Her voice flat, she said: “I see you, Larry.”
Larry peeked out from under his arm. Slowly, he lowered his hands and straightened up. He put on a smile. Spread his arms out.
“Hey baby,” he said.
Rachel swung the pistol around. Pointed right at Larry’s face. The gun barked twice.
The shots echoed down the hill.
Hilario eased over to look.
There were two bullet holes in the seat behind the ghost of Larry. Who, of course, was unharmed.
Physically, at least.
The ghost’s face was scrunched up in terror. His hands up in front of him.
When he realized he wasn’t any deader than he already was, Larry lowered his hands and straightened back up. His expression of terror turned to anger.
“What the hell?” he said.
Rachel’s eyes were flat above an expressionless face. “Just wanted to make sure you were actually dead,” she said.
Larry tried to lunge out of the van at her. But whatever force held him there just snapped him back. He shook a finger at her.
“I told you!” he shouted, “She murdered me! I knew it!”
Hilario moved to take the (thankfully non-talkative gun) from Rachel’s hand. She jerked it away and shoved it in the back of her jeans.
Oh dear.
He sent a beseeching look to Detective Marco. Who gave a tiny shrug. What’re you going to do?
Pooper-doodles.
“I didn’t kill you,” she said, “You stupid bastard.”
Her eyes glistened. Her hands trembled.
It wasn’t lack of expression on her face. It was her, using all her willpower to not break down at the sight of her dead ex-husband’s spirit.
A man she still loved.
SIXTEEN
There were those among the normal world who had the ability to touch the unseen world. Most of these people had only the tiniest sliver of the unseen world’s power. The power of foreboding at an impending event. A touch of premonition. Just the fuzziest of abilities.
Or maybe some of them had an uncanny knack to read people. To almost literally know what a person was thinking. An ability that went beyond just reading body language.
There were even those who had the power to nudge small objets with the power of thought alone. Mentally push a paperclip a fraction of an inch.
Such people were of no interest to the coven.
The coven was only interested in those they called talents.
Normal people whose body remained firmly in the normal world. But their soul extended invisibly into the unseen world.
And drew the power of the unseen world into the normal world.
These people were conduits of power.
And extremely dangerous, depending on the abilities that manifested within them.
Just as with wizards and the unseen world itself, there were layers and levels of talents. Most were relatively harmless, and, as the coven identified them, they measured the talent’s power and simply monitored them.
The upper levels became more…interesting to the coven.
And the more interesting the talent became, the more likely it was the coven would act to contain these individuals.
And utilize them.
How much of a talent was Rachel?
Hilario clenched his white gloved fingers around the van’s steering wheel and contemplated the question.
The van rocked down the hill. Rolling steadily away from Rachel and Larry’s house. Larry’s ghost sat beside him. Staring ahead through the windshield in stoney, tight lipped silence. The lights of the city twinkled ahead of them. The crescent of moon was setting behind the distant mountains, leaving Korbahn Bay flat and as black as an abyss.
Hilario glanced at the rear view mirror. The blocky Detective Marco sat glum-faced on the floor. A little further back, Mrs. Larry–Rachel, sat on Hilario’s sturdy pull-out stool in front of his compact makeup station.
Her eyes were on the seat Larry’s ghost occupied. Her expression unreadable.
What a joyful bunch.
Not.
Detective Marco’s musky cologne was enough to make Hilario’s eyes water. He rolled the window down a bit more. Chill night air plucked at his fuzzy purple wig. It felt good, running over his hot, grease painted face. His shoulders twitched. His chest felt tight. His empty stomach twisted and sent an acidy burp up his esophagus. Which he let silently out of the corner of his mouth.
Too many people in his van. People and spirits.
He wasn’t used to any people in the van. Normally it was his mobile refuge from the din of humanity. Another layer of armor.
But now they were inside his armor.
For a brief moment Rachel had gotten under nearly all his layers of armor. Careless of him.
But he had never suspected she was a talent.
The next logical question was: did the coven know about her?
It seemed unlikely. His coven boss had shown him all the known talents within the city. Part of his job was to discretely monitor a few of them. He had been given their psychic signatures. His mind was attuned to them in such a way a mental alarm would go off in his head if one of those talents had a power spike. A sure sign they were using their abilities in a significant way.
So far it had been a blissfully boring assignment. Well, except for that unfortunate incident with the Faber twins.
But that had hardly been his fault.
Or maybe it had. Somehow it seemed everything ended up being his fault.
He cleared his throat. Glanced in the review mirror at Rachel. Her eyes were fixed forward.
“So, Rachel,” he said, “I had no idea you were a talent. Are you known?”
She didn’t answer. She continued to stare in chilly silence at Larry’s seat.
Detective Marco took the bait, though.
“What the fuck are you talking about, clown?” he said, “What does talent and known mean?”
Hilario glanced again at Rachel. In the dim light from the van’s instrument panel, it was hard to tell if her expression shifted. She didn’t
