Tangled Souls (41 page)

The ghost began flailing in all directions, kicking debris and swearing. Some of the rubble shifted from his kinetic energy. As his anxiety rose, so did the flying debris.

“Great,” she muttered. He’d jumped directly to
anger
. If he kept it up, he could bring the whole building down on her. He careened around the pit’s interior, a whirling dervish of energy.

“Stop that,” she said.

The soul jerked around and stared at her.

What the hell is happening?
he repeated.

“You were shot.”

So get me some help.

Gavenia wasn’t feeling very charitable. “Gee, you tried to kill me, remember?” The form glowered but didn’t answer. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”

The soul blinked, and she thought she caught a look of understanding. He gazed down at the body and then back up.
I’m dead?

“As the proverbial doornail. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth,” she said. She gingerly rose to her feet, rubbing her thigh through the ripped blue jeans. A large patch of blood stuck the denim to her leg.

You’re lying! I’m not dead. I can’t be.

“Denial,” she murmured to herself. This one was moving along at a rapid pace.

You have to do something
, the soul demanded.

Gavenia eyed the spirit, her patience gone. “See that light,” she said, pointing to where a subtle luminescence hovered in the air. “That’s where you need to go.”

No way, I ain’t goin’ to hell.

She shrugged and hunted around until she found a reasonably stable piece of rubble and sat. The ground around her feet was a mélange of charred wood, broken bricks, and twisted metal. A breeding ground for tetanus and Goddess knew how many other lethal diseases.

What can I do? I don’t want to be dead.

Gavenia mentally ticked off
bargaining
on the checklist. She held her silence. He was making swift progress on his own.

The soul knelt beside his body and began to cry.

I don’t want to roast forever.

Gavenia looked back and sighed. “Once you’re across, you’ll work things out. You’ll see what you did wrong and how you can do it better the next time.”

I won’t go to hell?

The soul sounded so pathetic she couldn’t help but sigh. How could she explain that hell would be of his own making? She shook her head. Best not to try. “Once you cross, you’ll find peace once in your own way.”

The soul looked down, trying to put a hand on his former physical shell. It passed through the bloody chest.

A sad whimper.
I didn’t think he’d do it.

Gavenia perked up. “Who?” The ghost didn’t answer. “You killed Bradley, didn’t you?” she asked. A slow nod. “Why?”

It’s the dog’s fault. I had the kid in the car, but the damned mutt wouldn’t go away. It bit me.
The ghost rubbed his calf as if the leg still ached.
The kid ran and I had no choice. Kidnapping’s a federal rap.
He gave an anxious look toward the luminescence as if fearing what lay in store for him.

“The Dark Guardian,” Gavenia murmured.
It said it ruled him. Why did it have that kind of power?
She looked around. It was noticeably missing. What did that mean?

Not all of us are the good guys. Now you’ve learned that firsthand, haven’t you
? a smug voice observed.

Gavenia whipped around. “Bart?”

Reginald appeared in the far end of the pit, distastefully wending its way through the wreckage, his suit impeccable despite the destruction around him.

He delivered a disdainful look.
Well, you’ve gotten yourself in a peck of trouble, haven’t you? I do wonder what Quickens saw in you.

“Are you here to help?”

No, I’m here to gloat.

“Then go away,” Gavenia said.

They’ve given you a second chance
, he said, gesturing upward.

“Meaning?”

Accept me as your Guardian and I’ll get you out of here.

It sounded like a Faustian bargain to her.

“No deal.”

True to form.
He chuckled, adjusted a lapel, and then vanished with an annoying pop.

“You’re not getting it,” she shouted, glaring toward the dark sky above her. “It’s Bart or nobody!” There was no response.

Gavenia returned her attention to the new soul, trying to recall where they’d been before the interruption.

“What about Janet?” she asked. “Is she okay?”

Probably dead. It’ll look like an OD.

She thought for a moment and then jumped up again. Crunching her way warily across the uneven debris, she knelt next to Taylor’s body. The soul surged toward her instantly, as if guarding the remains.

What are you doing?

“Did you carry a cell phone?”

Yes.

“Cool.” Taylor’s face was mottled, his limbs stiffening. She swallowed to keep from being violently ill and searched around the dead man’s waist.

He took it.

“Who?” she asked.

No answer. Sickened by the smell of the corpse, Gavenia retreated. “You know the way. It’s your choice what you do next,” she said, pointing toward the light again. The ghost made no move. “So be it. I’ve done my Shepherd thing.”

Picking up a stout piece of wood, she cleared a wide circle around the concrete island. Ignoring the soul, she inscribed a circle, calling the quarters while invoking divine protection. Once the circle was complete, she raised her hands into the darkness above her and called down the power of the God and Goddess.

“Watch over me, protect me. Send me help.” She rethought in light of Reginald’s visit and added, “Mortal help.”

She eased herself down to the damp concrete and huddled tight into a ball to conserve heat.

Taylor hadn’t moved from his body, his head bowed.

