Chapter 17
TUESDAY
IN WHICH JAMISON TALKS TO GHOSTS
Jamison walked into the office on Tuesday morning still reeling from their field trip to the Hexxers’ the previous day. Of the three communities they’d talked to about Carly, the Hexxers seemed like they had the most to hide.
The bell jingled with a cheerful three note salute as he entered to see Arthur predictably at his desk in the back.
“Good morning,” Jamison said, keeping his voice low to match the quiet air.
Dessa’s desk was empty, but Kiwi-Fred was there, busy cleaning his feathers on the desktop perch she’d gotten for him.
“Dessa’s not down yet?” Jamison asked, simultaneously checking the clock on his phone: 7:58 a.m.
“She has a personal appointment this morning and won’t be in until later,” Arthur said, his fingers not pausing on the keyboard. “Next time, check the calendar.”
Jamison studied Arthur for a moment before approaching his desk. “Soo…you grew up in the Hexxer community, right?”
Arthur’s suspicious gaze flitted to him below his caterpillar eyebrows. “Yes, I told you that yesterday.”
“Okay, so if I asked a Hexxer to talk to the dead for me, they’d be able to do it?”
Arthur’s fingers paused, his full attention on Jamison as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “They might. The dead are tricky and often do what they like, but you would be stupid to ask them to do it, especially after your experience yesterday.”
“Why’s that?” Jamison set his coffee on Arthur’s desk, and Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, hypothetically.”
“Because the Hexxers believe that once you enter their territory voluntarily, you are, on many levels, at their disposal. For them, people are a commodity, gears in the money machine that they operate, and the basis of their power.” His face softened.
“If you make a contract with them, you’re caught in their web, and I think even a Kane like you would have trouble getting free. ”
Jamison’s magic buzzed, and now that he accepted the involuntary reaction as a warning, he really didn’t need more confirmation. Hexxer assistance was out of the question.
“Okay, no Hexxers, got it,” Jamison said, and Arthur visibly relaxed. “But if you still had to talk to a dead guy, is there a plan B you’d recommend?”
Arthur sighed and turned back to his screen as if the conversation no longer interested him. “If you’re trying to talk to a dead person, why don’t you ask another dead person?”
The bell gave a happy trill, and Melba walked in with a wave of her fingers, Richard floating out in front of her as he argued about the number of storage buildings that had been popping up on Main Street.
Jamison grinned and picked up his coffee cup. “A dead person like Richard?”
Arthur shot Jamison a flat look that screamed, Duh, and even Kiwi-Fred let out what sounded like an irritable cheep.
Finished with his current rant, Richard turned in their direction. “Did someone call for me?”
“Why yes we did.” Jamison grinned, sidling over to Melba’s desk. “I want to talk to a dead person. How do I do it? Is there a séance involved or something?”
Richard cocked a lofty eyebrow, clearly pleased to be of service, and Melba sank into her seat with a grin. “Considering who’s speaking, I suppose you’re talking about a specific dead person,” Richard said. “Who do you have in mind? A famous historical figure, a relative, a pet poodl—”
“Peter Jowett,” Jamison said, and everyone froze, even Kiwi-Fred. “Also, Zach Whitmore, if he’s crossed over or whatever.”
For a moment, no one spoke, and Jamison sipped his coffee, waiting patiently for them to process.
He couldn’t be the first person to have had this idea, but he was curious to see just what might be standing in the way.
Because while he didn’t have the Vampires’ long lifespans, the Werewolves’ hyper senses, or the Hexxers’ magical ruthlessness, he was a Kane—so at least he had money, and sometimes that was enough.
Finally, Melba broke the silence, cracking open a bag of sour gummy worms as she did so.
“Even for those gifted in such arts, the dead do not always come when called, and usually if they do, it’s because they have a connection with the caller.
Even then, they are often not the same as they were in life, and it can be difficult for their loved ones to see them that way. ”
Jamison cocked his head at the ghost standing right in front of him. “But Richard seems fine.”
“That is because I am a ghost,” Richard said with a huffy impatience. “I have not crossed over. Calling those dead is like waking someone from a deep slumber, a nap they did not intend to end.”
“And you know for sure that Peter has crossed over?” Jamison asked, taking another sip of his coffee.
“Well, if he hadn’t, I’m sure someone would’ve reported him wandering around,” Arthur said. “And then Richard would’ve heard about it, and before you know it, Jowett would’ve been in here trying to get us to solve his own murder.”
