One More Bite Page 11

  Really? Now you decide to leave?

  “But this is the best part!” Rhona fumed.

  “I can’t help it,” Viv said through Cole. “I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

  As Iona rose to accompany her, Viv waved her back to her seat, her impatient gesture one even I could interpret. I can pee all by myself, dammit!

  Rhona moved her sensible black bag out of the path and Viv inched her way toward the center aisle. As soon as she reached the exit, Vayl stood. “Not you too!” Rhona exclaimed.

  Vayl’s hypnotic voice soothed her. “I will only be a moment. Do not fret. I shall not miss a thing.” She sat back happily as he left in the opposite direction Viv had taken, moving past eight or ten eager Connies who were straining to see the Raisers better. If he was trying to annoy fewer people by taking a different route out, he failed. But he did make it to the western side of the room, where he left by the smaller door.

  Gerard Plontan, standing at one corner of the stage, watched them go. A Jack Black clone, he wore a navy blue bowling shirt with green diamonds running down the front over a pair of baggy green corduroys. I wasn’t sure why he didn’t wear socks with his loafers, but it was better than Francine’s choice. Yeah, somebody really should’ve told her pink bobby socks with beige sneakers, a red plaid skirt, and a save the whales! T-shirt spelled embarrassment-to-your-grandchildren. She held down the other corner of the stage while the two of them waited patiently for the background music to build. At the melody’s climactic moment, beams of green, purple, red, and yellow lights flashed across the stage.

  The Raisers held their hands out nearly perpendicular from their bodies. The choreography, simple and yet stunning, timed perfectly with the music as their hands inscribed runes into the air that the lights imitated. As they began to step toward each other, their movements so measured and precise that neither one wavered for an instant, I wondered why they did it. The danger of their profession was written clearly across Francine’s forearms and both their faces. Scars, most white, a couple still pink and glaring, crisscrossed each other like tic-tac-toe boards.

  Hypocrite, drawled my inner bitch. She’d moved from her regular bar stool to a booth, the better to ogle the half-dressed cowboy dancing on the stage in front of her. It’s not like you spend all day knitting afghans for the homeless.

  Yeah, but at least the risks I take make sense. I’m saving lives.

  Sure. But I’ll bet the Raisers make more money.

  I tried on that perspective. So what was a little permanent disfigurement when you compared it to a hefty bank account?

  Nope, it just wouldn’t fit.

  But Gerard and Francine, well fed and eager for more dough, thought it looked terrific on them. Moving in perfect unison, they tiptoed gracefully toward each other until they stood shoulder to shoulder.

  I leaned toward Cole. “How do you like the show so far?”

  He put his lips against my ear. “I’m starting to think this sucker will never end. Which makes me believe it’s for more than just entertainment. Plus, you remember the background stuff they made us read so we’d sound like we belonged in this business?”

  “Yeah. The practical part of this shouldn’t take more than twenty seconds.”

  “Any tingles in your Sensitive areas?” He wiggled his eyebrows. Dork.

  “No. How about you?”

  “Nope. As far as I can tell it’s just a couple of hacks up there doing their version of a third-grade dance recital.”

  Iona leaned into our powwow. “What are they doing?” she asked.

  Cole said, “They’re supposed to be carving a breach in the Thin. One just big enough for the ghosts who call this castle home to step through. It’s pretty exacting work, but doesn’t take that long if you know what you’re doing. Except—”

  He jerked his head toward me. I’d felt it too. A rumble beneath my feet, like the aftershock of a mild earthquake. A gasp from the back of the room turned my head. Something moved over the heads of the crowd sitting on the opposite side of the aisle.

  At first all I could see when I stared at it was a rippling in the air, like heat rising from asphalt in the noonday sun. As soon as the light engineer figured out the score, he directed the lasers to the disturbed air. They rebounded, outlining the figure of a short, squat man. I opened my Spirit Eye as wide as I could manage, straining my extra sense, but I couldn’t see into his plane. It wouldn’t be long until I’d wish differently.

