Page 6 of Cold Sacrifice

He was thirtyish with short, dark hair and dark eyes, and wore a slightly rumpled dark blue suit with a white shirt. He didn’t seem restless, exactly. More…interested. Bored, even.

As the next clients were sitting down, he came over to my desk and began peering into my computer screen. And then, when I opened the folder Gracie had brought in with her, he surprised me by running his finger down the paper, murmuring as he read aloud what he saw there.

Max always sent in a thin folder with a single sheet of paper, giving me the bare minimum about the clients. Name, address, short paragraph on their problem, and sometimes, a little note at the bottom warning me if the client was particularly problematic. Sometimes an asshole walked in who was pissed off at not only his ghost, but the world.

I ignored him, barely. It helped when two other ghosts drifted in, arm-in-arm, and sat together in a vacant chair across the room. I frowned. I was apparently going to have to get the place warded against ghosts. It was protected against demons, but I’d had no reason to try keeping spirits out.

“How can I help you, Mr. and Mrs. Nolan?”

The man was mid-fifties, light hair, blue eyes, paunchy. He was already frowning. The woman was thin with nearly the same color hair as her husband, wearing thin gold-rimmed glasses. She had a thin chain around her neck which held a small gold cross, and she was clutching a thick Bible with a maroon cover.

“These ones are going to be fun,” the ghost muttered. He straightened and crossed his arms, waiting.

The other two ghosts began singing. Harmonizing with each other, their voices loud enough to drown out Mr. Nolan, who was currently attempting to tell me about his ghost problem.

And that made the nosy ghost laugh. It was a bit rusty at first, that laugh, but the longer he laughed, the smoother it became. It was like once he started, he couldn’t stop.

I guess the guy really needed a laugh.

“Kait,” Joe asked, taking a step toward my desk. “You good?”

I nodded, then rubbed my temples. “It’s fucking loud in here, Joe.”

And that was the moment the ghost at my desk realized I wasn’t a fraud. “Wait,” he said.

I sighed. “Dammit.”

“Ma’am?” Mr. Nolan said, half rising from his chair. “My wife is sensitive to that kind of language. Are you going to help us rid our home of the devil?”

The suited ghost simply watched me quietly, but the singing ghosts carried on, oblivious.

“I’m sorry,” I told Mr. Nolan. “Let’s start over.”

“You really can see us,” the ghost said, finally.

“Yeah,” I told him, “and if you can get the singing sisters over there to shut the hell up, I’ll help you cross over as soon as I’m finished with my clients.”

“Done,” he said. One second he was standing at my desk, and the next, he was looming over the singing duo, who had their eyes closed as they sang—and not well.

“Hey,” he said, and he didn’t speak loudly. He didn’t have to.

Even I felt the command in his voice.

The two ghosts stopped mid note and flipped their eyes open, then shrank away from him, screeching like he was the scariest monster they’d ever seen. And then they were just…gone.

The clients were huddled at the door, their arms around each other, and Joe was in front of them with his machete out, as though he believed he could kill the ghosts with a blade.

More than likely, he just enjoyed the excuse to brandish his machete in front of a couple of easily impressed humans. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

The apparently scary ghost came back to my desk. “I’ve been watching you for a while,” he said. “You’re unusually good entertainment.”

I frowned. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m a sneaky bastard.”

I didn’t lose my frown. “What’s your name, and how did you do that?”

“You have your alphas,” he said, “and the spirits have theirs. My name is Richard Slaymaker.” And he picked up a pen and wrote his name on the page holding the Nolans’ information.