Living with the Dead
Page 77

Karl pulled into an empty day-care parking lot, so they could talk. They left Robyn in the car.
"She's exhausted," Hope said. "We need to find her a motel room while I – "
"Then she can nap in the car while you meet him, and I'll watch over you."
Hope bit back her protest and went quiet, looking out over the play area with its eight-foot fence, security cameras and warning signs. A scary world when your kids needed to play in what looked more like a prison yard than a playground.
Karl thought she needed his eyes at this meeting as much as these parents thought their kids needed to play under a video camera eye. Whether the danger was real or not, the fears and the concerns were.
"All right," she said. "We can push on and keep her sidelined."
Karl's narrowed eyes fixed on the bright red and yellow plastic equipment, as if its cheerfulness offended him. "No, you're right. She needs to stay with us, and to do that, she needs to keep up. I'll drop you off at the meeting place and find a motel. You can take a cab there when you're done."
They stared at the yard, as if watching the ghosts of children at play. A gust shrieked through a crawl tube and Hope shivered. At a warm pressure on her hand, she looked down to see she was holding Karl's and realized she had been the whole time, more clutching than holding, fingers locked tight, thumb rubbing the back of his hand.
"I know you saw it," he said softly. "His death."
She sucked in the bitter air. Like chomping down on ice cubes, her molars aching.
"I could meet with him," he said. "If you aren't up to it, say so."
"As long as my brain's busy, the vision won't come back. You might want your own bed tonight, though. It'll be a rough one."
"Not if you're sleeping soundly enough. I'll make sure of that."
A laugh circled her stomach. It didn't make it out, but the tickle lifted her mood and she looked up at him. "And how are you going to do that?"
His free hand went to her hip, pulling her close enough to shield the wind, his breath thawing her numb earlobe as he sent the rest of her mood scattering with promises that left her trembling.
"I'll find a few chaos memories for you, too," he said. "New ones."
 
"As long as none of them involve leaps from rooftops."
"I know." His lips brushed her ear as he straightened.
"What you did back there, on the roof, it was very..." Hope struggled for a word, but every one – brave, selfless, heroic – would make him cringe.
"Stupid?" he offered.
She leaned against him and laughed. "That, too. But I appreciated it. Just don't ever do it again."
He nodded, which didn't mean he agreed, only that he'd take it under consideration.
 
When Hope saw where the meeting was being held, her anxiety jumped a notch. It was in the midst of a business district, where the only glowing Open sign was on her destination, a little shop called The Scone Witch. It made sandwiches from scones. Scone-wich, get it? She didn't either until she saw the helpful picture below, complete with the kind of wart-ridden hag that made real witches gnash their teeth.
The choice made her nervous because, given the location, it was sure to be empty. While that might seem perfect for a clandestine meeting, "empty" still meant there would be servers or counter help, probably very bored and quite happy to eavesdrop on the weird patrons talking about clairvoyants.
But when Hope drew closer, she realized it wasn't going to be a concern. It was like approaching a barn at feeding time – the cackle of conversation, the neighing of laughter, the honking of voices trying to be heard over the din. She made it inside the door, then was blocked by a guy in unrelieved black with a bad bleach job, flirting with a silver-studded girl.
When a shoulder tap and a loud "excuse me" failed, she was about to "accidentally" knee the back of his kneecap, when the guy stumbled and smacked hard into the wall.
As he glowered around for his assailant, Hope slipped past and followed a wave from a blond young man alone at a side window table.
"You looked like you could use some help," he said.
"Ah, knock back spell. And here I thought I'd developed a new power."
She sat down opposite him. Sean Nast, Savannah's half-brother and grandson of the Nast Cabal CEO. Sean was a couple of years younger than Hope, but with a quiet seriousness that made the age difference easy to forget.
She'd have thought Sean would prefer someplace farther from the head office, but he reasoned it was better here, where if anyone spotted them, he could say he'd invited her for coffee to discuss a business proposition.
Speaking of recruiting valuable supernaturals, Lucas had already filled him in on their theory about Irving trying to hire Adele. Sean confirmed that Cabal lower executives did that all the time, trying to get ahead by finding and cultivating new employees, which Hope knew, having been the subject of just such an independent project once herself.
But it didn't really matter what Irving had been doing with Adele. The problem was that photo, linking him to a cop killer. To squelch that threat, Sean would do what he could to help Hope find Adele.
As for Detective Findlay, Hope had been wrong about his being on the Nast payroll. Nor would he be a Cabal executive's "independent project" – if so, he'd never dare show up at the head office, flashing his badge.
Sean explained how he found Detective Findlay at the office and, on hearing him mention Hope's name in a phone call, he'd excused himself to phone Lucas.
"I planned to call Irving in and play it straight while I figured out what was going on. But when I came back, he was checking out a picture of Savannah. He asked about her, and I started wondering if dropping your name hadn't been an accident. I decided to brush him off and look into it some more."
"So he seemed to recognize Savannah?"
"I probably overreacted and he was making conversation. It just rubbed me wrong." He sipped his latte. "You told Lucas this detective is a necromancer?"
She explained. Sean hadn't known Expiscos could detect other supernaturals. Hearing that, most Cabal executives'
eyes would glitter as they pondered the applications. Even Lucas, when he found out, hadn't been able to suppress a pensive moment of consideration. But Sean reacted with mild curiosity, as if it was an interesting but esoteric fact, like discovering sloths slept with their eyes open.