Demon Song

6

By the time I went downstairs, to both stretch my legs and take the soggy, sticky tissues to the main trash can in the kitchen—which got emptied every day, unlike mine, which I dumped whenever I got around to it—the investigator had arrived. I’d only worked with Shawn Beall once before, but he’d done a good job and had only charged for his actual time. When you’re a sole proprietor, money is the bottom line—regardless of the client’s ability to pay. My goal was not to gouge Vicki’s estate. I wanted the truth, whether it came cheap or expensive. But cheap was always better.

Shawn followed me back to my office and took the chair Alex had so recently vacated. Shawn is one of those guys you wouldn’t really look at twice. He looks like a computer geek … and he is. But the small frame, unruly dark hair, and pop bottle glasses hide a sneaky, near-criminal mind and a surprisingly athletic body. He’s got the wiry frame and agility of a long-distance runner along with the determination of a pit bull. The combination is the gold standard of a good investigator.

“So, what have you got for me?”

He pulled an envelope from an inner jacket pocket and handed it over. “Wish I had more, but there’s more dead ends than leads. Take a look. I’ll answer any questions I can.”

I slit the envelope and scanned the pages inside. The first page was a profile of one Michael Murphy, known as Mickey or Mick to family and friends. The photo was just as I remembered him at Vicki’s Will reading. Carrot orange hair was neatly combed to the side and a scattering of freckles dotted his face below vivid green eyes. I remembered a cultured southern accent that got stronger the more befuddled he was. There had been plenty to be surprised about that day. The only person more shocked than her parents, best friend, and lover to learn that Vicki had left a quarter of her multimillion-dollar estate to a total stranger was the stranger himself.

I’d been tasked to find out why she’d done it.

I was still wrapping my head around the fact that she’d trusted her clairvoyant gift enough to write a Will that would inevitably be challenged. While it was no crime to give money to a total stranger, it was a little odd and might lend credence to her mother’s allegation that Vicki wasn’t in her right mind.

So, my goal was to prove there was a good and valid reason for my friend’s act before the lawsuit went to court. Fortunately, the law firm Vicki had used was one of the best in the state, so I was pretty sure I’d have all the time I needed to search.

Mickey had a wife, Molly, and two daughters: Beverly, aged twelve, and Julie, who was eight. They lived in a comfortable home in Fool’s Rush, Arkansas, where Mickey was a law clerk for the local county judge. Molly ran a diner she’d inherited from her parents, and the girls were above-average students. “Okay, so pretty normal people.” I flipped the dozen pages. I didn’t want to sit here and read while Shawn stared at me. “Give me the condensed version.”

“Sure,” he said with a nod. He settled back into the seat and interlocked his fingers over his stomach, his arms resting comfortably on the padded rests. “I checked all the obvious connections first. Vicki is English on her mother’s side and, despite the surname, German on her father’s. Cassandra Meadows can trace her lineage to the Mayflower and, trust me, a thousand fans have done so quite convincingly. Jason Cooper’s grandfather emigrated from Germany after the First World War—the family surname was formerly Braun. Nobody really knows how or why the name was changed at Ellis Island, but it appears the government had something to do with it. I’ll have to do more checking, but it looks like Franz Braun was a chemical scientist and our government wanted something he’d invented.” That piqued my curiosity and I began to ask questions, but Shawn held up a hand bearing a rather heavy gold wedding ring to stop me. “That doesn’t really matter right now, because Mickey Murphy’s family comes from old Irish stock. Molly is apparently quite the amateur genealogist and was happy to show me the scrapbooks she’s put together.”

Since the investigation had been requested in front of Mr. Murphy, it seemed logical to have Shawn interview them openly. “Mickey’s multi-great-grandfather came to this country to help the colonists fight England. He used his salary to bring his wife and kids over. No prior trips to either Germany or England and I can’t find anything to indicate that the Murphys or DeVeres—Molly’s family—ever mingled or crossed paths with the Coopers or Meadowses. Of course there could be something that I missed, since I’m not a specialist in such things. I hope it’s okay that I subcontracted out part of the search to a company that specializes in lineage searches.”