  The crowd did an audio wave, moving their murmur of wonder from one edge of the room to the other in a perfect progression of sound that washed over us, giving Rhona goose bumps. Yeah, I was watching more than the show. But it sure seemed like she and Iona were glued to the sight of more forms, these clearly visible, appearing from inside the walls, dropping from the ceiling, one even emerging from the podium, making the expert who sat closest to her scream.

  In the end seven ghosts stood just to the right of the center aisle, including the one who could only be seen in reflected light. They lined up like homecoming court nominees. I wasn’t a great judge of costume, and theirs weren’t easy to make out, but it looked to me as if they covered almost the whole life of the castle, from the time it had been built in 1630, to the 1960s.

  “I’m Seeing something now,” I whispered to Cole.

  He slipped into the chair Vayl had vacated. “What is it?”

  “It’s like a noose around every one of their necks, connecting them to the Raisers, but also to the ceiling and the floor. Do you See it?”

  “No. They look like apparitions to me. Except now they’re floating. Hey”—he smacked me on the thigh with the back of his hand—“I just thought of a new game.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Splat the Specter.”

  “Rules?”

  “You can help me make them up. Right now all I know for sure is that it involves water guns filled with grape Kool-Aid and two ferrets named Biff and Chlamydia.”

  Vayl’s voice filled our ears. “Why ferrets?”

  “Really?” I asked. “You want to know about his choice of pets when he’s named one of them after an STD?”

  Rhona shushed us, jabbing her finger toward the stage. The ghosts had risen at least three feet into the air, one by one, as if being introduced to the crowd. And the audience was fixated. Especially when it came to the phantom Highlander, who must’ve towered over his comrades on the battlefield just as he did now, and who’d remembered his claymore so clearly in life that he still carried the sword in death, strapped to his back for those occasions when the dirk at his waist just wouldn’t fill the bill. Yup, he impressed every Connie in the joint. Except for Humphrey Haigh. Who hadn’t read the program. Or, apparently, been terrified into sleeplessness by his buddies’ ghost stories like the rest of us had when we were kids.

  He reached forward, his hand hovering within inches of the Highlander, who’d sunk back down to the floor. Francine Werry, not daring to move from her spot, shook her head at Humphrey. Despite the thickness of his glasses lenses, he didn’t see her. Or maybe he just chose to ignore the don’t-touch-the-ghost-warrior alarm in her triple-wide eyes.

  His fingers spread apart, as if he meant to grab a fold of the Highlander’s kilt. Though I could see the stage through it, the green-and-black plaid still spoke of his family’s proud heritage. This soul had taken a great deal into the afterlife with him. But not enough to merit a full move. Why had he stranded part of himself in the Thin? Could he, or any of the others, ever escape? Did they even want to?

  Humphrey knew what he wanted. And that was to go home at the end of his vacation with the right to brag about how he’d touched an actual phantom. At the last second Lesley tore her eyes from the magnificent ghost and caught her husband’s intent. She grabbed his arm and yanked it down, hissing into his ear. He shrugged her off. Since she kept a firm grip on the hand she’d captured, Humphrey reached forward with the other. And shoved it through the Highlander’s hip.

&nbs
p; Chapter Sixteen

  It only takes one dickhead to spoil a party. The amazing thing is that the host keeps inviting the girl who’s dating him. Our version had about half a second to slap her asshole upside the head before the ghost he’d defiled roared with outrage.

  The nooses I’d Seen flamed bright blue up the entire length of the rope and disappeared as the Raisers’ control over their shades snapped. For a moment I thought I Saw each ghost wearing a braided metal torque, its ends tipped with large pear-shaped heads. But before I could be sure, the entire group of them disappeared, joining their laser-lit brother in surreal form.

  I stood up, along with the other audience members who’d realized wait-your-turn didn’t apply to people trying to beat a potential stampede. As my fellow survivors began to quick-march toward freedom, I murmured, “Vayl, things are about to get interesting in here.”

  “Viv is still in the bathroom,” he replied from his far-too-distant location. “She is feeling some extreme emotion. If I had to choose, I would pick despair.”

  “Very interesting,” I insisted.

  Sigh. “I will be right there.”

