One Grave at a Time (Night Huntress #6)(20)
“We told you that,” Bones pointed out.
Tyler rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I wish I’d listened, but that’s what most people say. I had no idea you’d be the only ones telling it like it was, and you weren’t sure yourselves, either. No medium can help you, but maybe the best damn ghost hunters money can buy will be able to.”
“Yeah, well, I hear Bill Murray and the gang don’t do that anymore,” I countered in growing frustration.
He waved a hand. “Not the Hollywood version. The real ones, and lucky for you, I happen to know some.”
“Give us their names and how to contact them,” Bones directed.
Tyler’s look grew pointed. “I’ll set up a meeting and go with you. Otherwise, just like me, they won’t believe how powerful that ghost is until it’s too late, and you might not be fast enough to save all of them.”
My inner cynic calculated the odds of ghost hunters being able to help us at twenty to one . . . in Kramer’s favor. Still, I’d sworn that I would try to see the silver lining instead of only the ominous clouds, so I fetched my cell phone from the counter and handed it to Tyler.
“Make the call.”
Tyler rose. “Right after I take a piss.”
Once he disappeared into the bathroom, Bones spoke very softly. “Keep trying to tail Kramer, Elisabeth. If there’s a particular place he frequents, or any humans he’s attentive to, I want to know.”
Bones must not have high hopes for the ghost hunters, either. Elisabeth nodded solemnly. “I saw him earlier today. He was not far from the largest ley line in Iowa, at Oktoberfest in Sioux City, but he left quickly. Too quickly for me to see if he’d been interacting with any humans.”
“What time was this, do you know?” Bones asked, suspicion edging his emotions.
“Right after midday,” she replied.
One-ish Iowa time would’ve been about 2:00 P.M. in Washington, D.C. Right about the same time that Tyler broke out the Ouija board.
“I think Kramer left in a hurry because he got a page,” I said wryly.
Bones’s gaze was speculative before he returned his attention to Elisabeth.
“Keep trying to find him, then follow him when you do, but don’t let him tail you back here.”
I knew how important it was for Elisabeth to find out who Kramer’s intended victims were, not to mention the identity of his human accomplice; but after meeting the former Inquisitor, I really didn’t want him to know where we lived. Sure, I could summon Remnants to our defense if Kramer tracked Elisabeth back here despite her best efforts, but what if he snapped Tyler’s neck before I sicced the Remnants on him? Even if I were fast in calling forth my spectral guards, it only took a split second to kill a human, as I well knew.
And sometimes, it only took a split second to kill a vampire, too. We had plenty of silver knives at our house, for obvious reasons. What if the malevolent ghost poltergeisted one of those through Bones’s heart before either of us even knew he was near? I shivered at the thought.
“What’s wrong, Kitten?” Bones asked, his sharp gaze picking it up.
I forced a smile. No more what-if thoughts of worst-case scenarios. Silver linings and glasses half-full, remember?
“Nothing.”
Nine
A huge building loomed in front of us, dark exterior looking ominous even with the many gold-edged leaves on the trees surrounding the grounds. Hundreds of windows reflected the moonlight as if in stark rejection of any illumination penetrating the structure’s interior. Every so often, shadows would pass by those windows, and voices would drift out on the crisp autumn air, but the former hospital was empty.
Well, empty of anyone who was solid. All the members of N.I.P.D., the Northeastern Investigative Paranormal Division that Tyler had recommended, were still outside with us. They’d just finished setting up their equipment in various rooms of the former Waverly Hills Sanatorium. Now they were huddled up in a final group pep talk before they started their documentation of everything that went bump in the night here.
The sanatorium might have closed decades ago, but it was quite the popular attraction, as it turned out. The curious paid for guided tours of the facility, hearing all about its history and the many anecdotes of ghostly encounters. Amateur or professional paranormal buffs could opt to have the hospital all to themselves for a night of investigation, provided they paid the proper amount and booked in advance. Waverly Hills Sanatorium had a waiting list, and the owners didn’t give refunds if a group missed its scheduled appointment.
That was why Bones and I were meeting the investigators—they didn’t like the term “ghost hunters,” as it turned out—here instead of at a local coffee shop or somewhere else normal. They’d planned their evening at Waverly weeks ago and weren’t about to lose their time slot—or their money—just to talk to Tyler’s new clients, as they considered Bones and me. For our part, we weren’t willing to waste another day and night before finding out if they could help with Kramer. After Tyler set up our chat, we hopped in the car for a road trip to Louisville, Kentucky. Taking a plane would have been faster, but we weren’t about to go anywhere unarmed, and airport security frowned on suitcases filled with a stockpile of weapons.
Tyler refused to leave Dexter behind, saying the dog would give us precious seconds of warning if Kramer was about to spoof up. Dexter did seem to have an uncanny radar for ghosts; he’d begun to whine in that eerie way of his as soon as we pulled up to the sanitarium. By comparison, it took Tyler a few minutes after we arrived to even see the shadows passing by the windows. Of the two of them, I had to admit that Dexter seemed to be the more qualified medium. Maybe Spade’s demonologist friends really recommended Dexter, and the message somehow got garbled, I thought ruefully.