Opposition Page 12

  “Is it any worse than seeing Type 2s attacking woman right in front of me?” he asked.

  That stopped me short. I froze, finger still pointed at him, my mouth straining for words like a beached fish struggling to breathe.

  He leaned around me, no doubt addressing Cyril behind me. “And it’s a game. Dovahkiin are Dragonborn and they can speak the dragon tongue. It’s called shouting. When they do it, their words of power are made real. Like shouting fire makes fire appear.” His eyes widened at the thought and his eyes snapped back to me. “Have you ever done that before?”

  I shook my head.

  Like my swagger, his excitement fizzled. “Dang.”

  “We’re ready to get started.” Rose’s voice cut through the room. It instantly quieted, though that really wasn’t much of a feat, considering the three-way conversation between me, Cyril, and Seth was the only other voiced conversation happening.

  Rose, Sebastian, and Mackenzie stood in a line as they addressed the rest of the room. For a crazy second, I thought of all the wonderfully inspiring speeches I’d seen in movies. Henry V. Independence Day. Braveheart. They all wore faces similar to theirs, prepped to give us a moving speech before we started our hunt for Roger.

  At least, that’s what I imagined. Until Sebastian killed it. “I have a plan. And Rose has assured me that the cast of Apparition Investigations will listen and obey my orders.”

  So much for a rousing, we’re-all-in-this-together, kumbaya moment.

  “Mrs. Marcus has given us the run of the hotel. We’re permitted to do anything and everything necessary to ensure Roger Whitaker is unable to harm another soul. As a Type 2, his ability to harm those on the physical plane is limited. That being said, however, the appearance of two other ghosts, as well as five other physics is making it easier for him to do just that. Our combined presence is tearing the veil separating planes of existence.”

  Bronte raised a timid hand. “Should we just leave then? Wouldn’t that be better?”

  “And what? Leave Roger to attack the next unsuspecting psychic that ventures here? As inexperienced as you are, I’m sure you don’t know, but not every psychic manifests an ability. Some can perceive only. And if we left Roger here, he would most likely kill the next psychic that unwittingly comes to stay here.”

  Bronte lowered her hand sheepishly.

  I felt my anger rising.

  As if sensing it, Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound as callous as it did. But no, we can’t leave. Because if we do, people will die. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but eventually, a psychic will come here—probably alone—and be cornered. Then killed. But not before their presence here works to make this particular space more susceptible to future ghost attacks. We need to handle this now.”

  “And what’s your plan for that, then?” Oliver asked eagerly.

  “Our plan,” Sebastian continued, “is simple. We lure Roger into a trap and perform a Catholic exorcism.”

  I blinked. Bronte blinked. If Noah wasn’t too busy channeling Batman, he probably would have blinked too.

  Seth was the only one who looked unfazed, actually.

  “A Catholic exorcism? Like from the movies? From TV?” I asked.

  “The one and the same.”

  “But we don’t have a Catholic priest.”

  “I’ll perform it,” Sebastian answered as if that had been obvious.

  “You?” Noah snorted, his tone sharp and critical.

  Sebastian didn’t even turn to look at him. “Yes, me. I am familiar with the techniques. I have done numerous Catholic exorcisms before. Considering the history of the area and the information Mrs. Marcus has provided, I believe a Catholic exorcism will work best.”

  Why did he keep saying Catholic like that? As if there were different kinds of exorcisms?

  Bronte picked up on it too. “Catholic as opposed to what?”

  “Shinto?” he shrugged, throwing out another option. “Buddhist? For exorcisms to work, the exorcised and the exorcist need to both have faith in the religion behind the ritual. Out of our options, Catholicism is the most likely to sway Whitaker. Therefore, it’s the one we’re going to use.”

  He made it sound as if he were familiar with multiple religious exorcisms. And he could pluck whatever he needed as easily as picking a tool up from a toolbox. Which, I guess he could, since Oliver had seen religious books in Seth’s room. That, coupled with the kid’s unfazed expression, made me think that maybe Sebastian could pull off a Catholic exorcism with the same ease he could a Shinto or Buddhist one.

  Just what was Obscurity Consultants?

  “I will perform the exorcism. Stella and Noah, if you both are able, you’ll hold Whitaker in place as I perform it.”

  “And the bait?” Bronte asked apprehensively.

  I glanced at her. If Sebastian was about to suggest using her as bait, he’d have hell to deal with. I’d shout him to pieces.

  His eyes swung back to me.

  No, not me.

  To Cyril.

  “As Type 1s, your ghostly companions will be the easiest targets for him to reach. As such, he’ll come for them first.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Oliver said the same type Cyril agreed with, “Very well.”

