Once we were in my office, basically a converted bedroom, I called out to Bobby.
Here, here, here. Baaaaaad people. No trading. Dead cat, dead cat, dead cat.
“Stop.” In a softer tone, I added, “Please. Sorry, Bobby, I get it now.” I sighed. There went any hope that he’d been confused earlier. “Bobby says that trading with the kidnappers is a bad idea. That they’re bad people.” I ran a hand through my hair. “He’s quite persistent in his belief that a trade would result in Clarence’s death.”
Sylvie paled and then dropped down into my desk chair with a solid thud. “Does he say why he thinks that?”
Killers. Kill Lilac.
“No, Bobby, they didn’t kill Lilac. She’s here.” I pointed to her, and she waved to a space near the window.
Kill Lilac. Bad people. Lilac nice.
When I recalled that Bobby didn’t have a great grasp of tense, I got his point. “I see. They would have killed her. They tried to kill her.”
Bobby didn’t argue, just repeated that they were bad people. And… Kill Bobby.
“Bobby, are telling me you remember who killed you? That these people, the ones who hurt Lilac and took Clarence, that they killed you?”
Kill Bobby. Kill Bobby. Kill Bobby. And then he wailed and his chant changed. Kill Sylvie. Kill Sylvie. Kill cat. And each time he repeated “kill,” he grew more agitated.
“Bobby—” Sylvie’s breath caught, and she had to start again. Her eyes shiny with emotion, she said, “Do you know where Clarence is? If these people might hurt him, we have to go and get him. Make sure he’s safe.”
Don’t know. And he wailed, a mournful, horrible sound.
“Um, he says he doesn’t know, and he’s pretty torn up about it,” I said. “He also thinks Sylvie and Clarence are in danger.” Then the obvious answer fell on me like an anvil. “Damn. Ginny. Ginny would know. Maybe not where he is, but if the kidnappers grabbed Clarence here in the neighborhood, I guarantee she’d know who did it.” I whacked the wall in frustration. It made my palm hurt, but it also made me feel better. “I’m an idiot.”
“Okay, for the sake of expediency, we’ll agree you’re a total numbskull.” Lilac moved to meet my eyes. “But tell us who Ginny is and how she can help.”
Figuring discretion was key, I said, “Another ghost who’s grounded in the area. She’s more cognitively intact than Bobby. Sorry, Bobby.”
Bobby started to moan and wail again. This must be what it sounded like when ghosts cried. It made my heart hurt and my stomach churn.
“It’s going to be fine, Bobby. We’re going to sort this out. We’ll get Clarence back and keep Sylvie safe.”
Kill Clarence. Kill Sylvie.
“What’s he saying?” Sylvie looked fragile and anxious, a disconcerting sight in a woman who’d seemed more like a bold, brightly colored piece of stoneware than translucent porcelain.
“He’s worried.” I turned my attention to the spot near the window, feeling foolish for addressing a blank wall. “No, Bobby, that won’t happen. I promise to do everything I can to keep Sylvie and Clarence safe.”
The anguished, ghostly sounds stopped. Since I doubted my assertions, however confidently uttered, had comforted him, I suspected he was gone. “Lilac?”
She shook her head. “Gone. So far as I can tell.”
“Tell me you’ve managed to retrieve something useful from the ghost.” Tamara stood in the doorway. She exuded that unsettled, out-of-harmony feeling that I’d occasionally felt from her otherwise very serene presence.
“No luck scrying Clarence’s location?” I asked.
She motioned for us to follow her back into the kitchen. “It’s possible he’s here in the neighborhood. I can’t see much here or in any of the other supernatural hot spots in Austin.” Approaching the table, she indicated several places on the map that were shaded a light gray. “There’s simply too much interference. That’s also why I have trip wires set up for certain things here—like the trespass alarm that was tripped at Sylvie’s.”
“We live in a supernatural hot spot?” My left eye started to twitch.
“Why do you think you were drawn here? And me, and Hector—have you introduced yourself to Hector yet?”
I shook my head. Because no, I hadn’t introduced myself to the mysterious Hector, what with the complete absence of any free time since I’d learned of his existence. And no, I didn’t think I’d moved here because it was a supernatural hot spot. Just the opposite. I’d moved here because I thought it was a nice, quiet street.
“I’m sure there are others, but they haven’t been as neighborly as Hector,” Tamara said.
“Hector . . .” Sylvie pursed her lips as she thought. “I know, I met him on Monday! Right after the explosion. He was the large black man with the unusual hazel eyes. He was lovely, so kind. He offered to build a new shed for me if I bought the supplies. But he was just there for a moment and then gone again.”
“He took one look at me and retreated.” Or so it had appeared to me at the time.
“It’s the daylight,” Tamara said. “It puts him in a terrible mood. He’s not usually out and about until later. Hector’s more of a night owl.” Tamara pulled out a scrap of paper and printed a number on it. She pushed the little scrap closer to Sylvie. “Call him when you’re ready. He wouldn’t offer if he didn’t mean it, and he’ll create a beautiful building for you. One that will be much harder to blow up.”
And now my curiosity concerning the mysterious Hector had trebled.
“And we’re sure this Hector, whoever he is”—whatever he was—“isn’t involved?” I didn’t think it appropriate to bring up the bombing again, but if Tamara was capable of blowing up a shed, what were all these other supernaturals who were hanging around in my “quiet” neighborhood capable of?
“No. Impossible.” Tamara’s implacable tone had me half convinced, but there was clearly something supernatural going on with the man. If he was a man. “Although if we don’t come up with a
