Half-Resurrection Blues_ A Bone Street Rumba Novel - Daniel Jose Older Page 0,22

such a blessing, but I know that’s not the case. Deluding myself won’t help now anyway.

“There’s something else,” Mama Esther says. She could always see right through me. Seems everyone can these days.

I nod. The story waits hungrily at the edge of my tongue. Speaking it into existence would be like taking off a jacket made of chains. My suddenly unburdened soul would float up into the darkening sky. I want to say it so badly it aches. Esther can see it all over my damn face anyway. “Ah, I’m fine.”

“Right.” I didn’t lie because I thought I could deceive her, just to signal that I couldn’t talk about it. She looks disappointed. “You know, I’m very good with matters of the heart. I had eleven children and twenty-three grandkids. They all came to me with their hopes and fears about love, Carlos. And they always left knowing what to do. Esther knows things.”

“I know.” I’m alarmingly close to breaking down, so I scan the shelves for something to change the subject with.

“Oh, Richard III. Haven’t read this one since I lived here.”

“What’s her name, Carlos?”

“Esther . . .”

“What a beautiful name! I like her already.”

“Esther.”

“Carlos?”

I shake my head. “No.”

For a full minute, we just stare at each other. Esther’s old even by ghost standards. Her smile, always a little whimsical, has diminished in these past weeks, and the strain shows in other ways too. Little flickers have begun to erupt in her voluminous shining girth. Now it seems she’s not just old, she’s aging. I wonder briefly if something else is wrong with her, some ancient ghost disease no one knows about, but quickly banish the thought. I don’t need to make things any more complicated than they already are: Mama Esther is stressed.

“It must get lonely,” she says. She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Anyone else would’ve gotten some lip in return for the condescension, but the old house ghost manages to say things in just such a way that you can’t be mad at her. Plus, she saved my life.

Ever so slightly, I nod. I hadn’t ever thought of myself as lonely until Trevor came along with his diabolical plans and beautiful sister. I was just an awkward intermediary, and for the most part, I was okay with that. Now I’m here about to get all gushy in Mama Esther’s library.

No.

Not right now, anyway. I’m afraid if I start to blubber I’ll never stop—some ever-present dam I’ve had up since my resurrection will burst and there’s no telling what’s on the other side. This is not the moment to find out. Not with ghost annihilators popping up on the block and God-knows-what-else running around the basements. “Must get lonely being in a big house all by yourself.”

Esther takes the hint. “Ah, you know, folks come by and use the library often enough. It’s not so bad.”

A strange thought occurs to me, and then it seems even stranger that it’d never occurred to me before. “Folks come by . . . that don’t work for the Council?”

“Of course, Carlos!” For no clear reason, Esther is chuckling. “All variations of dead come through my doors to do their research or to find a good mystery to keep them up at night. It’s not odd.”

“Right.” My mind is moving fast now. All variations of dead. I wonder. I wonder . . .

“Agent Delacruz.” The staticky explosion of telepathy tears through my thoughts. The Council’s so damn annoying with their damn transmissions at all the wrong damn times. I cock my head at attention so Esther realizes why I’m not speaking. “Agent Washington requests your presence urgently at Franklin Avenue and Bergen Street.” Crap. So much for their no-locations policy. That’s right down the street, but still: crap. “He says to inform you that there’s been a sighting of your . . .” The ghostly voice pauses and then says cautiously: “Your naked friend.”

“Crap.” I thank Mama Esther and start heading down the stairwell. She doesn’t have to ask to know what happened; it’s written all over my face.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sorry ’bout the page,” Riley says. “I didn’t have time to fuck around with a messenger, and I didn’t know if you’d get the telepathy blast.” All that supernatural mind-talking stuff doesn’t work two ways for me. I can receive the messages, usually, but can’t send anything out. If I know Riley’s trying to reach me, I can get one-on- one messages, but it’s not a sure shot. And we avoid