Adelaide Upset Read online

  “I’m sure you enjoyed the challenge,” I said tartly.

  “I couldn’t help it!” Francesca answered, voice high and defensive. “Besides, I had to make sure he wouldn’t stray when faced with temptation.”

  “No more flirting with my boyfriend,” I said, putting my foot down.

  “Okay. Okay. But, Adelaide, seriously, sleep with him already. I have experience with men, and I’m telling you, a guy that hot, if he’s not getting it from you, he’s getting it from somewhere.”

  “That’s not true, Lucas likes me.”

  “Of course he does,” she agreed. “He should have broken up with you three times over by now for not putting out, but he hasn’t, so he must like you a lot. But men have needs. And hot men don’t have trouble scratching that itch, if you know what I mean.”

  “No,” I said dryly. “You were too subtle.”

  “Don’t get smart, I’m trying to help you. Have sex with him, the sooner the better.”

  “Well I can’t, he went out of town.”

  “Where?” Francesca asked sounding worried.

  “He’s picking up some car part in Arizona. He’ll be back in a few days,” I assured her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “He’s not cheating!” I said, annoyed at her persistence.

  “Have you checked his receipts?”

  “What? No! I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “Men always leave crumpled receipts in their pockets. When he gets back, just glance at a few to make sure he was where he said he was,” Francesca suggested.

  “You are insane.”

  “A smart woman is a proactive woman. Adelaide, have you searched his house?” She didn’t wait for me to answer, plowing on. “Take advantage of his absence and poke around, see what he’s hiding.”

  “I’m hanging up now.” And I did.

  Apart from Francesca’s call, my shift at work was predictably uneventful. I had one check-in, an annoying couple, both of them young, barely old enough to rent a room. The guy was nervous and excited, probably his first time. I didn’t catch any feelings from the girl, so probably not hers. I put them in the room furthest from the office, as was my habit. I’ll let you imagine how disturbing it is to feel someone else’s sexual experience, especially when you haven’t ever done the deed yourself.

  I dealt with that sort of situation a lot. Unlike the fancier hotels, Sterling’s Motel got the local business, townies nipping off to have an affair, kids escaping their parents to get laid, or parents escaping their kids to... you get the point. This alone made Sterling’s somewhat seedy, as did the fact that Ben refused to make improvements on the place after his wife Mary died. They had decorated together and he was secretly sentimental. So the blue and ivory paint was faded and peeling, the pictures in each room obviously outdated, and even the shrubbery that hung around the L shaped building was overgrown. But even the Crowne, the island’s fanciest hotel, didn’t have customers as faithful as ours. Well, they weren’t faithful to their spouses, but they always chose Sterling’s when seeking a place for their torrid affairs.

  I worked at the Crowne for a time. That was how I met Francesca, but even though they’d paid more I didn’t regret quitting. Too many people and too much pressure. At Sterling’s I was never overwhelmed, and if the rest of my shift proved anything, it could even be relaxing.

  I’d talked Ben into letting me install a dartboard in the office. Well, actually, I hung it up and then waited for him to yell. When he was done I’d compromised by moving it to the back of the cupboard door so our guests wouldn’t see it. So I was brushing up on my dart skills when Missy arrived for her shift. She pretended to be all disapproving, making thinly veiled comments about my lack of professionalism, but it didn’t take a genius to know when the darts had been moved. I could practically feel her willing me away so her turn could start.

  Without Lucas around I wasn’t eager to get home, until I remembered Demidov’s diary. I could read it without interruption, and if I was really lucky, there would be a super depressing entry that would make me feel better about myself. One could only hope.

