain over his face, hiding his expression.
I wasn’t backing down.
He finished slipping on the sterile boots and glanced up, those pretty eyes meeting mine. “It was easier thinking you were an asshole.”
“Assholes don’t inspire introspection. Or apologies.”
“Let’s leave it at that for now, shall we?” He headed into the smaller side room, and I was left with butterflies in my stomach and wondering exactly what was in the undercurrent between us. And what I wanted there to be.
I composed myself and followed him back into the room where Katy had been murdered and her ghost imprisoned.
“What do you want me to look for?” I asked Stephan, as I stepped inside and surveyed the kitchenette. Just as Stephan had said, Katy’s body was gone, though the chair remained and the rest of the room was otherwise the same.
“I got to thinking last night on something Gran always said about ghost binders. That they were plenty smart, but couldn’t set a mirror worth a damn.” At my quizzical expression, Stephan sighed and added, “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m looking for, Kincaid. I can’t get out of my head that Liam and Ingrid missed something. Please, indulge me and take a look at the Otherside. Focus on the ghost trap—and any other bindings you can find in the room.”
If that’s what he wanted…“I’ll give you this, Agent Wolf,” I said as I closed my eyes and slid my Otherside sight into place. “What you didn’t get from your family in Otherside talent, you make up for in cryptic behaviour. You’d make a cutthroat voodoo family proud.”
I was submerged into the suffocating fog before I could see his reaction. Careful of where I stepped, I peered into the Otherside.
