Ghost Key (14 page)

I don’t know squat about brain chemistry. Before I died, I ran a convenience store.

“For Chrissake,” she snapped, and backed up to a chair and sat down. Dominica plunged Maddie into a Snow White sleep so fast that her host never had a chance to fight it. Then she drifted out through Maddie’s chest and spoke with Liam and the others mind to mind.
You’re going into Sam with me, Liam, and I’m going to show you what to do. Then you’re going to teach it to the others. That’s your new assignment. Understood?

Yeah, okay. I get it, you don’t have to scream.

She had never had to explain such things to her tribe in Esperanza. Many of those
brujos
had been as old or nearly as old as she was and understood the human body. She initially learned about human physiology from a surgeon who had hosted her for a year. He never even knew he’d been seized; her purpose with him was simply to learn. Hadn’t any of these ghosts been curious enough to explore the parameters of power in the world of the dead? Until she’d liberated them, hadn’t they ever ventured somewhere other than their pathetic astral planes?

She drifted through the top of Sam’s head and Liam followed her. Within minutes, she had shown him how to speed up the alcohol absorption in Sam’s body and how to conduct a memory wipe correctly, focusing on the hippocampus and prefrontal cortex. Even though memory wasn’t just confined to these two areas of the brain, this wipe would suffice for their purposes. It was possible that Sam might remember bits and pieces of the incident later, but in the long run it wouldn’t matter. Every host they seized was damaged in some way, even Maddie. And the longer she hosted Dominica, the more damaged she would become.

The damage manifested in any number of ways. Sometimes hosts were so broken by
brujo
possession they went mad. Then the virtual metal room became their padded cell for the rest of their existences. Other times, hosts became psychic. Or psychotic. Or sociopathic. Some simply gave up, surrendering completely. Some were compliant and a few entered into a kind of symbiosis with their
brujos.
Those were the best kinds of hosts.

Maddie was not that kind of host.

At times, Dominica felt her hatred and revulsion of all things
brujo,
and on occasion Maddie dropped her guard and Dominica could dip into her memories. That had been more common in the early days of their relationship. Now, her guard seemed to be up most of the time. It was difficult for Dominica to read her at all.

Will you be able to teach these techniques to others, Liam?

Absolutely. It’s easy. The—

Loud, insistent knocking at the door startled all of them.
Joe, see who it is and get rid of them.

As he moved to the door, Dominica drifted out of Sam and slipped back into Maddie, waking her, animating her, and urged her to follow Joe. Since his host was the owner of the hotel, it was logical that he should deal with customer complaints, employee problems, anything related to the functioning of the business. Maddie was the front desk lady, the public relations person who always greeted customers with a quick, engaging smile, directed them to restaurants, rentals of kayaks, canoes, electric carts, and handed out maps, bottled water, and whatever else was requested. When necessary, as it was earlier tonight, she helped bartend and waitress.

Joe opened the door. “May I help you, sir?”

“Uh, yes. I’m the coordinator of the group that pulled in earlier today? From Georgia? Some of our passengers are quite concerned about what happened earlier. I’d like to speak to the management.”

Dominica suddenly didn’t trust Joe to handle this particular problem, so she swept past him, her hand extended. “Hi, I’m Maddie. I’d be glad to answer any questions you have.” Dominica stepped outside with him, shutting the door behind her. She touched the man’s arm, walking him over to the desk. “What’s your concern, sir?”

His prissy mouth pursed, and he poked at his black frame glasses, pushing them farther up the bridge of his nose. “Well, we’re a family group, as you know, and, quite frankly, some of the parents are concerned about the rape that occurred earlier.”

“It wasn’t a rape,” Dominica said. “A customer had way too much to drink and walked into the women’s restroom by mistake.”

His eyes widened. “Ah, okay. That explains why the police didn’t show up. I’ll let the parents know. They were talking about checking into another hotel.”

“Well, if they’d like to do so, we’d be glad to refund their money. And we do apologize for the worry that incident caused.”

“Thanks very much.”

He walked off toward the dining room and Dominica hurried back to the room where the others were. “Okay, let’s get back to work, people. Whit, may I speak to you for a moment?”