  * * *

  Through my dealings with them, I have come to learn of the origins of demonkind. It is because of their past that they reside in a separate realm, kept apart, forbidden from parting the veil. So how did they reach me? How did my ability unfold into this, the now? They sought me through my dreams, making nightmares of them. At first I was unaware, believing myself haunted by the memory of my mother’s murder and nothing more. I dreamt that day over and over, an alley of shadowed brick, the pressing fingers holding me still, and that sound, the echo of it spinning like a top in my mind, a maddening reel. But the dream began to change, voices slipping in, and not the voices of those men responsible, but a wicked drawn-out out hiss. Names. At first it was only names they whispered, then promises. Call my name and I’ll give you wealth, one swore, the next offered knowledge, another love. The dream continued to morph, intensifying until the faces of those men were replaced, their visage taking on inhuman qualities. It continued, reduced to names, promises, and the monstrous images to match, disfigured faces, with jowls of slick, wetted flesh and discolored skin, knobs of sprouting nail where none should be. For a time I tried to keep my eyes open, my mind alert, refusing to succumb to sleep. But I did, and then came a promise I could not refuse—Peace. Call my name and I’ll give you a tranquil slumber, untroubled thoughts and peace from what plagues you. I swear it, the creature whispered. I woke and remembered only one thing. Raulriechmydl. I am ashamed to admit I didn’t hesitate, not even for the smallest of seconds. I just spit out his name, still reclining in my bed. Immediately following my utterance there was a terrible noise, a rending, like the sound of pulled fabric. The air changed too, the pressure in my bedroom shifting, making my ears tingle, as if a storm were coming. I waited, but nothing else happened. Little did I know that I’d just ripped open the veil, parting it in invitation. When it comes to dealing with demons, I learned my first lesson that night. Know your desires, they are your weakness, know them and know what you’re willing to do for them, because the demons surely will.

  Chapter 6

  It was those first few hours all over again. With shaking fingers, I touched the back of my head. My hand came away red. I continued to shift restlessly in the dirt, but moving my foot, even slightly, was enough to make me cry out in pain. It was swollen, frightfully so. But I wasn’t afraid then, not yet, I believed I would be found. I just had to wait.

  Night came and the fear began to trickle in as the light faded away. My injuries made me nervous, but the dark, the bugs, they made me afraid. I’d always hated spiders, centipedes and the like, but now I was trapped with them. I could no longer see them coming, but felt them wriggle and creep. I could only swat at them faintly, for jerking too violently turned me senseless from pain.

  I’d felt a range of unease throughout the waning day, but my first emotion, my first strong emotion, was anger. It was dark and cold, the pain swamped me, and all I could think of was how much I hurt. Where was my family? Why hadn’t they found me? I went off for a walk hours before and now it was dark, weren’t they worried?

  With each new discomfort, it was my family I cursed. I felt bereft and abandoned, certain they were to blame. The anger and pain rampaged through me in equal measure.

  I’m coming, someone whispered, their breath stirring my hair. But my hair continued to move, twitching, and feathered light against my cheek. A bug! It was crawling through my hair! I screamed, slapping at it, but there was no insect, just a hand of frail legs, bent and twisted they reached for me.

  I’m coming.

  Crack!

  I lunged for the light, routine asserting itself. It was the same, Smith hovering over my bed, the puzzle spilled along the floor.

  “Just another nightmare,” I muttered, feeling Smith’s worry and concern. Frankly, I was surprised to see him so soon after the festival. He could disapp
ear for days at a time when I pressed him about his past.

  Rubbing my eyes, I lurched from bed. “Thanks,” I muttered, noticing all the lights in the house were on. “I’m going to Luke’s.” Smith never followed me there. He was very good about my privacy. The bathroom was strictly off limits, and so was my boyfriend’s house. I never actually said these rules out loud, but he had the good sense to follow them anyway.

  My house had once been my haven. I was somewhat removed, living on a back road where I never had to worry about emotional intrusion, Lucas being my closest neighbor. But with the ghosts cropping up and my new nightmares, it wasn’t so haveny anymore. So it was Luke’s house that I went to for comfort. He offered companionship without the drawback of offloaded feelings, plus no ghosts, no nightmares. I practically ran out the back door to get there.

