Kitty Raises Hell (11 page)

I didn’t want to sit around and wait to see what disaster happened next. “Come on,” I said, pushing myself off his shoulder
to stand up, then tugging on him to get him to his feet. “Let’s go see how Gary’s doing.”

G
ary Janson had a concussion. He hadn’t suffered anything as serious as a skull fracture or bleeding in the brain, but the
length of time he’d spent unconscious had the doctors worried, so they were keeping him in the hospital under observation.
Before we arrived at the hospital, he’d woken up, been aware of his surroundings and of his team gathered around him. But
he didn’t remember what had happened, and he’d seemed confused at some of the doctor’s questions. He hadn’t been able to answer
the classic “How many fingers am I holding up?” for example. Still, the doctor expected him to recover, given time and rest.

The cameras had followed us to the hospital and spent time getting video of the doctor explaining Gary’s injuries. I wanted
to corner the show’s cameramen and ask if they were really wanting to put all this into the show. It seemed sensationalist,
even by my standards.

We found Tina and Jules in a nearby waiting room, sitting hunched in their chairs, looking bereft. Jules had taken off his
glasses to rub his eyes. I hated to break the mood, but I was still under attack, and my restaurant had almost burned down.
I had to find out if Tina’s little experiment had accomplished anything.

“So,” I said, scuffing my feet. “Can I assume the Ouija board just pissed this thing off?”

They looked at me like I’d turned green. Ben had wandered off to read a public health notice hanging on the wall—pretending
like he didn’t know me. Then they sputtered with laughter. Tina held a hand over her mouth and turned red, almost crying from
trying to keep from laughing, and Jules just shook his head.

“Bloody
hell,
” the Brit said. “I have
never
seen anything like that!”

Either this was a lot of pent-up stress getting loose, or I was confused.

“I can’t believe it. When I said it was dangerous I was talking demonic possession. I’ve never had anything like that happen
before,” Tina said, gasping for breath. “We almost
died.
And Gary—oh, my God!”

Stress, I decided. I wondered if I should say something.

“And you—” Jules pointed at his colleague. “What
was
that? What
are
you, some kind of psychic? Medium? Have you been holding out on us?”

Tina stopped laughing. Because Jules reminded us of what had happened right before the fire.

The room went quiet, and Jules stared at her. She stared back, looking like she’d been hit by a truck. Jules’s eyes were wide
with revelation.

I stepped in. “Maybe we should all talk about this over coffee.” I raised my brows hopefully.

The hospital cafeteria had just opened—it was something like five in the morning—so we went there.

Jules, completely sober now after whatever post-traumatic hysteria had gripped him, almost sounded betrayed. “Tina, I’ve never
seen
anybody
work a Ouija board like that.”

“And you can tell what I am just by looking at me,” I said.

Jules again, even more insistent: “What’s your angle on all this? What aren’t you telling us?”

I felt like I had a front-row seat to my own private reality-TV show; too bad the cameras hadn’t followed us here.

They communicated by stares. Jules leaned over the table, demanding an explanation from Tina with his accusing gaze. Tina
turned sullen, like she was a kid who’d just gotten in trouble for something.

“I’ve been doing it since I was a kid,” she said at last, voice soft, all humor gone. “And not just with the board, but with
dowsing, automatic writing, runes, most of the old tricks. It all works. I walk into a house, and I know if it’s haunted or
not because it talks to me. Things talk to me. I sense things. Ghosts, spirits. Whatever.”

The old tricks Tina mentioned—using rods or pen and paper to communicate with the spirit world, reading tea leaves, shapes
in a plume of smoke—they
were
old tricks exactly because they must have worked for someone, at some time. But it wasn’t a science, because the results
weren’t reproducible. The methods worked for some people and not for others, and even those people with talent didn’t have
it all the time. With the Age of Reason and rise of science, what couldn’t be dissected and explained was discredited and
abandoned. Still, the tricks lingered, and thousands of people clung to them, used them—or abused them—because they so desperately
wanted them to work.

