Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(36)

“I was in the office this afternoon but nobody was—” He cut off, his mouth dropping open and a Scrabble tile falling from his fingers. I didn’t have to guess too hard on why.

Icelynne had followed me home.

I would have rather she hadn’t, but hey, I already had one ghost hanging around, why not two? Also, I felt bad for her. She had spent most of the drive to my house crying in the backseat.

“Alex, who and what is that?” Roy asked, shoving his fists into his faded jeans and backing up several steps. As a whole, ghosts tend toward a solitary existence. They are remanent traces of their own will, empowered by energy. When that energy runs low, some ghosts have a bad habit of cannibalizing their fellow spirits.

“Roy meet Icelynne, and vice versa,” I said as explanation of who. I pointedly ignored the “what” part of his question.

“Uh, hello,” Icelynne said. She wasn’t exactly hiding behind me, but it was a near thing.

Roy didn’t reply. He just stared. He usually had perpetually bad posture, moping around with slumped shoulders, but he was standing at his full height now, his dingy flannel shirt swaying in an unfelt breeze rolling through the land of the dead. I wasn’t sure if he was getting ready to run or rush her.

I shook my head. Ghosts.

“Play nice,” I said, and then walked across the room and sank onto the bed. I was so tired. If I blinked too long I’d probably be out for the night. But I couldn’t do that. I had to get out of this ridiculous ball gown and get to Tamara’s dinner. I bent to unzip my boots, and PC jumped in my lap. He licked my chin twice, and then hopped down and paced in front of the door. Damn, he needed a walk. I’d totally been slacking in my job as a puppy-momma today.

“I’ll take him out, if you want,” Falin said, grabbing PC’s leash. The little dog lifted on his back legs, pawing the air in front of Falin.

“Would you? That would be great.”

He gave me a smile that probably would have been dazzling if I hadn’t been so bone-dragging tired. Once the door shut behind him, I changed as quickly as my aching body would allow, but I’d only barely finished when the door opened again and PC rushed back inside.

I was officially running late now. Holly hadn’t waited for me. I couldn’t blame her. After all, I’d told her not to when I’d texted on the way to Faerie. But that meant I didn’t have a ride, and with dark having officially fallen, I couldn’t drive myself. I considered asking Falin along as my date, but that seemed way too weird, especially since I’d be doing so just for his car. So, I called a cab and hoped the restaurant served energy drinks, or at least espresso. It was going to be a long night.





Chapter 11





I woke the next morning to the sound of my phone blaring R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It,” which wasn’t what I’d left my ringtone set as. Roy. I needed to have a serious talk with that ghost. Neither he nor Icelynne had been in my apartment when I’d gotten home, but clearly he’d visited during the night. And his outlook on my current situation leaves something to be desired. Or maybe it was on his own situation. I didn’t have time to puzzle over the meaning of the ringtone. Fumbling for my purse, I dug out the phone and stared with blurry eyes at the display. The number didn’t look familiar.

“Hello,” I mumbled, trying, and failing, to keep the sleep from my voice.

“Craft, Jenson here. We’ve got another one.”

I blinked at the daylight playing over my ceiling. Another one? “A murder?”

“Yeah. Another locked room mystery—literally. And a jurisdictional nightmare. Your boyfriend’s already down here.”

“Uh . . .” I frowned. I was barely following this conversation. Maybe it was the groggy haze of being half asleep. No way could Jenson see Death, though as Jenson was a homicide detective, a collector’s presence at a crime scene wouldn’t be completely unheard-of. Still, that couldn’t be what he meant.

I glanced to where Falin had been sleeping last night. The bedding was neatly folded in a pile. I looked around. The apartment was empty, the bathroom door open, and the room beyond dark. I must have been sleeping hard. But Jenson had to mean Falin was there. He certainly wasn’t here.

“The FIB is on the scene?” I asked, feeling a little slow on the uptake. I shook my head to clear it and sat up. The move made me dizzy and I had to pause a moment before asking, “Did you want me to meet you at the morgue when they release the body?”

“Bodies, plural. And no. I’ll give you the address. We need you to get down here pronto.”

“Here as in the crime scene?” I never went to active crime scenes. Well, maybe “never” was an exaggeration, but usually I didn’t get invited officially.

“Yes, the crime scene. My boss and your boyfriend already—”

“Falin isn’t my boyfriend.”

Jenson paused, when he spoke again, I could hear the familiar sneer in his voice. “Fine. My boss and the FIB agent in charge already cleared you doing the ritual on-site. The coroner will clear the bodies in a minute so get your ass down here. Do you have something to write with?”

I scrambled for a pen and grabbed a piece of junk mail off the counter. Jenson gave me the address and I wrapped up the call. Then I stared at the address. I didn’t get called to crime scenes. I just didn’t. But I didn’t have time to wonder about it. I needed to get dressed and on the road.