THE KILLING ROOM

I WOKE LYING ON A COLD, SMOOTH FLOOR. I opened my eyes, but the world stayed dark. To my left, someone was breathing deeply. A voice came from above the breathing. A male voice, young and anxious.

“Come on,” he said. “Wake up. You need to wake up.”

A second voice, older, weary. “She can’t hear you.”

“How do you know? People see ghosts all the time. Maybe if you’d help me…”

Ghosts…?

I thought of Angelique and my gut twisted. I’d genuinely wanted to help her, but when helping her interfered with my own agenda, I’d brushed her off and promised myself I’d look after her later. Well, there was no later now. Not for Angelique.

“I think she’s waking up,” the younger voice said.

“It’s probably better for her if she doesn’t.”

I blinked and lifted my head. High above me a tiny greenish light, like a smoke detector, was the only source of illumination. I blinked hard. After a moment, I could make out figures. One on the floor, long dark curls pooling around her. Hope. That was the breathing I heard. I let out a soft sigh. Unconscious, but alive. Thank God.

A young man hovered over her. No more than a teenager, from what little I could see in the darkness. Pale hair. Wiry. Small for his age. He looked more like a hologram than a ghost; I could see Hope through him. Another ghost stood at his side, this one opaque, like most spirits. Middle-aged and stout, his arms crossed, he watched the boy try to wake Hope.

“She can’t hear you.” My voice was breathy and weak, as if I’d strained my vocal cords.

Both men turned to stare at me.

“She can’t hear you,” I said. “But I can.”

The boy smacked the man on the arm and grinned. “See? Told you.” He turned to me, grin fading fast. “You need to get out of here.”

“Where am—?” I swallowed the rest. My throat was dry, eyes burning, brain fuzzy, but slowly it came back. Someone had knocked me out with a spell. Kidnapped. Again. If I had the energy, I might have laughed.

I struggled to my feet.

“That’s it,” the young man said encouragingly. “Now, find a way out—”

“There is no way out,” the older man said.

The boy turned on him. “And how do you know? Obviously we didn’t find it or we wouldn’t be here. But no one was here to warn us.” He glanced at me. “Okay, now the door is to your right, about three steps—”

“And you think they left it open for her?”

I let the boy guide me to the door. I found the edge of it and ran my hands down either side, feeling nothing but smooth metal.

“Where’s the handle?” I asked.

“Problem number one,” the man said.

I turned to the boy. “Is there another door? A window? A vent?”

“It’s an eight-by-eight concrete box,” the man intoned, like a contractor reciting dimensions. “Soundproofed walls. One way in and out—a six-inch-thick steel door. Oh, and the drain. But unless you can transform yourself into a mouse, you aren’t fitting down that.”

“And you aren’t helping,” the boy snapped.

“Ignore him,” I said.

I peered around, and could now make out the walls. Solid walls.

As much as I’d love to free myself from this mess, there was a point at which I had to call for help—and being locked in a concrete box qualified.

“Maybe I can’t get out,” I said. “But I know someone who can get in.”

Not being able to act in the living world, Eve couldn’t get me out of here herself, but she could always be counted on to come up with a plan. And she’d be able to stand guard and scout the house for escape routes. When I’d been kidnapped, she would have tried to follow, so she probably wouldn’t be far.

I reached into my pants pocket and breathed in relief as my fingers closed around the silver ring nestled at the bottom. If they’d patted me down for weapons, they’d probably ignored that. Little did they know…

I smiled, clasped the ring and called for Eve.

“It’s not going to work,” the man said.

“Shut the fuck—” the boy began, then looked sheepishly at me. “Sorry, ma’am.”

I motioned for a moment of silence while I summoned Eve again. Then I calmly returned the ring to my pocket.

“It might take her a minute to get here,” I said.

“If she can.” The man lifted his hands as the boy turned on him. “I’m just saying…” He glanced at me. “What is this friend of yours? A ghost, right?”

“Among other things.”

“Well, there’s a reason we’re hanging out in this box…and it’s not for the scenery.”

“We’re trapped,” the boy said. “It’s like we aren’t—”

He disappeared. A moment later he returned, still talking.

Seeing my expression, he said, “I faded out, didn’t I? It happens. It just started happening awhile ago. Just now and then at first, then more and more.”

Fading. Like the children.

