Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Regge, mobsters, and necromancers
From across the table, I watched Hunter’s expression as he slid to the edge of the booth.
“I’m going around back. This guy is shifty.”
“Wait.” I reached out for him. “Let’s see where he goes.”
Hunter closed his eyes for half a second. “No. He’s catching an Uber. If we want to know where he’s going, we need the car. Pay the bill. I’ll pick you up out front.” He was gone, striding toward the restrooms and hopefully a back door.
I sighed and gulped my coffee with a grimace. Not waiting for a ticket, I put a twenty on the table and stood up.
I hadn’t needed to tell Hunter the dark-haired man was lying. His face when I turned back around said it all. The man’s careless yet menacing aspect had come across as soon as I’d spoken to him.
The encounter had been polite, almost pleasant, but I still felt that alarm response in me. I stood outside the diner doors. The clear night had clouded over as a light drizzle started to fall, and I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets.
Hunter’s beat-up SUV pulled to the curb. I slid in.
He talked as he drove. “He’s in a black Toyota. I didn’t get the plates, but he turned on Washington.” Then he seemed to blank out as he gazed over the steering wheel. I thought it no less than a miracle how the man could be in the future and the present at the same time.
“You’re amazing,” I said.
We stopped at a light. Hunter grinned at me. “You think?”
“Yes, like you can see—”
Someone tapped their horn behind us, signaling that the light had turned. “Okay, don’t distract me. I gotta concentrate.” He drove on.
“How am I distracting you? Sorry, never mind. Do your thing.”
“He’s headed toward Center City. I knew this dude’s casual wear was too expensive to be truly casual.”
Center City was a posh part of Philadelphia. The San Marco Hotel where I worked was located on the edge of the neighborhood of high-rises.
Hunter guided the vehicle around a corner, and sure enough, the black Toyota had pulled up to a fancy apartment building and our quarry got out.
We found a space across the street. I gazed at the machine on the sidewalk for collecting payment. Leave it to the modern world to monetize the space one occupied. We watched through the glass doors as the man waved at the front desk and strode to the elevator.
“We can’t stay here long, can we?”
“Shh.” Hunter put his hand out for me to hush as he stared out the window.
I gathered he was seeing whatever future was going on in that building.
Instinctively I laid a hand on his outstretched wrist. It was a way of grounding him in the present.
At least, this was what I told myself as I enjoyed the feel of his pulse throbbing under my fingers.
“He’s going to apartment 1611 and raiding his refrigerator. Which has nothing but carrot sticks and cheese cubes. Ugh.” Hunter shook his head quickly and blew out a breath. “That’s all I could get. Let’s get back to the hotel.” He pulled the car into traffic and headed back the way we’d come.
“Maybe this was nothing,” I ventured hopefully.
He sped up to catch the light. “This guy looks like organized crime, same as the others. He watched us from café when we walked by the hotel. The waitress said he was asking about it. He has something to do with what happened earlier. I can feel it.”
As Hunter drove, I pulled out a tiny notepad and my stub of a pencil and flicked on the overhead light. I made a quick sketch of the man in the diner. Nothing that would garner a prize, but it would be a serviceable likeness.
When we arrived, we parked in the same place in the alley and walked to the side door by the terrace. The door was locked, but I had a knack for locked doors. Modern doors were a bit more complex, but I’d been practicing and was pleased to find my skill at lock picking hadn’t faded entirely.
The lobby was empty and lit only by the faint emergency light above the door.
“Nigel?” I called. Nothing.
“Night clerk?” Hunter tried.
“Welcome to the Fulbright. How may I be of— Oh, it’s you.” Nigel’s bow tie wagged. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “You don’t want a room, do you?”
“No, but if your bar serves coffee, we could use some warming up,” Hunter said. “How is the Master? Still upstairs?”
Nigel ushered us into the darkened lounge and lit one ancient-looking lamp behind the bar. “The Master is not well. Recent events have sapped his strength. I will make a hot beverage.”
We sat at the bar and waited as Nigel turned to the coffee machine. I let my gaze drift over to where Hunter sat beside me.
“You know, when I was growing up in London, I thought life will be predictable. Boring even, if I survived to maturity. And then I met Theo and now I’m here, four hundred plus years into the future, waiting on coffee made by a reanimated spirit.”
“Yeah, life’s funny that way.” Hunter grinned at me.
The coffee machine burbled and hissed. Nigel poured coffee into actual coffee cups with saucers, waiting expectantly while we sipped.
I spoke first. “Most excellent, Nigel. Your hospitality skills are boundless.”