I like it when investigators don’t try to reinvent the wheel. Find people who do the specific job, pay them, and get back to work. “No problem at all. Is the information in here to give to the attorney?”

He nodded. “At this point, I’m wondering how you want me to proceed. I could sit back and wait for the genealogy report, or look for something in the present time that directly ties Ms. Cooper to the Murphys. It could be as simple as them meeting at some point in the past that she didn’t consciously remember. A flat tire he helped fix, a really good meal at Molly’s diner, who knows? Finding that out would require lots of interviews and time on the road. And it might turn up nothing. Ultimately, how much money do you want to throw at this?”

Well, Vicki could be absentminded. It was the mark of clairvoyants that they could disappear into the future and totally forget what was happening in the present. So it might well be that simple. “Speaking of being on the road, the summer after college Vicki took a long trip to ‘find herself.’ She rented a car and drove from her mother’s place in New York to her own home, California. I’d gotten the impression at the time that it was a fast trip, just a few days. But maybe it had taken longer. Maybe things happened that she just didn’t remember, a hundred visions and a half decade later.”

He tilted his head with an odd look and pulled a pad from his pocket. “First time I’m hearing that, and I spent a couple of hours talking to her parents.” His pen tapped on the page. “New York to California, huh? A lot of ground to cover in a couple of days. Do you remember anything she told you? You were best friends even then, right? Did she rave or rant about anything?”

“No, I just remember her mentioning what she called her senior trip. I’ll work on it overnight. Maybe something will pop into my head.”

He tapped the pen on the pad for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. But it could be the key to everything, so think really hard. We’ll talk again tomorrow. Same time?”

I flipped the calendar a day and then checked my watch. It was nearly noon. My only morning appointment was at ten. “How about eleven? My afternoon’s packed, and I might need driving time.”

Shawn pulled out his BlackBerry and punched the screen a few times. “Done and done.” He stood up and pointed the pen at me. “Think hard,” he repeated. “This could be the difference between a short search and one that takes years.”

I agreed. “I’ll pull out all the stops. I promise.” I desperately hoped I wasn’t lying, but I feared I might be. I did know a couple people who might be able to help, but it was a long shot at best.

He let himself out while I gathered together my purse and car keys. Moments later I walked past the front desk, mulling over the dozen things I still needed to do today, like remember to look for the fly in my car. I held out a hand expectantly and, as always, Dawna responded by stuffing a stack of messages into it.

Muttering, “Thank you,” as I reached for the doorknob, I was startled when Dottie’s voice stopped me: “Sunscreen?”

Dawna added a reminder: “Umbrella?”

Crap. I’d forgotten to slather myself up before heading outdoors. Again. Guess I was still tired from the night’s activities.…

“Thank you, ladies.” Shaking my head, I started back upstairs. My makeup had a 50 SPF built in, but I’d only put it on my face, not arms, hands, or neck. Yes, it was winter, but it’s also California. So far I hadn’t turned to ash in the sunlight like most vampires. But I burn like nobody’s business. Just getting to my car, the morning after I was turned, left me with second-degree burns. They heal, but they hurt as bad as falling asleep on the beach for the afternoon.

“Here. I bought extra for the front desk. For ‘weather emergencies.’ ” Dawna held out a bright orange and blue tube. Like the makeup, it had the highest possible SPF.

A sigh slipped out of me. “You’re the best, girlfriend. Sorry I’ve become such a pain in the butt.”

She waved a hand at me with a “pshaw” expression. “You’ve always been a pain in the butt, girl. Just new and different kinds lately.” Dottie chuckled but kept her eyes on the computer screen. “It keeps our relationship … spicy. Like my grammy always says, spend your time with those who challenge you.”