“Anyway, as I was saying, it’s like we aren’t really ghosts. I mean, we are because I pass through you.” He demonstrated by walking through Hope’s still-sleeping form. “But the walls are real, even for us. That doesn’t mean a ghost can’t get in, though.”

The man rolled his eyes at this youthful optimism. I took out the ring to summon Eve again. As I pulled it out, my fingers brushed a folded piece of paper. Jeremy’s protection ward. I touched it, and let out a deep breath. “Even if my friend can’t get here, I know someone who will.”

“If he tries to break you out, he’ll end up in here with us.”

“That’s fine. No metal door can hold him in a room.”

I walked the perimeter, feeling the walls, then searching the center. It was small, as the man said. A concrete box with a drain in the middle of the floor.

“I thought you said help was coming,” the man said, voice dripping sarcasm.

I knelt, squeezed my fingers into the drain grid and tugged. Bolted down. Maybe, with enough pulling, I could get it off, but the man was right—unless I could turn into a mouse, it wasn’t going to help.

“What’s this for anyway?” I said, down on all fours, peering into the dark drain.

Silence.

I glanced back at the ghosts. The boy shifting under my gaze. Even the man looked away.

“There’s no tap in here. So what would they need to drain away?”

“Blood,” the man said after a minute. “That’s what this place is. A killing room.”

“HOPE?” I shook her shoulder harder. “Hope? Come on. Wake up!”

I’d been trying to rouse her for at least five minutes. Five long and precious minutes. Twice she’d stirred, only to fall back asleep without opening her eyes. Had they drugged her? Or had I hit her harder than I thought?

There’d been no sign of Eve. Whatever magic these people had used to keep ghosts in here was either keeping her out or preventing her from hearing my call.

As for Jeremy, I couldn’t wait for rescue. Not this time.

“Hope. Hope!”

She mumbled something, her eyes still closed. I drew back my hand and slapped her. She started awake, eyes wide and unseeing, kicking and flailing.

“Hope! Stop—”

Her foot connected with my shin.

“Ow. It’s me. It’s—”

Fingernails raked across my cheek, coming dangerously close to my eye. I grabbed her by the wrists, pinned them at her sides and leaned over her.

“Hope, it’s me, Jaime. I know it’s dark and you can’t see anything, but we’re in trouble and I need you to listen.”

I TOLD her what had happened. As I spoke, she just lay there, not reacting. I explained why I’d hit her with the gun. I told her about our solid concrete cell. I even pointed out the drain, its purpose and what that probably said about why we were in here. She sat through it all, unflinching.

At first, I chalked it up to steady nerves. Or maybe shock. But then I realized she hardly seemed to be listening. She could hear me—I made sure of that several times. But her gaze kept sliding around the room, as if I were chatting about something as inconsequential as dinner plans.

She seemed dopey too, unable or unwilling to sit up. When I asked how she was, she motioned for me to keep talking.

Her gaze darted about the room, like me in a room of ghosts, my attention pulled every which way. I realized then what was distracting her: visions of murder, of human sacrifice. I had to get her out of here.

Easy to say…

“So we’re trapped in this room,” I said. “Unless you’ve got some secret power I don’t know about, something that will knock down walls…”

She blinked, focusing on me, then shook her head.

I turned to the ghosts. The boy had faded again. I waited for him to return.

“You two were killed in here, weren’t you? By these people?”

The boy nodded. “They talked about there being others before me. Kids, I think. But they aren’t here. It was just me until Murray came along.”

So why weren’t the children here? There was no sense asking him, so I just said, “And your name is?”

“Brendan.”

“Good. Okay, Brendan, tell me everything you know about these people.”

NORMALLY, A ghost doesn’t remember the circumstances surrounding his death unless you intercept him before he gets to the afterlife realms. But these ghosts had never crossed over, so they hadn’t been granted postdeath amnesia, and they remembered everything.

I relayed Brendan’s experience to Hope, partly in hopes that she’d catch some clue I’d missed, but mostly just to distract her from the visions.

I plucked every potentially useful tidbit from his story. We were in a basement. There was a TV room nearby, plus a small bedroom. The house was in Brentwood, probably close enough to where I’d been staying for the group to transport the bodies.

From Brendan’s account, there were at least five members. May was one of the leaders, working closely with a middle-aged man. They’d introduced themselves as a couple, but that was probably a front. None of Brendan’s descriptions matched Rona Grant or Zack Flynn, but that didn’t mean anything. May had said there were more members of the Ehrich Weiss Society, so we just hadn’t seen any overlap except for her.

