Dark Demon Rising: Whisperings Paranormal Mystery book seven (15 page)

We
had two hours to kill until the jet touched down at Clarion Airport, plenty of
time to retrieve Jack and Mel. Royal need not fear losing me if he came with
us. But, contrarily, I had second thoughts about finding my buddies.

If
my roommates insisted on coming with me . . . what was I thinking? . . .
when
they insisted, nothing I said would dissuade them and I couldn’t stop them. If
this strange place Royal looked for turned out to be real, I knew next to
nothing about it or the dangers we might encounter, if any. We could be
stranded there. I dreaded the possibility and refused to subject Jack and Mel to
it.

And
another reason Maggie should not come. “Maggie, you can’t come with us.”

“So
you said.”

“You’re
supposed to be my personal clairvoyant and you ignored me. I felt. . . . I felt
betrayed.”
Yeah, lay it on thick, Tiff, make her feel an inch tall.

She
looked away. “I’m sorry, Tiff. I’ve spent years of my life trying to contact
ghosts, you are the opportunity I’ve waited for. Do you expect me to step out
now, when I can truly help the departed?”

“I
am
not
departed!”

“You’re
certainly apart from your body. I’m going with Royal whether or not
you
want me because
he
needs me.”

She
folded her arms, stared past me mulishly and started humming to herself.

I
wanted to stamp my foot. “Fine. But you’d better get your act together, Madam
Magenta. This is serious stuff.”

She
glared in my direction.

Royal
came from the office. “Come. We leave for the airport. And I will not tolerate
your one-sided conversations. If Tiff speaks, you will tell me what she says.
Otherwise, your silence will be appreciated.”

I
guessed the stress affected him heavily; he rarely sounded this overbearing.
Though if he thought Maggie would zip her lips on his say-so, he should think
again.

Maggie
jackknifed off the couch and gave Royal a sharp salute. “Yes, Sir. Anything you
say, Sir.” Under her breath she added, “Not.”

Royal
got in her face, or as near as possible seeing as he stood over a foot taller
than her. “Do not make me reconsider.” Stony faced, he went to the door and we
followed him out.

Clarion
Airport is a municipal airport for private planes and is a weather diversion
airfield for Salt Lake City International Airport. Royal took me to Mon Ami
once, the airport’s classy restaurant. They served excellent food but the
maitre de was patronizing to those who didn’t make a reservation, though he had
no problem seating them with half the tables unoccupied. I’d never flown from
there.

A
gate guard gave us directions, unnecessary as the airport is so small. We drove
between the terminal and small parking lot and parked outside a hangar.

Lights
blinked on a long, sleek, gleaming white jet. A stair went to the open door.
Royal vaulted up two steps at a time. Maggie hustled to keep up with him.

Inside,
a voice with a smooth upper-class English accent drawled, “I say, old boy, you
didn’t mention another passenger.”

“She
does not use much space,” Royal replied.

“I
don’t believe it!” I groaned as Maggie reached the door.

“Believe
what?”

“I’ll
tell you later.”

Stepping
inside the jet, Maggie stopped dead in her tracks and gaped, not at an interior
to put any luxury penthouse décor to shame, at the man who smiled at her. Impeccable
in a mint suit with a white shirt and silver-gray vest with matching tie, Christopher
Plowman lounged on a cream leather sofa with his arm along the back. Pale gray
hair cut by glittering black strands flowed over his shoulders in a shimmering
waterfall. I had forgotten how startling his eyes are, the same pale gray as his
hair with pupils black and glossy as hematite.

“Why
didn’t you tell me this plane belongs to Chris Plowman?” Maggie repeated for
me.

“Did
I not?” Royal replied blandly.

Chris
came to his feet. “I’m sorry . . . have we met?” he asked Maggie.

Too
infuriated to bear in mind Chris didn’t understand Maggie spoke for me, I
accused, “Don’t pretend you don’t know me, Christopher Plowman.”

A
perplexed frown barely creased Chris’ brow. “I do apologize. I’d say I could never
forget a face as beautiful as yours, but to my utter chagrin, I have.” He
lifted Maggie’s hand and caressed her knuckles with his lips. “Please let me
make it up to you.”

Bright
color bloomed on Maggie’s cheeks. “Er,” she managed.

“Ah,
Chris.” Royal clasped his shoulder and steered him away. “There is something
you should know.” He guided Chris toward the end of the cabin. “Wait there,
ladies.”

“Ladies?”
Chris glanced over his shoulder.

Maggie
used a conveniently placed magazine to fan her face.

Royal
and Chris were deep in animated conversation when Maggie’s tongue loosened. “He’s
spectacular.”

Chris
turned his head and winked at her. Maggie fanned faster.

“And
like Royal, his hearing is exemplary,” I muttered drily.

What
did Chris look like to Maggie? I only see Gelpha as they truly are. I know how
Royal appears to a regular person’s eyes because his photo once hung on Clarion
PD’s Homicide Department wall with the other detectives and senior officers.