  I glanced around the room, at Bronte’s equally panicked face.

  “Crap,” I mumbled.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Like hell,” I snapped.

  Cyril sighed. “Stella, please—”

  “You can’t use them as bait,” Bronte hissed. She bounced up to her feet. “No way.”

  Rose sighed and turned to Sebastian. “Told you they’d handle it well.”

  Sebastian shrugged and then waved Seth over. “They’re your people, Ms. Fisher—get them in line. We’re doing this. It’s the safest method. We’ll be outside.”

  Mackenzie went with them, talking with Sebastian as they ducked out of the room. That left Apparition Investigations all alone in our hotel room, and judging from the fury in Bronte’s eyes, it was probably a good thing no one else was here to witness this brawl.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Oliver said. “Tell them, Stella, please.”

  I grudgingly conveyed his words to Bronte and Rose. Bronte looked annoyed. Rose looked relieved.

  “It’s the best play we’ve got,” Rose said, her attention split between me and Bronte. She glanced over at Noah, but if she was expecting support, he wasn’t about to give it to her. Still brooding, he met her gaze with a blank expression, forcing her to turn back to us with an annoyed sigh.

  “He’s already killed one ghost,” I barked, louder than I intended. My throat flared and I rubbed a hand against it, as if that would help.

  Coolness touched my throat. “Do you need something? Cool water?” Cyril asked.

  “I need you to get your head out of your ass,” I snapped.

  The coolness fell away as Oliver let out a booming laugh.

  I rounded on where the laughter was coming from. “This isn’t funny—don’t you dare.”

  “We came to help, Stella,” Cyril said, “so let us help.”

  “Playing bait wasn’t how any of us thought you’d be helping.”

  “No, but it is what’s needed. There is a monster prowling through this hotel, growing stronger with each passing second. What if the next person he attacks is a child? A woman travelling alone? Someone unable to defend themselves, unable to understand what’s happening? We would be responsible because we did not act.”

  “What’s he saying?” Bronte asked.

  With a disgusted wave in their general direction, I filled her in. Instead of the righteous indignation I expected to flow from her, she lowered herself onto the bed. And looked thoughtful.

  I groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re buying this?”

  “He’s right though.”

  “Fine. They can help—but in some other way. I’ll be the bait.”

  That was met with a rousin
g round of refusals. Even Noah stirred enough to shoot me a death glare at the mere thought of it.

  “Why do we even need bait?” I asked.

  “So we know where Roger will be,” Rose answered. “So we know where to put you and Noah to capture him. So we can have Sebastian prepared to perform the exorcism.”

  All valid points. Dammit.

  I shook my head anyway. “I don’t like this.”

  Coolness touched my shoulder. I expected Cyril to speak then and was surprised when Oliver’s voice floated from above me. “We want to help, Stella. Since coming here, all we’ve done is manage to tip the Adair boys off that we’re here. We couldn’t help Ida Baily. We couldn’t help Madame Amara. But we can do this. We want to do this.”

  “You’ve put yourselves in danger your previous cases,” Cyril added. “Let us bear the brunt of the danger for a change.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Is that what you feel like whenever we go off on our cases?”

  His voice sounded gentle. “Something akin to it, I’m sure.”

  “It sucks.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Let them do it,” Noah answered, finally chiming it. He shrugged. “Or not. But we’re running out of time. We need a decision.”

  “We’re doing it,” Oliver said decisively.

  Rose and Bronte looked to me. I passed on Oliver’s words.

  Bronte sighed, no doubt meeting his eye. “Ok. If that’s what you want.”

  “Stella?” Cyril asked.

  I puffed out some air. “Fine. But I’m going to be there. And the moment I think it’s going south, I’m stepping in.”

  “Deal.”

  “We’re doing this,” I said to Rose. “Should you tell our arrogant overlord, or should I?”

  “I’ll do it,” she said, heading toward the door.

  “You’re talking more,” Bronte said to me. “Is your throat better?”

  “Better enough to crack some snark,” I mumbled. Then I glanced at Noah. “You weren’t much help.”

  He eyed me. “What did you want me to say?”

  “How about your opinion? You hadn’t really been shy about sharing it up until this case. What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” Bronte whispered. She looked hesitant, afraid to broach the subject. Confrontation wasn’t her strong suit and the fact that she was even talking now spoke volumes about how worried she was.

  I waved at her. “See? You’ve even got Bronte freaked. No doubt Rose is worse.”

  At the mention of Rose, life stirred in him. He pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against. A frown tugged at his lips. And for a sweet, glorious moment, I thought he was going to snap at me.

