Dead Demon Walking (8 page)

Truth be told, as we ate
supper in that fancy hotel and I contemplated my opinion of Plowman
and demons in general, I didn’t know how far I could trust Royal,
not after Russia. He would never be cruel for cruelty’s sake, or
vengeful. He would never hurt me physically. I
did
trust him to have my back if
danger threatened. But I could not forget he owed allegiance to
Bel-Athaer’s High House.

I had to ask myself, if the High House
again ordered him to do what he knew would be abhorrent to me,
would he?

Sometimes, usually in the middle of
the night, I called myself a fool. But then I looked at his
sleeping face, felt his warmth, replayed our day together, and a
smile curved my mouth. He made my heart race and my bones turn to
Jell-O. Just looking at him, I felt a warm tingle inside. I missed
him when we were apart. I didn’t believe in happily-ever-after, but
I knew life without Royal would be a shadow of what it was with
him.

After I got through my teens, I never
thought I’d again see the day I became an emotional mess. Yet here
I was. . . .

I concentrated on my food,
letting their conversation wash over me. Plowman used his
silverware in a peculiar way. Like most right-handed Americans, I
carve a piece off the outer edge of my meat, lay my knife down and
switch my fork to my right hand, stab the meat and
voila
! Plowman forked his
steak at the edge, cut the piece off and put it in his mouth. No
laying down utensils, no switching hands. Odd, but I must admit to
an economy of motion. Maybe a British thing?

I avoided Plowman’s gray eyes, though
I felt them on me. When I didn’t watch where I stuck my fork, my
gaze drifted to Royal. He wore his long hair pulled back in a tail,
the metallic copper-gold glimmered in the lamplight. His coppery
eyes glinted as he moved his head. He met my eyes, we both smiled.
For a moment, I forgot another person sat at our table.

Plowman cleared his throat, reminding
me a third person sat with us. I concentrated on my food
again.

I did not say a word until I swallowed
the last mouthful and took a sip from my glass. Then I jumped in.
“Right. About this ghost. . . .”

Plowman sighed heavily. “I expect
Royal told you this . . . intrusion, is causing us considerable
inconvenience?”

“
He didn’t tell me a
thing.” I leaned back in my chair and hooked one arm over the back.
“I felt it when we walked in here.”

“
I told you she would
know,” Royal said to Plowman.

Plowman put his elbows on the table
and steepled his fingers. He stared at me for a good half-minute,
then gave me a brief nod. “Very well. We began renovations to the
attics three years ago. The workmen spoke of odd occurrences.
Blueprints, pencils, small items, moved to other locations. I
didn’t take much notice at the time. But when we made the suites
available to our guests, they reported unpleasant . . . anomalies.
A member of my staff circulated the story that a woman died in an
attic room. Naturally, I reprimanded him, but I checked into it all
the same. Ten years ago, before I purchased the hotel, an employee
murdered his companion of the moment up there.”

This didn’t sound right.
What
anomalies
could a shade impose on the living? “What did your guests
see?”

“
Furniture tipping over,
objects flying across the room.”

No, definitely not right. I puffed out
a breath through pursed lips, sucked one in. “Whatever you have up
there, I don’t think it’s a ghost.”

“
Poltergeist?” from
Royal.

I let my gaze wander to the wallpaper.
Poltergeist? Maybe. I dropped my chin and frowned at Plowman. “Were
there children among your guests? I’ve heard they can unwittingly
instigate this sort of paranormal activity.”

Plowman shook his head. “No
children.”

“
And she was
murdered?”

“
Yes. Royal said you can
communicate with murder victims.”

“
Not just them, anyone who
died a violent death. This woman, what happened to her
killer?”

“
Caught, convicted and
spent two years in prison until another inmate killed
him.”

I rubbed at my scalp “Doesn’t make
sense. For a start, she shouldn’t still be here after her killer
died. She definitely couldn’t hurl solid objects - there are
rules.”

“
Like those Lindy Marchant
broke when she left her apartment to look for you?” Royal said,
brows arcing.

I have encountered a few
rule-breakers, and Lindy Marchant topped the list. Shades should
remain at their place of death until their killer dies, but Lindy
walked two blocks to my house because she wanted me to find her
little boy. To further complicate matters, Lindy wasn’t murdered;
she died a natural death and should not have lingered.

“
Whatever it is, it has to
stop.” Plowman looked agitated; his knuckles rapped the table.
“This manifestation threw a vase at a guest. We were nearly
embroiled in a lawsuit and I no longer dare offer the
suite.”

“
Okay,” I conceded. I
grimaced at Plowman. He
was
letting us stay in a luxury suite at no cost. “I
suppose I could look at this ghost.”

***

Muted voices and muffled footfalls
drifted up the staircase. Unlike the foyer, the floors above
boasted thick carpet in hallways and the back staircase. We took
the stairs because the elevator to the top floor had broken down,
again. Plowman said it did so regularly. He attributed that to the
shade, but I doubted it. From what he said, the shade was confined
to the suite, else peculiarities would have been noticed in the
rest of the hotel

I paused on a small landing to look
out the window. The hotel had a large formal garden with neatly
clipped box hedges, flower beds and geometric shrubbery shapes here
and there. Coins glinted in a small pond as a fountain in the
middle blew misty water in the air. Several people read or relaxed
in wickerwork chairs, and two played a board game at a
table.

I followed the guys up.

We came out in a long, narrow
corridor. The ceiling hung lower; in fact if it were any lower we
three would need to duck our heads. I saw two doors widely spaced
apart.

Plowman’s gaze roved from one end of
the corridor to the other. “The rooms up here housed hotel staff in
the early days, but live-in staff is a thing of the past, so we
decided to use the space. There are two guest suites. Our problem
is with one, but we closed both. I dare not risk putting someone up
here and the disturbance spreads to the other suite.” He gestured
to the door nearest us. “In there.”

