Tangled Souls (14 page)

You have no business here, Shepherd
, the phantom said in a low voice. It sounded female.
I shall take care of the little boy.

Gavenia shook her head, grabbing the sun pendant that hung around her neck. The moment it touched her palm, heat and light shot through her, clearing the cobwebs of the enticing voice. The apparition revealed itself: a dark, slate-colored essence. It did not shimmer like a soul, but obscured the wallpaper behind it.

Make it go away
, Bradley cried. He clung tighter to the bear, rocking back and forth, his eyes wide, dried tears on his cheeks.

“I will, Bradley,” Gavenia said. She regarded the being. She knew its kind—an ethereal predator. “Time for you to leave.”

I go where I will.
The voice was no longer female, and the scent of lavender became the stench of decaying seaweed. Gavenia’s stomach churned in response, threatening further involvement.

A book flew by her head, striking the far wall.

Leave, Shepherd. He is mine.

Gavenia ignored the order and began to collect the stuffed bears into a furry mound in her arms. The entity watched warily.

What are you doing?

Ignoring the question, Gavenia whispered into each of the bears’ furry ears, instructing them on their duty.

What are you doing?
the phantom asked again, shifting uncomfortably. The smell of rotten seaweed grew.

“I’m invoking an emotion you couldn’t possibly understand,” Gavenia replied. She formed a ring of fuzzy bodies around the little boy, a loving circle of protection. The fear in his face lessened.

“You will be fine,” she said. “I promise.”

The entity growled, realizing the boy was now safe beyond its reach. Gavenia smiled reassuringly, knowing what was about to happen. As she turned, Bart shouted a warning, but it was not needed. Gavenia brought her cane upward, separating the handle from the main section, exposing the sword within it. She dropped the scabbard to the floor, holding the blade heavenward.

“I am a Shepherd and I am of the Light. Depart, for you have no power here.” A rill of light shot up the blade, and as the entity surged forward, fangs and claws extended, Gavenia plunged the sword deep inside its swirling mass.

“Light overwhelms Darkness,” she intoned. “Leave this place and never return!” With a resounding pop, the dark-gray entity vanished into the air emitting a gurgling howl. The nauseating stench of seaweed and lavender immediately began to fade.

Deeply cool
, Bart said from his place next to her. He gave her a lopsided grin and a thumbs-up.

“I note you didn’t help.”

I wasn’t supposed to. At least, not unless things got really ugly.

Gavenia raised the sword upright again. “Thanks be to the God and Goddess.” She bent to collect the cane’s sheath and covered the sword.

A resounding giggle came from the corner, and then a childish laugh.

Bye-bye!
Bradley called, waving. He bounced upward and danced inside the circle of bears.
Bad thing all gone.

Gavenia grinned. She looked down at the ring of bears. “Thank you,” she said, addressing them. They did not answer, but she knew they were pleased.

Shoving open a window, Gavenia leaned out and took a deep breath. The fresh air smelled so clean, even though this was LA. In the distance, she saw O’Fallon’s car sitting by the curb like a cat awaiting a mouse. She laughed heartily. The PI was nothing compared to what she’d just faced down.

When she turned around, she found her Guardian observing her with a look of respect. She winked and he shook his head.

“You didn’t think I could pull that off,” she said.

I wasn’t sure.

“It was a lower entity, nothing too nasty. I’ve had a couple of them show up when I’m doing magic. They’re pretty harmless, providing you show them you’re the boss.”

There is worse out there.

“There’s always something worse out there, Bart. That’s the way things are.” She looked over at Bradley. He was giving each of the tiny bears a hug in turn, his face wreathed in a broad smile. “That was just a coyote, and not a very bright one.”

Still a danger to a lamb.

Gavenia nodded gravely. “Yes, but not this time.” After another deep breath, she joined Bradley in the corner. She needed to convince the boy to keep his tantrums to a minimum and then place some magical wards on the doors and windows to keep other coyotes from finding this little lamb.

* * *

O’Fallon flipped closed the cell phone, gritting his teeth. Glancing around as if someone might see into his private hell, he swore for good measure. The instant he’d read the caller ID, he knew what Kathryn’s call meant. To her credit, she’d let him down gently, telling him how much she’d enjoyed their time together, but the chemistry wasn’t there, like always.

Sometimes blind hope gets in the way of cold reality.

He’d been polite about the whole thing, but all he really wanted to do was scream and throw things like a toddler having a royal tantrum. Instead, he’d kept his game voice in place, wishing her all the best while his heart raged in chaos.

He’d been naive to blame his problems on the job. Now that he wasn’t a cop, the problems remained. That left only one other option.

“It’s me,” he said, shaking his head. “Why am I so hard to live with?”

Another dream deflated.

O’Fallon glanced up at the sound of a car and watched the red Miata slowly exit onto the street. For a moment it looked as if she was going on past, then she veered in behind his car and came to a halt. His gut tightened. He didn’t want another confrontation with that woman. Too many doubts swirled through his mind, and she only added to them.

As the witch walked toward his car, something about her appeared different.

What had happened inside the house?

He pulled himself out of the vehicle and leaned back against the rear quarter panel, arms crossed over his chest.

The witch halted about six feet away, her eyes wary. “Back for more?” she asked.

“Is there more?” he asked, hoping the answer was negative.

She peered over his shoulder in that unnerving fashion and then shook her head.

“No ghosts today?” he asked, secretly relieved.

