Out of Body (8 page)

“No,” she said.

“Okay.”

He walked on and she caught up this time.

“You don’t know anything about me, but what I’ve told you,” he said. “I’m going to give you my card and I’d appreciate it if you’d do some legwork to find out what my reputation is. I’m pretty boring so it won’t take long.”

She doubted if he was boring at all—ever.

“He’s not,”
Sykes said.
“He’s complicated and I think he could be dangerous. But I don’t think he’s a threat to you.”

“You’re pushing it,”
Marley said.
“And you’re breaking the rules. I didn’t invite you to read me.”

“Uncle Pascal called me in. We wanted you found, physically and mentally. He can’t do that, but I can.”

She crossed her arms.
“Aha. You guided Uncle Pascal to me. That explains everything. I couldn’t figure out how he managed to find me.”

“He was very worried about you.”

“So you helped him invade my mind? You’re not supposed to do that.”

“It’s Gray I’m reading now,”
Sykes told her.
“Be careful here. We need to know what his game is.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have a game. Is your guard strong enough?”

“To keep Gray out? What do you think? Watch your own.”

“Are you sure you won’t see me tomorrow?” Gray asked. He ducked his face closer to hers and light from a window glinted in his eyes. “I’m okay, really I am. We need each other.”

“Why?”

“You and I are mixed up in the same thing and it’s nothing good. We may need each other,” he said.

Marley wanted to trust him.

She did need someone’s help, badly, but she couldn’t fool herself that she was not strongly attracted to Gray for other reasons, as well.

“I think I should go to Detective Archer and tell him what Danny said,” she told him, feeling shaky. “The police ought to know Danny and Amber are involved—and that they probably live together. The police said they were having difficulty finding a lot of information on Amber or Liza, didn’t they? Danny said he hasn’t told them anything.”

Gray cleared his throat. “He did say that, but I’ve got to think Archer knows more than he’s going to share with anyone he doesn’t think needs to know. Would you do me a favor? You could do it because I believed what you said and Nat Archer didn’t. Don’t go to Archer about anything for a bit. Come to me. Tell me if you remember something else.”

Looking straight at Sykes, she thought about that.

“Think he’s crooked and trying to get any information you may have before you give it to the police?”
Sykes asked.

“You’re reading my mind,”
she told him neutrally.

“Nah, just a lucky guess.”

“I know roughly where Danny lives,” Gray said. “What can he say if I just stop by to say hello?”

“Get lost, I should think,” she said. “He spelled out that he doesn’t want interference. He wants Amber back, period.”

Gray inclined his head. He watched her too intently for comfort, Marley decided. Her breath shortened. “The detective won’t like it if you get between him and his investigation,” she said.

“Maybe he won’t. But he laughed at you, remember. Maybe that’s why you could be on my side.”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

They reached Royal Street and Marley tried to pick up the pace, but Gray continued to measure his strides. After a few seconds he said, “I don’t want to get there too quickly.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “You just don’t mince words. Because I want to keep you with me as long as possible,” he said.

She looked at him sharply.

He looked back and she could have sworn he was as surprised by what he’d said as she was.

“Because we haven’t decided anything,” he added, but she wasn’t sure she believed the excuse.

“There isn’t anything to decide,” she said. “I don’t make rash decisions.”
Of course not, only most of the time
.

“This is it,” he said.

They were in front of J. Clive Millet, Antiques. Beside the left-hand shop window a wrought-iron gate, with a griffon at its center, led to the Court of Angels at the back of the shop. Marley would rather Gray didn’t know exactly how to reach the family’s homes.

She had the keys to the shop and decided to use them. If she had to, raising the alarm wouldn’t be hard once she opened the front door. Not that any of that mattered, since Sykes was with her.

“We didn’t meet under good circumstances,” Gray said. “I wish we had.”

“Why?”

“Damn!” He looked skyward. “Sorry. But can’t you say anything but ‘why’? It’s annoying.”

“I can say other things,” she told him.

He put his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Can I come by and take you for dinner tomorrow? Around seven?”

“Sykes?”

Sykes didn’t answer and she looked around, but couldn’t find him. “Damn,” she said sharply.

