One Grave at a Time
Page 8

Fabian floated up to me, leaning down near my ear.
"I don't know if I like this man," he whispered. "He made a comment questioning your decorating skills upon entering, and now he disparages your hospitality. He won't be staying long, will he?"
"If we're lucky, no," I replied. Tyler's staying a long time would mean we'd failed to stop Kramer, not to mention wreaking havoc on my patience. Neither option was acceptable to me.
Fabian frowned. "Are you well, Cat? You look tired."
"I'll be fine after a shower." A lingering chill still clung to me, and the thought of banishing that under a steady stream of hot water sounded heavenly.
My cat chose that moment to come sauntering down the stairs but stopped short when he spotted Dexter. The dog spotted him, too. He got to his feet-the three that worked, that is-and wagged his tail while emitting a friendly-sounding chuff.
Helsing hissed, his dark hair fluffing out to stand on end. That hiss turned into a garbled, extended growl, with a distinctly threatening undertone while his ears went flat.
"No, no. Be a nice kitty!" I ordered. Poor Dexter had stopped cold and cringed even though he outweighed my cat by about thirty pounds.
Helsing's growl ended with a final hiss before he turned to give me a look that could best be summed up as A dog? How could you? Then he ran back up the stairs, tail twitching in agitation the whole way.
Okay, so no one was thrilled about our new guests, but it was only temporary.
"Ohhhh," Tyler drew out, staring to my right. "You've got a ghost floating next to you."
"You can see me?" Fabian asked in surprise.
I left the kitchen to start closing the drapes. "Tyler, meet my friend, Fabian. Fabian, this is Tyler, the medium we went to see today. Things didn't go as planned, but we'll get into that after I take a shower . . . and pet my cat until he forgives me."
After a blissfully long, hot shower-and some groveling to my cat that I doubted Helsing understood-I came downstairs to find Tyler on the couch, wearing nothing but my favorite blue robe.
"My clothes are in the wash, and it was this or a towel," he said with a shrug.
Of course Tyler would want to change out of his bloody outfit. I should've thought to offer him some of Bones's clothes. "Sorry, I'll get you something else to wear."
His casual wave stopped me from heading back upstairs. "This is fine for now."
Fabian buzzed over to me, almost twitching in anxiety. "It is unseemly that he wears your robe, Cat!"
I bit back a laugh at the ghost's scandalized tone. Nineteenth-century formalities must be hard to shake even after death.
Tyler shot Fabian a patient look. "Keep your panties on, ghostfriend, it's only temporary."
Fabian threw up his hands. "You see? He is incorrigible!"
"We'll get him some proper clothes straightaway," Bones reassured Fabian as he descended the stairs.
"Elisabeth, the man in the robe is Tyler," I introduced when I saw Tyler's gaze fasten on her, finally noticing her after a few minutes. "Tyler, meet Elisabeth, but don't mention her to any ghosts aside from Fabian. She's kind of hiding out here."
Tyler smiled. "Charmed to meet another refugee like me."
Elisabeth looked a little confused, but she curtsied, reminding me that I wanted to learn how to do that as gracefully as she.
"Tyler's hiding from Kramer, too," I said in explanation.
"Oh." Her face pinched with compassion. "You poor man."
"Finally, some genuine sympathy." He patted the spot next to him. "Sit here, sweetie, and tell me all about yourself."
"Um, you and Elisabeth can chat later. You mentioned people who might be able to help with Kramer. Do you mean another medium?" I prodded him.
"You are hell and gone from anything a medium can do. Good mediums can open gateways, summon and commune with spirits, clean a house of presences, and sometimes help a ghost cross to the other side. What you've got is a nasty, free-range phantom that can poltergeist like nothing I've ever seen."
"We told you that," Bones pointed out.
Tyler rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I wish I'd listened, but that's what most people say. I had no idea you'd be the only ones telling it like it was, and you weren't sure yourselves, either. No medium can help you, but maybe the best damn ghost hunters money can buy will be able to."