  The Raisers dumped the choreography and pulled out the blue-collar show. Gerard yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and laid it flat on the floor. Francine dug a pocketknife out of her bra (no, I’m not kidding), unfolded the biggest blade, and quickly slashed her forearm. She let the blood drip onto the cloth. As the splotches hit, soaked, and spread, a bell-bottomed ghost wearing a crown of daisies in her hair came back into focus. She seemed fascinated by the evidence of vitality raining onto the reddening material. The next to join her was a uniformed soldier. He looked to have been a member of the RAF—I guessed a casualty of World War II.

  Rhona said, “This is exactly why ghosts need protection! If Humphrey Haigh knew he was facing a hefty fine, or even jail time right now, I’ll wager he would have thought twice before he started groping that young man.”

  “Young man?” said Cole as he tried to keep a woman in the row in front of us from shoving her chair through his stomach. “He probably died before your great-great-grandma’s great-grandparents were done crapping their diapers!”

  “Is arguing really going to help us right now?” asked Iona as she swiveled her head, keeping her eye on the crowd, frowning at what she saw, as if she feared at any moment it might turn into a mob. The way three or four of the women had begun yelling that they wanted to get the hell out of there, I thought she might be right.

  “Iona’s got a point,” I said. “Let’s move to a safer location; then we’ll debate just how stupid this whole setup is. Viv’s probably worried sick about you by now, Rhona.”

  But everybody seemed to have the same idea at the same time. People poured past us, clogging the back exits so quickly and severely, if there’d been a fire we’d have roasted within seconds. And Rhona wouldn’t budge. “We should take pictures,” she announced. “This is just the sort of fiasco I am working to prevent.” She began digging in her purse.

  “What is happening?” Vayl asked.

  So my explanation for Vayl wouldn’t sound überbizarre to those around me I said, “Humphrey really made the Highlander angry, Rhona. But he’s not going to sue. He’s going to take immediate action. And the Raisers may not have enough blood or power between them to lure him or the other ghosts back into passivity.”

  “What’s blood got to do with anything?” she demanded, her hand moving up, down, and around like a mixer beater.

  I sighed. “Ghosts are attracted to blood. Raisers use it as a lure. But they have power too, along the lines of a necromancer but not that refined. So they can keep them under control once they’ve brought them out of the Thin. The reason we need to get out is that the Highlander is pissed. And if he or any of the other ghosts draw blood from Humphrey, or any of the other Connies, the Raisers are going to lose their influence. And then all hell’s going to break loose.”

  “That’s never going to happen.”

  I wanted to strangle her. Especially when she pulled a camera from her purse with a triumphant smile. I said, “Rhona, have you ever been fed on by a ghost? I hear it’s . . .”

  But she’d stopped listening. Too busy clicking off shots of the milling crowd and the ghosts as they swam back into sight. Just as I’d decided to grab Rhona’s camera and smash it against the first wall I could reach, the press of people in the middle aisle eased slightly as more than a dozen Connies realized they could get out via the smaller door and veered off in that direction. That allowed Vayl to shove his way through them and reach my side.

  “What happened?” he asked, because the women would expect him to.

  “Yogurt-brain over there violated one of the ghosts,” I said, pointing to Humphrey, now surrounded by a group of yelling Connies, the biggest of whom seemed primed to punch him. “We were going to leave, but Rhona’s click-happy, the doors are blocked, and the Raisers seem to be getting things back under control now anyway, so . . .” Maybe I wouldn’t have to punch Viv’s mum in the face after all. I was slightly disappointed until I decided I didn’t want to be the one to provide another trauma for the poor girl to live down.

  Vayl’s sharp blue eyes scanned the group of ghosts now gathered to the left of the stage at the Raisers’ feet. “Which one did Humphrey touch?”

  “The guy with the terrific knees.”

  Onstage, the Raisers were starting to sweat. Francine’s blood had slowed to a drip and all but two of their puppets had returned to form. But we could still follow the holdouts’ movements because the lighting dude had stayed at his post, splitting his spots so that the lasers outlined them. Even out of visible mode the Highlander seemed formidable. The stumpy gent—not so much. His silhouette had begun to remind me of Nathan Lane. And though I was pretty sure this dude’s sense of humor had shriveled up and fallen off ages ago, I still couldn’t get too worked up over him.

