Part 11 (1/2)
I pulled my attention from Pixie to the man lying before us. ”I've had some first aid training. Let me just have a quick look at him so we can inform the paramedics of his injuries.”
Meredith's eyes opened at that point.
”What the h.e.l.l is going on?” he asked, his face twisted in pain, as he raised a hand to his head. ”Dammit, what hit me?”
I lifted a volume of the encyclopedia. ”Belize to Byzantine, I think. Do you hurt anywhere other than your head?”
”No. Stop fussing over me, woman,” he said, pus.h.i.+ng Savannah back as he sat up. She ignored him and continued to wipe off his face as he snarled at the rest of us, ”What the h.e.l.l happened? The last thing I remember is trying to open that d.a.m.ned door, then someone walloped me on the head.”
My father hurried into the room. ”Which paramedics do I call? Mortal, or Otherworld? Will they be able to get in with the house sealed?”
I sat on my heels, my fingers on Meredith's wrist as I eyed his head. There was a cut above his eyebrow that no doubt was the cause of all the blood, but his pulse was strong and steady. ”Are you seeing double? Do you feel nauseous at all?”
”I'm fine, or I would be if everyone would stop hovering around me. I have a h.e.l.l of a headache is all.”
”Karma,” Adam said from where he squatted next to the downed bookcase.
”Just a sec. I'm just making sure Meredith is OK. Squeeze my hand,” I said, shoving my hand into his. He squeezed it hard enough to cause me to wince. ”I don't think you have a concussion, but you should probably see your doctor, anyway. You may need a st.i.tch or two in that cut on your forehead.”
”So I'm not calling the paramedics?” Dad asked, looking from me to Meredith, who was getting to his feet with the a.s.sistance of Savannah.
”Karma, come over here,” Adam said.
”Luckily, I don't think there's a need for one,” I told my father, standing up and dusting my knees. The bas.e.m.e.nt wasn't filthy, but the books were dusty enough to have my nose wrinkling. I looked around that corner of the bas.e.m.e.nt. The door that Adam had mentioned was visible behind an old-fas.h.i.+oned icebox, but it didn't appear to have been opened in several decades.
”Where did Spider go?”
”I swear to G.o.d, I'm going to get a bullhorn to make people listen to me,”
Adam groused from the other side of the room.
”Oh. Sorry,” I said, carefully stepping over stacks of fallen encyclopedias to go to him. ”What did you want?”
”Does this look familiar?” he asked, gesturing toward a mound of books.
A hand could be glimpsed amongst them, a hand wearing a familiar gold watch. A chill swept down my spine as I realized what it was I was looking at.
”That's...that's Spider's watch.”
”Yes.” Adam's icy blue eyes were unreadable. He gently touched Spider's wrist. ”There's no pulse. Your husband is dead.”
Pixie's gaze s.h.i.+fted from Spider's hand to me, her eyebrows upraised.
”The h.e.l.l he is!” Meredith said, sitting down abruptly in an old cane rocker.
Savannah gasped and wrung her hands.
”Thank G.o.d,” my father said softly.
I said nothing, just stared at the hand and wondered how the world could change with just a few words.
9.
A peculiar, distant sort of numbness set in as I looked down at Spider.
Pixie stood next to me, the picture of silent unhappiness, her arms wrapped around herself. I wanted to get her out of there, to s.h.i.+eld her from the ugliness of Spider's death, but I seemed to be unable to stir myself.
My father and Adam had no problem in hoisting the huge bookcase off Spider's remains.
”That thing must weigh five hundred pounds,” Meredith commented from his chair. Savannah, once she had ascertained there was nothing to be done for Spider, had run upstairs for some water to wash the blood from her husband's face. She knelt next to him now, dabbing at the cut on his forehead.
”They're poltergeists,” I said absently.
”So?”
”Hmm? Oh, sorry.” I gave him a quick wry smile. ”Polters can summon brief spurts of great strength if needed. It's sort of a racial trait.”
”The question is,” my father said in Poltern as he lifted one end of the bookcase, ”did it fall over itself, or did he pull it down?”
I didn't answer. The three of us who could understand my father all glanced with speculation at Meredith, however.
A handful of small pebbles fell from the ceiling as Adam grunted with effort when he and my father shoved the now upright bookcase against the wall.
”Apports?” Savannah asked as I gathered up the tiny rocks. Half were white; half were grayish granite-colored, flecked with silver. I looked around the room, depositing them in an ugly urn that sat on a shelf next to antiquated kitchen appliances. ”I'm sorry; this probably isn't the time to ask, but can I-?”
”Sure.” I gave her the urn, hesitating at the sight of the mound of books.
Now that the heavy bookcase was off it, parts of Spider were visible beneath the volumes.
”Oooh, these are pretty. I a.s.sume the different colors come from different poltergeists?” Savannah asked, having poured the apports into her hand.
I frowned. I really didn't want to talk with Savannah as if nothing momentous had just happened, but I knew that people reacted differently to stress. Clearly she was in the ”distract yourself” camp when faced with a dead man. ”Yes. My father's are the silver ones. Adam's are white. Each are unique to their owner.”
”Fascinating. I like the jade green ones. Do you mind if I keep them for research purposes?”
”Go right ahead.” I steeled myself to approach Spider's body. I didn't have the luxury of avoiding the reality of the situation.
”Is he going to be all b.l.o.o.d.y and guts spilling out and brains bashed in when you take the books off him?” Pixie asked in a hushed voice.
Guilt spiked through the odd numbness that held me in its grip. ”Pixie, I'm sorry. This really isn't something you should see.” I gave her a little hug, gently escorting her to the turning in the room. ”Why don't you go upstairs?”
”Are you kidding?” She pulled away from me, giving me a look that questioned my sanity. ”This is great! I've never seen a dead body in person before! I've always wanted to, and now you're trying to ruin my life! You can't make me leave! I'll tell Mrs. Beckett that you're abusing me if you do!”
”Now, that is one strange kid,” Meredith said from the depths of a battered, paint-splattered leather chair.
I just gawked at the teenager for a few moments, then shook my head. ”I can't imagine how seeing my dead husband is going to fulfill a life's ambition, but if you're truly not horrified about what's happened, I guess you can stay.”