"Yeah, well, I hear Bill Murray and the gang don't do that anymore," I countered in growing frustration.
He waved a hand. "Not the Hollywood version. The real ones, and lucky for you, I happen to know some."
"Give us their names and how to contact them," Bones directed.
Tyler's look grew pointed. "I'll set up a meeting and go with you. Otherwise, just like me, they won't believe how powerful that ghost is until it's too late, and you might not be fast enough to save all of them."
My inner cynic calculated the odds of ghost hunters being able to help us at twenty to one . . . in Kramer's favor. Still, I'd sworn that I would try to see the silver lining instead of only the ominous clouds, so I fetched my cell phone from the counter and handed it to Tyler.
"Make the call."
Tyler rose. "Right after I take a piss."
Once he disappeared into the bathroom, Bones spoke very softly. "Keep trying to tail Kramer, Elisabeth. If there's a particular place he frequents, or any humans he's attentive to, I want to know."
Bones must not have high hopes for the ghost hunters, either. Elisabeth nodded solemnly. "I saw him earlier today. He was not far from the largest ley line in Iowa, at Oktoberfest in Sioux City, but he left quickly. Too quickly for me to see if he'd been interacting with any humans."
"What time was this, do you know?" Bones asked, suspicion edging his emotions.
"Right after midday," she replied.
One-ish Iowa time would've been about 2:00 P.M. in Washington, D.C. Right about the same time that Tyler broke out the Ouija board.
"I think Kramer left in a hurry because he got a page," I said wryly.
Bones's gaze was speculative before he returned his attention to Elisabeth.
"Keep trying to find him, then follow him when you do, but don't let him tail you back here."
I knew how important it was for Elisabeth to find out who Kramer's intended victims were, not to mention the identity of his human accomplice; but after meeting the former Inquisitor, I really didn't want him to know where we lived. Sure, I could summon Remnants to our defense if Kramer tracked Elisabeth back here despite her best efforts, but what if he snapped Tyler's neck before I sicced the Remnants on him? Even if I were fast in calling forth my spectral guards, it only took a split second to kill a human, as I well knew.
And sometimes, it only took a split second to kill a vampire, too. We had plenty of silver knives at our house, for obvious reasons. What if the malevolent ghost poltergeisted one of those through Bones's heart before either of us even knew he was near? I shivered at the thought.
"What's wrong, Kitten?" Bones asked, his sharp gaze picking it up.
I forced a smile. No more what-if thoughts of worst-case scenarios. Silver linings and glasses half-full, remember?
"Nothing."
Chapter Nine
A huge building loomed in front of us, dark exterior looking ominous even with the many gold-edged leaves on the trees surrounding the grounds. Hundreds of windows reflected the moonlight as if in stark rejection of any illumination penetrating the structure's interior. Every so often, shadows would pass by those windows, and voices would drift out on the crisp autumn air, but the former hospital was empty.
Well, empty of anyone who was solid. All the members of N.I.P.D., the Northeastern Investigative Paranormal Division that Tyler had recommended, were still outside with us. They'd just finished setting up their equipment in various rooms of the former Waverly Hills Sanatorium. Now they were huddled up in a final group pep talk before they started their documentation of everything that went bump in the night here.
The sanatorium might have closed decades ago, but it was quite the popular attraction, as it turned out. The curious paid for guided tours of the facility, hearing all about its history and the many anecdotes of ghostly encounters. Amateur or professional paranormal buffs could opt to have the hospital all to themselves for a night of investigation, provided they paid the proper amount and booked in advance. Waverly Hills Sanatorium had a waiting list, and the owners didn't give refunds if a group missed its scheduled appointment.
That was why Bones and I were meeting the investigators-they didn't like the term "ghost hunters," as it turned out-here instead of at a local coffee shop or somewhere else normal. They'd planned their evening at Waverly weeks ago and weren't about to lose their time slot-or their money-just to talk to Tyler's new clients, as they considered Bones and me. For our part, we weren't willing to waste another day and night before finding out if they could help with Kramer. After Tyler set up our chat, we hopped in the car for a road trip to Louisville, Kentucky. Taking a plane would have been faster, but we weren't about to go anywhere unarmed, and airport security frowned on suitcases filled with a stockpile of weapons.
