Call Me Dead on Arrival
January 1
Dan Mangan crept stealthily along the crumbling stone wall, ducking low to keep out of sight. He stepped carefully, doing his best to minimize the sound of his heavy boots crunching through the patchy snow. He could see the cemetery gate about twenty yards ahead, bent and hanging at an angle that indicated it had been some time since it had served its purpose as a deterrent to prevent unauthorized visitors.
He could hear voices. They were faint and distant enough that the words were indistinguishable, but he was fairly certain there were at least three different speakers. He paused to consider his next move. His breath hung in the frigid air before him and he tried not to think about the nice hot lunch and much-anticipated bowl game he’d abandoned for his current mission.
Sighing deeply, he started forward again. The sooner he accomplished his task, the better. He reached the leaning gate, and stopped, listening intently. The voices were clearer now. Mentally counting to three, he sprang forward to confront the speakers. “Got ya!” he shouted as he burst through the open gate, fists raised.
The four elderly people standing near an impressively large grave marker turned to him, all yelling loudly in alarm. Despite himself, Dan let out a startled cry of his own. At first, no one moved, but suddenly, the lone woman of the group rushed at him, swinging a large handbag over her head. “I’ll teach you, you young hooligan!” she declared as her makeshift weapon struck him in the shoulder. She quickly brought the hefty bag back up again, hitting him hard in the chest.
“Ow! Hey!” Dan stumbled backward under the onslaught, holding up his arms to protect his head.
“Get him, Myrtle!” one of the men called. “You show him!”
“You think you can scare us?” Myrtle yelled as she punctuated her words with additional blows. “Attacking decent folks visiting their poor mother’s resting place! You thought you found yourself some easy marks, huh? Well, ha! You won’t be robbing us, boy!”
Recognizing the futility of any attempt to argue on his own behalf, Dan spun around and fled. He skidded through the gate and made a sharp left, the continued shouts of Myrtle and her companions following him. He made it about thirty feet before he hit a slippery patch of ice and felt his feet come up out from under him.
He found himself winded and lying on the cold, hard ground, staring up at the scattered, hazy clouds in the sky above. His breathing was shallow and fast, a mirror of his rapid heartbeat, and his mind felt strangely blank. Oddly, the only thought he seemed able to grasp and hold on to concerned the game he was missing. He wondered what the score was and whether he would win his friendly bet with his uncle. He thought perhaps, with the way his luck was going so far for the day, that the answer to that question would be a big, fat, no.
“Dude. You okay?”
“No,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “I am not okay. And? I am going to kill you.”
“That train left the station a long time ago, amigo. I’m already dead, remember?”
Dan shot the ghostly figure hovering nearby a withering look. “Remind me how you died, again, Jacob? Killed by your own best friend, wasn’t it? Color me surprised.”
“Yeah, that was an accident, like I said.”
“You sure about that? I mean, are you really sure?”
Jacob waved one hand in a vaguely dismissive gesture. “Look,” he said. “We still need to find out who keeps vandalizing my grave. Dig it? I thought you were supposed to be good at this sort of thing. You come highly recommended in certain circles. How hard can it be to catch some chump spray painting crap on my headstone?”
“Well, I think it’s a safe bet to say it wasn’t that poor, mourning family we just traumatized,” Dan retorted sharply.
Jacob clapped his hands together and laughed heartily. “Pretty sure that went the other way around, dude. Looked like the only one getting traumatized was you. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to ambush anybody and catch them in the act. Whoever is defacing my grave wouldn’t be doing it while Babette Ruth back there was around to run ‘em off.”
“You were the one who insisted I drop everything and come out here now,” Dan pointed out as he lightly banged his head against the ground in pure frustration. “Even though it’s way more likely our graffiti artist is working only under the cover of darkness.”
Jacob considered this for a long moment, his lean face suddenly the picture of serious contemplation. His flared orange corduroys, beaded, fringed vest, and long, straggly hair pulled back with a leather tie all spoke of a bygone era and reminded Dan how thankful he was to have missed the time period when Jacob’s attire was considered fashionable. “Maybe I need to wait until your partners are available,” Jacob said slowly. “Maybe they’ll do a better job here.”
“I told you. They’re on a family vacation. They won’t be home until the day after tomorrow.” Dan pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan. He shook his head to clear it and rose awkwardly to his feet.
Jacob snorted softly and shrugged both shoulders. “Yeah, man, I know. But I’m thinking maybe I can wait that long after all. Besides, I hear you got one foxy mama on your team. I’ll just wait for her help.”
“If you think…” Dan began, before trailing off with a soft snort. Jacob had faded from view, leaving him standing alone in the mid-afternoon sunshine. He brushed some of the clinging snow from his jeans and set off for the cemetery parking lot. Spotting the family he’d inadvertently frightened, he stepped behind a broad silver maple to remain out of sight as much as possible. He didn’t know where they had come from; his van was the only vehicle in the lot. As he watched, they crossed the road and headed in the direction of a distant cluster of mobile homes. Dan supposed at least one of them lived in the small community. If he hadn’t already left them thinking he was a mugger and a thundering lunatic, he would’ve offered them a ride.
“Sure. No problem,” he muttered to himself as he climbed behind the van’s wheel. “I’ll just run out and take care of this one quick job while the rest of the world is celebrating a brand new year. Because it’s not like I have anything better to do with my time.”
As he turned the key in the ignition, he sighed. In many ways, he really didn’t have much better to do with his time. His girlfriend and best friend were off visiting their uncle and had been for most of the winter break. He’d quickly discovered that ghostbusting as a solo act did not have the same thrill as doing so as part of The Three. For almost two weeks now, he’d done nothing much more than help his uncle exercise the Wheelers’ horses, coax a handful of spectral spirits into moving on to wherever it was spectral spirits moved on to, and mope in front of the television set, watching football and missing his friends.
His phone buzzed and he picked it up off the passenger seat. There was a text message from Trixie.
OMG Anybody ever tell u ur gf is SUCH a witch?
He chuckled softly as he read it, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders.
Thanks. I needed the LOL.
Her answer was a simple “I know” followed by three hearts.
Still smiling, Dan pulled his van from the lot and turned in the direction of home. Traffic was minimal, owing, he was sure, to the fact that most people had enough sense to stay home on the first day of the year, enjoying the last big holiday for some time, and quite possibly sleeping off the excesses of the night before. Ten minutes later, he drove up the long drive to the Wheelers’ grand Manor House and pulled off into the grassy space next to the horse stable where he usually parked.
“No,” he said immediately as he slid from his seat. “Whatever it is you need, I am done for the day and supposed to be on vacation, anyway. Office hours will resume next Monday when school starts back.”
“I wouldn’t be here about what I need, laddie. I’m here about what you need. Been sent by your great-grandmother to give you a warning.”