Dawna’s grandmother is a tiny little Vietnamese woman who met and fell in love with an American soldier who protected their village for a week against tough odds after his squad was killed. He married her and brought her back to his home because he said she made the best ph this side of heaven. I agreed. It was “grab your tongue and throw it to the floor” good. She said she married him because he was smarter than she was. I wasn’t sure I agreed.

I squeezed a glop of white lotion into my palm, letting the coconut and other scents take me to a happier time, when all I had to worry about was off-center tan lines. “Did I ever thank her for the last batch of phở, by the way?”

Her brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Don’t remember. But I’m sure I did for you. I should ask her to make another batch. That woman loves to cook and nothing in the world makes her happier than to be asked to do it.”

I slathered the lotion on all bits of exposed skin, including my ears, before handing back the tube. “Thanks. All set now. Or have I forgotten anything?”

The two women looked at each other. “Nothing I can think of offhand,” Dawna said. “What did Alex tell you about the sniper who tried to take off your head at the Will reading? I know they caught him, but did they ever find out why he was shooting at you or who he worked for? She wouldn’t tell me squat.”

I swore under my breath because it hadn’t even occurred to me to ask. “No. But I’ll ask her when I talk to her tomorrow.” I glanced at the person in the waiting room, probably a client of Ron’s, who raised his head at the mention of the word “sniper.” I really didn’t want to talk any more about it with people listening. “Thanks for the reminder.” It’s sad when a sniper who’d tried to put three bullets into your brain slips your mind. For most people, it would possess their every waking moment. For me, it was a humdrum daily event.

Sad, that. I need better days.

On the way to my car, I flipped through the messages using one hand and my lips because the other hand was holding the umbrella. Most were from existing clients asking if I was available for certain dates and times. I wouldn’t know until I checked my calendar, so I tucked those in my pocket. As I unlocked the driver’s door, one of the messages caught my eye and made me nearly drop the umbrella. I did drop the car keys.

The message was from John Creede:

You didn’t have to return the fly, but the report gave me a lot of information. Thanks. But you’re not off the hook for dinner.

What the hell?

No wonder I couldn’t find the fly. Someone had delivered it to Creede. And while it was nice the fly had found its way back home, that meant … crap!

I picked up my car keys and raced back into the building. Both women looked up and Dawna opened her mouth. I shook my head frantically, holding a finger over my lips. Dottie looked around as if she thought something was going to jump out of the shadows. I grabbed a pen and reached for the spiral-bound message book.

Call Justin. Have him come and do a FULL sweep for bugs. The roaches seem to have especially big ears upstairs.

I turned the book so they both could see it. Dawna stared at the message, mouthing the words several times. On the surface, it seemed like I was asking them to call an exterminator because of an infestation. And I was. Except Justin didn’t work for Orkin. He was our security consultant. The “bugs” I was worried about were of the electronic variety. Only Creede and I had been in the room when he’d handed me the fly and asked for a report, and I sure as hell hadn’t mentioned that to Jones. Okay, it was possible that I’d talked while under the influence at the safe house. Possible, but unlikely. Former torturers would agree that I’m hard to break. Those who are still alive, anyway.

Then Dottie’s face lit up and she wrote the words “listening devices” on her palm. Dawna’s expression shifted from elation at understanding my message to fury at the implication. I didn’t blame her. She nodded briskly and reached for the phone and I headed back to my car, feeling better. Jones is good, but Justin is better. He’d find whatever Jones had planted.

A perfect blue sky with fluffy clouds under a warm sun just didn’t scream Christmas. It sucked that I had to drive my Miata convertible with the top up, but nowadays I can only put it down at night. The Salvation Army bell ringer on the corner near the building, in somber-colored long sleeves, was out of place in a sea of color and movement. But she reminded people of the season nonetheless and they opened wallets and purses to stuff coins and paper into the red plastic bucket.

About halfway to Birchwoods, I realized I’d forgotten to call my gran before heading out the previous night. I turned on the radio, then tucked my cell phone into the holster on the dash and attached the nifty device that lets the sound come through the radio speakers. I hit the speed dial and she answered on the first ring. “Hi, Gran. What’s new?”