When the others had left, she gestured toward Sam. “Someone should drive him home. Then I want Kate Davis found. Joe’s host needs to apologize to her. He and Gogh frightened her.”

“Why not just seize her? She’s a goddamn pain in the ass. And it would be easier for her and Gogh to get along then.”

“Find me the right ghost and we’ll do it. A very strong-willed ghost. Like you.”

“You’re the only other
brujo
as strong-willed as I am, Nica.”

He leaned toward her then, to kiss her, and suddenly Maddie seized enough control of her body to pull back, to jerk her arms upward. Dominica tightened her control on Maddie before she could shout out loud, but she screamed in her mind.
You let that fucker kiss me and I’ll fight you so hard you’ll be forced to bleed me out in front of a bunch of your kind.

“Shut up,” Dominica hissed, and was horrified when Maddie’s body started twitching, jerking, her limbs moving in every direction, as though she were in the midst of an epileptic fit.

Alarmed, Whit moved toward her. “Nica, what is it?”

“She’s … fighting me.”

Dominica slammed her virtual fist into Maddie’s pain centers, into a knot of nerves, and she fell to her knees, sobbing, body shuddering, foam filling the corners of her mouth, spilling down her chin. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and she went still. She had passed out. Dominica forced her into consciousness, made her sit up, and looked at Whit.

“It’s over,” she said quietly. “You and I can’t do anything when I’m using her as a host. Find the right ghost for Kate. And one for her son.” And for that strange hawk of theirs, she thought, but didn’t say it. The hawk disturbed her and she didn’t know why. “And let’s step up the seizure program, Whit. Tomorrow, we seize the county coroner in Gainesville and get him out here to the island. And we seize a few state cops, the ones who drop by the bar when they’re off duty. Let’s up the ante. Ten to fifteen hosts seized daily.”

Whit winked, aimed his index finger at her as though it were a gun. “I’m on it,” he said, and strode quickly from the room.

Dominica sat there on the floor for a few moments, hating Wayra and all the others who had chased her from the mountains of Ecuador to this flat, strange spit of land on the Gulf of Mexico. But right now, she felt certain she was winning, and that was more important than her hatred, her need for revenge. It was all that mattered.

March 15–16

Seven

Even at seven in the morning, the Island Marina offered zero privacy, Kate thought. It stood at the end of Dock Street, the tourist zone, and faced a tremendous parking lot that would fill steadily all day. On the far side of the lot were two more docks where surplus tourist boats were tied up. Across the street was a place that rented electric carts. And it was all exactly what she craved right now, the company of humanity in all of its myriad forms.

Her houseboat,
Someday,
was now docked in slip 13 and bobbed in the early morning swells. Powered by a single Mercruiser 228 horsepower engine, it was thirty-six feet long, with an inside cabin large enough for her and Rocky to live here comfortably. They had sectioned it off so they each had a small bedroom, enough space to give them some privacy. With the open upper deck, and the front and rear decks, they rarely got in each other’s way.

At the moment, Kate sat on the back deck, sipping coffee, and tried to piece together everything that had happened yesterday. But whenever she thought about it, she was suddenly back in the restroom, fighting off Sam. Or she was facing Rich as he told her there was no need to call the cops, that she shouldn’t make waves. She wasn’t sure where to go from here, where to turn, what to do. The only thing she felt certain about was that she would not be returning to the hotel to bartend. It frightened her to even consider how she would make ends meet without her income and tips from the hotel.

She stared out across the water, mulling over her few options: draw money from Rocky’s car fund, beg Annie for more hours at the café, or look for another part-time job. None of these options looked promising.

Kate watched the dozens of sailboats and fishing vessels dotting the expanse of water off to her right. A few noisy Jet Skis sped by, headed for the Old Fennimore Mill condos, a dozen three-story buildings smack on the salt marsh. Tourists, she thought. They were the only ones who used Jet Skis around here. Several colorful kayaks waited on the skinny, sunlit sand that was the public beach. The island playground was empty at this hour. Pretty soon, the guy who rented out the slips would show up for work, see the houseboat, and stop by to be paid, a week in advance. He would give her a discount because she discounted his drinks every time he came into the hotel bar. She wasn’t worried about that. What worried her was everything else.