“My great-grandmother is dead,” Dan said shortly.
“Aye. And what has that to do with anything?” the diminutive, oddly dressed figure demanded.
“Oh, at this point? As I learned not so long ago, nothing at all. Normally, anyway. But assuming you’re speaking of my maternal great-grandmother, I never met her and I don’t think her spirit would be sending me a leprechaun to warn me about something.”
“I suppose you think you’re being funny, me boy? I may not have the height advantage of some, but I assure you, I always could take care of me own in a fight.”
It was on the tip of Dan’s tongue to ask if “taking care of his own” involved kicking his opponents in the shin with his ridiculous pointed-toe boots, but he caught himself. Angering a ghost was never a good idea. The moment they went full-on poltergeist, all Hell really could break loose. He pressed his lips together tightly and shot the small man a resigned look. “Fine,” he said after a brief silence. “What’s the warning?”
“Your reputation has proceeded you, lad, but there are some who are not particularly happy to know the Uí Riagáin line of witches and warlocks hasn’t died out as was popularly believed. After the clan grew quite powerful, they were hunted down by a rival clan and destroyed like animals. Only a few managed to escape, fleeing to various corners of the Earth and hiding their magical abilities, never practicing their skills openly and keeping it a secret known only to the family. Unfortunately, they hid themselves too well. You, me boy, were a complete surprise. And you should have been a lot more careful.”
“It’s not like I knew about any of this. Or planned it.”
“Aye. As I was saying, they hid themselves too well. No one even knew you existed until quite recently.”
Dan frowned severely. “So, this warning. Are you trying to tell me someone is going to hunt me down now?”
“Your great-grandmother fears there is one in particular who may do just that. One who fancies herself the most powerful witch in the world and does not take kindly to the idea that someone else might be able to claim that title. One who even believes she is a direct descendant of no less than Morgên y Dylwythen Deg herself!”
“Uh, huh. Who?”
“Morgên y Dylwythen Deg, boy! Morgan le Fay?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dan said, nodding. “Right. Her.”
“That name is not meaning anything to you, laddie?”
“Nope. Well, maybe a little. I feel like I mighta heard it somewhere before. But whatever. The professor or Google can help me with that later. Let’s just cut to the chase, though. How much danger am I actually in?”
“Be on your guard. If Lowri Kemble decides to come for you, you will be in more danger than you can possibly understand. Or handle.”
“Awesome. Any chance you want to tell me what she looks like, so at least I have some idea what, or I guess who - to be watching for?”
“Wouldn’t matter if I did, lad. She’ll be using a glamor charm to disguise herself. She could look like anyone.”
“Well, of course she could. Wouldn’t want to make this any easier for me or anything.”
There was the sound of footsteps on the gravel behind him. Dan turned quickly to see Tom Delanoy, the Wheeler chauffeur crossing the drive.
“Hey, Dan. You okay there? You’re looking a little rough, to be honest.”
“Huh?” Belatedly, Dan remembered his cemetery misadventure. He imagined his hair was probably standing up in all directions and he likely had dirt stains on the back of his coat, as well. “Oh, yeah, I, uh, I had a little accident. But I’m good now, thanks.”
“How ‘bout that game, eh?” Tom asked cheerfully. “Talk about down to the wire. And what a kick!”
“Yeah,” Dan agreed flatly. “It was something.”
Tom continued on his way, whistling slightly off key. He passed around the back of the stable and Dan assumed he was on his way home to his trailer for the night. When Dan turned back to resume his briefly interrupted conversation, he was only mildly surprised to see his ghostly messenger was gone.
He found his uncle in the kitchen of their small garage apartment, washing up a few dishes. “Something actually smells pretty good in here,” he remarked as he sank wearily down into a chair at the little dining table by the apartment’s only south-facing window.
“That would be the casserole in the oven,” Regan told him. “David dropped it off a little while ago. A gift from Grams, apparently.”
“The professor was here? He didn’t tell me he was coming by.”
Regan nodded at the envelope on the table. “He wanted to give you that. He said it was the letter of recommendation he promised to write you.”
“Oh, excellent. I have no idea what my chances are at actually getting in at Haversham, but I figure having a recommendation from one of their former instructors couldn’t hurt.”
“Unless they hold it against him that he quit to run a magic shop,” Regan pointed out dryly. “The letter is my good news for you. Bad news is, you owe me ten bucks.”
“Yeah. I figured,” Dan said, huffing out a breath. “That’s just how my day has been.”
“I take it things didn’t go so well?”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Dan cocked his head to the side and studied his uncle intently. “Tell me more about my great-grandmother. The one who was a witch.”
Regan set down the towel he was holding and joined his nephew at the table. “I’m afraid there’s not a whole lot I can tell you. She died when I was very young. I don’t remember much.”
“You told me she used to scare you.”
“She did. She had this way of looking at you and knowing if you were up to no good. Like if you tried to get away with not eating your Brussels sprouts, she knew, even if she hadn’t been around at the time when you threw them away. And she would do these tricks. Or spells, I guess. Some were kinda cool, like lighting a fire from across the room, but some were pretty damn scary. I can remember a rat getting into her kitchen one time. She pointed a wooden spoon at the poor thing and it dropped dead on the spot.”
“Geeze!”
“Yeah. Why are you asking about her now?”
“I just got confronted by a one of the magical little people, telling me that Great-Grandma thinks I’m in danger from some witch and he was sent to warn me.”
“Did he say who this witch was, or why she poses a threat to you?” Regan asked, his brows drawn down in a severe frown.
“He said her name was Lori… something or other. Some witch who thinks she’s the descendent of some other witch whose name I also don’t remember. That name I was apparently supposed to recognize, but I didn’t. It’s too bad Mart wasn’t there at the time. I’m sure it would’ve meant something to him. And as for why she’s a threat? From what I understand, she doesn’t like rivals and may even be from some clan that at some point in history tried to eliminate our entire family.”
“Nice.”
“Right? And I don’t have a description of her. Great Grandma’s errand boy only told me that she can use charms to disguise herself, so she could look like anybody. To be safe? Let’s avoid another Melanie and if some woman you’ve never met before takes a sudden, deep interest in you, this time assume she’s up to no good.”
“In Melanie’s defense, she was possessed.”
“Willingly, though.”
“True.” Regan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It doesn’t seem quite fair that your ability to cast spells and talk to the dead should be a distinct hindrance to my social life.”
“Good thing you don’t really have much of one, then.”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry. But I mean, c’mon. I know ghosts who get out more than you do.”
“You know, I’m starting to really regret not eating that casserole before you got home.” Regan glanced over at the clock on the stove before turning his attention back to his nephew. “Do you believe the warning? Do you really think it came from Grandmother Ciara?”