As for getting some idea of what they were capable of, the only spell Brendan had seen them cast was the weakening one. When he finished, I turned to the older man—Murray.

“So you were killed after Brendan?”

He nodded, his head down. A hell of a thing to put someone through, but I had to do it, so I pushed on.

“How were you approached?”

He hesitated. “I—I don’t remember. It’s all very foggy. I was at work and then…That’s all I remember from that day. I woke up here, like Brendan.”

He shot a furtive glance at the boy, as if worrying about what effect his death had on him, but Brendan said, “I didn’t see it. I was blacked out. It happens a lot when they’re doing magic in here.”

I relayed that to Hope. During Brendan’s account, she’d barely seemed to be listening, but now she went still, as if struggling to pay attention.

“So he was sacrificed?” she said. “Like the boy?”

“Right.”

I gave her a quick recap of Brendan’s story. She looked confused, but waved for me to continue questioning Murray. She listened as I relayed the story of his death, his tale almost identical to Brendan’s, offering no new insight.

As he finished, Hope moaned and began writhing on the floor. I knelt beside her. Her face was ashen, eyes rolling back.

“They—they must have done something to me,” she whispered. “I—I feel sick. Something…”

Her voice dropped and I had to lean closer.

“He’s lying,” she whispered.

“Wha—?”

“Shhh. The older one. Murray. He’s lying.”

Her voice was so low I struggled to make out the words.

“He wasn’t burned. They stabbed him in the back. He was one of them. They turned on him.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry I’m not much help. I’m…having a hard time.”

I squeezed her shoulder. “You focus on blocking the visions and I’ll get us out of here.”

Her gaze dipped, cheeks flushing.

I couldn’t imagine what it was like for her. Seeing ghosts in their death bodies was nothing compared to seeing them in their death throes. I’d never complain about seeing a death body again.

Death body…

I turned to Murray. “I know something that might tell me more about the magic these people have. As ghosts, you can revert to what we call your death body, how you looked at the moment you passed. If you can do that for me, maybe I can take a closer look for signs of magic.”

“I don’t know how,” Murray said quickly.

“I’ll tell you.”

“Sure,” Brendan said. “Whatever helps.”

“I don’t see how it will.” Murray crossed his arms. “They used gasoline and matches to kill us, not magic.”

“Humor me.”

He shook his head.

“Why? It’s not as if you’re lying, right?”

His expression chased away any doubt.

“Wha—?” Brendan began.

I shot him a look and he went silent.

“Are you ever planning to get out of here, Murray?”

“Of course.”

“So then what? You waltz up to the higher powers, say ‘My name’s Murray and I was a human sacrifice’ and expect them to take your word for it? You’ve got some serious bad karma to undo, and not a lot of time left to undo it. I’d suggest you start now.”

His eyes said he wasn’t convinced.

I imagined Eve at my shoulder. Bluff, damn it. He’s human. What the hell does he know about our world? Bury the bastard in bullshit.

“Do you know what I am? A necromancer. You can see a glow around me, one you won’t see on regular people like her.” I waved at Hope. “My job is to act as a mediator between this world and the next, and to do that, I have a partner on the other side. That woman I was summoning? I called her a ghost…among other things. She’s not just any ghost. She’s a direct link to the higher powers. Every necromancer is assigned one.”

“Cool,” Brendan said. “Like a guardian angel.”

I imagined what Eve would say about being called an angel, but kept a straight face as I nodded. “Something like that. One of a necromancer’s jobs is to ease the passing of spirits. When we escape here, I’ll turn you over to her and she’ll take you to the higher powers who will decide where you belong. When she hands you over, she’ll make her report. What you do in the remaining time you have on this side will have a big impact on that report.”

Hope’s strained voice floated over. “And if Jaime doesn’t get out of here alive, then she can’t help you cross over, meaning you’ll be at the whim of the first necromancer you meet when—if—you escape.”

“But I don’t know what I can do,” Murray said. “I can’t get you out of here—”

“You can help by telling me about them. The group you were a part of before they killed you.”

Brendan turned on Murray. “What?”

“Yes, he was part of that group, but he changed his mind after hearing what they did to you. He wanted to turn them in. That’s why they killed him.”

Murray nodded emphatically. I doubted that was how it happened, but Brendan was mollified enough to relax.

“Now,” I continued, “tell me everything.”