The Spiritist Page 11

  A smile crept across her face. “And how many women have dumped you?”

  “I’ve lost count,” he said with a cheerful grin. “My heart has been broken many times.”

  “Why do I have trouble believing you?”

  “Oh, it’s true enough.” He was pleased to see the happy glint back in her eyes. “Let’s see. There was Lucy. She dumped me in eighth grade for a high school junior quarterback. Then Anne in College. She broke up with me because I wasn’t quite attentive enough. And well…there is a long list. What about you? How many men have you left wounded, bleeding on the street?”

  “None.”

  “Oh, come on! I don’t believe that.”

  She raised her bare shoulder. “It’s true. Witches don’t get many dates.”

  “So you frighten men away?”

  “Frighten. Intimidate. Fear is not good for a relationship. Neither is disdain.” Her voice was light, but he detected a note of bitterness. It was just a light hint, but he caught it.

  He refilled her wine glass. “What happened?”

  Her eyes met his. She took a deep breath. “Nothing to me, personally. My father left my mother when he found out I was going to be witch. Apparently, he hadn’t thought so far ahead. It was not easy to accept that his whole biological line was corrupted. His words, not mine.”

  His hand covered hers. “That’s quite personal. I’m sorry. He was not worth her time. Or yours. But I am not the same as him. Take a chance on me.”

  She looked down at their joined hands. “Getting romantically involved with a witch may be more than you have bargained for. We could just be friends for now.”

  He snorted. “We could be many things, but ‘just friends’ is not one of them.”

  She pulled her hand back and resumed eating. “Everything or nothing,” she muttered. “Nothing is ever easy.”

  Cole looked out at the dark night. No moon cradled the sky. A few twinkling stars managed to peep in through the clouds, casting their eerie, silver lights on the ocean waves that crashed on the beach down below. He’d chosen this apartment because it was close to the beach. Not that he ever got much time to spend here, but sometimes he stood at this balcony and looked at the waves as they continued their eternal dance.

  “Do you know that your housekeeper Meena is not happy with you?”

  He was genuinely flabbergasted by her statement. “What? Why?”

  “Calling for catering! Bad move.” She waved a hand. “She thinks you’re not happy with her level of service. And maybe you might kick her out. She needs the job because she is putting her son through college. And she is also paying medical bills for her mother who is sick.”

  She had been here all of two hours. How did she know more about his staff than him? He’d to admit he didn’t know that Meena’s mother was sick. “And you know this how?”

  “I talked to her in the kitchen,” she said.

  “She told you all this?”

  “People talk to me.” She shrugged and popped an olive in her mouth.

  Cole shook his head. “I’ll speak to her and assure her that this was just an effort to impress you. It doesn’t reflect on her level of service.”

  “She thinks you are a generous employer but a little distant.”

  Cole rolled his eyes. She was an incorrigible gossip. Or perhaps she was just interested in people. It intrigued him that the more layers he managed to peel the more complex she appeared to be. “Tell me about your childhood? How was it growing up in Alby?”

  She didn’t appear to mind the change of topic. “It was nice. Everyone knew me, my mother, and my grandmother. Of course, I was the daughter of a known, self-proclaimed witch, the granddaughter of another. I wasn’t the poster child for normal. But I had my friends. It was cool to grow up as the resident witch, even if at times it was tiring to be judged for reasons other than my behavior.”

  “Where is your mother?”

  “She lives in small town near Paris. Has been living there for the past four years.”

  “Do you meet often?”

  “Every Christmas and Thanksgiving, and on birthdays. I’m her only child so of course she has not been able to let go of me. Nor do I want her to. She comes, or I go. She is married. Her husband is a real estate baron. They live in a huge estate. It’s a pretty. Acres of forested land surround their house.”

  “He is a…?”

  “He is a wizard,” she said. “Our kind mingles best with each other. No fancy explanations are needed or required. It works out better.”