  I didn’t quite make it that far, pausing in my kitchen where I found the door to every cupboard hanging wide open. “Smith!” I hollered, wanting him to know I wasn’t in the mood for his ghosty bullshit. “Turn the lights off and shut the fucking cupboards! And if you lock me out again I’m going to call an exorcist!” Yeah, he totally did that, and yeah, I totally would.

  When I got to Luke’s I bypassed the TV, going straight for the bed. Only when I shut off the light to lie down I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts ping-ponged between missing Lucas and dreading the return of that dream. Throwing off the covers I jumped out of bed, switched the light back on, and began to pace. I glanced around for some sort of distraction, pulling open the nightstand drawer almost absently. Suddenly I stopped, realizing Francesca’s words had wormed their way into my brain. I hadn’t set out to, but I was snooping.

  I had spent many a night in Lucas’ bed, feeling at home in his room, but I’d never really looked around. Why shouldn’t I? Luke wouldn’t care, he didn’t get mad. Ever. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t trust him. I’d stopped worrying he was a sociopath some weeks before, so I knew I wouldn’t find dismembered parts or a bloody chainsaw lying around. But maybe I could learn something about him. His house was so good at keeping secrets, the barren bachelor pad... but maybe if I just opened one drawer.

  I sort of sidled up to the dresser, feeling guilty despite my argued logic as I eased open the top drawer. I didn’t find anything, not in the dresser, not in the desk, nothing leastwise that was interesting, not even a porn stash under the bed. The last place I looked, somewhat disinterestedly, was in the window seat. At first I only saw a pair of big boots and a few stacked blankets. I almost shut the lid and let it be, but for some inexplicable reason I reached down in, my hand rooting, lost under the contents. My fingers brushed something, and even before I saw the picture I knew that it would be... significant.

  It was of a party or a picnic, a few people milling about the frame, but one couple stood out, both laughing. The girl’s head was thrown back, her pose carefree and happy, one hand resting, no, caressing, the man’s chest. Wait, not a man, a boy really, and I could barely believe it, but it was Lucas. A much younger Lucas, and he was laughing too, his hand on her waist, staring down at her with a wide smile, one such as I had never seen.

  They were magnetic, not just to each other, but to the viewer too. I could imagine whoever had taken the picture was unable to resist, seeing them together in that moment, knowing it was something to save.

  I wanted to tear the picture to pieces. It provoked emotions I didn’t want to examine, petty feelings that only inspired my worst self. Quickly growing overwhelmed, I willed myself calm, a trick of sorts I’d been working on for some time.

  So what if he kept a picture of an old girlfriend? He hadn’t tried to hide it. I mean, the window seat wasn’t exactly sneaky, though it was a bit odd. And so what if she had red hair? It didn’t matter. I continued to sooth myself, rejecting the urge to crumple the picture and instead, put it back where I’d found it. Calmly I shut off the lights and climbed back into bed. I only allowed myself one bitter thought before I closed my eyes: Thanks, Francesca, for the stellar advice.

  I didn’t think I’d fall asleep, but I did. The nightmares came, only this time it wasn’t my fear of the well that drove them.

  * * *

  I didn’t feel any better the next morning, but the shock was past and I was able to think clearly. I wouldn’t let Francesca’s paranoia and suspicion muddy the waters of my relationship. When Lucas got back from his trip, I’d simply ask him about the picture. The end, no drama.

  In the meantime I had some separate concerns to deal with. My shift started at one, so I had a few hours to kill before work. And I knew just how to spend them.

  Nancy Bristow was partially/mostly responsible for my ability to see ghosts. She had foisted her dead lover’s ring on me, and with it, his ability. But I’d gotten over her duplicity, and now I went to her with my unconventional problems.

  She owned the Parlor, a little shop located in downtown St. Simons, wedged right in the thick of things. It wasn’t far from the lighthouse or the pier on Mallery Street, and as tourists loved to walk the waterline between the two, parking was a nightmare. Eventually, after much circling, a space opened up. A perfect spot right in front of Nancy’s shop. I gunned it, driving in nose first and stopping a bit crooked. My ancient Chevy hacked a few times, spit up a huff of black smoke, and promptly died from overexertion.