I stared at the door. “Information
first, please. What’s her name and how did she die?”

“
Rosa Talby. Her lover
strangled her.”

Throttling must be a preferred method
when the killer is male, the victim female, because of the female
victims I know, I would say fifty percent were
strangled.

I felt her as a strong, angry,
throbbing presence. I walked to the door, put my hand on the
doorknob and smiled at Royal. “I hope this won’t take
long.”

He gave me a vague, uncertain smile.
“Be careful.”

I like to be alone when I encounter a
shade for the first time. I don’t know how they’ll behave, how
they’ll react to what I say. Or how I will react. For me, it’s a
very private moment. Royal understands this, but he wasn’t happy
about me meeting a shade who could throw objects.

I couldn’t miss Rosa Talby. She
stomped toward me the second I stepped in the suite. “What d’ya
think you’re doing?”

What a sweetie. Rosa stood
five-nothing, skinny as a teenage model, oval face, brown
almond-shaped eyes all but hidden by long blond hair. From what I
saw of her face, she died terrified. She wore a brown ankle-length,
broomstick skirt and a pale-yellow, lacy bra.

My mind remained free of the images
which are a shade’s last living moments. As always, I silently
thanked God, wondering if I would go over the edge should I witness
every shade’s passing, or become inured, so their deaths had less
impact on me.

With the smell of spoiled food,
desiccated plant life and stale air, the suite felt congested to
the degree my nose blocked up. Plowman was serious about keeping
everyone out, including the maids. Light from a bay window drifted
mistily over the wrecked remains of décor and accessories. China
shards littered the floor, large and small framed paintings were
impaled on lamp finials and modern statuettes. Potted plants were
knocked over, the pots shattered, soil scattered on the Oriental
carpets. A long crack threaded the glass of a huge mirror which
hung over the fireplace. Through an open door, I saw the bedroom
was in worse condition.

I waited to see what she would do and
didn’t wait long. A small vase, one of the few intact pieces in the
room, flew at my face.

I ducked and it zipped past to smash
against the door.

“
Tiff?”

“
It’s okay, Royal,” I
called out.

A pot shed dirt and dry, crumbling
leaves as it lifted off the floor. Rosa stalked at me menacingly,
the pot drifting ahead. A jumble of words spewed from her lips.
“Get outta here, piss face!”

Like I said, a real sweetie. “Did you
call me piss face?”

The pot dropped to the floor. “Fuck
me! You can hear me?”

I folded my arms. “I can, though I’d
rather you were a figment of my imagination.”

She cocked her head on one side. “From
Hollywood, are you?”

Huh? Why would she think that? “I’m
from Utah.”

“
It’s just, you’re so
fucking beautiful.”

Wow. Complimented on my appearance by
two people in one day. I’d be flattered if one weren’t a lecher and
the other a foulmouthed dead woman.

“
That’s nice of you, but -
”

“
Your type makes me sick.
Think just because you’re fucking lovely you can walk all over
everyone.”

Do not grit your teeth,
Tiff. Act like you talk to a regular, sane, living person.
“Is that so? That’s a mega-size chip on your
shoulder, Rosa.”

She turned her back on me. “You don’t
know a fucking thing.”

I was at a loss. I come in here to see
if a destructive shade exists and end up on the bad end of a verbal
lashing?

I moved farther in the room. “Why are
you still here, Rosa? Why didn’t you move on? And why, for pity’s
sake, do you throw things at people?”

She slumped. “So they’ll take notice
of me.”

“
They did, and it sent them
away.”

“
Yeah, I know
that.”

“
Knowing that, you still
had a go at me.”

“
Call it a bad
habit.”

One among many, if I wasn’t mistaken.
“Have you always been able to throw objects, from the beginning,
when you were . . . when you died?”

She turned to face me and perched on
the arm of a couch, one bare foot on the cushion, one on the floor.
“You mean when he put his dirty great paws around my neck and
choked the life outta me? Nah. I was so frustrated. I kept trying
to get out and couldn’t. Then I saw things move, like papers and
stuff. I think my anger did it. So I practiced and got
better.”

Could other shades force their will on
the physical plane? Did all have this ability, and not know? Should
I tell Jack and Mel? Their frustration would know no bounds if they
couldn’t manage such a feat. And if they did manage, it would add a
new dimension to our relationship. I didn’t know whether I could
live with those two slinging stuff when they got in a
snit.

I relaxed my stance. “I repeat, why
are you still here?”

She peered at me through her hair.
“What’s it to you?”

Again, I resisted the
desire to roll my eyes.
Patience,
Tiff
. “I want to help you.”

“
Yeah, as if. You came all
the way from Utah to help me? Huh!”

“
I didn’t say - ” I began.
I closed my mouth, firmed my lips and tried again. “Rosa, I did not
come to Boston to help you. I happen to be staying here. The owner
asked me to find out why you’re bothering his guests. You shouldn’t
be here. You should . . . continue your journey.”

“
You can’t make me do
anything I don’t want to.”

This was going nowhere. “Right. I’m
leaving now and Mr. Plowman will seal up these rooms, and you’ll
never get the chance to assault anyone again. And if another person
like me happens to stay at The Hermitage, well you’ll never know,
will you. They definitely won’t offer their help. You’re stuck here
forever, Rosa. On. Your. Own.”

I strode to the door, hoping she would
call me back. My hand rested on the doorknob when I heard a
subdued, “Hey, you.”

I pulled in a deep breath to steady my
pulse. “What?”

“
I want to know my mom and
dad are okay, and Sebastian, my brother. And I want proof, not just
your say-so.”