Chris
and Royal came back to us with Chris in the lead. Chris’ easy demeanor had disappeared,
his face taut and voice heavy. “You might have called me about Tiff.”

Royal
closed his eyes. “I did not think of it.”

“You
did not think of me,” Chris said icily.

Royal’s
eyes came open, darker, cooler. “No I did not. You were the furthest thing from
my mind.”

“
Humph.”
Chris turned a leisurely circle and spoke in a flat voice. “Tiff’s ghost is
here? I see.”

“Do
your thing, Maggie,” I told her. She nodded and closed her eyes.

“You
can bet your bottom dollar I am,” I told Plowman. “And don’t you dare come on
to Maggie or you’ll answer to me.”

Maggie’s
blush had not entirely faded and now spread to cover her face again.

Chris
stared at Maggie. “She does sound like Tiff.” He smiled, the glint of pointed
teeth behind his lips. “Who is hardly in a condition to wreak retribution.”

“Maybe
I’ll haunt you for the rest of your days.”

He
sat on the nearest seat. “I would
adore
it.” He exaggerated a sigh and
toyed with a strand of silky hair. “Sadly, as I can neither see nor hear Tiff
without this delightful young lady’s assistance, I doubt she can haunt me.”

“Can
we get this heap in the air?” Royal cut in impatiently.

This
heap was a Gulfstream G65OER, one of the priciest jets available. The interior
of cream leather sofas and armchairs, cream carpet, gray tables and stations
for various purposes was opulent.

Royal’s
abruptness didn’t faze Chris. “Certainly” He angled to glance at the front of
the cabin.

A
woman came through the end door as if magically summoned. Wearing a black suit
with a tight knee-length skirt, a crisp white shirt and black high heels, her short
shining black hair touched her shoulders. Pencil thin black brows framed wide
gray eyes in a square face.

She
smiled and dipped her head as Chris said, “Mercedes, please tell the pilot
we’re ready for takeoff.”

He
looked our way. “Mercedes is your attendant for this flight.”

Mercedes
spoke with a gentle Southern accent. “It will be my pleasure.” With another smile,
she returned through the door. She passed a small bathroom on the left and
stepped into the cockpit beyond.

She
returned in a few seconds. “We’re ready for takeoff. Please take your seats and
fasten your seat belts.”

Royal
and Chris took armchairs facing Maggie. Mercedes sat on a smaller chair next to
the bathroom.

“Well
now, old chap, this is an extraordinary situation you have gotten yourself
into. Are you sure Dagka Shan is below?” Chris tweaked his chin with thumb and
forefinger. “Are you sure there
is
a below?”

Royal
hunched his shoulders. “No, but we have searched the world and found no trace
of the Cousins. The Gates are closed. We would have felt their opening and we
have not so the Cousins have not attempted to enter Bel-Athaer. What else is
left for them?”

“I
reluctantly agree we should look into it, though logic tells me otherwise.
Downside is a myth, Royal.”

Royal
didn’t reply. Chris sank his pointed teeth in his lower lip. “I wonder if the other
Cousins are involved.”

“I
hope not, for then we will have to deal with all of them.”

“When
he is Dagka Shan,
one
is more than enough.”

I
heard the pilot talking to the flight controller as the jet began to taxi,
Royal and Chris speaking quietly, otherwise the long cabin was silent. I wished
I could relax on one of those leather seats and have Mercedes bring me a drink.

We
were in the air minutes later. Unlike other planes I have flown in, the jet was
quiet, the engines heard as a low hum through the fuselage. Once it leveled off
and Mercedes announced everyone could unbuckle their seat belt, Royal rose and
looked at Maggie.

Head
on her backpack, she had fallen asleep.

Royal
went to her. “I need to speak to Tiff.”

Chris
got in his way. “Let the poor girl sleep.”

“I
did not bring her to sleep.”

“Easy,
Royal. Didn’t you notice her exhaustion when you boarded?”

Hands
fisted, lips compressed, Royal twisted away. His attitude was so unlike him, it
hurt me to see.

Chris
bent to unbuckle Maggie’s seat belt, eased her down and lifted her legs so she lay
along the sofa. Mercedes brought a pillow and Chris swapped it and the backpack
with remarkable sleight of hand. Maggie’s eyelids fluttered. With a small sigh,
she burrowed into the pillow.

Chris
seated himself; after a minute Royal joined him. I listened to them talk, their
voices low so not to wake Maggie. Mercedes brought them chilled white wine but
Royal didn’t touch his.

Royal
told Chris he saw Ethan Magnusen’s obituary in the newspaper. “I recalled Ethan
and his father’s reputation as a marksman. I went to the boy’s funeral and
Magnusen was not there. His absence gave weight to my suspicions. I went to the
family home after the funeral and heard the mother and her brother talk after everyone
else left. The mother virtually admitted Avery Magnusen shot Tiff.”