What happened when someone like Tina came along? Someone who actually could make the tricks work? And what did that say about
the world?

We stared at her.

“Really,” Jules said flatly.

“Really,” she said, echoing. “I don’t advertise it because of people like you, who assume everyone who picks up a forked stick
or holds a séance is faking it.”

I bet she used her looks and humor, as well, to distract from those moments when she stared out into space, as if listening.
She was the show’s eye candy; she couldn’t
possibly
be its resident psychic.

Paradox PI
had a resident psychic. A real one. I
so
wanted to be the one to break that story.

“So, Tina,” I said, trying to sound encouraging. “I’d love to have you on the show next week to talk about this, how you discovered
this, what it’s been like to live with it—”

“No,” she said. Didn’t even think about it.

“Why does everyone always tell me no like that?” I said. “Am I really that bad?”

Ben patted my hand. “I think it’s the predatorial gleam in your eye when you ask them.”

“What gleam?” I grumbled. Okay, so there might have been a
little
predatorial gleam.

“Gary doesn’t know?” Jules said. “All this time you’ve had this information, this access, and you’ve let us mess around with
our cameras and microphones and infrared monitors and EMF readings?”

“Because even if you and Gary believed me, I have no way of proving what I know. So I keep my mouth shut. So the legitimate
paranormal investigative community will take us seriously, as you’re always saying.”

“Then why reveal yourself now?” he said. “Why give away the secret now?”

“Because this isn’t about the TV show anymore—this thing is dangerous. I thought I could help. That I might be able to do
some good.” She crossed her arms and looked away. I wondered if she regretted revealing herself.

Jules sat back, rubbing his face and staring into space. “God. God.” I worried that something in his brain might have snapped.

“Jules? You okay?” I said.

His smile was sad. He spoke to Tina. “You know, I’m not surprised. I’ve worked so hard, searching for evidence. I’ve tried
to be so thorough. But you’ve always seemed to have this talent. That’s why the show works, not because of my methodology,
but because of your talent. Things just
happen
when you’re around. What I wouldn’t give for an ounce, a microgram, of what you have. To be able to touch it, just a little
bit. I’ve been looking for it my whole life, and I’m as far away from it as ever.”

“Try walking into an old church, and the whole thing just
presses
on you like a weight because there’s so much there,” Tina said. “I hate it, Jules. I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”

And that was how we all grew closer and learned to share in a very special episode of
Paradox PI.

“I hate to interrupt,” I said. “But we’re still not any closer to figuring out what it is that’s after me. Did you get
anything
out of that séance?”

“Besides the fact that there’s some seriously pissed-off mojo floating around you?” Tina said.

“That’s obvious and not helpful,” I said. “Did you sense
anything
?”

“Yes. No.” She furrowed her brow and shook her head. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Well, we know a few things about it,” Jules said. “It’s violent, destructive, and associated with fire. I could do some research.
I’d need to get back to some of my books, contact some people I know in the SPR.”

Tina smiled the smile that had probably helped get her the job on the show. “See, we need you!”

“Huh?” Jules said.

“You were worried that we didn’t need you because you aren’t psychic, but you know way more than the rest of us. I could never
do that kind of research.”

Jules smirked. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

I said, “Tina. You felt this thing, or whatever it is that psychics do. What’s it like?”

Tina shrugged. “Probably nothing you don’t already know about it. Heat. Malice. Fire. Destruction. It’s what ties all this
together, isn’t it?”

My head ached, I was so exhausted. I seemed to remember eating something today, but I couldn’t remember what. And I was scared
to go home. Scared to stay here. Just scared.

“Maybe we should get some sleep,” I said. “Maybe this will seem clearer in the morning.” And maybe pigs would fly.

“It’s noon in Britain,” Jules said. “I’ll make some calls and see if some of my contacts have any information.”

“I’ll go check on Gary,” Tina said.

We parted reluctantly, even though we all needed to sleep, even though no amount of hashing it out over coffee would solve
the problem. But there was safety in numbers. Comfort in the shared experience. We could look each other in the eyes and know
that it really happened, that we weren’t going crazy. We promised to leave our cell phones on and call the minute, the second,
anything weird happened.