“No. They come and go at will.” She used her cane to point toward the rear of his car with the cane. “You took off the bumper sticker.”

“I try not to make the same mistake twice.”

She seemed on the verge of retorting but bit back the comment.

Sensing weakness, he asked, angling his head toward the house, “So how’s Mr. A this morning? Was this a social call or just a quickie on the sofa?”

Her eyes narrowed as she rose to the bait. “Neither.”

“Which means?”

“None of your damned business.”

“Everything is my damned business, Ms. Kingsgrave. At least when it applies to you.”

“You have one hell of a God complex.”

The gloves were off.

“Does being a translator pay better than being a psychic?” he asked.

“Way better. Why?”

“So as a translator, you’re familiar with things like foreign commerce and banking?”

“Meaning?” she shot back.

“That you’d know how to hide money offshore if needed.”

The midnight-blue eyes signaled he was dangerously close to the line.

“Mousetrapping me into making incriminating statements isn’t going to work, Mr. O’Fallon. You’re not a cop; I’m not a felon. As soon as things are settled with Bradley and his father, I’m out of their lives.”

“Then who’s next on your hook?”

“You’re fishing, and I’m not biting.” She started to turn away and then halted. A distant look came to her face.

He knew the look. He’d seen it the day before. “Is it my father?” he blurted without thinking.

She shook her head. “No. This one is younger.” She blinked and then sighed. “He’s gone. He didn’t want me to talk about him.”

O’Fallon’s fury surged, angered he’d fallen for her nonsense yet again.

“Are you aware that head injuries can cause delusions?”

“Are you aware that being ignorant is curable?” she shot back.

“I’m not the issue here.”

The woman glowered. “No, Bradley is, and until he’s at peace you’re in the way, Mr. PI, and I won’t tolerate that. Once I find Merlin, I go away. Then you can plague some other innocent person.”

“And Mr. Alliford?” he asked, watching her closely.

Her face grew grave. “Unless he gives up the booze, he’s going to have a very short life.”

“Are you in love with him?”

Her eyes jerked up, and he saw honest surprise. “No, I’m not. I’m just worried about him. Not everyone has ulterior motives, Mr. O’Fallon.”

He rose from the hood and dusted off his jacket. “Not in my experience, lady.”

“Then you must lead a pretty depressing life. No wonder both of your marriages failed.”

His mouth fell open in astonishment. After delivering a triumphant smirk, the witch headed toward her car, the cane impacting the ground as she walked.

He shouted at the retreating form, “Did you know your boyfriend was already married?”

She abruptly halted and then continued on as if she hadn’t heard him. Her steps were hesitant now, her right hand shaking each time she raised the cane from the ground. The car door slammed with incredible force and then the Miata spun gravel, pelting him with debris. Halfway down the street, the car blew a stop sign in a long screech of burning rubber.

O’Fallon’s moment of gloating triumph faded instantly, replaced by cold remorse. Why had he lost control? Was it because she flogged him with his failed marriages? They were behind him, weren’t they?

“Apparently not,” he said, shaking his head, dusting his jacket and pants. He’d been cruel, even if she was aware that Winston Thomas had been a married man. From her reaction, it appeared she’d been clueless.

If not for an obscure Internet article penned by Thomas’s bereaved wife, O’Fallon wouldn’t have discovered his secret. The man had led a shadow life, girlfriends on the side, acting the dutiful husband when he was home. In the end, none of that deceit had mattered after his encounter with the stone wall in Wales.

O’Fallon swore under his breath. No wonder he couldn’t get along with women.

“And you don’t?”

“No. But I’ve heard him. He plays in his room. It’s like he’s still alive.”

Great. The man’s a drunk and he thinks he’s hearing his dead child. What a perfect setup.

“What sort of fee is Ms. Kingsgrave charging?”

“Fee? Oh . . . well. She gave me a piece of paper. Let me get it.”

Bingo.
A part of him felt regret. On some level O’Fallon hoped the witch wasn’t like everyone else.

Alliford rose and dug through the unruly stack of papers on his desk. O’Fallon thought he could see unopened mail, bills and such—the fabric of a life unraveling thread by thread.

“Here is it.” Alliford handed over the paper with a shaking hand and then retreated to his chair. Another sip of whiskey followed.

O’Fallon scanned the page. There had to be a mistake. This was a list of charitable organizations, complete with addresses, contact names, and phone numbers.

“Are you sure you gave me the right paper?”

Alliford nodded. “That’s it.”

“So how much is she charging?”

Alliford pointed. “It’s explained on the back.”

O’Fallon flipped the paper over expecting to see a sliding scale of outrageous expenses. Instead he found a paragraph of legal verbiage stating in lieu of direct payment, a charitable donation be made to any one of the organizations listed on the reverse side of the sheet. If a donation was beyond the recipient’s financial abilities, that was acceptable. Ms. Kingsgrave’s flowing signature was at the bottom. It was light, like a butterfly floating on the wind.

O’Fallon frowned. He turned the page over and studied the list: a battered-women’s shelter, a literacy program, an inner-city day care, a library.

This had to be a scam. The organizations were probably just clever fronts to funnel money to the witch to keep her in bats’ wings and bright-red sports cars.

“Is there any way I can have a copy of this?” he asked.

Alliford nodded and hoisted himself out of his chair. Each time it seemed more difficult. As he fed the paper through the fax machine, pressing the copy button, O’Fallon asked, “Has Ms. Kingsgrave made any other requests?”