Falling Light (Game of Shadows #2)(21)

“I guess Jerry’s asleep,” she said, even though she already knew the answer.

The boy’s head jerked up. His eyes swam with misery. “Yes. Can you check on him now?”

“I will in a minute,” she said, stifling a sigh.

The boy whispered, “I think he should go to the hospital. The thing is, I’m not sure he’s well enough to be moved. Grandmother, I’m scared.”

The boy was beginning to realize that Jerry wouldn’t be getting any better. Astra’s mouth tightened. Jerry should be in his own bed, surrounded by the love and respect of his family and friends as he passed, not lingering here like some unpleasant household chore.

She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

She walked outside. The early evening air felt fresh and peaceful. The freshness was always welcome, the peace always illusory. She paused by her favorite tree, a massive four-hundred-year-old oak, and braced a hand on its trunk. As always when she touched it, the tree responded by generously giving her energy from its deep, green strength.

She patted it, braced her back and sent out a call. Moments later, Nicholas walked to her. Sunlight shone through his tall, transparent figure.

She remembered the generous, kind boy he had been, and the strong, young warrior who became a Green Beret. In maturity he had been a powerful, quiet man. He had only been in his early forties when he’d been killed. Sudden moisture dampened her eyes, surprising her, and she gritted her teeth against the unwelcome emotion.

Some would say that Nicholas had already given the ultimate sacrifice and that he deserved peace. Both of those things might be true, but she couldn’t afford pretty sentiment. She needed to use every tool she could in order to defeat the Deceiver.

Jamie is right, Nicholas said. My father is dying.

As a spirit, Nicholas would be able to see how Jerry was beginning to disconnect from his physical body.

She didn’t try to prevaricate. Instead she said simply, yes.

In the pale, shimmery figure, a hint of dark, intelligent eyes regarded her. Is there nothing you can do for him?

I’m sorry, no, there isn’t, she said. Now she was lying to a ghost. But I need to ask you to do something for me.

He said nothing, but just watched her. It was so reminiscent of Nicholas’s impassive expression when he had been alive that it goaded her into talking.

I know you would rather stay with your father right now, she said. I’m sorry, but this is important, or I wouldn’t ask. I need you to find Michael and Mary for me. I need to get a message to them.

You have creatures that serve you, he said. Why not ask them? Why me?

She nodded. You’re right, I could ask one of them to do it, but you are so . . . Valuable. Lucid. Reliable. Because of your skills and your intelligence, you have the best chance of getting to them and delivering the message safely. And that’s what matters right now, getting the mission done. She searched his expression for any sign that her words had resonated with him. Will you do that for me? For them?

He still didn’t answer right away, and his face was too blurred and indistinct for her to read. Instead he appeared to be scrutinizing her.

Astra felt an uncharacteristic uncertainty. Had he sensed that she had been lying about Jerry? She was a damn good liar, but often ghosts and spirits could sense things that embodied creatures couldn’t, and as a young man, Nicholas had witnessed her helping some of his people with healing from time to time.

It goaded her into saying, Nicholas, please. I will work to see that your father doesn’t pass until you return and can be by his side.

That would be good of you, he said.

His guarded, measured tone stung, and her mouth tightened. Damn it, she would not feel chastened by him. After his years in the army, he should understand better than anybody the concepts of utilizing limited resources and necessary loss. Jerry would, if he were conscious.

Her voice was curt as she asked, So will you do it?

Yes, he said. What do you need me to tell them?

She gave him the message, and he nodded and turned away. Her eyes stung as she watched his figure fade. She wondered if he would succeed or fail in finding Michael or Mary, or if the Deceiver’s minions would find him and tear him to shreds

She added the fate of Nicholas’s spirit to her own crushing list of burdens as she turned back to the cabin. Maybe she could indulge in the luxury of maudlin emotions at a later time. For now she had to keep her end of the bargain and bolster her dying friend’s strength. Then she had a lot more work to do and more favors to ask.

Chapter Seven

THIS HAD BEEN a bitch of a day, he thought, but things were looking up.

After his scalding shower, he tried to dress in the clothes he’d already had in the motel room. Of course none of them fit. They were sleek and streamlined, and had been much more suited to his last two human hosts.

One had been a handsome, young computer salesman who had been a fitness fanatic. The other had been Mary’s clever, charming ex-husband Justin, who had also been handsome.

He had enjoyed Mary’s ex. Justin had dealt with his kidnapping with a remarkable composure, and even a certain wry humor, and he had been smart enough to recognize a predator when he saw one.

He had enjoyed taking over Justin’s body even more, but he had only inhabited the body for a day before Mary had killed it. What a waste of a good host.

The monkey suit he currently inhabited was much bulkier than the bodies of the previous two men. When he tried to slip on a clean pair of slacks, the monkey’s thigh muscles strained at the expensive material, and he couldn’t fasten them at the waist. He tore off the pants, kicked them across the room and sneered at the pile of clothes he had tossed in the corner earlier. He refused to put on the monkey’s filthy clothes again. Instead he tied a towel around his waist and got to work making more phone calls.