“I’m certainly willing to entertain the possibility,” Dan told him. “I mean, if it’s some weird spirit prank? It won’t have hurt me any to have exercised some caution even though it wasn’t strictly necessary in this case, right? Aren’t you always telling me to be more careful?”
“That I am, Danny,” Regan replied. “And you should be.”
“So, yeah, we can keep our eyes out and be on guard.”
“Have you told Trixie? And Mart?”
“No. I haven’t spoken to either of them today beyond a quick text with Trix. It’s their last day with Uncle Andrew before they head back here to Sleepyside. I didn’t want to bother them with something they can’t even do anything about at the moment.”
“But you do plan to tell them?”
“I do,” Dan said. “No, really,” he added, taking in Regan’s skeptical look. “If this woman comes after me because she hates the idea that anyone other than herself could get all the crowning glory of being the best witch in the world? Then who’s to say she wouldn’t go after them, too? They deserve the same warning I got.”
There was a sudden, sharp knock at the door that startled them both. Perhaps it was a result of their conversation, but Regan approached the door with more caution than was typical for him, uncertain who would be dropping in unannounced. He looked through the peephole and relaxed. “It’s Lester Mundy,” he said, turning the lock and opening the door to their unexpected visitor.
Lester entered the apartment on Regan’s invitation. “Hey, man,” he said to Dan. “You have a good Christmas?”
Dan shrugged slightly. “Coulda been better. But it coulda been a whole lot worse, so there’s that. You?”
“Same. My folks are still on their ‘be prepared for the impending ghost apocalypse’ tear, so Christmas sorta came and went without much notice.”
Dan rose from the table. “Are you just visiting out of boredom? There’s another game on tonight, though I don’t know if you care about SEC teams.”
“Ah, yeah, no. Sorry. I’m actually here to ask you for a favor.”
“Okay…?”
“I need something from the Crescent, but the professor didn’t open up shop today. I thought maybe you could get a hold of him for me?”
“I can do you one better than that. I have a spare key. I’ll just text him and let him know we’re gonna get whatever it is you need.”
“Are you in a big rush?” Regan asked. “We have dinner, courtesy of Grams.”
“Oh, man. Seriously?” Lester took a deep breath. “I thought it smelled good in here. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, ‘cause no one in their right mind would turn down Grams’ cooking, but we got family coming over tonight for my mom’s annual New Year’s dinner party, so thanks, but no thanks.” He cast a quick look in Dan’s direction. “I promise this won’t take long. In and out and you can get back here by dinnertime.”
“No worries, dude. But let’s both drive so neither one of us has to go out of our way when we’re done.”
Twilight was settling on Sleepyside by the time they pulled up in front of the darkened storefront of The Crescent Moon, the town’s only shop dedicated to Wiccan and other magical practices. With the exception of a handful of cars outside Wimpy’s Diner, Dan had seen no signs of activity along the quiet streets and he had held on to a momentary flare of optimism that he could, for once, “get in and out and back home by dinnertime” as Lester had assured him. That wishful thinking evaporated as soon as he clambered out of his van and found himself face to face with a large, hulking man in a charcoal gray tracksuit. Thanks to the long shadows cast by the surrounding buildings, it took Dan a moment to realize that though the looming figure had seemed to appear out of nowhere, he was in fact alive, and not some troubled spirit seeking his assistance.
With a soft grunt the man turned and trotted away, slipping around the corner and vanishing into the growing gloom.
“That was weird,” Lester remarked as he joined Dan on the sidewalk. “I mean, not that you don’t deal with weird on a daily basis, but still…”
“No, it was definitely weird. I thought he was going to say something to me at first, but then he took off. Maybe he was just out for a run and not expecting to see anyone and we startled him.”
“Or,” Lester replied, pointing toward the Crescent Moon, “maybe he left that suspicious looking box on the doorstop and was not expecting to be seen by anyone while doing it.”
“Or, yep. Maybe that.” Dan blew out a breath, looking from the road to the package and back again. Hawthorne Street was not known as one of the safer places to hang out in town, though the magic shop was on what was generally considered the nicer end of the street - what the professor often referred to as the “lesser of two wrong sides of the track.” Though the drug dealers and women of the night tended to stay further south by about seven or eight blocks, other people of questionable intent would occasionally wander by and remind Dan of times in his past that he would much prefer to forget. “Do you think it’s too much to hope that it’s just some late Christmas present for the professor?” he asked Lester, as he glanced once more at the corner where the stranger had vanished.
“I’m gonna go with a ‘yeah’ on that and say it’s definitely too much to hope for, because I think I just saw it move.”
“What?” Dan whirled around. “Oh. Oh, great. Man, c’mon. What are you trying to do?” He stalked over to the ghostly figure bent over the plainly wrapped package.
“I am trying to collect my belongings,” the slender man replied haughtily. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“Yeah, well, I applaud you for being able to get it to shift a bit,” Dan said evenly, “but you probably won’t be able to actually pick it up and take off with it. One, because I would have to stop you, seeing that the professor’s name is on it and two, because you’re dead and most ghosts can’t really hang on to anything in the corporeal realm for any length of time without a lot of practice.”
“Are you insane?” the man demanded as he straightened up. “Or are you some sort of addict? Heroin? Meth? You certainly look like the sort of riffraff who would indulge in that sort of thing.”
Dan felt a surge of anger well up in him. He knew that he had found a real home in Sleepyside. That he had family and friends and was accepted fully by the people he cared about. But he also knew there were some residents who still looked at him askance, even after all this time. They still saw the street kid. The gang member. The car thief. Really, the majority of them didn’t even know why he’d been hauled up before juvie and threatened with jail time before his uncle had turned up to claim him. It was just known that Dan Mangan had once belonged to a gang, and that his former gang had, to his everlasting shame and regret, followed him from the city to this small, idyllic town, causing no small amount of trouble before they were apprehended. To see the open derision and scorn in the eyes of the dead man in front of him was enough to have Dan clenching both fists tightly and wondering what sort of gruesome spell he could threaten to unleash, even if it would be, in reality, an entirely empty threat.
“Dan?” Lester asked quietly as he pulled a small pouch from his pocket. “Do you need help?”
Dan shook his head, forcing himself to draw in a deep, steadying breath. “Thanks, but I got this.”
The spirit was again attempting to lift the box. He managed to raise it a few inches off the ground before it slipped through his fingers.
“Seriously. It’s not going to happen,” Dan told him. “Give it up. Besides, whatever you think it is in there that you need? You really can’t take it with you, so why not just move on? Take the next step in your journey. Death is only the beginning. Et cetera. Et cetera.”
The figure rose slowly. “Do you have any idea who I am?” he demanded icily as he glared at Dan.
“Don’t know. And, let me assure you most firmly, don’t care. You’re dead and you need to shove off instead of trying to steal my friend’s package.”
