The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(16)

r. f. jackaby:

consultant & colleague



“It’s Charlie,” Jackaby said, his gaze penetrating the door. “Come in, Mr. Barker!” My heartbeat quickened. As the door swung open, I felt a flutter, and I privately admonished myself for being so childishly delighted just to see him. Emotions and foolish behavior are much easier to manage when they are someone else’s.

Charlie was dressed in plainclothes; his recent assignments for Commissioner Marlowe had been strictly off the record. He wore a starched white shirt and a chestnut vest over pressed slacks and simple leather brogues.

“Miss Rook!” His chocolate brown eyes brightened as he saw me, and he crossed the room at once to sweep me into a warm embrace. I felt his chest rise and fall. I could hear his heartbeat. He smelled like cedar.

“That will suffice,” Jackaby grumbled loudly from behind me. “Yes, yes. You are young and your love is a hot biscuit and other abysmally romantic metaphors, I’m sure. You do recall that you saw each other yesterday?”

Charlie pulled away but paused to brush a hand gently across my neck. His smile was tired but gratified. I straightened and tried to will the flush out of my cheeks. “Normal people do occasionally express fondness for one another.”

“Yes, fine. I’m familiar with the concept,” he groused. “It’s the bubbly auras and fluttering eyelashes that really test one’s limits.”

“My eyelashes do not flutter,” I said.

“Who said I was talking about your eyelashes? Charlie has eyelashes.”

“I apologize, Mr. Jackaby, for any undue fluttering on my part,” Charlie said diplomatically. “I could use a little fondness right now. My day has been, on the whole, a deeply unsavory experience.”

“Life, as Miss Rook and I were just discussing, is an unsavory experience.”

“It doesn’t always have to be,” I countered.

“What are all these?” Charlie plucked a book of psalms from the unruly pile on the desk. “Have you two robbed a church since I left this morning?”

“No,” said Jackaby. “Not personally. We had to delegate that task. Pilfering parish property has fallen to Miss Cavanaugh this week.”

Charlie rubbed his neck as he dropped the book back on the stack. “Because if there’s one thing New Fiddleham needs right now, it’s a bit more paranormal petty crime.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” I submitted, “the pastor more or less asked us to. He was rather insistent that we should find something in one of his Bibles.”

“You’re certain he won’t go storming into the station house tomorrow to tell the duty officer how he’s been robbed by a ghost?”

I swallowed.

“Not unless he is one himself,” said Jackaby. “He’s dead.”

“What?”

“Quite dead. He’s up in the attic if you would like to check for yourself.”

“Why do you have a dead preacher in your attic?”

“Because we found it easier to carry him up to the coffin than to maneuver it down to him.”

Charlie looked suddenly very tired.

“Enough about our morning,” I said. “You had a difficult patch yourself?”

“Yes. I have a new assignment,” Charlie said. “It is not pleasant.”

Jackaby studied Charlie more closely and raised an eyebrow. “We had a tête-à-tête with Mayor Spade just this afternoon. What does he have you doing? Harassing little old ladies? Insulting short people?”

“Examining a crime scene.”

“Oh, yes? What merits a crime, then? Possession of pointy ears? Distribution of abnormally chewy dinner rolls? Eye color? Green really is gratuitously showy.”

“Murder,” Charlie answered, “in a public space. Under very odd circumstances.”

“Oh.” Jackaby swallowed. “Well, hrm. I suppose that might be worth a follow-up, then. Best of luck sorting it out.”

“I was actually hoping I might enlist some help to that end,” said Charlie.

Jackaby shook his head. “As it happens, I am busy saving our entire world and the next one over from colliding together and raining death and destruction upon us all. So, while I appreciate your consideration, and I do love odd, I’m afraid I am otherwise engaged.”

“Understood, sir,” said Charlie. “But I was actually talking about Miss Rook.”

Jackaby blinked. “You want my assistant?”

I blinked. “You want my assistance?”

Charlie nodded and looked at me a little nervously. He hesitated before elaborating, and when the words came, they came in a rush. “Time and time again, Miss Rook, I have discovered you to be a woman of superlative intellect and intuition. I have discovered myself to be better for your company. It is an imposition, I know—but I want you with me on this case. I always want you with me.”

In the ensuing silence, I felt the flush of heat rising back to the tips of my ears. “That, Mr. Jackaby,” I managed when I had found my voice, “is how you should talk to Jenny.”

“Out of the question,” said Jackaby, closing the office door behind him.

“Honestly, sir,” I said, “I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss.” We had excused ourselves to speak privately for a moment, leaving poor Charlie politely rocking on his heels in the foyer. The office was warm and smelled of sage and witch hazel, and the desk was littered with bits of twine and herbs where Jackaby had been preparing fresh wards. Douglas had burrowed into a nest of old receipts on the bookshelf behind us and was sound asleep with his bill tucked back into his wing. I had given up trying to get him to stop napping on the paperwork. “You’re the one who told me that I shouldn’t have to choose between profession and romance,” I said.