  “What about your grandmother?”

  She pushed her clean plate back. “She lives in Alby, but right now she is off on a one year trip around the world. Last I heard, she was in Algiers. She calls every two weeks or so.”

  “You miss them.” It was a statement of fact.

  “Yes, I do. But it’s good that they are both having fun. Grandma will be back soon enough. Seven more months to go.”

  Cole signaled the servers to clear the table. They brought dessert, a soft, moist chocolate cake, topped with creamy chocolate sauce and cream. Cole used a spoon to ladle a bite sized piece and offered it to Aerilyn.

  Her lips closed around it. She licked it off the spoon. “Delicious,” she murmured, her eyes half closed in rapture.

  A hot wave of greedy desire swept through his body. Cole fought the urge to gulp her in one big bite. “My turn,” he said lightly – and waited, one eyebrow quirked in anticipation.

  Aerilyn took another spoon, dug it into the cake and offered the bite to him. Cole took her offering. Her eyes glistened with desire as his lips closed around the spoon. In this manner, they fed each other, and when the cake was gone, Cole thought he might burst with sexual tension.

  He offered his hand to Aerilyn, and took her to the farthest corner on the terrace while the servers cleaned the table. For a while he said nothing, not sure if he could trust himself to speak. Aerilyn held herself away from the railing, her back rigid, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I am scared of heights.”

  “You can talk to dead people, but you’re scared of heights?” He put his hand on the small of her back, feeling the warmth of her through the thin, silk fabric.

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Certainly not.” He turned her around to face him. “You’re quite unique, you know that. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you before.”

  “That is true. There are not many spiritists in the world.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” His eyes hovered on her pink, luscious lips. Her skin shone luminously in the starlight. “You just turned my whole world upside down. It’s crazy how I feel for you. It’s a little bit scary,” he admitted.

  “Scary? I scare you?” She wrinkled her nose. “Wow! That’s romantic.”

  “Scary in a good way. Scary in a life-altering way.” Unable to resist any longer, he bent down for a kiss. To his surprise, she raised her head to meet him. Her lips were just as soft as he remembered. Her scent was sweet, fragrant, and spicy. She tasted like chocolate. Pulling her closer, he ran a hand over the back of her neck and down her back. Waves of pleasure coursed through his body at this simple gesture. Never before had he felt so helpless with a woman in his arms.

  Beautiful and smart, honest and intriguing; it was no wonder that he was falling hard for her. His teeth found her bottom lip and tugged. She moaned and pushed her body against him. Instantaneously, his need rose to fervor pitch. A part of him wished he could tumble into bed with her and get it over with, and the other part of him wished to prolong this sweet agony for as long as he could.

  What the hell was happening? He raised his head and took a big breath. The cool air filled his lungs. Her scent was driving him mad.

  Cole moved away, his hands still on her shoulders. Aerilyn gulped. “Life-altering, indeed. I think…I think we should take it slow.”

  “Any slower and I will combust spontane
ously,” he muttered. He wanted to take her now – but this was big. Huge, beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. He’d never felt so befuddled, so confused, and so warped over someone.

  Was it lust? He’d certainly never experienced such strong feelings for anyone.

  Shit! Was he falling in love?

  He hoped not – because if he was, his life was screwed.

  “Let’s go inside.” Cautious of the servers who were hovering in the distance, he escorted her back inside. As they stepped inside the spacious living room, he heard his cell phone ring. He had left it on the desk in his room. His assistant Tina was supposed to call with important news. “I’ll be a minute.” He left her seated on the couch, facing the mammoth TV which he hardly ever used.

  “Hello.” He wished the servers would hurry up and leave.

  It wasn’t Tina. It was Damon on the other end. “I’ve located The Plazza, the bar you mentioned.”

  Cole felt his heartbeat pick up. “Where is it?”