It was, Dan knew instantly, the wrong thing to say. He watched as the man’s face contorted into a mask of uncontrolled rage. With an inhuman roar, the spirit lunged at him. Dan was thrown back as if punched by an invisible fist. As he hit the ground hard, the old metal trashcan behind him shot skyward then came crashing down into the middle of the street. A newspaper rack flipped up and slammed into the side of his van, its contents scattering, and, with a deafening explosion, the large windows of the Crescent Moon shattered, spraying glass shards in every direction.
Silence fell around them abruptly, though somewhere in the distance, Dan could hear the screech of a car alarm. He climbed shakily to his feet. “Les? You okay, man?”
“Uh, yeah. Think so.” Lester had dropped to his knees and covered his head as soon as he saw Dan knocked from his feet and the garbage can leave the pavement. Now he stood, gingerly brushing glass from his jacket sleeve while he took in the damage with wide eyes. “This is what you consider, ‘I got this?’”
“Clearly, I was wrong on that account,” Dan replied with a small groan. “I better call the professor and let him know what happened.”
Lester nodded and looked around. “Is it gone, though? The ghost? I mean, really gone?”
“If you’re asking me if he’s no longer in the immediate vicinity, then the answer is ‘yes.’ He’s gone. If you’re asking me if he’s permanently moved on from this plane of existence, I don’t know. But I sure wouldn’t count on it. He really wants whatever is in this box and I don’t think he’s gonna give up on that without some kind of additional fight for it. You know, so far today I’ve dealt with a hippie, a leprechaun and a what I suspect was a newly minted poltergeist I may or may not have played a hand in creating. I’m thinking there might be some sort of joke about going into a bar in there somewhere, only the punchline is escaping me. Or maybe the punchline is me.”
“I’m not thrilled with the idea we have a poltergeist on our hands again,” Lester said grimly. “Especially with Mart and Trixie still out of town.”
“You and me both, bro. Unfortunately, he was recently deceased, murdered, and I’m pretty sure unaware he was a ghost until I pointed that out to him, so who knows what damage we can expect from him now.”
“If he didn’t even know he was dead, how do you know he was murdered? And recently?” Lester asked curiously.
“Well, my first clues were the fact that he was not dressed like the extra in some historical drama piece and the gunshot wounds to his chest area. But then there’s also this.” Dan bent down and picked up one of the newspapers fluttering about the sidewalk and turned it to face Lester. “This is him. This is our guy.”
“Best selling author gunned down in New Year’s Eve tragedy,” Lester read aloud. He glanced up at Dan. “Wait, this is our poltergeist? R. J. Penick?”
“Yeah. You heard of him?”
“Uh, yeah, dude. You haven’t? He writes all those popular paranormal horror books.”
Dan just shrugged.
“Okay, what about that movie, The Hollow. You heard of that, right? It was based on one of his books.”
“Wasn’t that like the biggest bomb to come out last year? I remember Mart saying it was so bad, when he’s lying on his deathbed, he’s gonna want those two hours of his life back. Is Penick any good, then? Or I should say, was he any good?”
“If you like that sorta thing, I guess. He’s no Dean Koontz… Man, this has been all over the news today. He was shot leaving a party and rushed to a nearby hospital, but he was declared DOA. You’re only just hearing about it now?”
“Well, I’ve been a bit busy,” Dan muttered defensively.
“Penick lived – and died – in the city. What’s he doing all the way out here? And why is he so interested in that box?”
They both turned to look again at the package, now half covered with the comics page from one of the newspapers littering the pavement. “Two very good questions,” Dan said slowly.
“You think we should see what’s in it?”
“I think we should move it to my van for safe keeping and then let the professor decide what he wants to do with it.”
“Well, not to pile on your bad day or anything, but I feel like I should maybe point out that moving the package to your van isn’t exactly going to stop a ghost.”
“Yeah. No, it’s to keep it from becoming evidence when the cops get here,” Dan explained. “If there’s a poltergeist out to get it, it’ll be much safer if we have it. We may not be the best at what we do, but we’re certainly better equipped than the police.”
“The police?” Lester echoed in surprise. “Are we really calling the cops?”
“No, we’re calling the professor. Then we’re getting out of here before the cops arrive. Which could be any moment now, actually, so I’ll call him from my van. I think it would be better not getting caught with apparently no rational explanation for what happened here.”
“So, you think the professor would call the cops?” Lester asked in disbelief. “Why would he do that? He’ll have no better explanation than we do.”
Dan jerked his head toward the building across the street. The ground floor consisted of a rundown computer repair shop and the small, storefront office of one “Franklin Ash, Attorney-at-Law.” Above, a series of curtained windows ran the length of the second floor. “It’s a safe bet at least one of the residents of those apartments is home this evening and an equally safe bet at least one of them called the police after the extreme racket we made out here. They may not be in a real rush to come check things out, but they’ll show up eventually. It would be wise if we weren’t around for that.”
“Yeah, okay. Good point.”
Dan approached the package cautiously. He used his boot to brush off the newspaper and most of the broken bits of glass.
“I don’t guess it’ll blow up on us, or anything, right?” Lester asked him, wincing. “I mean, if it didn’t go boom when Penick kept trying to steal it…”
“I’m trying very hard not to think about that, thanks,” Dan replied darkly. After a slight hesitation, he bent down and scooped up the box. It was heavier than he expected. He carried it quickly to his van. Lester opened the sliding door and Dan set it behind the passenger seat, wedging it in as securely as possible. Lester slammed the door shut again with more force than was necessary, the sound echoing loudly around them.
“Right,” Dan said, blowing out a relieved breath. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll call you later, after I’ve talked with the professor.”
“Maybe I should follow you home?” Lester suggested. “I mean, you know, just in case?”
“Nah. I know I’m only inviting trouble by even saying this, but I should be fine. I’m gonna take this straight to the prof and then see if he wants me to come back after the cops get here, all concerned citizen looking out for my good friend’s business. Besides, we’re probably gonna need to somehow board up these windows tonight if possible. I can rope Regan into that. You go hang with your family. I know they still aren’t all that thrilled with the Belden – Mundy Truce of 2014. No reason to get them more upset with you missing your party.”
Lester shrugged one shoulder. “They’re already not going to be exactly happy that I failed to get the stones my dad wants to cast some protection charms for the new year.”
“You wanna go in and grab ‘em now?” Dan asked. “As you can see, the store is wide open at the moment. And you can always come back and pay later this week. The professor won’t mind.”
Lester started to respond then cut himself off as they both became aware of the distant wailing of a police siren.
“Time to go!” Dan said sharply. “I’ll check in with you later.”