Gray rubbed his palms up and down her arms and laughed. “You, too, huh? At a loss for useful words? Just say yes.”

“I’d rather think about it.”

“Yes, of course you would. You do that and call me.”

“Okay,” she said, anxious to get away.

Sykes had left her in her hour—her moment of need.

“Good night, Gray.”

“Night,” he said. “How will you phone me?”

She frowned.

“You don’t know my number. It doesn’t really matter. I’ll call you.”

Marley turned to unlock the shop door. She felt shivery and not only because she was responding to a very sexual thrill. Real fear climbed her spine. He could follow her into the shop and there would be nothing she could do about it if Sykes had really chosen to take himself off.

“Good night, Marley,” Gray said. “Tomorrow?”

She turned back for a moment. “Maybe.”

He nodded and faced the street to step off the sidewalk. His hands were deep in his pockets. Every move he made flowed. He had a powerful grace, like a big cat.

The instant before she looked away, Gray glanced at her over his shoulder.

That look wasn’t soft or humorous anymore. Just for a flicker of time he stared, and Marley went into the shop and slammed the door. She shot home the locks.

It was the light, it had to be. But then, it had been the light the first time she saw hardness in those eyes that looked black, not whiskey-colored anymore. The light had turned his face into a facsimile of a black-and-white photograph. What the living face amazingly concealed, a negative image revealed: a thin, white scar passed through Gray’s mouth, sliced upward beside his nose and across his cheek.

M
arley didn’t want to wake up.

Between night and dawn, sleep and the drifting time, Marley’s old companions waited: the Ushers.

They had come for her. They wanted her to travel again.

Should she resist—or give in and go where they took her?

They were there again, beckoning.

In her dream-state, Marley felt herself drawn back to something that had happened to her more than two weeks earlier. She saw her feet aimlessly wandering along a sidewalk as they had that day. The colored layers of her skirt floated, pointed hems curling about her ankles and flashes of gold—from the sandals she wore—gleaming through gauze
.

A woman called out, “Marley Millet?”

Marley didn’t recognized the voice, but it was kind.

“Marley Millet, you came! I’ve been expecting you. This way, my friend, follow me.” A welcome in every word. “I’ve waited for you and now you’re here. You’re going to help me do something that must be done. Come and see what I have for you.”

“Yes,” the Ushers whispered to Marley when she hesitated, whispered in sounds like soft smiles. “Come on, Marley.”

An alley and an archway opened before her and once through the arch, she entered a small shop. She twirled around and felt her skirts fly wide, then wind tight. Glass
cases filled with toys. Dolls. All around her beautiful, wide-eyed dolls, their ringlets shining, dressed in silks and satins.

Teddy bears and stuffed horses, foxes, lambs, piglets, kittens and puppies, an elephant, an ostrich, a giraffe, a parrot—they lined two rows of shelves, one above the other, all around the shop.

Marley turned and turned.

A baby buggy of palest cane stood there, and there a cart with woolen chickens inside, and there three penguins with nodding heads. They must be on springs—those heads.

Wooden blocks, a jack-in-the-box, bags of jacks and decks of cards, marbles, bubble mix, balloons, soldier sentries in their fort, fairy wands, scarlet capes, tiny cars and trucks and trains stood everywhere in piles, on hooks, in open drawers.

“My name is Belle,” the woman said. “Take this. It’s not big, but it’s heavy, so be careful not to break it.”

Marley stretched out her arms and Belle placed there a small, wooden house lacquered a brilliant red, with the silhouettes of the people inside showing through closed blinds at the windows.

“Do not tell anyone you’ve got this,” said Belle. “If you do, others will try to take it from you. Don’t let them. Protect the house from friends and enemies. Whatever it takes, keep it until I can return for it. Keep it and use it well.”

Almost afraid to do so, Marley looked at Belle. She was slim, quite tall, and shapely in a gray leotard, tights to her calves, and a glossy skirt the same color that reached her knees. Brushed straight from her face, Belle’s black hair, knotted at the nape of her neck, glistened, just as her dark eyes glistened. An exotic creature captured in a place where she didn’t belong.

“You’re a dancer,” Marley said
.

