Body and Soul

Putting my hands up to block the light, I tried to get a better look through the window. Most of the chairs were now stacked three or four high, and the receptionist’s desk had been shoved back against the wall. Either Malachi had a very dedicated cleaning team, or he was gone…for good.

And it keeps getting better.

But as I started to move away from the window, I caught a flicker of light. Pressing my hands tighter against the glass to block out more of the sunlight, I searched for what I’d seen.

There. Underneath the door to the private consultation area, territory Alona and I had not managed to breach yesterday, a fine line of light flashed and then dimmed. Like someone was moving around back there.

Malachi.

I considered knocking, hammering on the door in case he hadn’t heard me trying to open it a minute ago, but what were the odds he’d actually open it if he saw me standing there?

At times like this I wished for Alona to be here in spirit form. She’d have slipped through a window on the far end and unlocked the door to let me in.

But maybe there was another way.

One of my responsibilities during my short stint as a busboy at Sam’s Diner had been taking the garbage out to the Dumpsters in the alley. The strip mall on the block behind the diner had its back to us. If I remembered correctly, all the units had doors in the back. And on any given day, most of those doors remained unlocked or even propped open for the ease of employees’ coming and going.

I jogged around to the side of the building and then to the back. As I’d suspected, several of the green doors stood open, and a couple of employees from a cell-phone store stood outside smoking. The door corresponding to Malachi’s location was closed, but a battered blue van was parked in front of it, with the cargo doors open.

Score.

I approached the van cautiously, wary of Erin and afraid Malachi might bolt if he saw me.

But Erin was nowhere to be seen, and Malachi wasn’t in the van, at least as far as I could tell. Hastily filled cardboard boxes dominated the cargo area in the vehicle, and the driver’s seat appeared to be empty.

I stepped away and started toward the back door to Malachi’s storefront. Before I could reach it, though, the door opened, and the man himself emerged, carrying another worn-looking box. Minus his cape and with his hair sticking up in several directions, he looked more like a harried delivery guy than someone with “Magnificent” in his title.

He saw me and froze, the box slipping in his hand, like he might drop it and run. Then his shoulders sagged and he just looked exhausted. “We’re leaving, okay? In a matter of minutes.” He brushed past me, heading toward the van.

“Wait,” I said, hurrying after him. “I just want to talk to you.”

He shoved the box into the van and turned to face me, raking a hand through his already rumpled hair. “Look, we got the message the first time. We shouldn’t have stayed, but no one else came around.” He shrugged helplessly. “We were subtle, careful not to overdo it—”

“I know,” I said. “That’s what I want to ask about.”

He stared at me. “Who are you again?”

“Will Killian.”

He nodded slowly. “I think I met your—”

“My dad?” I ventured.

He nodded. “That was a few years ago,” he said, seemingly trying to piece something together. “You’re not a member of the Order.”

It was a statement, but I could hear the uncertainty in it, the question.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well,” he said, “that’s a relief.” But he looked almost disappointed, which made no sense. “So, what do you want?”

“Just to talk,” I said again. “There aren’t many of us who can…” I hesitated, glancing at the cell-phone store employees, who were watching us with unabashed curiosity. “Not many who can do what we do.” Assuming he was legit, which I still wasn’t sure about. But if he was, he might have some major skills worth learning. Like how he’d managed to ignore the ghosts in his office so completely.

“No, no.” He shook his head. “If you figured us out, someone else isn’t far behind, and I can’t take that chance.” He slammed the van doors shut and headed for the front of the vehicle.

I followed him. “I didn’t figure anything out. Your name was on this paper my dad left, that’s all.” I pulled the page from my pocket, unfolded it, and held it out to him.

He glanced at it, his face tightening.

“I was hoping you might have some answers,” I said.

He laughed, but it sounded bitter. “Kid, the day I have anything other than questions, you’ll be the first to know.” He pulled open the driver’s-side door and levered himself into the seat.

Kid?He wasn’t even ten years older than me. I’d thought it was bad when the Order had been bent on recruiting me as some kind of prodigy. But it was infinitely worse, as it turned out, to be treated like a nonentity, someone not important enough to talk to. I’d expected that in high school, from people who didn’t understand. But from this guy? No way.

“Look, I don’t need the mysteries of the universe explained,” I said, getting pissed. “I just want to know how you keep from being overwhelmed.” I wanted to ask him about Alona’s situation, too, but I wasn’t stupid. He was a stranger with potentially shady business practices and an overly aggressive spirit guide. Caution seemed like the smarter route, at least until I got a better feel for his character. He might not be a member of the Order, but I couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t trade information on us to save his own skin.

He shook his head at me again, like I was speaking Japanese despite having been told that he wasn’t fluent. “Don’t you have anyone else to ask about this? Where is your dad?” he asked.

“Dead.” I folded up the page from the phone book and tucked it carefully into my pocket. “Killed himself. Almost four years ago.” Those words came out more readily now, after so much time, but they were never easy to say.

Malachi sat back in his seat, startled. “I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause. “I didn’t know.”

It wasn’t something discussed openly at our house, obviously, and I doubted my mother had given much information publicly, in an obituary or anything, if at all. I didn’t like bringing it up now, feeling like I was somehow using what had happened to get sympathy or manipulate him into giving me answers. But it was, in fact, the truth. I couldn’t go to my father because he was dead. And he was dead because he’d wanted it that way.

So I made myself wait, squelching the intense urge to say, “Forget it,” and walk away.

Malachi gave a heavy sigh. “All right. He did me a favor once. I suppose I owe you the same.”

Guilt and relief competed for priority, with relief wi

He stepped down from the van. “Five minutes. That’s it.”

The back room in Malachi’s storefront was decidedly utilitarian and boring, not at all what I’d expected. Walking through the door, I saw a small kitchen/storage area to the right and a tiny bathroom to the left. The main area, where’d Malachi had obviously performed his spirit “consultations,” was a wood-paneled room with cheap white shelving lining the walls and a table and chairs in the center.

There were signs, though, that the decor had once been more exotic, or at least aimed to be. Puddles of purple candle wax stained almost every square inch of the shelving. The metal curtain rod that hung behind the door to the waiting room still held a strand or two of dark beads.

“Crystal ball is already in the van,” Malachi said from behind me, as if all too aware of how mundane the space appeared now.

I couldn’t tell if he was kidding.

He pushed past me and dragged a chair away from the table and gestured for me to sit in it. “Ask. Let’s go.”