Chapter 8 #4
“Excuse me,” I said, pushing open the door to Ward’s office after he’d called out that I should come in.
“I’m sorry to interrupt”—I wasn’t.—“but I’m afraid Mr. Campion has another appointment he needs to prepare for.
” He didn’t. Well, okay, he did have other appointments…
the next day. And he didn’t really need to prepare for them, either, but the alarm on my phone had gone off, so I was providing Ward with an excuse to end the session with Buckley if he wanted one.
Thank you, sunshine, Sylvia breathed, sounding exasperated. She was in the corner of the office, arms crossed over her chest. This could not possibly have ended soon enough.
I swallowed reflexively as the ghost in the center of the room—who could only have been Buckley’s brother, given the close family resemblance—turned to glare at me. Get out, he snarled at me.
Ward’s eyes narrowed, presumably saying something to the ghost that he didn’t like, since Other-Buckley turned his attention back to the medium, his nostrils flaring. You don’t tell me what to do, he snapped.
Oh, boy.
Indeed, came Sylvia’s thought, and that one sounded more amused.
Other-Buckley’s face puffed out, empty eyes widening as Ward exerted whatever kind of metaphysical pressure he needed to in order to force the ghost’s obedience. I had the feeling that if he’d been alive, like his brother, his face would have been just as purple and blotchy.
“Thank you,” Ward said, turning to me, his voice mild despite the effort I could see in the veins at his temples.
Then he turned to the still-living Buckley.
“We’ll have to conclude there, Mr. Buckley,” he said.
“Since not only are we out of time, but I believe you have secured answers to your questions.”
I wondered why Buckley was still here if he’d gotten what he wanted.
Buckley’s face took on a stubborn cast. “The hell I have,” he snapped.
Ward’s silver eyes flashed. “Mr. Buckley,” he said firmly. “Just because you don’t like the answers does not mean you do not have them.” He made a sharp gesture with one hand, and a still-protesting Other-Buckley dissipated.
Oh.
Pompous ass number two had an extensive gambling problem in addition to the alcoholism that destroyed his liver, Sylvia reported to me. And the missing inheritance is therefore less ‘missing’ and more ‘gambled away.’
And I assume the living Buckley is not happy about that.
To put it mildly, she replied. He keeps trying to get names of bookies, et cetera, out of his idiot brother so that he can reclaim the funds.
And that’s not working?
My vote was to just tell him and give him enough rope to hang himself with, she remarked wryly. But Nancy doesn’t like sending people to the mob for some reason.
I had to struggle not to make a choking noise at that.
I see, is what I said to Sylvia.
“Mr. Buckley,” Ward was saying, his voice turning hard. “If you do not leave immediately, I will have to remove you.”
“You can’t do that,” Buckley blustered, confident in his ability to physically resist both Ward and myself. “I’m a paying customer, and I demand that you see this through satisfactorily.”
Ward pinched the bridge of his nose over his mask.
“Mr. Buckley,” he said, the words coming out clipped.
“You do not get to dictate the end results of your séance, only that you are given one and make contact with the requested deceased person. That has been done. Your brother gambled away the money, which means that you know what happened to it and why there was very little that came to you upon his death. Whether you like it or not, my job has been completed to the full extent of the terms of the contract, and I am now asking you politely to leave.”
Buckley crossed his arms and settled himself more deeply in his chair.
“Would you like me to get Mr. Manning?” I asked. Most people don’t attempt to resist Mason.
“No, thank you, Rayn,” Ward replied, and Archie shimmered into the room, a gleeful smile on his face. “I think Mr. Lagarde will be sufficient to persuade our client that his time here is done.”
I knew Ward didn’t like putting Mason in a position to have to exert physical force—Mason didn’t much like doing it, and Ward was surprisingly protective of the huge orc.
And then Archie took full physical form, and Buckley went a sickly shade of pinkish-white.
Sylvia—still insubstantial and invisible to Buckley—cackled.
“Okay, then, bucko,” the dead man said, cracking his protoplasmic knuckles. “You go under your own power or under mine. Your choice.”
I couldn’t help the slight disappointment I felt as I moved out of the way to allow Buckley to exit Ward’s office, then watched as he hurried down the hallway toward the front door, turning only once to see that Archie was still hovering, visible and threatening, behind him.
When the door shut, Archie chuckled. “I do enjoy doing that, sonny. Thanks.”
Ward made a non-committal noise. I knew he didn’t much like deploying ghosts as a means of forcible persuasion or threat, but it was satisfying to watch Buckley be temporarily humbled. Hopefully enough that he wouldn’t come back to us.