Demon Song

Emma the rose garden? I’m sure Celia and Pili would like a chance to catch up with things on the siren island.”

And just like that, Pili and I were alone. I sat down on the floral tapestry couch cushion Gran had vacated and looked at the small ancient Polynesian woman. “So … Pili. How are you liking retirement?”

She smiled so calmly and gently that my muscles relaxed. “We have no need for small talk, Celia. I know you’re wondering about your grandmother, and that’s understandable. She hasn’t wanted to worry you because she knows you already carry such great burdens of your own. You speak so little of your problems that it makes others reluctant to speak of their troubles with you. Please don’t take that as any sort of criticism. But you must remember that your grandmother has been affected by her minister’s death, the revelation of the death curse, and everything that’s happened to you and to her daughter. And now she’s had to leave the only home she’s known as an adult. She’s needed time to adjust. Time to find a new way of living, just as you have.”

My face felt hot and my stomach was roiling. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t put all that together before. My poor gran!

“I don’t know what to say. Do you think I should cancel my trip and spend some time with her?”

Another soft smile as Pili touched my hand. “Not at all. You need time to heal as well, just as Emily does. I’ve become a bit concerned that she’s attached to Ahn and me so completely in such a short time, which is why I suggested she explore herself a little more … meet new people, do things she’s never done before. She’s very healthy and may outlive many of her peers. To balance the continued loss of friends and family, she needs new friends and new experiences.” A quick pat of her fingers didn’t make me feel much better. “Please don’t worry. I’m working very hard to get her to a place where she’s not spending all her time worrying about you and Lana. To keep her heart light, we must make her mind and hands busy.”

The continued loss of friends and family. Ouch.

14

Emma and Dawna laughed and the three of us simultaneously raised our margarita glasses. I felt a cool swirl brush around us in a ghostly hug. Dawna clinked her glass, first with mine and then with Emma’s on her other side. “To the girls! No boys allowed. Although…” She paused and lowered her tortoiseshell sunglasses to the tip of her nose as one of the staff walked through carrying another tray of lime-topped refreshments. “Pretty boys are always allowed.”

I leaned back with a sigh and stared up at the stained glass and carved wood above the heat lamp for a moment before raising myself on one elbow to look at my three friends lounging next to the shining turquoise pool.

Yeah, Vicki was here, and while we couldn’t see her directly, there was a distinct body mark denting the thick white towel on the otherwise empty-seeming chaise. Emma and Dawna were bronzing under tanning lamps, but I was just as “allergic” to artificial sunlight as I was to the real thing. But a heat lamp is just heat without UV rays and such, and even if I wasn’t particularly cold, I wanted to share in the luxury of the moment. The heat lamp, fourth lounge, and framed mirror for communication with our dead friend had thrown the staff into a little bit of a tizzy, but they’d recovered quickly.

I was done worrying, at least for a weekend. I’d promised Pili I’d do my best to relax while she helped Gran do the same. Then maybe Gran and I could go back to the warm, loving relationship we’d shared for so many years. I looked forward to getting to know Pili better, too. I not only trusted her; I liked her. Finding a new relative who was both wise and wonderful was one of the better side effects of the last few weeks.

The cabana boy saw Dawna flicking her eyes up and down the length of his body and responded in kind. His sly, confident smile was enough to make me roll my eyes and shake my head. If Dawna didn’t get lucky this weekend it would be a miracle. Emma wasn’t above gawking, too, but the last thing I needed was another man in my life. After all, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the ones I already had.

After our drinks had been replaced—I’d sent the cabana boy back to get me an energy shake instead of another alcoholic margarita—I relaxed into the wave of warm air. “So what do you think about the mystery heir thing? Do you agree with me?”

Vicki had been noncommittal about my thought that she’d chosen Mick Murphy because his daughters were younger versions of me and Ivy—and because if Mom had had money to buy off the kidnappers Ivy might still be alive.

“I guess it’s possible,” Dawna said after a few seconds. “But it’s not the sort of thing she normally saw in her visions, right, Vick? If she’d seen something, it would have been the actual kidnapping. Why see a happy family with no trauma?”

Dunno appeared on the mirror that was propped on an easel next to Vicki’s lounge so she didn’t have to get up to write. It was interesting to me that after she’d first died she could only write a word or two. Now she’d often do five or six with ease. Could a ghost get stronger, or had she just learned the trick to it?

“That makes sense, really,” Emma said from the far end. “If she remembered why, she wouldn’t have asked you to investigate.”

“True. But I really think we need to follow the money. That’s a lot of freaking cash. Why not a hundred thousand, or even a million? Why give them a quarter of the estate?”

Yes. About the money showed on the mirror. It was the first acknowledgment that I was on to something. Needs to buy …

“Needs to buy … what?” She’d disappeared. The room got warmer and the heat lamp was abruptly almost too hot. I sat up and looked around, searching for the sparkling cloud. But she was gone. “What’s up? Where’d she go?”

Dawna shrugged and sat up fully, setting her feet on the floor. “Maybe she had an idea. She’ll be back. Anyway, we need to get to the salon. We have a haircut and style in fifteen minutes. Then facials and makeup. Ladies, we are going to rock that debut tonight!”

So true. Who knew the spa would have such an amazing boutique? Absolutely everything fit and looked good on me. That was saying something. “Can you believe the dresses we found? There’d better be cameras there, because I want a picture of us for my album.”

Emma nodded. “Before you were attacked, I wouldn’t have picked silver and blue for you; they would have really washed you out. But you looked amazing in the dressing room. I can’t wait to see you … and me and, well, Dawna, too. This is just what I needed.”

I tried to smile, wanted to because she looked so happy. She used to be that way all the time. Well, not cheerful and bouncy, but content in her own skin. We both were. Before. Now she looked … haunted. And it was my fault. Worse, I didn’t know how to fix it. “I really want you to get what you need, Em. You shouldn’t have to be fighting this.” It was a non sequitur from dresses to a demon attack. I knew that I should keep the tone light, but I couldn’t seem to stop the seriousness and pain that rolled out with the tears that filled my eyes. “It’s my fault that you’re going through this and I hate it. I’d fix it if I could. Eirene was trying to hurt me. You got caught in the middle. That’s not fair.…” I felt my lip trembling.

Her brow furrowed and she stood in a rush, knocking over the small table that held her drink. It crashed to the floor, but neither of us cared. “Oh, Celie! No! It’s not your fault at all.” She raced the few feet between us and enveloped me in a hug. There was a fierceness to her grip that took me by surprise. “I took the job with Eirene. I could have said no. Dad told me to say no—to not leave school.” She pulled back to grab me by the shoulders and stare into my eyes. “This is not yours. And it’s going to be okay. You’ll see. They’re really helping me at Birchwoods.”

Fortunately, Dr. Gwen had agreed with that sentiment. It had taken more than a few minutes to convince her to release Emma for this mini-break, but ultimately Dr. Gwen decided that Em would be best served by doing some “normal” things. Normally, in the first month at Birchwoods it’s lockdown city. Everybody is supposed to wear gray sweats to “level” everyone’s class and status bars. After all, the alcoholic father of a middle-class family who is court-ordered to rehab isn’t the same in the eyes of society as a top-money model with “alcohol dependency.” But at Birchwoods they’re treated the same … and they have to treat each other the same.

Birchwoods is exclusive and pricey and it gets results because of its strict standards and effective staff. It