Spirit and Dust - By Rosemary Clement-Moore Page 0,79
“I will tell you where the Jackal is. But I ask for your help in return.”
“Of course,” I said. “Whatever you—”
“Hold it.” Carson had been quiet, letting me handle the professor. Now he objected like my legal counsel. “What is it you want?”
Oosterhouse’s eyes narrowed. “You are an impertinent young man. But, being a gentleman myself, I appreciate your protective gesture.” He smoothed his ruffled feathers and went on with his request. “I am tired of sleeping and awaking here. Tired of being this”—he gestured to his form—“shadow of myself. I wish you to open the door to the afterlife so I can be complete, my soul whole once more. If you do this for me, I will show you the Jackal.”
I had agreement on the tip of my tongue when Carson stopped me again. “This is how it’s going to be,” he said, in a voice to be reckoned with. “You show us where to find the Jackal and tell us its secrets, and only then Daisy will do her thing.”
“Does Daisy get a say in this?” I snapped.
Oosterhouse kept his gaze on Carson. “Yes, why not let Miss Goodnight make her own decision?”
My surprise shook me out of my snit. “How did you know my name?”
The professor gave me an avuncular smile. “My path crossed with a Goodnight before. Quite an interesting young lady, and you have the look of her. Add in your, shall we say ‘spirit’—if you will forgive a pun—and it is not much of a guess who you are.”
Oosterhouse was fading quickly now, the air chilling as he pulled heat energy to stay visible. I didn’t have the strength to hold him there. “I need to rest before I can open the Veil,” I said. “Tell us where to look for the Jackal, and when we find it, I promise I’ll send you on.”
The shade sighed, the ghost of a gesture of resignation. “You truly do not understand how powerful you are, young lady. What a shame the Brotherhood of the Black Jackal has re-formed only to become petty criminals. With the knowledge I passed down to them, and your gift … oh, the wonders you could—”
“I agree, she’s amazing,” Carson said. “Which won’t do anyone any good if she keels over from the effort of keeping you here. Tell us how to find what we’re looking for.”
Oosterhouse gave him a glare colder than the plummeting room temperature. “Very well. As it happens, I will still need to guide you once you find my grave. Find the artifacts that lie with my bones, and I will show you the Jackal.”
And with that, he faded completely, leaving nothing but an icy fog that vanished in a swirl of heat from the radiator.
26
“YOU HAVE GOT to be kidding me,” said Carson, staring at the spot where the ghost had been. “Find the artifacts that lie with his bones? How do we do that?”
“Find his grave,” I said, going to grab the robe Gwenda had given me with the pajamas. “And a shovel.”
“That’s not funny.”
“That’s because I’m not joking.” Belting the robe, which wasn’t much heavier than the pj’s, but adequate now that the ghost was gone, I headed for the door. “I never joke about disinterment.”
Carson followed me, unappeased by my calm. “Where are you going?”
“To get some breakfast. I’m not planning any tomb raiding on an empty stomach.”
He must have seen the sense of that, because he followed without argument.
Aunt Gwenda was, no surprise, a late sleeper, but there was a note from her on the kitchen counter telling us to make ourselves at home since Matthew had the morning off.
The apartment was sort of urban vintage—exposed brick walls and beams, wood on the floors, copper or brass on the fixtures. The kitchen was huge and the appliances were commercial grade and intimidating.
Carson headed for the coffeemaker—an apparatus that looked like it could pilot the space shuttle. Maybe someone had gotten a bargain when NASA shut down that program. “The note says there’s a bag of bagels by the toaster. You can work a toaster, right?”
“Of course,” I answered. Neither of us said anything while Carson ran the coffee grinder, but once he’d measured out the grounds and, I don’t know, programmed a geosynchronous orbit, he turned to me.
“Where’s the ghost now?” he asked.
I did a quick poke around with my psychic senses. “There’s just a faint trace of him in the bedroom, where the artifact is. Manifesting that long wore him out.”