Alterant (Belador #2)(82)

“You’re probably right, but how does that help?”

“Let’s give talking to them another shot.”

“I don’t have time to stand around talking to ghosts.”

“I don’t either, but we can either lose another minute or two running through endless turns of this maze, or we can take a stab at finding your soldier again.”

Time whispered by while he made up his mind. “What have you got in mind?”

“My empathic skills are picking up everything from anger to frustration to the urge to maim and kill from you.”

“All that and no crystal ball? Want to guess my weight next?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, but that’s still on the table for getting me into all this.”

“You got yourself into this by sucking up to the Beladors.” He hooked his thumb in the waistband of his jeans and shifted his weight to one leg.

“You’re an *. You know that?” Evalle expected an airslap for the curse, but none came. Sadly, that just confirmed no Belador could reach her here. “I’m trying to help you save your sister, and you’re not helping.”

That silenced him. He drew a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, scratching his head. “You’re right.”

“Why are you fighting me at every step?”

“Because I don’t want you here.”

“Tough.”

He shook his head in wonder. “If I’d had your deal with the Beladors, I wouldn’t be in this situation, but you have this screwed-up sense of honor instead of hardened survival skills, or you’d have turned me in as soon as you got back to Atlanta.”

Did that mean he felt guilty? Had he been screwed over so many times in his life that he fought everyone like a wounded dog? “I meant what I said about giving all of us a chance. You ready to do this or not?”

He squared his jaw and nodded.

“You taught me about healing from what you learned while in the jungle. I’ve spent my time in the city dealing with Nightstalkers. They might be dead, but the spirit still has emotions and feelings. The ghosts down here responded to me a few minutes ago, but they’re not responding to you and I think it’s because you’re generating aggressive energy.”

“I’ll play your Dr. Phil game. What do you suggest we do?”

“Calm down completely. Close your eyes and think about how much your sister means to you and how much you want to save all the hostages.”

Seeing that light up some embarrassment in Tristan’s face encouraged her to counsel him further. “Once you stop sounding like you’re going to rip out throats, talk calmly again about looking for the hostages. I’ll keep an eye out to see if anything happens.”

He didn’t appear completely onboard with the plan, but he did close his eyes. Seconds later, his arms dropped to his sides in a semi-relaxed state.

Evalle opened up her senses fully. Tristan’s aggression bled away grudgingly, and in place of that he started emitting pulses of concern and worry. He spoke softly, wondering aloud where he could find his sister and the Alterants.

He’d rambled for almost a minute when a form shimmered near them.

First a barrel appeared, then a stool supporting a shrunken elderly man who wore overalls and spectacles. He hunched over as if studying something. As soon as a faded checkerboard with red and black discs arranged on the squares took shape on top of the barrel, the old guy moved a red checker to an empty spot.

He raised expectant eyes at Evalle. She forced a mild expression, not wanting to react at seeing his throat slashed open.

Tristan held very still.

“Your move,” the old guy croaked out in a froggy voice.

Me? She glanced over at Tristan, whose amused expression said This was your idea.

Did the old guy want a real challenge, or just to win?

Before she made a wrong move, literally, she asked the ghost, “Do you know a soldier?”

“Yes.”

“Would you ask him to come here?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If you play a right nice game.”

Since he hadn’t threatened her with a sharp object, she stepped over and lifted a black checker. The poker-chip-sized disc felt light and soft, not like the plastic ones set up outside on tables at a Cracker Barrel restaurant where she’d eaten once.

His crinkled gaze watched the board expectantly, waiting for her to place her chip.

Which move would bring the soldier back?

Which move would cause the checker player to vanish?





TWENTY-EIGHT




Evalle turned the black chip in her hand, debating on the right spot on the checkerboard.

Tristan had become mute the minute the old guy’s spirit had appeared, but she sensed how much he wanted her to make the correct move.

His sister’s safety depended on it.

The sister he’d obviously wanted to keep a secret.

She slowly lowered the black chip to a spot that left her ghost opponent an easy jump with his red chip.

She slid her gaze sideways to see how Tristan judged the move. Sweat beaded on his forehead in spite of the chill that surrounded them.

No confidence there.

The old guy’s hand moved fast as lightning.