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CHAPTER 8
As we approached the building, I noticed that the diner had been boarded shut, but somebody had pried off the plywood—recently, by the smel of splintered wood—and entered through the front door.
Vanzir and I stepped over the threshold, into darkness. I paused, to let my eyes adjust, and glanced around. The room was barely discernible in the glow of the streetlamp from outside.
There was a noise and then a light as Smoky and Tril ian pul ed out flashlights that attached to their belts.
We’d gotten wise after enough fights in the dark—we’d raided the hardware stores in search of any gadgets that might make life easier and wouldn’t interfere with Camil e’s magic. A lot of electronics went wonky around al of us—thanks to our Fae wiring—so we had to be choosy. But we’d found flashlights that could be clipped on the belt and gave off a diffuse light that wouldn’t blind us, but stil il uminated the corners of a smal room. Also, penlights, smal and easy to carry, that could be hooked on a keychain.
The room was large, though, so the corners were out of sight in the gloom. But we could see the counter covered with a thick layer of dust, and the door into what was likely the kitchen. The room stil had several old Formica-covered tables and vinyl sundae chairs scattered around. A faded Norman Rockwel print hung on a nearby wal .
But as inviting as the diner once must have been, the energy was thick and dank, and the hairs on my arms stood up. Camil e let out a little gasp, and Morio stepped closer and took her hand.
“Bad,” she said. “This place has bad juju. The energy is like a live wire, and while I don’t feel Demonkin, whatever’s here is evil. Malignant, like a cancer growing in the very air.”
As she spoke, the print on the wal crashed to the ground. I whirled, looking for anybody or anything that might have jarred it down, but there was no one in sight.
“The temperature just dropped,” Morio said.
Camil e nodded, her teeth chattering. A puff of white escaped from her mouth as she breathed.
“By about twenty degrees, I’d say. Spirit activity for sure.”
I didn’t notice much difference—cold and heat were fairly innocuous to me and neither one caught my attention until it was at an extreme. “What’s that mean? Are you talking normal drop or
—”
“I’m talking supernatural drop. The temperature just plunged twenty degrees in less than a minute.” Morio barely got the words out before a dusty soda glass from behind the counter went flying across the room to smash against the opposite wal , almost hitting Vanzir.
“What the fuck?” Vanzir jumped, whirling around. “Who did that?”
“Poltergeist maybe, but I’m guessing the spirits here are a lot more dangerous than mere poltergeists.” Morio warily glanced around. “I’m not sure where to begin. We’d better find the FBHs who are trapped. Where’s the basement? Want to make a bet that’s where they were headed?”
I glanced around, then saw an opening leading into the back. “Probably over there.”
As we headed in the direction of the door, something tapped me on the shoulder. “What?” I glanced back, expecting to see Smoky or Tril ian, but they were too far behind me. “Who tapped me on the shoulder?”
Smoky’s face was paler than usual. “I saw a black shadow.” He shook his head. “One minute I was looking at your back, then a shadow appeared and vanished before I could say a word.”
“Not funny.” I growled under my breath. “Nobody messes with me, be they human, spirit, or vampire. We have to do something. Morio—Camil e—is there something we can rig up here to keep them from bothering us while we investigate—”
I was cut off by another loud crash behind me. We turned in unison, just in time to see a chair sailing through the air toward us. Smoky leaped in front of Tril ian, who was about to get hammered by the wooden seat, and met it with upraised arms. He sent it careening to the floor, where it smashed into pieces.
Tril ian met his eyes. “Thanks, bro. You saved me from a nasty crack on the head.”
“No problem,” Smoky said. “Camil e would have been pissed if I’d let you get hurt.” Even though he tried for a joke, his voice was clearly rattled.
Camil e looked at Morio. “We need some sort of protection. I say we weave a moving pentagram to keep the beasties at bay.”
Morio nodded. “I think you’re right. It wil mean another five minutes’ delay, but we’re not going to be very effective if we have to stop every minute to ward off an unseen attacker.”>“What’s the situation?” I glanced over at the building in front of which we were standing. A simple one-story building, it looked like it had once been a bar or a smal diner. “Hostages in there?”
He nodded. “Yeah, in the basement. At least that’s the last message we got from one of the women trapped down there. Five people are down there. The last we heard, the ghosts were tearing up the joint—ful -on poltergeist activity, swiping passes at the ghost hunters, including claw marks. And we aren’t talking Casper the Friendly here.”
I glanced over at Camil e. “What do you and Morio think?”
She shrugged, looking around. Morio had already gone into a trance, looking for al the world like he was stoned out of his mind. But even I knew that he was off on the astral, feeling out the situation.
“Chase, is there anything else you can tel us? Do you know what this place was? Were there any murders here? This is hardcore Earthside supernatural activity, so something brutal must have gone down around here.”