Melba nodded, her expression thoughtful as she chewed on an orange worm. “It does happen from time to time.”
“Okay.” Jamison raked a hand through his hair. What was the fun of magic if there were all these rules and exceptions? “I get there’s a low success rate here, but I want to try it anyway. Who do I talk to?”
The chaotic jangle of the bell answered him, and Noah walked in with a wide smirk on his face. “I can’t believe Gramps hasn’t come and dug you out of here yet.”
Jamison rolled his eyes, his frustration compounding with the unwelcome intrusion. “And I can’t believe you came back after he dragged you off by your ear. It’s not a good time, Noah.”
Noah snorted and dropped into Dessa’s empty chair. A furious heat flared up Jamison’s neck, and he had to force himself not to grab Noah by the scruff for invading Dessa’s space.
“ Oh c’mon, it’s always a good time. Besides, since you’re the great hope of Kane Enterprises, I’m practically dutybound as your older cousin to check in on you.
” Noah spun in the chair. “But you know, I’ve been hanging out here a lot, and I don’t see much getting done.
We could probably get rid of AzRIO entirely, and everything would still go on the same as always. ”
“Get rid of AzRIO?” Arthur shrieked, bolting up from his chair.
“Just because something is meant to be unobtrusive, invisible, and efficient, does not make it nonfunctional. Just because your eyes don’t see the work we’re doing doesn’t mean it’s not getting done.
If not for AzRIO’s oversight and enforcement on regulations such as not killing children, I would never have made it out of the Hexxer compound, so I think it makes a great deal of difference. ”
Jamison looked at Arthur with wide eyes. Dang. He hadn’t made that connection. Now Arthur’s presence here made a lot more sense, and Jamison’s respect for AzRIO intensified. They really did save lives. Even Noah looked at a loss for words.
“Welp, super happy for you, my guy.” Noah grabbed a pen and began to doodle hearts on a sticky note while the budgie squawked irritably at him. “But moving right along. Where’d your girlie go?”
“Why?” Jamison crossed his arms. “Did you come here to harass her specifically or are you just wondering if you can steal her desk? The answer to both is no.”
“For your information. Since you all have been working so hard, I was planning to treat everyone to lunch. You know, as like an apology for Grandfather being so rude.” Noah ruffled a hand through his messy brown hair. “Offices do that, right? As like a team building thing?”
“Ooh!” Melba clapped her hands with a squeal. “We should totally go out for Chinese.”
Jamison frowned, the words Noah and team not gelling in his mind. “There is no way—”
The ring of the front bell interrupted him with a single almost-angry note as an ancient man with a face full of wrinkles stuck his bald, liver-spotted head into the office.
“Why, hello there. Gisele—my secretary that is—said I needed to pop by to get my Deputy’s license updated for the enforcement office. ”
“Why, Deputy Werach.” Silent laughter lit Melba’s face as she gestured to her empty chair. “I can help you right here, but Dessa will be so sorry to have missed you.”
Jamison frowned as the old man hobbled toward her desk like a snail oozing through peanut butter.
A silver star shone on his blue button-down, and what looked like a mustard stain adorned his collar.
Holy mercy. This was the enforcement sheriff?
The lack of official response to PC activities suddenly became clear.
Before Jamison could say anything though, the doorbell interjected with a ringing note that mimicked a howl, and he was sorely tempted to tell the brassy loudmouth to give it a rest. Though he had the distinct feeling he wouldn’t be able to do so without hurting its feelings.
The redheaded Werewolf, Brynn, strode in like she owned the place, her boot-falls heavy on the thin carpet. Her hard starescraped the office before landing on Jamison. “Where’s the McKinney girl?”
Jamison rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze still on the human parsnip that was Werach. The man looked like he was ready to keel over at any moment. “That seems to be the question today.” Jamison shrugged.
Brynn shifted from one foot to the other. “She called and asked for a detailed account of our current hierarchy, and I said I didn’t feel like typing it up, but I’d give her a verbal rundown.”
Arthur waved a hand with his usual monotone. “Please come have a seat. I can record your updated structure for pack records.”
Amidst the relative chaos, Richard floated over to Jamison and bent low. “Unless you’d rather stay and entertain your irritating cousin, I think I can connect you to someone who can call Peter.”
Jamison cut a side-eye to where Noah was posting the heart stickies all over Dessa’s monitor. “Do you think we can just leave him here?”