“Oh, yes. Thank you for noticing.” She pointed the toes on one of her bare feet and traced on the floor. Lines formed in the dust there, shapes. “The house will be your way, but you will need courage. You have courage. Use it.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Go there.”

“Where?”

“You’ll find it if you follow,” Belle said. “I know there is a force for evil that needs the little house to complete his plans. We won’t allow it, you and I.”

Marley leaned the house against her. “Why me?” she said.

“Because you’re like me.” The woman smiled and appeared younger and even more beautiful. “You’re a traveler, too.”

“Can you tell me more about—”

“The beast has come home. You must stop the killing.”

Marley woke up. Twisted in her sheets, she flung out her arms and tried to breathe slowly. Parts of the dream replayed, vivid, full color and too real.

That woman’s last words echoed:
“The beast has come home. You must stop the killing.”

It was a dream, not reality. Once she calmed down it would all fade.

A rough, wet tongue, Winnie’s, made rapid swipes over Marley’s face. A solid dog on your chest, even a not very large dog, could make it even harder to breath—and it hurt.

“Off,” Marley panted, rolling to her side and grabbing anxious Winnie against her at the same time. “I’m all right, Win. Relax.”

It wasn’t all a dream—or nightmare, but an echo of something Marley had already experienced.
It brought back the day when that woman she’d never seen before really had given her the red house. What had been different was what she had heard said this time.

And the house was on her workbench to prove everything.

Marley kicked her feet and legs free of the sheets and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed. A cotton nightie stuck to her clammy skin.

She had been on Dumain Street, walking back from de
livering a package for Uncle Pascal and wishing her two sisters would call from London. Dawdling along, she heard someone call her name.

A shop bell had jangled and she’d noticed the tall woman beckoning her toward an alley. Unafraid, Marley had allowed herself to be led.

Since that puzzling day, Marley had returned to Dumain Street several times to search for the shop. There was no alley, archway or toy shop to be found. And there was certainly no elegant, barefoot woman dressed for ballet practice and calling herself Belle.

Marley gritted her teeth and got up to open her goody cupboard. Like traveling, intense dreams and nightmares made her hungry.

In Marley’s sleep just a little earlier, that woman had told her to stop the killing.

Did it mean she should go back through the tunnel now, and quickly?

At least she had to get to the workroom and find out if the portal was open.

Snacking would have to wait. Marley fished out a manageably sized chew for Winnie before slamming the cupboard door. Winnie’s favorite big plastic bone would be a liability when Marley was trying to move quietly. She pushed her feet into flip-flops, grabbed up her robe and pulled it on while she hurried from the flat, scooping up her keys as she went. Winnie gamboled along behind, her snorting made louder by the rawhide between her teeth.

Marley wasn’t sure of the time, but the sky had lightened past early dawn and she could see minuscule droplets of moisture whirling in the beam from an outside wall lamp. This would be another hot and humid day. The beat of music from a radio, or a band in a loft somewhere, pulsed under her skin.

Sykes would dance down the steps, but he was more
sure-footed than Marley. More than once she had slipped on the painted metal treads when they were damp. She was satisfied with letting the music take an edge off the fear that propelled her.

When she reached the courtyard, she raised her chin to see what lights showed in the upper-floor flats. Nothing above the shop, where Uncle Pascal lived, and nothing in Willow’s place, or in Sykes’s, to the right of her own. Not that Sykes was known for using lights much.

None of the lights in Sykes’s most often empty flat had been visible after Gray left and Marley ran to get home. For all she knew, Sykes had gone elsewhere after he had made himself completely invisible to her.

She hurried on, acknowledging the silent angels as she went. They held a mystery she still hoped would become clear to her. Since she’d been a small child, this courtyard had been her favorite place.

Inside the shop, Marley quickly turned off the alarm system.

All of the Millets’ senses were highly developed, but even in the world of paranormal powers, conventional science had its uses.

Utilizing the ambient glow from highly polished surfaces, she dodged quickly between stock displays on the floor and, clinging to the banister, dashed up the flights of stairs to her workshop.

She unlocked the door, let herself and Winnie inside, and bolted them in.

Stacked high all around, her projects obscured any immediate view of the workbench, but looking in that direction, she could see flickering, like green flame, reflected on the ceiling in that direction.

