Ghostly Echoes (Jackaby #3)(45)

“What about Julian McCaffery?” I suggested.

“Yes. Julian McCaffery,” Jackaby repeated.

Irina concentrated. “I don’t see him.”

“McCaffery’s alive? Well, that’s interesting, but not much help until we know where they’re keeping him. Who else might know about the council?”

“Howard Carson,” Jenny said. The room went quiet.

“Jenny . . .” Jackaby began.

“She can tell me if Pavel was lying. She can tell me if Howard is alive or dead. She can tell me if he’s a ghost like me, or if he’s gone forever. Show me Howard Carson.”

Jackaby nodded solemnly. “Howard Carson.”

Irina closed her eyes and concentrated. After a few pregnant moments her hands dropped into her lap.

“He’s alive?” Jenny’s voice trembled, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile hope.

“No,” said Irina. “He’s passed on. He’s on the other side.”

I could feel the air chill by several degrees, and Irina looked nervous. Finstern, who had been watching all of this with rapt interest, shuddered. Jackaby’s eyes were curiously alight.

“Sir?” I said.

“They’re beyond the veil, but you can sense them?” Jackaby pressed the young lady. “You sense them the same as you sense Jenny?”

Irina nodded. “They’re just farther away.”

“The afterlife,” said Jackaby. “The underworld. Whatever you’d like to call it. The other side. It’s a place?”

Irina nodded again. “I guess so.”

“Can you show us how to get there?”

Irina looked startled. “You . . . die.”

“I mean aside from the usual way. There are countless doors or bridges in the old stories. Is there a gate near here, a tunnel, the roots of a massive tree?”

She shook her head. “I don’t see places. I don’t see doors. I only see the people.”

My employer nodded, thoughtfully. “Let’s do it again,” he said.

Irina took his hand. Her finger hovered over the map. “Who would you like to find?” she asked.

“Charon.”

“Charon, sir?” I said. “Really?”

“Who’s Charon?” Finstern asked.

“He’s not a real person,” I said. “Charon is the mythical Greek ferryman to Hades, he’s not—”

I swallowed my words as Irina’s finger jabbed down on the map. Every head around the table leaned in.

“Charon,” said Jackaby quietly, “is on the other side of Rosemary’s Green.”





Chapter Twenty-Four


Rosemary’s Green was on the opposite side of town. Augur Lane was on the way, so Jackaby opted to take a detour to collect a few things at the house before we visited the rolling fields.

“You mean to say there’s something you haven’t already packed in that big bag of yours?” I asked as we rounded the corner. Number 926 Augur Lane was just ahead.

“Good things come to those who bring them along in the first place,” said Jackaby. “I prefer to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what, though?” I said. “Do we have any idea what we’re getting ourselves into?”

“I have many ideas. The afterlife is a popular subject in every major religion around the world. Countless descriptions have been written chronicling the descent into the hereafter, from Hades to Heaven to the Happy Hunting Ground. Yes, Miss Rook, I have a limitless supply of—” He froze. We had just reached 926 Augur Lane. Charlie began to growl, low and menacing.

“What is it?” Finstern asked before I could.

“Someone has been here,” Jackaby said. “Fae. Unseelie. Very strong. Something else, too. Something large . . .”

Charlie padded past the gate, sniffing the path. “Oh my word. Sir,” I said. “Take a look.” Several of the flagstones leading up to the bright red front door were cracked, and in the grass to either side were massive footprints. It looked as though an elephant had come calling in our absence.

“Trolls?” said Jackaby. “No. Elementals! This makes no sense—elementals can be brutes, but they’re neutral. They don’t cavort with fairies. There’s no reason for this—it’s all wrong!”

The beautiful red door was now riddled with cracks and hanging open, the frame splintered to bits. It was senselessly violent—it wasn’t as though Jackaby ever locked the thing, anyway. The center of the door was bare, and I realized the horseshoe doorknocker had been torn off entirely.

The wind whipped through the trees and the skies darkened. “Wait here,” said Jackaby, pushing the abused door open the rest of the way with a creak.

“No.” Jenny’s voice was a low boil. “My house. You wait here.”

Jackaby, uncharacteristically, did what he was told. A few anxious minutes later the winds died down and Jenny reappeared in the entryway. “They’re gone,” she said. “But they’ve been all through the house.”

My skin crawled as I stepped inside. The drawers of my desk had been pulled out and emptied on the floor. Papers were everywhere. A swampy stink lingered in the air, and I could tell that Ogden had defended the place as only he knew how. The pungent little frog’s terrarium lay shattered on the floor. There was no sign of its amphibian occupant. I felt sick and angry.