  “The bar was earlier called The Plazza. The ownership of the bar changed hands about a year ago, and although the new owners changed the name to Zing, the old name has stuck. The students in the New York University frequent it because it is close by and affordable. The atmosphere is good. But…”

  “What?”

  “I talked to my contact at the New York police department, and he said that the new owners were shady. It’s suspected that they have connections with the local drug dealers. Guess who the owner is?”

  “Robin?”

  “His brother James,” said Damon. “Both James and Robin have been under police surveillance many times but there is no evidence against them, and they have never been caught. I got a police sketch of Robin and have sent you a scanned copy. It should be in your email now.”

  Cole opened his email. The picture showed a man with a thin face and dark, wide eyebrows. His eyes were set close together. So Robin was not only a real person but also a suspected drug dealer. Aerilyn’s information was dead on correct. Now, all they had to do was find some hard evidence to connect Robin to Thomas’s murder. It would take time, and patience – and probably outside help.

  His mind made up, Cole picked up Thomas’s tablet. He had not only read all the journal entries, but also made notes on salient points. “Aerilyn and I will come to New York tomorrow. I’ll send you Thomas’s tablet, along with a copy of my notes and summary. Give it to the police officer who was in charge of Thomas’s suicide investigation. Joan will be making a formal request to re-open her son’s case. Thomas’s death was a murder, not a suicide.”

  Damon had been apprised of the background but his tone was hesitant as he spoke, “The police will need evidence. Aerilyn’s word will not be enough.”

  “We will find evidence.” Cole was confident. “Aerilyn will find something there, something that will make it possible for the police to connect the dots from Thomas to Robin. In the meantime, tell your contact at the police station to start new inquiries.”

  “Alright.” Damon didn’t sound convinced but he didn’t argue with his boss.

  Cole put the phone down and looked down at the tablet. The journal entries didn’t prove anything, but they did raise enough questions for the police to do some more investigation and to reopen the case. Cole was determined to find the killer. Now all he had to do was tell Aerilyn that they would be going to New York. Perhaps the next leg of their journey would yield more answers.

  Cole sighed. Before he handed over the tablet to the police, he would have to make a copy of Thomas’s notes. He needed to study them to make sure he captured each salient fact. All this would take time – and that meant his plans for a romantic evening would have to be postponed, for now.

  --------

  Aerilyn stepped inside the room where Thomas had been killed. A narrow bed stood against one wall. A desk was placed against the opposite wall. A faded green, woolen rug lined the floor. Nothing else remained of the boy who had once occupied this vacant room.

  They had arrived in New York two hours ago. After sending in their luggage to the hotel he’d booked, Cole brought her to the building where Thomas was living with his roommate before his death. They hoped to find some clues regarding the manner he died. If she was able to connect with his spirit and get more answers, it would really build up their case and help them convince the police to bring the Zing brothers in for questioning.

  At least, that is what Aerilyn was hoping for. Cole wanted to get some hard evidence to back up her claims. Knowing the way the police worked, he was aware that unless they had some solid evidence that linked Robin and James to Thomas, the police wouldn’t want to delve into a deeper investigation.

  It was up to Aerilyn to discover all she could.

  She sat on the bed, trying to gauge the atmosphere, the fabric of the otherworld that seamed through this room. It felt devoid of life. Empty, but in a good way. No residual anger simmered within these walls. Thomas had moved on. Although she usually needed grief to summon a spirit, Aerilyn could also manage to call a dead person in a place that was important to his existence while alive. Thomas had died here. What other place could hold more significance for him?

  After closing her eyes, she cast the spell but the curtain of the otherworld remained unmoving, strong. It rippled and moved, but Thomas did not heed her call. This was strange. He’d died here. In simple terms, he should be able to respond to her call since she was routing it through the place where he breathed his last.

  Maybe he wasn’t as attached to this place as she had thought he would be. It was likely, but in Aerilyn’s experience, the place where a person died always remained important, even after death. Thomas was murdered here; he should be able to find her while she remained in this room.