Instead of chipper or even calm, her voice was staccato with anger. “Celia Kalino Graves. Where in the world are you? I’ve been waiting for two hours!”

Crap! Waiting? For what? “Um … did we have plans to do something this morning?” It wasn’t Sunday, so it couldn’t be church. What had we talked about in our last call?

“It is December ninth, young lady. What do you suppose we were doing?”

Aw, man, twenty questions. I hate it when she does that. Let’s see … December ninth. Not church, not a holiday, not … wait. It was a holiday and I’d completely forgotten. My voice probably conveyed my mingled embarrassment and frustration. “Mom’s birthday.”

“You forgot, didn’t you? Did you at least buy a present?” There was reproach in her tone, and while part of me knew it was probably deserved, I can’t help what I feel.

I let out a noise that wasn’t precisely a word. “It’s hard to get real enthused about gift giving when every year she throws the gift back in my face. Literally. Or tosses it in a trash can. Or sells it for booze money.”

But as I expected, I got no sympathy. “That is no excuse and you know it. It’s not what she does with it that matters. Now, you get to the mall and buy your mother something nice and then come pick me up so we can go visit her.”

“Visit her? In jail? Can she have visitors yet?” Please, God, let me just go see the nice psychiatrist. I so didn’t want to see my mother in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs on her birthday. “We certainly can’t take gifts there.”

“Well, we can’t leave them, that’s true. And we can’t wrap them. But I asked and they said we can give her a card and we can at least show her the gifts once they’ve passed inspection. She’ll know we remembered.” The last few words were soft and carried an edge that I recognized. I winced and rubbed my left temple to relieve the sudden tension.

“Please don’t cry, Gran. It’s not your fault Mom is a screwup.” Actually, it was partly Gran’s fault, but she didn’t need to be reminded of it. I knew it had stung her hard when Mom got picked up. She’d let Mom drive the car without a license … while drunk. It was her third drunk-driving offense and I’d thought the judge had been really lenient by only giving her three months behind bars. And in the local jail, rather than the state prison.

“Lana has issues, Celia, and she’s getting help for them. But she’s not a screwup. Don’t you think this is hard enough on her as it is? At least leave her a little dignity. She’d do the same for you.”

I bit my tongue until it nearly bled. No, she wouldn’t. She’d had the chance many times and the bottle was always more important to her than her own child. And while I’d like to say she was just weak, that’s not fair, either. She’d actually been a terrific mother until Daddy left and Ivy died. Then she’d crawled into a bottle, and she hadn’t come out since. I didn’t think my visiting her would mean anything to her at all, but it would make Gran happy. That was important to me. I let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. But I have a lot of things going today, so we’ll have to make it short.”

“Half an hour. That’s the longest we can stay this first time anyway.”

I calculated in my head. “Okay. It’ll be at least thirty minutes to get in and out of the mall and get back to your house. How about I come by at three?” It would be tight, but I could probably still fit it all in before Gwen left for the day. But if one single thing went wrong, the whole schedule would be blown.

Fingers crossed.

Gran’s voice went back to her regular happy self. “That’ll be fine, dear. I’ll have a bite of lunch with the girls and see you then.”

I said good-bye and pressed the off button. Honestly. It’s days like these that I wonder if it might not have been better to have had all my memories erased by the vampire.

* * *

It was worse than I’d expected. Far worse. I hadn’t anticipated that watching the video from the fly at the zoo would backlash on me in a regular jail. I’d been to jail before and it hadn’t made my heart pound or my head hurt like this. The catcalls of women prisoners sounded like the screams of animals. The touch of the guards as they patted me down made me want to lash out with fangs bared.

What the hell?