Tyler refused to leave Dexter behind, saying the dog would give us precious seconds of warning if Kramer was about to spoof up. Dexter did seem to have an uncanny radar for ghosts; he'd begun to whine in that eerie way of his as soon as we pulled up to the sanitarium. By comparison, it took Tyler a few minutes after we arrived to even see the shadows passing by the windows. Of the two of them, I had to admit that Dexter seemed to be the more qualified medium. Maybe Spade's demonologist friends really recommended Dexter, and the message somehow got garbled, I thought ruefully.
"Let's get this party started!" Chris, N.I.P.D.'s team leader, finished his pep talk with.
"Finally," Bones muttered, too low for anyone but me to overhear.
We'd promised not to start with our questions until all of their prep work was done, having been told that setting up was too crucial for distractions. Little did we know how much prep work they were talking about. We'd been standing outside for a good two hours. If left to himself, Bones might have green-eyed Chris and the others into forgetting about their set-up-first conditions, but he knew I would have objected to that. We were here because we wanted their help, not the other way around. Besides, two hours of polite waiting wasn't going to make or break our circumstances with Kramer.
Unless he showed up soon in another murderous mood.
"So," Chris said, sizing us up as he approached. I didn't mind that he'd barely glanced our way before this. All his attention had been on making sure his team was prepared, and that was a plus in my book. "What's this big, urgent issue that Tyler tells me can't wait until tomorrow?"
Bones glanced at the van with N.I.P.D. painted on the side, the endless cords for their equipment, and the dozen team members bustling about before he replied.
"You doing this because you truly believe in activity on the other side, or because you want to make a bit of profit off the gullible?"
Chris bristled, his cheeks becoming ruddier above his beard while his scent flared with anger. That wasn't what I paid attention to. It was his spate of thoughts.
So sick of dealing with ignorant pricks who can't see beyond what society tells them to believe. Never should've agreed to let Tyler bring them here tonight; we've got too much work to do.
"I have a Master of Science in Engineering from Stanford, so I can make more money with a hell of a lot less effort in about a hundred different fields," he replied evenly. "If that doesn't answer your question, then you're wasting my time."
Satisfaction flitted across the edge of my emotions. Someone smart who was passionate about his work and dedicated to his team was more than I'd hoped for. Maybe Tyler had hit a home run directing us here.
"Make sure you do EVPs and take lots of pictures on five," Chris called out to a young woman who hurried past us.
I glanced up toward the sixth floor, where I'd seen the most shadows pass by the windows. This facility primarily contained residual ghosts; brief, repeating snapshots of people who had long since passed on, no more sentient than a splice of frames from a film reel. Judging by the levels of energy emanating from the building, a couple sentient spirits also called Waverly Hills home, but they didn't stick to one place in this huge facility. The sixth floor would yield the best chance for pictures of unexplainable shadows or orbs. Not anything that would make headline news, but at least it'd be something tangible that Chris's group could take home with them. They'd rented this place for the night; might as well help steer them into getting their money's worth.
"Try six instead," I suggested. "You'll have better luck."
Chris's gaze narrowed. "Five has had more reported cases of incidents," he countered.
I smiled blandly. "Six will net you more solid data, but hey. It's your show."
Chris looked at Tyler, who nodded in confirmation. Bones just folded his arms, his coolly detached expression revealing nothing. The young woman balanced her tripod camera on her hip, and I didn't need to tap into her thoughts to know it was heavy. Chris gave a last, musing glance at me before he spoke again.
"Start on six first, Lexie."
Fucking tourists should just keep their mouths shut, Lexie thought, but her "sure thing!" was as cheerful as it was false. I wasn't offended. She could take orders and knew when to keep her opinions to herself. Again my hopes lifted about this group.