In under a minute, they were back behind the wheels of their vehicles and heading off into the dark, chilly night. Dan fumbled slightly with his phone before using the voice command to call David Lee. “Professor?” he said as his friend and mentor answered. “Sorry about this, but I got some bad news…”
Dan Mangan crept stealthily along the crumbling stone wall, ducking low to keep out of sight. He stepped carefully, doing his best to minimize the sound of his heavy boots crunching through the patchy snow. He could see the cemetery gate about twenty yards ahead, bent and hanging at an angle that indicated it had been some time since it had served its purpose as a deterrent to prevent unauthorized visitors.
He could hear voices. They were faint and distant enough that the words were indistinguishable, but he was fairly certain there were at least three different speakers. He paused to consider his next move. His breath hung in the frigid air before him and he tried not to think about the nice hot lunch and much-anticipated bowl game he’d abandoned for his current mission.
Sighing deeply, he started forward again. The sooner he accomplished his task, the better. He reached the leaning gate, and stopped, listening intently. The voices were clearer now. Mentally counting to three, he sprang forward to confront the speakers. “Got ya!” he shouted as he burst through the open gate, fists raised.
The four elderly people standing near an impressively large grave marker turned to him, all yelling loudly in alarm. Despite himself, Dan let out a startled cry of his own. At first, no one moved, but suddenly, the lone woman of the group rushed at him, swinging a large handbag over her head. “I’ll teach you, you young hooligan!” she declared as her makeshift weapon struck him in the shoulder. She quickly brought the hefty bag back up again, hitting him hard in the chest.
“Ow! Hey!” Dan stumbled backward under the onslaught, holding up his arms to protect his head.
“Get him, Myrtle!” one of the men called. “You show him!”
“You think you can scare us?” Myrtle yelled as she punctuated her words with additional blows. “Attacking decent folks visiting their poor mother’s resting place! You thought you found yourself some easy marks, huh? Well, ha! You won’t be robbing us, boy!”
Recognizing the futility of any attempt to argue on his own behalf, Dan spun around and fled. He skidded through the gate and made a sharp left, the continued shouts of Myrtle and her companions following him. He made it about thirty feet before he hit a slippery patch of ice and felt his feet come up out from under him.
He found himself winded and lying on the cold, hard ground, staring up at the scattered, hazy clouds in the sky above. His breathing was shallow and fast, a mirror of his rapid heartbeat, and his mind felt strangely blank. Oddly, the only thought he seemed able to grasp and hold on to concerned the game he was missing. He wondered what the score was and whether he would win his friendly bet with his uncle. He thought perhaps, with the way his luck was going so far for the day, that the answer to that question would be a big, fat, no.
“Dude. You okay?”
“No,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “I am not okay. And? I am going to kill you.”
“That train left the station a long time ago, amigo. I’m already dead, remember?”
Dan shot the ghostly figure hovering nearby a withering look. “Remind me how you died, again, Jacob? Killed by your own best friend, wasn’t it? Color me surprised.”
“Yeah, that was an accident, like I said.”
“You sure about that? I mean, are you really sure?”
Jacob waved one hand in a vaguely dismissive gesture. “Look,” he said. “We still need to find out who keeps vandalizing my grave. Dig it? I thought you were supposed to be good at this sort of thing. You come highly recommended in certain circles. How hard can it be to catch some chump spray painting crap on my headstone?”
“Well, I think it’s a safe bet to say it wasn’t that poor, mourning family we just traumatized,” Dan retorted sharply.
Jacob clapped his hands together and laughed heartily. “Pretty sure that went the other way around, dude. Looked like the only one getting traumatized was you. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to ambush anybody and catch them in the act. Whoever is defacing my grave wouldn’t be doing it while Babette Ruth back there was around to run ‘em off.”
“You were the one who insisted I drop everything and come out here now,” Dan pointed out as he lightly banged his head against the ground in pure frustration. “Even though it’s way more likely our graffiti artist is working only under the cover of darkness.”
Jacob considered this for a long moment, his lean face suddenly the picture of serious contemplation. His flared orange corduroys, beaded, fringed vest, and long, straggly hair pulled back with a leather tie all spoke of a bygone era and reminded Dan how thankful he was to have missed the time period when Jacob’s attire was considered fashionable. “Maybe I need to wait until your partners are available,” Jacob said slowly. “Maybe they’ll do a better job here.”
“I told you. They’re on a family vacation. They won’t be home until the day after tomorrow.” Dan pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan. He shook his head to clear it and rose awkwardly to his feet.
Jacob snorted softly and shrugged both shoulders. “Yeah, man, I know. But I’m thinking maybe I can wait that long after all. Besides, I hear you got one foxy mama on your team. I’ll just wait for her help.”
“If you think…” Dan began, before trailing off with a soft snort. Jacob had faded from view, leaving him standing alone in the mid-afternoon sunshine. He brushed some of the clinging snow from his jeans and set off for the cemetery parking lot. Spotting the family he’d inadvertently frightened, he stepped behind a broad silver maple to remain out of sight as much as possible. He didn’t know where they had come from; his van was the only vehicle in the lot. As he watched, they crossed the road and headed in the direction of a distant cluster of mobile homes. Dan supposed at least one of them lived in the small community. If he hadn’t already left them thinking he was a mugger and a thundering lunatic, he would’ve offered them a ride.
“Sure. No problem,” he muttered to himself as he climbed behind the van’s wheel. “I’ll just run out and take care of this one quick job while the rest of the world is celebrating a brand new year. Because it’s not like I have anything better to do with my time.”
As he turned the key in the ignition, he sighed. In many ways, he really didn’t have much better to do with his time. His girlfriend and best friend were off visiting their uncle and had been for most of the winter break. He’d quickly discovered that ghostbusting as a solo act did not have the same thrill as doing so as part of The Three. For almost two weeks now, he’d done nothing much more than help his uncle exercise the Wheelers’ horses, coax a handful of spectral spirits into moving on to wherever it was spectral spirits moved on to, and mope in front of the television set, watching football and missing his friends.
His phone buzzed and he picked it up off the passenger seat. There was a text message from Trixie.
OMG Anybody ever tell u ur gf is SUCH a witch?
He chuckled softly as he read it, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders.
Thanks. I needed the LOL.
Her answer was a simple “I know” followed by three hearts.
Still smiling, Dan pulled his van from the lot and turned in the direction of home. Traffic was minimal, owing, he was sure, to the fact that most people had enough sense to stay home on the first day of the year, enjoying the last big holiday for some time, and quite possibly sleeping off the excesses of the night before. Ten minutes later, he drove up the long drive to the Wheelers’ grand Manor House and pulled off into the grassy space next to the horse stable where he usually parked.
“No,” he said immediately as he slid from his seat. “Whatever it is you need, I am done for the day and supposed to be on vacation, anyway. Office hours will resume next Monday when school starts back.”
“I wouldn’t be here about what I need, laddie. I’m here about what you need. Been sent by your great-grandmother to give you a warning.”
“My great-grandmother is dead,” Dan said shortly.
