“I shouldn’t have told you about it,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell your folks. The vampires like it better if no one knows they’re around. And they take measures to ensure that is true.”
He looked at me for a moment. Then he zipped an imaginary zipper across his lips, locked an invisible lock, and threw the key behind his back: some things are universal.
“Thank you.” I put the cap on my toothbrush and packed up my bathroom kit. “Any more trouble last night?”
He shook his head and wiped a wrist across his forehead to wipe off imaginary sweat.
“Good. Do you get much activity from your ghost during the day?”
He shrugged, waited a moment, then nodded.
“So I’ll talk to your mom and maybe go for a jog.” No running in coyote form in the city, especially when my efforts to stay out of James Blackwood’s way had already failed so spectacularly. But if I didn’t run most days, I started to get cranky. “And then we can stake out your room for a while. Is there anywhere else the ghost visits?”
He nodded and mimed eating and cooking.
“Just the kitchen, or the dining room, too?”
He held up two fingers.
“Fine.” I checked my watch. “Meet you here at eight sharp.” I went back to my room, but I didn’t catch Stefan’s scent or anything out of the ordinary. Nor was there any sign of my necklace. Without it, I had no protection against vampires. Not that it had done me much good last night.
Running in the city is not my favorite thing. still, the sun was shining, making it unlikely that I’d run into a vampire for a while. I ran for about a half hour, then made a beeline for Amber’s house.
Her car was gone from the driveway. She had things to do, she’d told me—a hair appointment, errands to run, and some shopping. I’d told her Chad and I would amuse ourselves on our own. Still, I’d expected her to wait for me to return. I wasn’t sure I’d have left my ten-year-old son alone in a haunted house. However, he seemed unfazed when he met me at the bathroom door just as my watch read 8:00 A.M.
We explored the whole of the old house, starting with the bottom and working our way up. Not that it was necessary or important to explore, but I like old houses and I didn’t have any better plan than waiting for the ghost to manifest. Come to think of it, I didn’t have any better plan after it manifested. Banishing ghosts was not something I’d ever tried, and everything I’d read about it over the years (not much) seemed to indicate that doing it wrong was worse than not doing it at all.
The cellar had been redone at some point, but behind a smallish old-fashioned door, there was a room with a dirt floor filled with old wooden milk crates and junk stored down there by some long-ago person. Whatever its original purpose, it was now the perfect habitat for black widows.
“Wow.” I pointed at the far corner of the ceiling with my borrowed flashlight. “Look at the size of that spider. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one that big.”
Chad tapped me and I looked at his circle of light, centered on a broken ladder-back chair.
“Yep,” I agreed. “That one’s bigger. I think we’ll just back out of here and look elsewhere—at least until we have a nice can of spider spray.” I shut the door a little more firmly than I might have. I don’t mind spiders, and a black widow is one of the beauties of its kind… but they bite if you get in their way. Just like vampires. I rubbed my neck to make sure the collar of my shirt and my hair were still covering my own bite. This afternoon I’d go shopping. I needed to pick up a scarf or high-necked shirt for better concealment before Amber or Corban saw it. Maybe I could find another lamb necklace.
The rest of the basement was surprisingly clean of junk, dust, and spiders. Maybe Amber hadn’t been as intimidated by the widows as I’d been.
“We’re not trying to find out who the ghost is,” I told him. “Though we could do that if you wanted to, I suppose. I’m just looking around to see what I can see. If this turns out to be a trick someone is playing, I don’t want to be taken in.”
He slashed his hands down in a way that needed no translation, his eyes bright with anger.
“No. I don’t think you’re doing it.” I told him firmly. “If that was faked last night, it was beyond any amateur fiddling. Maybe someone has a bone to pick with your dad and is using you to do it.” I hesitated. “But I don’t think it was faked.” Why would someone plant the smell of fresh blood too faint for a human nose, for instance. Still, I felt obligated to be as certain as I could that no one was playing tricks.
He thought about that for a while, then gave me a solemn nod and pointed out things of interest. A small, empty room behind a very thick door that might have been a cold room. The old coal chute with a box of old blankets placed near the end. I stuck my head in the metal tunnel and sniffed, but only to confirm my suspicions : Chad had been sliding down the coal chute for fun.
His eyes peered worriedly out from under his too-long hair. It didn’t look dangerous to me—it looked fun. More fun if no one else knew, I’d had a few places like that when I was his age. So I didn’t say anything.
I showed him the old bare copper electrical wires, no longer in use but still present, and the quarry marks on the granite stone blocks used to wall in the basement. We checked out the basement ceiling below the kitchen and dining room. Since I didn’t know exactly what had been happening in the kitchen and dining room, I didn’t know what to look for. But it stood to reason that it would have been put in shortly before the haunting started—which was just a few months ago. Everything in that part of the basement looked as though it was older than I was.
The next two floors weren’t nearly as interesting as the basement—no black widows. Someone had thoroughly modernized them and left not so much as a trace of an old servants’ stairway or dumb-waiter. The woodwork was nice, but pine rather than hardwood—the craftsmanship good but not extraordinary. The house had been built by someone of the upper middle class, I judged, and not by one of the truly wealthy. My trailer had been built for the truly poor, so I was a good judge of such things.
The ghost hadn’t been to Chad’s room since last night—everything was neatly in place. As Corban had said, there were no signs of wires or strings or anything that could have made the car shoot across the room. I supposed it could have been done with magic—I didn’t know a lot about magic. But I hadn’t felt any, and I usually can tell if someone’s using magic near me.
I looked at Chad. “Unless we find something really odd in the floor above your room, I’m pretty convinced this is the real deal.”
In my room, my brush was on the floor, but I couldn’t swear I hadn’t left it there. Under Chad’s gimlet eye, I made my bed and stuffed the clothes I’d scattered all over the floor into my suitcase.