  She found it strange that she wasn’t able to contact him.

  Had they traveled to New York for nothing?

  She sighed and decided to wait for Cole before trying again. He had decided to talk to the superintendent of the building first. While she waited, she decided to take a closer look at the apartment. Aerilyn walked out of the small room and into the rectangular living room that contained the tiny kitchenette. Across from Thomas’s room was his roommate’s room. She checked her watch.

  Cole should be up soon. Why was he taking so long? She looked up, and suddenly her breath caught in her throat. For there, standing in the open doorway of the room was the spirit of a young man. He was in his early twenties but that was the extent of his resemblance to Thomas. While Thomas’s spirit had looked happy and well-groomed, this ghost’s appearance was disheveled and dirty. Spirits chose to manifest themselves in a particular way, and Aerilyn knew that each spirit’s appearance directly indicated its own state of mind. This spirit was not in peace.

  What was even more worrisome was the fact that she hadn’t even called him, and yet there he stood, glaring at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair fell, greasy and dirty, around his pale face.

  “Simon?” she said, a hint of hesitation in her voice. What did he want? Why was he here without being summoned?

  Seeing her incredulous expression, he grinned. “Who else? Finally, someone who can see me. I’ve been waiting for so long.”

  Perhaps he needed her help. “What can I do for you?”

  “You? What can you do? No one can do anything for me. I AM DEAD, AREN’T I?” he yelled.

  The first twinge of apprehension sidled up her spine, but she ignored the worrying signs. Maybe he just wanted to talk. Some spirits hankered to be heard, to be understood – perhaps even to be forgiven. “How did you die?”

  “Robin fooled me. Told me it was a low grade heroine and gave me the pure stuff. Man, that trip was wild. It was good while it lasted – but too bad, I died. HE KILLED ME! THE BASTARD!”

  “We’ll bring him to justice. He killed Thomas also.” She kept her voice calm and steady. Such anger in a spirit was not rare but it was definitely something to watch out for. An angry spirit could do great
damage.

  “Thomas was the only one who cared. He wanted to find out what happened. He followed Robin while I was still alive and later also. Oh, you should have seen him. He felt guilty that he hadn’t put a stop to me doing drugs and selling drugs, while he could. But then he wasn’t sure. I was very careful.” Pride shone in his words. “I was pushing hundreds of dollars of drugs every week on the campus. One mistake I made.” He raised his finger, the nail long, yellow and filthy. “The dean suspected me and so Robin killed me. He didn’t want to take any chances.”

  “I am sorry.” And she was. She had suspected that Simon hadn’t been a mere drug user but also a drug pusher. Nothing else made sense. Why would Robin kill him if he was a mere user? No. They were using Simon to infiltrate the campus and something had gone horribly wrong.

  “Sorry? SORRY?” He took a step forward, his greasy hair falling on the side of his face, covering his sunken cheeks. His eyes glowed, the pupils caked with a deep shade of red. Blood red.

  How long had he been dead? Four months? Five months? Had he been trapped inside this space for this long? Or did he cross over only to return once more? The way he was speaking she suspected that he had been here all this time, gathering energy, unable or unwilling to enter the otherworld. He was different than the spirits she usually communicated with.

  Spirits didn’t speak with such animation. They didn’t use long sentences. And they never stayed for this long. Simon’s presence, his appearance, was alarming – even to one used to seeing spirits. He was dangerous. And his continued presence here was perhaps the reason why Thomas refused to answer her call. This was Simon’s domain. He had made this place his final resting home. Caught in the limbo between life and death, he was a simmering ball of anger, resentment, and frustration.

  The hair at the back of her neck stood in alarm, but Aerilyn suppressed an urge to flee. This was her job. This is what she did. And it was such a golden opportunity to finally know what happened.

  What if Simon was here while Thomas died? What if he witnessed his roommate’s murder? Perhaps he alone knew something that no one else in the world did.