Nigel preened, his gray complexion coloring with an almost lifelike appearance.
“Has no one else been around? Since those guys?” Hunter drank most of his in one go and pushed his cup forward.
Nigel refilled it. “Not at all.” His pale forehead crinkled in dismay. “Unfortunately. The place is much brighter when guests are here. Though I can do a deep clean of the first floor not that it’s vacant.”
“First floor?”
“Where are special guests stay.” Nigel’s voice lowered. “Our maintenance man is always sanding and repairing the scratches and claw marks from the doors.”
“Nigel, would you have seen this man around the hotel?” I flipped pages on my notepad. Finding my most recent sketch, I slid it across the bar.
The ghostly bartender bent to peer at the drawing. “Yes. I have. He was here earlier in the year with another fellow. They looked like brothers.”
“What do you know about them? Would you have a name?”
“I am the night clerk.” His stoic expression gave us nothing. “Oh, you mean his name? I see now. Let me check.” He disappeared.
When he popped back behind the bar, Hunter rattled his coffee cup in the saucer. “Jesus, don’t do that.”
With an irritated glance at Hunter, the ghost turned to me.
“Two names, Julian Eskridge and Ramon something. I cannot decipher his handwriting.” He held out the ledger.
“Only here one night in June. Though I’m not sure which was which.
Perhaps the witch knows. After all she had a tête-à-tête with him. ” Nigel’s sparse eyebrows raised.
“A witch?” Hunter asked. “God, please tell me you’re speaking metaphorically.”
“You mean he had sex with a witch?” I asked. Again, I couldn’t believe this was my life. “How does one do that?”
Nigel rolled his ephemeral eyeballs. “I will suspect in the usual way. Though in this instance, they were quite vigorous.”
Hunter barked out a laugh. “Nigel, did you spy on them? Pop into the room maybe?”
“What? I would never.” His hand flattened against his chest under his tie. The paleness of his skin blended with his white shirt. “The privacy of our guests is a priority. Their safety and comfort are paramount. Their—”
“Okay, okay.” Hunter interrupted what was going to be a tirade. “We get it. You’re a premium host. So what else can you tell us? About the witch? Or anything else about the men?”
“Before you do,” I said, still noticing his hand against the shirtfront. “Are you okay, Nigel? You seem a little hazy.”
Nigel held his hand out in front of him and frowned. “Oh. Master is not well. And my existence in this corporeal form is tied to him. When he goes, I go. It is most unfortunate, but that is the way of things.”
“So if the necromancer dies, you disappear?” Hunter asked, distracted. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling.
Nigel nodded. “At least, the glorious form you see in front of you will, yes.”
“And what happens to you?”
He didn’t answer, refilling our coffees and puttering about. His face was pinched and worried as he polished the clean bar top.
I was starting to like the old, er, dead guy. How it all worked, I didn’t know. Who or what Nigel was before he was the night clerk or how the necromancer sent him into the body he was in was a mystery. And asking if the body he inhabited was actually his to begin with seemed impolite.
“What can we do to help?” I asked.
The ghost suddenly got still, staring at both of us. Then he blinked. And blinked again rapidly, as though… Was he crying? I squinted, suddenly uncomfortable.
“You want to help me? No one has ever asked. No one. Ever.”
“Yes. Of course,” I answered quickly. “You have been a great help to us. We will return the favor. Please tell me what we can do.”
Hunter now looked up. “We can do what?”
“Help Nigel.”
“Oh. Sure. Look, I googled the names.” He held out his phone. “Julian Eskridge is a businessman working in property development. But there’s no mention of Ramon something. The name on the register is Caster or something.”
“He’s not a businessman, but we’ll figure it out.” I turned to Nigel. “Let’s go talk to Master Anu. See if he has an idea of how to keep you around.”
Nigel brightened. “Yes. Let’s.” He popped out of existence, leaving me looking at a blank space.
“Oh shit,” Hunter said, taking his phone back to peer at it.
“What?”
“Caster isn’t the name. Of course, he would have given a fake name. Ramon Castenada. Holy shit balls.”
“HB, I have no idea—”
Nigel popped in again. “Are you coming?”
Hunter jumped. “Ack! Nigel. Stop it.” He glared across the bar. Turning to me, he said, “Ramon Castenada is part of the Castenada cartel. Out of New York or New Jersey. Anyway, they run all kinds of operations—the not-so-legal stuff—drugs, guns, gambling, the works.”
I slid off my stool, pulling him along. “Come on.”