“Aye. And what has that to do with anything?” the diminutive, oddly dressed figure demanded.
“Oh, at this point? As I learned not so long ago, nothing at all. Normally, anyway. But assuming you’re speaking of my maternal great-grandmother, I never met her and I don’t think her spirit would be sending me a leprechaun to warn me about something.”
“I suppose you think you’re being funny, me boy? I may not have the height advantage of some, but I assure you, I always could take care of me own in a fight.”
It was on the tip of Dan’s tongue to ask if “taking care of his own” involved kicking his opponents in the shin with his ridiculous pointed-toe boots, but he caught himself. Angering a ghost was never a good idea. The moment they went full-on poltergeist, all Hell really could break loose. He pressed his lips together tightly and shot the small man a resigned look. “Fine,” he said after a brief silence. “What’s the warning?”
“Your reputation has proceeded you, lad, but there are some who are not particularly happy to know the Uí Riagáin line of witches and warlocks hasn’t died out as was popularly believed. After the clan grew quite powerful, they were hunted down by a rival clan and destroyed like animals. Only a few managed to escape, fleeing to various corners of the Earth and hiding their magical abilities, never practicing their skills openly and keeping it a secret known only to the family. Unfortunately, they hid themselves too well. You, me boy, were a complete surprise. And you should have been a lot more careful.”
“It’s not like I knew about any of this. Or planned it.”
“Aye. As I was saying, they hid themselves too well. No one even knew you existed until quite recently.”
Dan frowned severely. “So, this warning. Are you trying to tell me someone is going to hunt me down now?”
“Your great-grandmother fears there is one in particular who may do just that. One who fancies herself the most powerful witch in the world and does not take kindly to the idea that someone else might be able to claim that title. One who even believes she is a direct descendant of no less than Morgên y Dylwythen Deg herself!”
“Uh, huh. Who?”
“Morgên y Dylwythen Deg, boy! Morgan le Fay?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dan said, nodding. “Right. Her.”
“That name is not meaning anything to you, laddie?”
“Nope. Well, maybe a little. I feel like I mighta heard it somewhere before. But whatever. The professor or Google can help me with that later. Let’s just cut to the chase, though. How much danger am I actually in?”
“Be on your guard. If Lowri Kemble decides to come for you, you will be in more danger than you can possibly understand. Or handle.”
“Awesome. Any chance you want to tell me what she looks like, so at least I have some idea what, or I guess who - to be watching for?”
“Wouldn’t matter if I did, lad. She’ll be using a glamor charm to disguise herself. She could look like anyone.”
“Well, of course she could. Wouldn’t want to make this any easier for me or anything.”
There was the sound of footsteps on the gravel behind him. Dan turned quickly to see Tom Delanoy, the Wheeler chauffeur crossing the drive.
“Hey, Dan. You okay there? You’re looking a little rough, to be honest.”
“Huh?” Belatedly, Dan remembered his cemetery misadventure. He imagined his hair was probably standing up in all directions and he likely had dirt stains on the back of his coat, as well. “Oh, yeah, I, uh, I had a little accident. But I’m good now, thanks.”
“How ‘bout that game, eh?” Tom asked cheerfully. “Talk about down to the wire. And what a kick!”
“Yeah,” Dan agreed flatly. “It was something.”
Tom continued on his way, whistling slightly off key. He passed around the back of the stable and Dan assumed he was on his way home to his trailer for the night. When Dan turned back to resume his briefly interrupted conversation, he was only mildly surprised to see his ghostly messenger was gone.
He found his uncle in the kitchen of their small garage apartment, washing up a few dishes. “Something actually smells pretty good in here,” he remarked as he sank wearily down into a chair at the little dining table by the apartment’s only south-facing window.
“That would be the casserole in the oven,” Regan told him. “David dropped it off a little while ago. A gift from Grams, apparently.”
“The professor was here? He didn’t tell me he was coming by.”
Regan nodded at the envelope on the table. “He wanted to give you that. He said it was the letter of recommendation he promised to write you.”
“Oh, excellent. I have no idea what my chances are at actually getting in at Haversham, but I figure having a recommendation from one of their former instructors couldn’t hurt.”
“Unless they hold it against him that he quit to run a magic shop,” Regan pointed out dryly. “The letter is my good news for you. Bad news is, you owe me ten bucks.”
“Yeah. I figured,” Dan said, huffing out a breath. “That’s just how my day has been.”
“I take it things didn’t go so well?”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Dan cocked his head to the side and studied his uncle intently. “Tell me more about my great-grandmother. The one who was a witch.”
Regan set down the towel he was holding and joined his nephew at the table. “I’m afraid there’s not a whole lot I can tell you. She died when I was very young. I don’t remember much.”
“You told me she used to scare you.”
“She did. She had this way of looking at you and knowing if you were up to no good. Like if you tried to get away with not eating your Brussels sprouts, she knew, even if she hadn’t been around at the time when you threw them away. And she would do these tricks. Or spells, I guess. Some were kinda cool, like lighting a fire from across the room, but some were pretty damn scary. I can remember a rat getting into her kitchen one time. She pointed a wooden spoon at the poor thing and it dropped dead on the spot.”
“Geeze!”
“Yeah. Why are you asking about her now?”
“I just got confronted by a one of the magical little people, telling me that Great-Grandma thinks I’m in danger from some witch and he was sent to warn me.”
“Did he say who this witch was, or why she poses a threat to you?” Regan asked, his brows drawn down in a severe frown.
“He said her name was Lori… something or other. Some witch who thinks she’s the descendent of some other witch whose name I also don’t remember. That name I was apparently supposed to recognize, but I didn’t. It’s too bad Mart wasn’t there at the time. I’m sure it would’ve meant something to him. And as for why she’s a threat? From what I understand, she doesn’t like rivals and may even be from some clan that at some point in history tried to eliminate our entire family.”
“Nice.”
“Right? And I don’t have a description of her. Great Grandma’s errand boy only told me that she can use charms to disguise herself, so she could look like anybody. To be safe? Let’s avoid another Melanie and if some woman you’ve never met before takes a sudden, deep interest in you, this time assume she’s up to no good.”
“In Melanie’s defense, she was possessed.”
“Willingly, though.”
“True.” Regan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It doesn’t seem quite fair that your ability to cast spells and talk to the dead should be a distinct hindrance to my social life.”
“Good thing you don’t really have much of one, then.”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry. But I mean, c’mon. I know ghosts who get out more than you do.”
“You know, I’m starting to really regret not eating that casserole before you got home.” Regan glanced over at the clock on the stove before turning his attention back to his nephew. “Do you believe the warning? Do you really think it came from Grandmother Ciara?”