I didn’t think he’d do it.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the guy’s name,” she said.

The response was muffled sobs. Gavenia closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. When morning came, she’d have a better notion of what her odds were. If Taylor was still present, she’d try again to cross him over. If not, he could spend eternity in the rat pit just as long as she wasn’t there with him.

* * *

It was nearing dawn when Station Nine’s crew returned from their call, and O’Fallon hadn’t been very gracious about the wait. He’d paced outside the car while Adam napped.

Once the firefighters had stashed their equipment, he went in search of the person in charge. True to Adam’s prediction, it was a she, and a lieutenant to boot. O’Fallon posed the problem: he needed to find a particular building, possibly a warehouse that had burned in the last year or so. Fortunately, Lieutenant Bradley didn’t seem inclined to ask any embarrassing questions, especially after Adam displayed his badge.

She spread a map on the kitchen table while a couple firefighters watched from the sidelines. Adam took notes as the lieutenant indicated locations. As she talked, O’Fallon knew none of the buildings had the right vibe. Maybe he was way off. . . .

He drifted away from the conversation, pulled toward a memorial wall that honored Station Nine’s fallen heroes. One man’s photo pulled him closer.

Firefighter Timothy Anderson.

“Excuse me,” he said, cutting across the conversation at the table. “Where was this fire?”

The firefighters traded looks. Lieutenant Bradley traced down the map and tapped on a location.

“Here. Old produce warehouse. Top three floors collapsed into the basement. Three of our guys were trapped. We got all out of them out alive . . . but Anderson.” The loss echoed in the room.

O’Fallon gazed back to the photo and gave a nod of respect. “Rest in peace,” he murmured. “You had more guts than I’ll ever have.”

“Turned out to be arson,” one of the firefighters said in a taut voice. “They haven’t caught the SOB yet. I hope the hell they do.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Adam said as nods made the rounds.

“This one feels right,” O’Fallon said.

Lieutenant Bradley raised an eyebrow. “You planning on going there?”

He nodded.

“Then watch yourself. The structure is very unstable.”

O’Fallon acknowledged the warning and was headed for the door even as Adam thanked the lieutenant. His mind was already on the hunt.

“Stay alive a bit longer, Gavenia,” he said as he cleared the firehouse door. “I’ll find you, I promise.”

* * *

The sky lightened above as they stood outside the charred warehouse. Dawn would be here in a few minutes. O’Fallon knew this was the place. He tried to steel himself against the worst, but his heart couldn’t handle that. He could still hear her soft sighs as they’d made love, smell the intoxicating scent of her perfume. He wanted years to plumb the depths of those mysterious blue eyes, that intelligent mind, that sensuous body.

“You two are more than friends,” Adam observed.

Once again the young cop had read him correctly.

“Yes. I thought we might have a future together.”

“Then let’s go bring her home,” his companion said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

O’Fallon’s throat tightened.
Would the angels weep at Gavenia’s funeral?
God, he hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.

He followed Adam through the fencing and toward the building, each step thunderously loud in his ears. Adam halted, pointing. O’Fallon knelt near the wilted rose, the one he’d given his love at the shelter. She’d kept it with her, even as she walked to her . . .

“She’s here,” he said, standing up, pushing aside the dark thought. “Do you want to call for backup?”

Adam shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s make sure before we call in reinforcements. I have enough explaining to do as it is.” He peered toward the interior of the building. “You armed?”

“No.”

Adam blew a puff of air out through pursed lips. “Two for two,” he said, and picked a path through the debris as O’Fallon trailed behind.

* * *

Gavenia woke to the soft twittering of birds in the rafters. For a moment she thought she was in her bedroom at Aunt Lucy’s estate, the birds serenading her awake. She rolled onto her back and groaned. Reality swiftly returned as every inch of her body dutifully filed its protest, in triplicate.

As she dismissed the magic circle, she allowed herself a pleased grin. Witches cast circles for a number of reasons, but using divine protection to keep rats at bay hadn’t ever occurred to her before. Nevertheless, it had worked; no gnaw marks. A glance toward Taylor’s body outside the circle proved that wasn’t the case. She shuddered. His ghost was absent, so hopefully he’d crossed over sometime during the night.

“Time to get the hell out of here,” she said.

Now that there was a modicum of daylight, she examined her surroundings. To her right was a debris channel, a narrow tunnel that led out of the pit. Gavenia crept to it and lowered herself in front of the hole. She swore she felt a cool breeze brush against her face.

“Promising,” she said, chalking that up as an option if all else failed. The rest of the pit wasn’t as promising, its treacherous sides too sheer to climb and interlaced with twisted beams and broken panes of glass.

Gavenia froze at the sound of footsteps above her. What if Taylor’s killer had come back? She was too far away from her original position to return to it and play dead.

A faint voice. She listened intently, trying to sort through the words over the sound of the birds. More conversation. A relieved sigh escaped her. It was the Irish guy. He’d found her.