Kitty Raises Hell

Full-on lawyer mode. That was my honey. “Got it,” I said.

From the sofa, Gary shook his head. “A video like that is too easy to fake. It’s not good enough for proof.”

“That’s the trouble,” Tina said. “Everything we discover is too easy to fake.”

For my part, I felt like I was finally looking my enemy in the eye. Not that I could tell whether this thing had eyes.

“But this gives us something,” I said. “It’s a thing. A being. It has a shape. Maybe it has a mind. That means we can lure it out. We can trick it. Trap it, maybe.”

Tina huffed. “I can see us standing there with fire extinguishers blasting it. Why do I get the feeling that won’t work?”

“Maybe we can talk to it,” I said. “Maybe we can just ask it to stop.”

“True to form,” Ben said. “Always ready to talk it out.” His voice was sarcastic, but his smile was sweet.

“I’m not sure I like that idea,” Gary said. “This is out of our league.”

I shrugged. “So change leagues. I want to try another séance. I want to talk to this thing.”

Nobody said anything. If they didn’t like the idea, they could have at least argued with me, but everyone stared, eyes kind of buggy, expressions taut. The anxiety was tangible. We all saw the monster, but nobody wanted to face up to it.

“Come on, we want to lure this thing out. Use me as bait! I’m the focus of all this anyway,” I said.

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be acting like bait,” Ben said. “Sure, maybe this thing wants you—so the last thing you should be doing is throwing yourself at it.”

“Aw, honey, that’s sweet. You trying to protect me and all.” My smile was probably a little too sarcastic.

“Somebody has to,” he said, curt.

We glared at each other a moment, a couple of not entirely happy wolves in people clothing.

“What does your contact say? The one who gave you the protective potion?” Jules said.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to get ahold of him. Give me a minute.” I called Grant’s number again. And again, no answer. I needed to find another way to get in touch with him. I had to know if he was okay, so I called the Diablo, the Vegas hotel that housed the theater where he performed. I keyed my way through the phone maze until I reached a real live person at the theater box office.

“Hi, I was wondering when Odysseus Grant’s shows are today,” I said to the clerk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, all his shows have been canceled for the next couple of days,” she answered.

Damn. This couldn’t be good. “Oh. Do you know why?”

“I think it’s illness. I wasn’t given any details.”

Then Grant was in trouble, too. My hair prickled.

“What’s wrong?” Ben said, after I put away my phone. I must have gone especially pale.

“I can’t get ahold of him,” I said. “His shows are canceled. He seems to have disappeared.”

“So no help there,” Tina sighed.

I was about ready to run back to Vegas to deal with this at the source, despite all the warnings. “What about you? Surely you have some kind of... I don’t know, psychic hunch or something? ’Cause that would be really useful.”

Another long and meaning-filled silence descended. Tina blushed, and Jules intently studied the laptop screen.

“I’m still waiting to hear about the psychic-hunches thing myself,” Gary said. “Tina keeps telling me she’ll explain how she’s the only person I’ve ever seen get a Ouija board to act like that when I feel better. Tina—honest, I feel better.”

“Huh. I assumed you all had already had that conversation,” I said.

A loud, insistent pounding on the door started right about then. Good timing there, and I wondered how far Tina’s psychic reach actually extended. Mind control of room service, maybe? Convenient.

Ben went to the door, checked the peephole, looked back. “I don’t recognize him. Young guy, kind of scruffy. Anybody order a pizza?”

Nobody had. Ben called through the door, “Can I help you?”

“Tell Kitty to let me in,” a voice answered. I recognized the voice and made a dash for the door.

“Why am I not surprised?” Ben grumbled.

“I’ll talk to him. It’ll only take a minute.”

I cracked open the door to find Peter Gurney, young, intense, focused, slouching in his canvas army jacket, standing on the porch outside the room. This was such bad timing. I didn’t know what he wanted—to accuse me of lying again or to demand more information that I didn’t have—but there had to be a better time for it.

We regarded each other for a moment. “Peter. As much as I’d love to talk to you, this really isn’t—”

“I want to talk to them,” he said and pointed into the room behind me.

I looked at the PI team, who were now staring at us with interest, and back at Peter. I fought past the cognitive dissonance—what did Peter even know about them? “Oh? Why?”

“I’ll tell them,” he said, almost surly. He was nervous, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. He had to work to summon this bravado.

“What’s happened?” I said. “What have you been up to, besides following me around?” He had the grace to look chagrined at that. That didn’t stop him.

“I need to talk to you.” He called this over my shoulder, toward the table where the Paradox team gathered. This couldn’t have been great timing for them, either. I wondered: Was Peter a fan? Did they get accosted by fans a lot?

I said, “Peter, I’m sure you’re upset, but this isn’t a good time. Maybe you could come back—”

“I have a job for you,” he said to the team, glaring at me as an afterthought. I blocked the doorway, or he might have shoved his way in.

“Sounds serious,” Tina said.

“Maybe not to you,” Peter said. “But it is to me. I want to hire you.”

“Got a place that’s haunted, then?” Jules said.

“No. Not really.” He was still nervous, his gaze darting. I got the feeling he really didn’t want to be here, but he was desperate. He said, “I need you to talk to my brother.”

“What?” I said, disbelieving. Of all the ridiculous... Desperate didn’t begin to cover it. My sympathy ran out, all at once. This wasn’t grief—this was not being able to face reality. “Peter, what are you thinking?”

“I’ve been following you—”

“I know,” I said.

His gaze was stone cold and dead serious. “If you were lying about Ted, I’d follow you and maybe you’d lead me to him.”

“Except he’s dead,” I said, more harshly than I wanted. T.J. was dead, and I didn’t want to keep dwelling on it.

He shut his eyes tight and marshaled words. “I know... I know that now. I believe you. But since I’ve been trailing you, I’ve been watching her.”

He gestured to Tina.

“I know about you. If there was another way to try this, I would, believe me. But I don’t think there is. I want you to try to talk to him. Maybe... maybe he can tell you what happened. I just want to talk to him one more time.”

God. He was a kid again. That was all he wanted, for his older brother to tell him he loved him. Some reassurance that he hadn’t been abandoned. I understood the feeling. I kind of wanted to talk to T.J. right now myself. Maybe ask, Why didn’t you tell me you had a brother? Why didn’t you tell me you ran away from your family? Why didn’t you tell me anything?

The Paradox crew watched him, silent.

Peter kept trying. “I can pay you. I’m not looking for a conversation, I just want... something. A sign. Some kind of proof.”

“You and every other bloke in human history,” Jules muttered.

“It’s not that easy,” Tina said, soft, serious, diverging from her bubbly on-screen persona. “It’s not like making a phone call. So, no. I can’t do it.”

Peter grit his teeth. He was almost shaking. “But I know you can do it. Please, I don’t want a séance, I just need...” And he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t finish the thought, and none of us tried to finish it for him. He could have meant anything: closure, comfort, some assurance that his brother hadn’t forgotten him, when all the evidence suggested that he had.