  “Another cut!” Gerard demanded.

  Francine put the blade to her arm again, but before she could slash it, the two unseen ghosts began to howl. The sound, combining the harsh scream of a heavy-metal chorus and the keening wail of a bereft mother, made my entire body go cold, as if I’d just slid into one of the city morgue’s refrigerated corpse decks. I take it back, Stumpy. You’re a badass! No more dissing, I promise!

  Vayl turned to our group. “Everyone out! The wall is splitting!”

  “What wall?” asked Rhona as she dropped her camera back into her bag.

  “The one that protects us from them.” He pointed toward the ghosts, who were rising toward the ceiling as they slammed into each other like a couple of rugby players psyching themselves up for the big game.

  “Why do we need protecting?”

  “Think of the wall as emotional control. What we might use to keep ourselves from suddenly snapping and killing one another. The Raisers can pull ghosts through it while keeping it intact. When it begins to crumble, they need blood to build it back again, which is why Francine has cut herself. But if the wall falls and a ghost cannot be lured into submission, it becomes more dangerous than a maddened killer. Because all it wants is blood and, ultimately, your company on the other side of the wall.”

  Suddenly the Highlander spun and dove for Humphrey, who’d ripped himself away from the angry Connies and was stomping toward the door to the right of the stage. The ghost careened through him, making him stop and shiver.

  Rhona pointed. “What’s the fuss all about? Mr. Haigh wasn’t even hurt!”

  “Not on the first pass, no,” said Vayl. “That was simply an expedition.”

  “For what?”

  Vayl nodded at the Highlander, who’d gained color and solidity in the past few seconds. “Humphrey’s humanity. He only needs a bit of it to become . . .”

  “Become what?” Rhona demanded.

  Vayl pointed as the ghost charged at Humphrey again. The jeweler gaped at the Highlander, began to shake his finger, tut-tut-tut. But this time the two collided.


  Vayl said, “To become physical.”

  Humphrey let out a surprised grunt as he hit his back and went rolling into the legs of a group of people who hadn’t quite decided whether they should run for the hills or stay and take video.

  As an Ann Boleyn lookalike helped Humphrey to his feet, the Highlander struck again. I could see the disturbance of air as his arm slashed forward, catching the old jeweler across the face and neck.

  He staggered backward, shrieking like a little girl as his hand flew to the claw marks already filling with blood. His shoulders finally hit solid wood and he spun, his entire face lifting as he realized he’d made it to the door. He rushed out, slamming it behind him, leaving Lesley stranded on the other side.

  Cole gripped Iona by the arm. “Let’s go,” he said.

  She pointed to Rhona, Floraidh, and Dormal. “Not without them.”

  The rest of the crowd didn’t seem to feel the same loyalty. Relatives separated, dates split, people rushed toward the exits like the place was under a bomb threat, yelling at each other, dumping chairs, and shoving the slowpokes aside in their attempt to escape the rising fury behind them.

  We’d been able to push everyone to the aisle, and this time escape seemed a real possibility. Until Rhona jumped up on the chair, her purse dangling from her elbow like an enormous tumor. “The ghosts don’t mean you real harm!” she yelled, holding her hands out as if she really believed she could stop the tide of humanity rolling toward safety. “This is exactly why they need to be protected! Write your local MPs!”

  Suddenly something rose in the room. An unfamiliar power that gave off the psychic scent of a foul burning, like bodies roasting on a pyre. I turned to Vayl so the women couldn’t overhear. “I’m feeling vast weirdness,” I murmured. “Something other is . . .”

  I tried to zero in on the source. It could be the ghosts ripping into our world. Or the Raisers pulling off some kind of stunt I hadn’t believed them capable of. I concentrated, trying to focus my Spirit Eye on that signal.

  “It’s Floraidh and Dormal,” I whispered. “I think they’re conjuring. Maybe it’s some sort of ghost-be-gone spell.”