  Then the moment passed. Whatever spark he’d summoned faded. Instead, I got a shrug and a humph as he stalked for the door dividing the rooms.

  It shut softly behind him. In the beat of silence that followed, I knew we were all thinking the same thing.

  “We’re going to address this later, right?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” Bronte mumbled.

  “Just as soon as we bag another win for Apparition Investigations,” Oliver said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The plan, in theory, was simple. Oliver and Cyril would float around and loudly shout about this debt Roger owed. He seemed caught up on it. Which, I suppose, was understandable considered he was killed because of it. He seemed trapped in a never-ending cycle of trying to find enough money to pay his creditors back, not fully realizing that he was dead and that it was too late.

  “It also explains,” Rose added, “why he keeps stealing things from the guests. Why he went for Madame Amara’s jewelry. He’s trying to pay back his debt.”

  The second part of the plan would rely on Roger. He’d have to find Cyril and Oliver, then chase them to wherever they led—a trap set by us. I would keep us hidden, using his name to make sure he couldn’t sense us, as we waited for him in Room 309.

  Sebastian would perform his exorcism. Noah would keep him from running away again.

  And we’d be finished with the case in a Thanos-snap of our fingers.

  In theory.

  So far, none of our plans had worked for the best.

  And as the hours ticked by my throat burning as I mumbled every thirty minutes or so that Roger couldn’t sense us in the room, the likelihood of the plan succeeding seemed smaller and smaller.

  We sat on and around the bed of 309. Sebastian leafed through the Bible he’d brought, while Seth shined a hand-sized metal cross with the end of his Spiderman T-shirt. Around them, they had vials of holy water, a rosary, and another cross, spread out like in the movies where the badassess have their weapons splayed out on the bed for inventory and cleaning. The effect, sadly, felt dwarfed considering Bronte and Rose sat perched on the other side of the bed, trying not to disturb their arsenal while fiddling with the camera Rose brought. Noah and I stood beside the bed, watching.

  No one spoke. We tried to move as little as possible, not wanting to test which would overcome the other—my power or the laws of sound.

  It had been morning when Cyril and Oliver had left. Surely it was the afternoon now.

  I would have brought my cell phone if I’d realized how slow a supernatural stake-out could be.

  Bronte saw them first. She smacked Rose in the arm, her eyes locking on something in the corner of the room. Everyone caught the action, and those that could see looked up and followed her line of sight.

  I couldn’t hear anything.

  Glancing over at Bronte, I looked for some kind of confirmation.

  And then I heard the growling.

  Sebastian was up, clutching the book with one hand, his other thrown out to keep Seth back and as far out of danger as the cramped room would allow. Rose slowly inched up onto her feet, her entire body coiled and waiting, camera at the ready.

  The growling stopped.

  I froze, straining to hear.

  And then it erupted at a roar, the sound swelling to fill the tight space. Crashing followed and the wardrobe against the far wall rocked violently. Its doors swung open and closed, open and closed.

  Oliver swore.

  “Don’t let him leave!” Sebastian shouted to Noah.

  He smacked a hand over his eye, charging up his barrier.

  The bed jerked suddenly, slamming into me and Noah. We toppled onto the floor, Noah banging against the bedside table on his way down, still keeping a hand on his eye.

  Scrambling up, I saw Sebastian jump forward. “You two get out of here!”

  Everything in the room began to quake. The furniture thumped violently as it shuddered, the small items flung easily across the room. Doors slammed. And an impossible wind began to rise.

  “We have to hold him!” Cyril grunted through effort.

  A gunshot rang through the room.

  “No!” Bronte yelled.

  Rose dived on top of Seth, pinning him down on top of the bed, the camera still raised.

  “I’ll hold him! Leave before the exorcism starts!” I shouted. My raw throat burned at the words but I forced my way through them.

  The bathroom door beside me wrenched open suddenly, nicking me in the shoulder. I spun, going down, hard.

  “Stella!” Cyril shouted.

  “Roger Whitaker!” I shouted, flooding my voice with power. I ignored the thudding pain in my shoulder, in my knees, and the rawness of my throat. “Stay still, dammit!”

  My voice sounded weaker. Before, command and obedience flooded through it with enough authority to have made a Roman general cower. Now, my voice was a shadow of that. Cracked, in a way.

  And everyone heard it.

  “We can’t leave!” Cyril shouted, straining.

  The growling intensified, growing more feral, more ferocious. The quaking items began to shake faster. And the wind rose to a roar, whipping at the curtains, the blankets, anything light enough to be tossed into
the air.

  A tornado had erupted in 309. And my voice barely rose above it.

  “Leave now if you want to escape the exorcism!” Sebastian warned, holding up the book. “Because I’m starting now!”