As always, what she did next was her choice. But she wouldn’t discount Belle’s plea yet, just in case.

Winnie cried behind her.

“Quiet,” Marley hissed. “Not another sound or Uncle
Pascal could wake up.” Wake up, come to find her and make it very difficult to continue what she’d started.

She went to stand in front of the bench and stared at the chinoiserie house. Whatever happened, she would not disclose that it had sinister connections.

No wavering tunnel extended from the roof or one of its walls. No urgent whispers begged her to enter. But the leaping glow, a fiery dance of green tongues, turned the ceiling above into a wild reflection. The lightest touch of her left hand on the peeling roof caught at her skin like warm gum.

With each step backward, a funnel, blue, turquoise, whirled to life, pulled bigger and bigger as if it were moldable liquid spun from the very tips of Marley’s fingers.

A bump against her legs caused Marley to glance down. Winnie looked back, her chew still gripped in her teeth. Marley scooped the dog up with her free arm and sat in the old leather chair with her.

Finally the Ushers came, but not to whisper. They babbled, squabbled, their sounds rising and falling, angry and frightened by turns.

They were arguing.

Marley closed her eyes to concentrate and her limbs became heavy. She couldn’t raise her eyelids again.

“We know we should help her to go, but we don’t want to this time. It’s too dangerous.”

She understood what the Ushers were talking about. For the first time they were worried about urging her to travel.

Growing warmer, and even more relaxed, Marley sank back against her chair.

“She mustn’t go. Stop her,”
an Usher said.

A collective, indrawn gasp shocked Marley. She sat very still and listened. The sibilant sounds were there, but in a muttering, fearful chorus. She heard,
“He’s here,”
and looked around, expecting to see someone looming over her.

“It’s dangerous,”
one voice, timid but determined said.

Marley closed her eyes and swallowed hard—and she saw a face, a man of indeterminate years, striking to look at with dark blue eyes and dark hair streaked with gray to his collar.

“Who are you?” she asked aloud.

He appeared to study her closely and then he said, in a clear, deep voice,
“Yes. Belle chose well. I argued it should be a man, but she laughed at me.”
His smile transformed him and his eyes shone.
“Trust your companions to guide and guard you. You do this for the family. There is a lot to do, so be strong.”

Marley tried to respond, but he had gone again.

She had felt good in that man’s company. He was familiar, but she wasn’t completely sure why, except that he reminded her of Sykes, at least a little.

“I’m ready,” she said aloud and firmly.

This time separation happened so quickly she felt herself tear from her body, and once free, she floated at the entrance to the funnel.

The irritated mutters softened to encouragement and she felt herself loosen. Into the opening she swam, and every thought faded, but for what she must do.
“Stop the killing.”
And whatever she did was for the family. She had believed her strange visitor.

Once more, like the aperture of a camera lens, a space opened into another spectrum.

Disorienting sound met her, hammered at her ears, her temples, her whole face. She felt the thump of noises colliding with her body and breaking apart into screams.

Someone cried. A man. The screams were a man’s, too.

What was this place?

Rather than the dirty room she had seen before, a sleeping woman lay, naked and facedown, atop a heap of vivid silk pillows. The pillows cast their own startling light against absolute darkness.

Marley looked around in search of any clue to where she was. There was nothing.

The male cry of anguish sounded again and Marley threw up her hands as if they could shut out the howl. Instead her wrists scraped a cold, spined thing. Red eyes, the black pupils like those of a giant feline, blinked once, then disappeared. All sound retreated and cold calm descended.

Terrified, feverish in her haste to get away, Marley reached to wake up the woman. She would take her away from this place, back to safety.

An abrupt current buoyed Marley and she floated. She couldn’t go without the woman.

This time the heartbeat she heard was her own, the pounding of blood, her own. She wanted to shout that she couldn’t leave yet, not without the other one.

“Come! Please wake up and come!”

Marley’s throat closed with the last word she uttered. Panic forced her to fight against the tide that took her farther away.

Her thrashing arms and legs met sluggish resistance. When she struggled against the tide, it only grew stronger, carried her away—back through whirling blue-green matter to the waiting portal.