W
hen we arrived home, I half expected to see the condo spewing flames and surrounded by fire trucks. But it was quiet.

The best part about having Ben around—rather, one of the best parts—was finding myself in his arms at the end of a really
rough day. Assuming, of course, that arguing with him hadn’t been part of what made the day rough. Usually, though, I could
count on him to hold me and tell me everything was going to be fine. Even if the tone in his voice wasn’t convincing. That
night, he was cold and clinging to me as much as I was clinging to him. Neither of us fell asleep easily, and we woke up far
earlier than we wanted to.

Not able to fight my way back to sleep, I left Ben in bed, pulled on an oversize T-shirt, and wandered to the living room.

My head pounded, and my eyes were caked with grime. My hair smelled like soot and fire.
Fire.
No wonder I felt boiled and limp. I didn’t want to see what New Moon looked like in the daylight. Seeing the damage in detail
would probably break my heart.

I checked my phone. It hadn’t rung, which I took as a good sign.

The first person I called was Shaun. I needed to tell him what had happened before the lunch crew showed up for its shift
and saw the damage firsthand. We needed a plan to get the place repaired and functional.

As the phone rang, I squeezed my eyes shut really tight. I still didn’t want to tell him. Like if I didn’t say the words “New
Moon almost burned down,” I didn’t have to believe it.

Shaun picked up. “Kitty.”

“Hi, Shaun. How are you?”

“I don’t know—how are you?” His voice was coy.

Deep breath. Had to get it out. “Not good. There was an accident at the restaurant last night—”

“I know,” he said. “It was in the paper this morning.”

“What?” I was relieved and chagrined. I didn’t have to explain, but—he was going to yell at me for not calling him last night,
wasn’t he?

But he didn’t. “Is everyone okay?”

“One person’s in the hospital,” I said.

“Shit,” he said. “What are we going to do?”

“Make repairs. Reopen as soon as we can.” We had to continue, onward and upward. What choice did we have?

“Does the fire have anything to do with that thing that went after us the other night?” His voice was numb, like he didn’t
want to believe it had really happened, either, and didn’t want to give voice to the truth.

“Probably,” I said, wincing. “It had the same smell.”

“When’s it going to stop? How are we going to stop it?”

Saying
I don’t know
would have been the truth. But it would also be a sign of weakness. It would be admitting that I was floundering. And I couldn’t
show that kind of weakness and still keep the pack together. I had to be the strong one. If the others lost confidence in
me . . . well, I didn’t want to go there. It didn’t matter if I had any confidence in myself. I just had to convince them
I did.

“I’m working on it, Shaun. I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer than that.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“I will. Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”

He hung up without saying goodbye. I’d make it up to him, I promised myself. I’d make this right.

Next I called Tina for an update on Gary. Jules answered her phone.

“We’re still at the hospital,” he said. “Tina finally conked out, so I’m letting her sleep.”

“How’s Gary?”

“Awake, but groggy. He doesn’t really remember what happened. But he’s going to be okay.”

I repeated my promise to myself: No one was going to die. We’d figure this thing out.

“Any other news on your end?” I said.

“Not yet. I’m waiting to get replies to some of my e-mails and calls. We still need to talk about what we’re doing next. We
could meet this afternoon, if you like.”

“Sounds good.” We agreed on a time and place—the hospital cafeteria—and said our farewells.

I made another call. Grant picked up on the first ring.

“You’re probably getting sick of hearing from me,” I said.

The barest hint of a smile touched his voice. “If I were, I wouldn’t answer the phone.”

Ah, the magic of caller ID. What did we ever do without it? Strangely enough, I was comforted.

“What’s happened?” he said.

“There was a fire.”

I told him, starting with the incident with the van, even including the part about the Ouija board, even though that was a
little embarrassing. I didn’t want to leave anything out in case it turned out to be important. But we’d had enough attacks
now to discern a pattern: heat and fire. Something invisible that struck suddenly and left no trace.