  The station wagon, which had been waiting in the other lane with its turn signal on, honked in outrage. I shrugged at the family, knowing they wouldn’t have had time to hang a U-turn and parallel that boat before someone snatched the spot. If not me, someone else. The teenage boy in the back seat, feeling rebellious, threw me a black look, along with the finger. He would probably sneak off later to key my car. I highly doubted I would even notice. The mismatched paint jobs were older than I was, so my car looked like a green piece of shit anyway.

  The Parlor was open, the easel out front welcoming walk-ins and advertising for a variety of psychic readings. The door jangled as I stepped through, the light bleeding away into the dark, dust covered wood. I guess they were going for a haunted mansion feel, or maybe stark and mysterious? The only bit of warmth was a single dangling lamp; it hung over the front desk, shedding buttery soft light. Nancy was waiting for me there, highlighted by the glow.

  “Did the cards tell you I was coming?”

  “No, dear. I heard your car from two blocks away. Would you like to go upstairs and have some tea?”

  “If you can be spared, but I don’t want tea.”

  Nancy lived above her shop in airy little apartment that was quite charming. The place was filled with delicate handmade creations, potted plants, hanging dried herbs, and cats. Alright she only had the one, but it was black. In addition, she wore shapeless clothes, often swishy ankle-length skirts, and never did anything with her hair, so it was always a frizzy mess. The fact that she was something of a hippie combined with her ability to use any deck of cards as a form of divination made me think of her as a modern day witch.

  “I’ve been searching through Percy’s old things,” she said as we settled in around the kitchen table. “I haven’t come across anyone with empathic abilities. I’m sorry, Adelaide.”

  Percy, or Percival, was the aforementioned dead lover whose gift I’d inherited. He’d known a lot of people like us before his death, and I’d been hoping Nancy could find someone with gifts similar to mine. Someone who could teach me to control my empathy, or maybe understand my purpose in relation to the ghosts. But it looked like I was destined for disappointment.

  Nancy was upset, she’d wanted to help. The fine wrinkles beneath her eyes deepened along with her frown.

  “No, it’s alright,” I assured. If she’d found someone, then I would have to trust a stranger with my secrets. “It’s better this way.”

  “Can I do a reading for you?” It was up to me, her tone was mild, without coercion, but I knew she wanted to.

  “Sure,” I sighed.

  She smiled, pivoting in her chair to open the china cabin
et’s drawer and extract a large pack of tarot cards. She handled them well, her fingers moving like a posh gambler and not the slightly overweight, middle-aged woman she was.

  As she began to flip them over one by one, I asked, “Isn’t the person you’re doing the reading for supposed to choose their cards?”

  “It’s not necessary.” I knew it wasn’t necessary, but I kind of wanted to anyway. Understanding the hint, she paused, fanning the cards out under my chin. “Go ahead then, pick the last one.”

  I selected a card, it felt thick and waxy, but as it slid free two others slipped out with it, dropping to the table. “This is my card,” I said, passing it to her. “Those two were accidents,” I added, about to sweep them into the deck she’d just set aside.

  “No, leave them. They’re part of the reading now.”

  Laying out the first card, she put it a little to her left. The picture featured an orange creature, potbellied and horned, with a fondness for chained nudists. He was making the Spock sign. Great, I thought, the devil. Nancy was always assuring me that the cards had a host of meanings, rarely literal. Death didn’t mean death, etc. etc. But let’s be honest, the devil card? That couldn’t be good.

  Next went the knight of swords, the one I’d chosen, and she moved it parallel with the devil, but a little to the right. “That’s a good card, huh?” I suggested, leaning around the table to get a better look. Predictably it was a knight, full suit of armor, white horse and upraised sword, charging into battle. “Does he represent a real person?”

  “Yes,” Nancy murmured, only half listening.

  “I bet he represents someone good-looking,” I guessed, thinking the knight on the card was handsome in that wholesome and boring sort of way.