I’d had two energy shakes at the mall and I’d been fine there. I’d resigned myself to trying to have a good time as I drove to Gran’s new apartment at the assisted-living facility. It had been a surprise to see Pili there. I’d met her on the Isle of Serenity, the legendary home of the Pacific sirens. She was one of the primary prophets to the queen. I hadn’t realized Pili had decided to retire and move to the mainland. I didn’t know a siren could retire. But she and my gran were getting along great guns. They were bridge partners and fast friends already. Still, there was something serious in the way Pili looked at me when I said we were going to visit Mom that made me nervous. Pili’s a powerful seer, and I recognized the look—I’d seen it on Vicki, and Emma, often enough. But Pili hadn’t said anything, and I hadn’t asked. Maybe she’d known what was coming. Because right now I wanted to run screaming out of this place. Or kill someone.

Desperation and panic began to cling to my skin like six weeks’ worth of grime. I itched under my pretty yellow sweater as though lice were crawling on me. Even Gran noticed me clutching my hands and breathing fast and shallow. “Celia? What’s wrong?” She touched me and I jumped. Now the guards started watching—noticing what seemed to be a person with guilt weighing on her.

“I don’t know.” My head shook as I looked around, searching for the source of the feeling. The visiting room was an open space with pale peach walls, furnished with tables and padded chairs. There wasn’t anything in the room that should give me the feelings I was having.

Then Mom walked in the room, and I knew the source of my feelings. Her hair was in strings and she’d lost so much weight that her face was gaunt and pinched. But it was her eyes that dragged a horrified gasp from my throat. They were lifeless and distant—the thousand-yard stare of the abused. I know because I’ve seen them in my own mirror. “Mom?” I stood up and started to walk toward her. She didn’t even look up. Before I reached her, another prisoner was escorted into the room, a tall mixed-race woman with unruly yellow dreadlocks. She pushed her way past Mom. Hard. The mother I’d grown up with wouldn’t have hesitated to go toe-to-toe with someone who shoved her aside. But now Mom just stumbled and fell against a nearby table.

Two things happened simultaneously. I started toward Mom to help her up and the temperature in the room dropped by thirty degrees. Everyone in the room looked up as a familiar chill settled over the room, causing breath to be seen and windows to fog. The woman who’d pushed Mom was lifted from her feet and thrown a dozen feet across the room. She landed in a heap in the corner but came up fast, looking for someone to attack. No guard came to her aid and the one by the door who’d escorted her in looked rather satisfied as she dusted off her jumpsuit.

The woman wouldn’t find anyone to retaliate with because you can’t punch a ghost. I was surprised to realize it wasn’t Vicki, despite the large amount of energy being expended. This ghost felt more petite.

Mom’s eyes met mine, and … nothing. My own mother didn’t recognize me and the look in her eyes chilled me even more than the effect of the ghost hovering overhead. It was almost as though Mom was trapped inside herself. I could feel her fear and the desperation beating at me like a cold wind, but none of it showed in her body language or face. “Ivy?” I whispered as I helped Mom to her feet.

The lights blinked once.

The other prisoner must have decided that Mom was the cause of her fall, because she was stomping toward us. I was all set to block her path when she was thrown backward again. Once more nobody came to her aid, and this time she narrowed her eyes and stared at Mom, probably wondering if she was using telekinesis.

“Are you … guarding Mom?”

Another blink caused everyone to look up and around. Wow. I didn’t know Ivy had it in her to expend this much energy in one session. But it would explain why Vicki couldn’t give me a good answer on whether Ivy was okay. In a prison setting, she was likely draining herself to exhaustion at every turn. I was both happy that someone I trusted was staying with Mom to help and distressed that she so obviously needed help.

I led Mom to the table and got her seated. Gran was nodding sadly as she touched her daughter’s hand. “This is what I wanted you to see, Celie. I don’t know what’s happened to her. They claim they’re not using any medication on her and that nobody is hurting her. But look at her. What are they doing to my baby?”

Tears formed at the corners of Gran’s eyes and I blinked back my own salty wetness. I had a feeling I knew what was wrong. But I was more afraid of that than if someone was hitting her. I touched her chin and turned her face toward mine. “Happy Birthday, Mom. It’s Celia. Can you hear me?” I spoke the words both out loud and into her mind. But there was nobody home to answer.