With
his heightened demon senses, Royal can hear conversations from a distance away
and is an expert at concealment. He loitered outside the house when Mel and I prowled
inside.

He
went on to say he noticed Maggie’s Mini parked on the street when he left the
house and remembered seeing it outside the cemetery’s east gate. He followed
us, and the rest is history.

Chris
sipped from his glass and carefully placed it on the table between them. He
studied it for a moment before meeting Royal’s eyes. “My friend, I don’t know
how to say this and not insult your intelligence, but are you positive the girl
isn’t a charlatan? I find it hard to believe she’s channeling Tiff, and Tiff is
with us now.” His tone lacked its habitual drawling cynicism. “Her words did
have something of Tiff about them but the girl may have studied her.”

“She
spoke of people and events known only to Tiff and me.” Royal returned Chris’
gaze levelly and spoke with solid insistence. “No one but we two, and now
Maggie, knows what she told me, Chris. No one.”

As
Royal tried to convince Chris, I went to a window and gazed out. The cloudbank
below us looked solid, a vast puffy pillow, as if one could step out on it. If I
went through the fuselage, would I float among the clouds forever?

The
New York City landscape spread beneath us as far as my eye could see. Earlier,
I heard Chris tell Royal he always avoided the hell in JFK, and flying into
Newark International Airport meant taking the Holland Tunnel to lower
Manhattan, and at this time of the evening that route added more than an hour
to the drive. So we made for LaGuardia. Maggie still slept deeply when we landed.
Although the inability to talk to anyone bored me out of my skull, waking her seemed
a shame.

We
waited more than half an hour for a gate to come available. Ever the gentleman,
Chris gently shook Maggie’s shoulder, a glass of ice water in his other hand.

“Wha
. . . ?” Maggie pushed up with one hand and slumped on the sofa’s back. She
wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Are we there?”

“Here,
my pretty.” Chris offered the glass.

Maggie
didn’t take her eyes off him as she took the glass and sipped. She handed it
back, and conscious of her rumpled appearance, raked her fingers through her
short teal-colored hair. Chris rose and held his free hand to her, but she
struggled upright unassisted, adjusted her clothes and grabbed the backpack.

Ushered
out by a smiling Mercedes, Royal, Chris and Maggie exited the jet and walked into
LaGuardia’s Marine Air Terminal. From there they trekked to the central terminal.
I lost track of the ramps and corridors we passed through as I clung to
Maggie’s aura, but we entered the airport proper in no time at all.

They
went through the airport as if on greased heels. Airport personnel stood at
every corner, every door, to direct them. I know money talks but I never heard
it jingle so loudly.

Chris
thanked everyone, but Royal strode on as if he didn’t see them. I hated what my
misfortune had done to him. I wanted the Royal I knew, not this stern,
obsessed, inflexible man.

As
always, a host of people waited for disembarking passengers.

“Ah,
there we are.” Chris waved one hand like royalty.

A
man in brown leather jacket and pants held a large sign declaring “PLOWMAN,” in
capital letters.

Chris
made a beeline for the chauffeur. “Our driver.”

Royal
abruptly stopped walking. “Our? Chris, you are not coming with us.”

Slightly
ahead, Chris also stopped, turned and arched a narrow eyebrow. “I think I am,
dear boy.”

“No.
I already bear the weight of guilt for bringing Maggie to satisfy my own
desires, I will not—”

“Excuse
me?” Maggie said with mock indignation. “You might want to rephrase that.”

Royal’s
eyebrows came together in a heavy scowl. “I mean my desire to talk to Tiff.”

Maggie
looked away and spoke beneath her breath. “Oh, relax, will you.”

“He’s
not himself,” I said, and quickly added, “No, don’t answer me!” Loonies who talk
to themselves are not allowed in airports.

Maggie
took a cell phone from her jacket pocket and looked at it as she spoke. “Hey,
Tiff, how you doing?” She fiddled with her ear beneath her hair, as if
adjusting a Bluetooth earpiece.

“Clever.
Wish I’d thought of it.”

“Yeah,”
she said brightly. “I wish I’d thought of it
earlier
.”

The
people buzzing about were strangers to one another and Maggie was another young
person talking on her cell. No one took time out to pause and listen to her
conversation.

I
could talk to Maggie in relative privacy while Royal and Chris argued. “Maggie,”
I said urgently, “you can get a flight out of here. Go home. You shouldn’t have
come.”

She
gave me a smug look. “Yeah, as if that’s gonna happen.”

Stupid
girl.
“Why didn’t you listen to me when I told you about
Dagka Shan? Don’t you understand you’re risking your life?”

She
gave me her shoulder, half turning to Chris and Royal. “With two supermen to protect
me?”

Oblivious
of what she’d walked into, Maggie didn’t know what she was talking about. “They
can’t. When it comes to Shan, nobody can.” I ran the back of my wrist over my
brow. “Last time we went against him, he killed three men and broke Royal’s spine.”