to drive the rest of the way to the Atlanta History Center, explaining that I couldn’t really drive at night with so many ghosts everywhere.
Tobias looked around. “You mean there are ghosts here right now?”
I had to smile. “They’re starting to become visible, yes.”
We were walking around the building to the car, but Tobias had stopped on the sidewalk, blinking at me. “You smell kinda nervous. Are you okay?”
Right. I swallowed and straightened my shoulders, trying to project confidence. I couldn’t change my smell, but body language was a big deal for werewolves. “I’m okay, just . . . a woman died right where you’re standing,” I told him, taking his elbow and gently steering him out of the ghost’s path.
“Oh.” He glanced down at the sidewalk he’d just left, as though a closer look might make her visible. “What does she look like?”
“She’s wearing a period nurse’s uniform, and she was struck down by something fast, probably a horse and carriage. She only had enough time to throw up her arms.”
“You can’t see what hit her?” he asked.
I shook my head, automatically touching my shirt to reassure myself that I was still wearing the obsidian. “I only see the remnant of a human soul in the moment they died. Animals and objects don’t leave ghosts.”
“Huh.” He was fascinated. “And there are more remnants around here?”
I nodded without needing to look. I was guessing there had been a hospital very close to this spot during the Civil War, because death was all around me.
I took Tobias’s arm and pulled him toward the car, trying to keep my breathing even. “You could say that.”
Chapter 22
Despite its name, the Atlanta History Center was a sleek, concrete-and-glass behemoth that looked like multiple massive shapes had been fused together as modern art. It had its own parking structure, but the GPS took us to the opposite side of the building, so we parked on the street instead.
When Tobias and I walked around to the front, Beau was waiting at the entrance in a sleek charcoal suit, his hands in his jacket pockets. Warton stood behind him in those stupid sunglasses. As we walked up, Tobias automatically moved to flank me, and I saw Beau shoot him an approving smile. Warton’s lips twisted with distaste, but that might also have been for me.
“A werewolf,” Beau said jovially. “I haven’t met a new werewolf in years. Good day, sir.”
“Hello,” Tobias said cautiously, which was maybe the least effusive I’d ever seen him. “I’m just here to protect Lex. Not claiming territory. Not interfering with packs.”
“That’s all right, my boy, there aren’t any in the Metro area.” He actually clapped Tobias on the back before turning to me. “Shall we?”
“Isn’t the museum closed?” Tobias asked.
“They rent it out for private events,” Beau said with a smirk. “I’m a frequent visitor—not to mention a rather large donor.”
And, of course, a vampire who could press anyone he wanted.
Warton held the door open, and Beau guided us through the massive, empty lobby to a wide carpeted hallway with barn-style glass doors at the end that led to the exhibitions. The lights were on in only one of them, and I could see a sign that read TURNING POINTS: 1860. Beau had already slid one of the doors open so we could enter.
The exhibit space was set up like a lot of museums I’d visited: a series of display rooms with one way in and out, forming a sort of corridor herding visitors in one direction so they wouldn’t miss anything. There were also dark corners with TV screens, which probably showed informational videos during working hours.
I followed Beau through an anteroom and a round room consisting of displays of uniforms and supplies. “Many of these items were given to the museum by me, or other vampires who fought in the war,” he commented, drifting past a case of cooking pans. “Through intermediaries, of course.” He made a show of looking in one of the cases.
Tobias gamely peered through the glass, but my hand and cheek were aching, and I wasn’t sure what to say. I had thought Beau wanted to meet to discuss the previous night’s events and where the investigation should go next. I wasn’t sure why he was playing tour guide again. Sure, the Unsettled were missing from the History Center, but that had happened a while ago. What was the point of being here now?
Only one way to find out. “Not that this isn’t interesting,” I said