Suppose the slip guy was afflicted in the same way as Rich? Bean? Marion? Sam? The chief of police? Cedar Key was so small that it wouldn’t take Rich too long to check the various marinas. What would she say to him if he appeared?

Kate rubbed her dry, aching eyes and wished she had gotten a good night’s sleep. But by the time she’d finally crashed, Rocky had gone to bed, the dog was curled up in a ball on the back deck, the hawk had flown off somewhere, and she felt severed from her old life, adrift, directionless. She had gotten up at five to watch the sun rise and, by then, the hawk still hadn’t returned, the dog was asleep in the kitchen, and Rocky slept on. Alone but not alone. It seemed to be the story of her life.

She walked out to the front deck and watched the trucks pulling into the marina parking lot, all of them hauling boats. Fishermen always got started early. A couple of the guys waved at her, locals she knew from the bar who hadn’t been coming around much since the weirdness had started. Then a spiffy new black truck swung to a stop in front of her houseboat and Fritz Small, Zee’s son, hopped out, a tall, lanky young man with tattooed arms. He looked like a redneck but had graduated with honors from Brown a couple of years ago. His wife, Diane, was with him. She was in graduate school in Gainesville.

Fritz waved and called out, “Morning, Kate.”

“Hey, Fritz, Diane. What brings you guys into town so early?”

“The bass are running,” Fritz said. “I, uh, just wanted to stop by and let you know that Dad will be dropping in to see you. He’s completely lost his mind, so don’t believe a word of what he says, Kate.”

“Lost his mind? You mean, about this end-time stuff?”

Diane rolled her eyes and curled her long, dark hair around her hand, then flicked it over her shoulder. “This goes well beyond the end-time. He heard about what happened to you last night, with Sam Dorset, and he’s going to tell you his crazy theories.”

“Word sure gets around this island pretty fast,” Kate remarked. “What’s his theory?”

“It’s total bullshit.” Fritz tugged his baseball cap down lower over his forehead. “Just take it with a grain of salt.” He leaned forward and patted her arm. “And take care, hear?”

And just like that, he and Diane hopped back into their truck and drove out of the lot. Kate stood there for a moment, frowning, sipping from her mug of coffee, then retreated to the back deck, not sure what to think. Less than half an hour later, she heard someone calling her name, got up again and moved to the side of the houseboat, where she could see the old man at the front. “Zee?”

“Who else would come calling with a bowl of hot grits and scrambled eggs, two forks, and a bottle of moonshine?” He patted the soft cooler slung over his shoulder, laughed, and came on board.

His stride seemed markedly slower than she remembered, his shoulders more hunched, his gray hair grayer, the pack on his back as prominent as a tumor. But he clutched the case that held his prized Stradivarius and the mirth in his rheumy blue eyes hadn’t changed one iota. Kate hugged him hello, their mutual history a third presence that mitigated whatever differences they might have.

“Good to see you, Zee.”

“You, too, hon.”

As she stepped back from him, she felt certain that among all the people she knew on Cedar Key, Zee hadn’t changed. The evil hadn’t claimed him. How could it? It would have to find him first. He rarely ventured away from his wooded camp on the other side of the island.

Kate pulled another chair up to the table and Zee plopped his thin body into it. He set his containers on the table, placed the Stradivarius case carefully on the floor next to his chair. “Can I get you some coffee? Juice? Toast?” she asked.

“All of the above would be magnificent, thanks.”

“Coffee black, straight up? Right?”

“You got it. And I’ll add a splash of moonshine.”

“And honey rather than jelly on the toast.”

“Ah, Kate, you have your old man’s memory.”

Kate ducked inside the houseboat for plates, napkins, coffee, and popped a couple of slices of her homemade date bread into the toaster. When she rejoined Zee on the back deck, he had opened his containers of food and his moonshine, and stood near the railing, the gorgeous violin tucked under his chin, bow poised.

“Got yourself a favorite tune, hon?”

“Charlie Daniels. ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia.’”

“Perfect choice.”