“I’m certainly willing to entertain the possibility,” Dan told him. “I mean, if it’s some weird spirit prank? It won’t have hurt me any to have exercised some caution even though it wasn’t strictly necessary in this case, right? Aren’t you always telling me to be more careful?”
“That I am, Danny,” Regan replied. “And you should be.”
“So, yeah, we can keep our eyes out and be on guard.”
“Have you told Trixie? And Mart?”
“No. I haven’t spoken to either of them today beyond a quick text with Trix. It’s their last day with Uncle Andrew before they head back here to Sleepyside. I didn’t want to bother them with something they can’t even do anything about at the moment.”
“But you do plan to tell them?”
“I do,” Dan said. “No, really,” he added, taking in Regan’s skeptical look. “If this woman comes after me because she hates the idea that anyone other than herself could get all the crowning glory of being the best witch in the world? Then who’s to say she wouldn’t go after them, too? They deserve the same warning I got.”
There was a sudden, sharp knock at the door that startled them both. Perhaps it was a result of their conversation, but Regan approached the door with more caution than was typical for him, uncertain who would be dropping in unannounced. He looked through the peephole and relaxed. “It’s Lester Mundy,” he said, turning the lock and opening the door to their unexpected visitor.
Lester entered the apartment on Regan’s invitation. “Hey, man,” he said to Dan. “You have a good Christmas?”
Dan shrugged slightly. “Coulda been better. But it coulda been a whole lot worse, so there’s that. You?”
“Same. My folks are still on their ‘be prepared for the impending ghost apocalypse’ tear, so Christmas sorta came and went without much notice.”
Dan rose from the table. “Are you just visiting out of boredom? There’s another game on tonight, though I don’t know if you care about SEC teams.”
“Ah, yeah, no. Sorry. I’m actually here to ask you for a favor.”
“Okay…?”
“I need something from the Crescent, but the professor didn’t open up shop today. I thought maybe you could get a hold of him for me?”
“I can do you one better than that. I have a spare key. I’ll just text him and let him know we’re gonna get whatever it is you need.”
“Are you in a big rush?” Regan asked. “We have dinner, courtesy of Grams.”
“Oh, man. Seriously?” Lester took a deep breath. “I thought it smelled good in here. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, ‘cause no one in their right mind would turn down Grams’ cooking, but we got family coming over tonight for my mom’s annual New Year’s dinner party, so thanks, but no thanks.” He cast a quick look in Dan’s direction. “I promise this won’t take long. In and out and you can get back here by dinnertime.”
“No worries, dude. But let’s both drive so neither one of us has to go out of our way when we’re done.”
Twilight was settling on Sleepyside by the time they pulled up in front of the darkened storefront of The Crescent Moon, the town’s only shop dedicated to Wiccan and other magical practices. With the exception of a handful of cars outside Wimpy’s Diner, Dan had seen no signs of activity along the quiet streets and he had held on to a momentary flare of optimism that he could, for once, “get in and out and back home by dinnertime” as Lester had assured him. That wishful thinking evaporated as soon as he clambered out of his van and found himself face to face with a large, hulking man in a charcoal gray tracksuit. Thanks to the long shadows cast by the surrounding buildings, it took Dan a moment to realize that though the looming figure had seemed to appear out of nowhere, he was in fact alive, and not some troubled spirit seeking his assistance.
With a soft grunt the man turned and trotted away, slipping around the corner and vanishing into the growing gloom.
“That was weird,” Lester remarked as he joined Dan on the sidewalk. “I mean, not that you don’t deal with weird on a daily basis, but still…”
“No, it was definitely weird. I thought he was going to say something to me at first, but then he took off. Maybe he was just out for a run and not expecting to see anyone and we startled him.”
“Or,” Lester replied, pointing toward the Crescent Moon, “maybe he left that suspicious looking box on the doorstop and was not expecting to be seen by anyone while doing it.”
“Or, yep. Maybe that.” Dan blew out a breath, looking from the road to the package and back again. Hawthorne Street was not known as one of the safer places to hang out in town, though the magic shop was on what was generally considered the nicer end of the street - what the professor often referred to as the “lesser of two wrong sides of the track.” Though the drug dealers and women of the night tended to stay further south by about seven or eight blocks, other people of questionable intent would occasionally wander by and remind Dan of times in his past that he would much prefer to forget. “Do you think it’s too much to hope that it’s just some late Christmas present for the professor?” he asked Lester, as he glanced once more at the corner where the stranger had vanished.
“I’m gonna go with a ‘yeah’ on that and say it’s definitely too much to hope for, because I think I just saw it move.”
“What?” Dan whirled around. “Oh. Oh, great. Man, c’mon. What are you trying to do?” He stalked over to the ghostly figure bent over the plainly wrapped package.
“I am trying to collect my belongings,” the slender man replied haughtily. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“Yeah, well, I applaud you for being able to get it to shift a bit,” Dan said evenly, “but you probably won’t be able to actually pick it up and take off with it. One, because I would have to stop you, seeing that the professor’s name is on it and two, because you’re dead and most ghosts can’t really hang on to anything in the corporeal realm for any length of time without a lot of practice.”
“Are you insane?” the man demanded as he straightened up. “Or are you some sort of addict? Heroin? Meth? You certainly look like the sort of riffraff who would indulge in that sort of thing.”
Dan felt a surge of anger well up in him. He knew that he had found a real home in Sleepyside. That he had family and friends and was accepted fully by the people he cared about. But he also knew there were some residents who still looked at him askance, even after all this time. They still saw the street kid. The gang member. The car thief. Really, the majority of them didn’t even know why he’d been hauled up before juvie and threatened with jail time before his uncle had turned up to claim him. It was just known that Dan Mangan had once belonged to a gang, and that his former gang had, to his everlasting shame and regret, followed him from the city to this small, idyllic town, causing no small amount of trouble before they were apprehended. To see the open derision and scorn in the eyes of the dead man in front of him was enough to have Dan clenching both fists tightly and wondering what sort of gruesome spell he could threaten to unleash, even if it would be, in reality, an entirely empty threat.
“Dan?” Lester asked quietly as he pulled a small pouch from his pocket. “Do you need help?”
Dan shook his head, forcing himself to draw in a deep, steadying breath. “Thanks, but I got this.”
The spirit was again attempting to lift the box. He managed to raise it a few inches off the ground before it slipped through his fingers.
“Seriously. It’s not going to happen,” Dan told him. “Give it up. Besides, whatever you think it is in there that you need? You really can’t take it with you, so why not just move on? Take the next step in your journey. Death is only the beginning. Et cetera. Et cetera.”
The figure rose slowly. “Do you have any idea who I am?” he demanded icily as he glared at Dan.
“Don’t know. And, let me assure you most firmly, don’t care. You’re dead and you need to shove off instead of trying to steal my friend’s package.”
