A book flew from the shelf, hitting her side. Another book sailed from a lower shelf, then another and another, pelting Jaime. She doubled over, arms wrapped over her head.
“Leave me alone!” she said. “Damn you—”
I grabbed her arm and propelled her out from the hailstorm of books. As we moved, I looked down at the novels strewn across the aisle. They were all copies of Salem’s Lot.
The moment we were out of the Stephen King section, the books stopped flying. I speed-dialed Lucas and told him to meet us at the door.
“Ghost?” I whispered to Jaime as I hung up.
She nodded, gaze tripping from side to side, as if ready to duck.
“I think it’s over,” I murmured. “But we’d better scram, before someone notices the mess.”
Again, Jaime only nodded. I rounded a corner, and looked down the unfamiliar aisle.
“Classics,” I said. “Wrong turn. Let’s back up—”
A book shot straight out from the shelf and clipped Jaime in the ear. More flew out, pummeling her from all sides. I shoved her out of the way, catching a few books myself, each striking harder than one would think possible for a slender paperback. One hit me in the knee. As I pitched forward, the book flopped to the floor. The Iliad…the same as every other book flying from the shelves.
I righted myself and kept propelling Jaime forward until we reached the front door. Lucas took one look at my expression and hurried over.
“What happened?” he whispered.
I motioned that we’d tell him outside.
On the way to the car, I told Lucas what had happened. Jaime stayed silent. Strangely silent, not chiming in with so much as an “uh-huh.”
“Seems the bookstore had a resident ghost,” I said. “I’ve heard of things like that happening. A necromancer is sitting in a bar, having a drink, minding his own business, and all of a sudden a spirit realizes there’s a necro in the house and goes wild, trying to make contact. Like a shipwreck survivor spotting a rescue boat.”
Jaime nodded, but kept her gaze straight forward, walking so fast I could barely keep up.
“It certainly does happen,” Lucas said. “But I suspect that’s not what we had here”—he shot a pointed look at Jaime—“is it?”
She nibbled her lower lip and kept walking. Lucas tugged my arm, indicating for me to slow down. When Jaime got about twenty feet ahead of us, she glanced over each shoulder, realized we weren’t with her, then turned to wait.
For a minute we just stood there, looking at each other. Then Lucas cleared his throat.
“You have a problem,” he said to Jaime. “I presume you came to us for help with that problem. But we aren’t going to drag it out of you.”
“You have more important things to do. I know that. But I think it…it might be related.”
“And I assume you are going to explain what ‘it’ is as soon as we get back to the hotel?”
She nodded.
Undelivered Message
THE HOTEL ROOM DOOR WAS STILL SHUTTING BEHIND US when Jaime started talking.
“I’ve got a haunter,” she said. “And it’s a strange one. I was going to tell you guys, but I know you’re busy and I wasn’t sure what was going on—I’m still not.” She perched on the arm of the armchair, still talking. “It started Wednesday afternoon, before my Orlando show. At first I figured it was Dana, that she knew she was dead and wanted to pay me back for lying to her.” Jaime twisted her rings. “I shouldn’t have done that…not that I could have told her she was dead—it’s not my place, right? But I went overboard with the reassurances. They just came out automatically, like I was doing a show.”
She glanced from Lucas to me. When neither of us spoke, she continued.
“That’s what I do with my shows, in case you haven’t guessed. I make it up. No one wants to hear the truth. Fanny Mae wants to make contact with her dead hubby, and the guy’s standing beside me screaming, ‘Worried about me? You fucking whore, you weren’t worried about me when you hopped into bed with my brother an hour after my funeral!’ You think I’m going to tell her that? I tell her the same thing I tell everyone else. He misses you, but he’s happy and he’s in a good place. And you’d think, you’d really think, that after I’ve given the same damned message for the thousandth time, that people would wise up,