Her eyes were unfocused, staring somewhere over my shoulder. I looked up to the sparkling formation near the ceiling. “Did someone hurt her before you got here? Is that why you came?”

The overhead fluorescent lights blinked … and then blinked again.

No? That made my brow furrow as a shout came from the other side of the room. “Fix the damn lights! I’m getting a headache!”

“Who are you talking to, Celie?” Gran’s voice was nearly a whisper, as though she was afraid who would overhear.

“It’s Ivy,” I responded with a smile in a similar whisper. “She’s here and has been watching over Mom.”

I understood why Gran was whispering. We were getting way too much attention. The guard at the door was moving closer and two security cameras were spinning in our direction. The staff had already spent plenty of time on me at the entrance. The pale skin and fangs had bothered them no end, despite the fact that I’d walked in during broad daylight and passed through both the outer and inner magic perimeter. I’d even passed the holy-water test and had a cross shoved onto my wrist. But that didn’t mean I didn’t make them nervous. The more things that went wrong now, the more likely I would wind up in the cell next to my mother.

“Oh, honey, that’s not good. Ivy’s only a child. Things go on here she … shouldn’t be exposed to.”

“It’s okay, Gran. She’s helping. Really. She’s keeping Mom safe from the other women. And I don’t think you can stop her.” I didn’t add that there were quite a few things Ivy had seen in life that she probably shouldn’t. After Dad left, Mom had spent most of our childhood drinking, drugging, and sleeping around.

Rather than say something I shouldn’t, I stood and walked over to the guard near the door. “Excuse me. How would I go about talking to the doctor or nurse here? I think my mother is reacting badly to the medication they’ve given her.” It seemed safer to say that than what I truly believed. I was afraid my turning more siren had kicked in my mother’s abilities, too. Here in jail, she couldn’t see the ocean. That was going to be a problem. But I didn’t want to announce she had the same blood. Especially not after my rather public trial.

The woman was older, heavyset and dark skinned, with long hair worn in a bun at the back of her neck. She stood just about tall enough to stare at my neck, but I could tell immediately that she was all business and could probably teach me some new things about pain if I stepped out of line. She opened her mouth and I was transported out of California and straight south of the Mason-Dixon Line. “Honeychil’, your mama started doin’ that all on her own. I handle the medication calls on her block and I guarantee not a single pill has passed her lips. I’m worried about her, too. She’s not made for this place. She’s going downhill faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. It’s like she’s pining away, ready to join that pretty little girl of hers on the other side.”

The guard’s absolute acceptance and knowledge of Ivy spooked me even more. “You can see the ghost?”

“Oh, hell, yes. The women in my family are channelers from back before the War of Northern Aggression.” I honestly could say I hadn’t heard that term for the Civil War since … well, since high school. “You probably see a sparkly cloud, right?” I nodded. “I see a skinny little thing of about eight with long hair and a sad expression. Determined, though. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt her mama.” She made a motion with her chin toward the prisoner with the dreadlocks. “And I’m not inclined to stop her from trying. Nothing in the rule book says I have to stop a guardian angel from guardianing.”

Despite the mangled language, I agreed. “She was a pretty heavy drinker, though. Could that be affecting her?”

The guard shrugged. “Body should have detoxed in the first week. I never say never, but I haven’t seen it before.”

“And you’ve been a guard for—?”

“Twenty-three years now. Two federal prisons, two state, and now here. I like it here best. Not many real badasses in this place, despite what Goldilocks over there believes she is.” She gave me a small, evil smile. “She wouldn’t know a badass until after one laid her flat. Frankly, makes me smile to see that tiny little girl whup her butt.” Then she shook her head sadly. “Unfortunately, in that time I haven’t seen whatever’s wrong with your mama.”

She shook her head and stared at Mom. I followed her gaze to take in the flaccid features and lifeless feel. She made tsking noises and let out a sigh. “This place is killing her and I don’t know there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”