It was, Dan knew instantly, the wrong thing to say. He watched as the man’s face contorted into a mask of uncontrolled rage. With an inhuman roar, the spirit lunged at him. Dan was thrown back as if punched by an invisible fist. As he hit the ground hard, the old metal trashcan behind him shot skyward then came crashing down into the middle of the street. A newspaper rack flipped up and slammed into the side of his van, its contents scattering, and, with a deafening explosion, the large windows of the Crescent Moon shattered, spraying glass shards in every direction.
Silence fell around them abruptly, though somewhere in the distance, Dan could hear the screech of a car alarm. He climbed shakily to his feet. “Les? You okay, man?”
“Uh, yeah. Think so.” Lester had dropped to his knees and covered his head as soon as he saw Dan knocked from his feet and the garbage can leave the pavement. Now he stood, gingerly brushing glass from his jacket sleeve while he took in the damage with wide eyes. “This is what you consider, ‘I got this?’”
“Clearly, I was wrong on that account,” Dan replied with a small groan. “I better call the professor and let him know what happened.”
Lester nodded and looked around. “Is it gone, though? The ghost? I mean, really gone?”
“If you’re asking me if he’s no longer in the immediate vicinity, then the answer is ‘yes.’ He’s gone. If you’re asking me if he’s permanently moved on from this plane of existence, I don’t know. But I sure wouldn’t count on it. He really wants whatever is in this box and I don’t think he’s gonna give up on that without some kind of additional fight for it. You know, so far today I’ve dealt with a hippie, a leprechaun and a what I suspect was a newly minted poltergeist I may or may not have played a hand in creating. I’m thinking there might be some sort of joke about going into a bar in there somewhere, only the punchline is escaping me. Or maybe the punchline is me.”
“I’m not thrilled with the idea we have a poltergeist on our hands again,” Lester said grimly. “Especially with Mart and Trixie still out of town.”
“You and me both, bro. Unfortunately, he was recently deceased, murdered, and I’m pretty sure unaware he was a ghost until I pointed that out to him, so who knows what damage we can expect from him now.”
“If he didn’t even know he was dead, how do you know he was murdered? And recently?” Lester asked curiously.
“Well, my first clues were the fact that he was not dressed like the extra in some historical drama piece and the gunshot wounds to his chest area. But then there’s also this.” Dan bent down and picked up one of the newspapers fluttering about the sidewalk and turned it to face Lester. “This is him. This is our guy.”
“Best selling author gunned down in New Year’s Eve tragedy,” Lester read aloud. He glanced up at Dan. “Wait, this is our poltergeist? R. J. Penick?”
“Yeah. You heard of him?”
“Uh, yeah, dude. You haven’t? He writes all those popular paranormal horror books.”
Dan just shrugged.
“Okay, what about that movie, The Hollow. You heard of that, right? It was based on one of his books.”
“Wasn’t that like the biggest bomb to come out last year? I remember Mart saying it was so bad, when he’s lying on his deathbed, he’s gonna want those two hours of his life back. Is Penick any good, then? Or I should say, was he any good?”
“If you like that sorta thing, I guess. He’s no Dean Koontz… Man, this has been all over the news today. He was shot leaving a party and rushed to a nearby hospital, but he was declared DOA. You’re only just hearing about it now?”
“Well, I’ve been a bit busy,” Dan muttered defensively.
“Penick lived – and died – in the city. What’s he doing all the way out here? And why is he so interested in that box?”
They both turned to look again at the package, now half covered with the comics page from one of the newspapers littering the pavement. “Two very good questions,” Dan said slowly.
“You think we should see what’s in it?”
“I think we should move it to my van for safe keeping and then let the professor decide what he wants to do with it.”
“Well, not to pile on your bad day or anything, but I feel like I should maybe point out that moving the package to your van isn’t exactly going to stop a ghost.”
“Yeah. No, it’s to keep it from becoming evidence when the cops get here,” Dan explained. “If there’s a poltergeist out to get it, it’ll be much safer if we have it. We may not be the best at what we do, but we’re certainly better equipped than the police.”
“The police?” Lester echoed in surprise. “Are we really calling the cops?”
“No, we’re calling the professor. Then we’re getting out of here before the cops arrive. Which could be any moment now, actually, so I’ll call him from my van. I think it would be better not getting caught with apparently no rational explanation for what happened here.”
“So, you think the professor would call the cops?” Lester asked in disbelief. “Why would he do that? He’ll have no better explanation than we do.”
Dan jerked his head toward the building across the street. The ground floor consisted of a rundown computer repair shop and the small, storefront office of one “Franklin Ash, Attorney-at-Law.” Above, a series of curtained windows ran the length of the second floor. “It’s a safe bet at least one of the residents of those apartments is home this evening and an equally safe bet at least one of them called the police after the extreme racket we made out here. They may not be in a real rush to come check things out, but they’ll show up eventually. It would be wise if we weren’t around for that.”
“Yeah, okay. Good point.”
Dan approached the package cautiously. He used his boot to brush off the newspaper and most of the broken bits of glass.
“I don’t guess it’ll blow up on us, or anything, right?” Lester asked him, wincing. “I mean, if it didn’t go boom when Penick kept trying to steal it…”
“I’m trying very hard not to think about that, thanks,” Dan replied darkly. After a slight hesitation, he bent down and scooped up the box. It was heavier than he expected. He carried it quickly to his van. Lester opened the sliding door and Dan set it behind the passenger seat, wedging it in as securely as possible. Lester slammed the door shut again with more force than was necessary, the sound echoing loudly around them.
“Right,” Dan said, blowing out a relieved breath. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll call you later, after I’ve talked with the professor.”
“Maybe I should follow you home?” Lester suggested. “I mean, you know, just in case?”
“Nah. I know I’m only inviting trouble by even saying this, but I should be fine. I’m gonna take this straight to the prof and then see if he wants me to come back after the cops get here, all concerned citizen looking out for my good friend’s business. Besides, we’re probably gonna need to somehow board up these windows tonight if possible. I can rope Regan into that. You go hang with your family. I know they still aren’t all that thrilled with the Belden – Mundy Truce of 2014. No reason to get them more upset with you missing your party.”
Lester shrugged one shoulder. “They’re already not going to be exactly happy that I failed to get the stones my dad wants to cast some protection charms for the new year.”
“You wanna go in and grab ‘em now?” Dan asked. “As you can see, the store is wide open at the moment. And you can always come back and pay later this week. The professor won’t mind.”
Lester started to respond then cut himself off as they both became aware of the distant wailing of a police siren.
“Time to go!” Dan said sharply. “I’ll check in with you later.”
In under a minute, they were back behind the wheels of their vehicles and heading off into the dark, chilly night. Dan fumbled slightly with his phone before using the voice command to call David Lee. “Professor?” he said as his friend and mentor answered. “Sorry about this, but I got some bad news…”
