Chicagoland by Gail Martin (important books to read TXT) 📕

When the sigils were completely obliterated, I turned toward the alley and the crowd of gray specters that watched me warily. It seemed like a lot of ghosts, but I knew they were only a fraction of the number that haunted the street. The others might not have chosen to make themselves visible, but I felt sure they could still hear me.

“Ghosts of the alley—you’re free!” I called out to them. “The magic that bound you and tormented you is broken. Be at peace, and do no more harm.”

One by one, the spirits blinked out. I wondered if the magic had twisted them beyond saving or if, now that they were freed of the sigils’ control, they would be able to remain peacefully or move on. Ben had warned that the next step, if they remained vengeful, was banishment and exorcism. I hoped that wasn’t necessary.

Ness met me at the entrance to the alley. “You think that took care of them?” he asked, looking past me down the short, shadowed street.

“If it didn’t, we need a priest,” I replied. “Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea, regardless. Have him come say Last Rites and do a blessing. With luck, we won’t need more.”

Ness shrugged. “Not hard to find a priest in Chicago. That, I can manage.” He hesitated. “Nice work. I knew West’s department handled the weird stuff, but I guess I never really realized just how weird it got.”

“Gee, thanks,” West quipped, joining us with his shotgun slung over one shoulder. He glanced at me. “You okay?”

Krukis’s magic had faded, and I was just me again. West knew about my extra abilities and protections, but I appreciated his concern. “Yeah, although I might have some bruises from that salt you fired. You two ever think of aiming?”

“Sure. We can hit the broad side of a barn,” West joked back. “Hit you, didn’t we? It’s pretty much the same thing. I thought nothing got through that hide. Gonna have to buff out some dents?”

“Very funny,” I replied in a droll tone. I was used to West’s style of humor. Annoying the hell out of someone meant West cared. If he didn’t give a damn, he just ignored the situation. Ness watched us, and I knew he was trying to figure out the rather unorthodox relationship between West and me. I wished him luck with that because after all this time, I still hadn’t.

“Are we done here? I need to get back to the office,” Ness said. West and I automatically bracketed him like bodyguards as we walked him back to his car. “It’ll be good to have this piece wrapped up, but we’ve still got more to fix. Let me know if you get any leads.”

With that, the car roared away, leaving us in the exhaust.

“Let’s head to the hotel,” West said. “I want to show you the enlargements I made of some of those secret room photos and see what you make of them. Maybe by now, Sarah will be back from her mysterious museum outing.”

“You thought it was mysterious?” I was used to Sarah doing as she pleased when she pleased, so having her take off to meet up with a friend at the last moment didn’t seem odd to me.

“I don’t think it was a social call,” West replied. “Especially since she took some of my photo prints with her. My bet—she’s got a friend on the museum staff; hell, maybe the curator is an old admirer. There’s no telling when it comes to Sarah.”

I could hear the admiration in his voice and shared the sentiment. Sarah was a force of nature, and we both respected the hell out of that.

“Ben said I could call him back if I had more questions,” I offered. “I wish we could send drawings over the telegraph. Some things are hard to put into words.”

“Maybe someday,” West replied. “Now, we’re just lucky I’ve got the portable telegraph rig, so we don’t have to explain ourselves to the man at the Western Union office.”

We found Sarah already in the parlor of the suite. Room service had delivered a cross between afternoon tea and an antipasto spread. Tiered plates with bite-sized pastries and itty-bitty sandwiches sat beside a butcher block cutting board heaped with sliced meats and cheeses, plus olives, peppers, and crusty bread. A pot of tea and several carafes of coffee completed the bounty.

“Figured you might be peckish,” Sarah said, looking up from her spot on the couch. She had several of West’s photos laid out on the coffee table.

West and I heaped our plates and came to join her, me in the nearby wing chair and West on the couch. “Find out anything interesting at the museum?” West asked.

Sarah grinned. “How’d you guess?”

West rolled his eyes. “You are the least sneaky person I know. Because you’ve never had to be sneaky.”

“Not true,” Sarah challenged, reaching over and stealing one of his olives, then popping it into her mouth. “I can be very sneaky. You don’t know about it because…that’s the whole meaning of sneaky.”

I sighed, enjoying their banter. Sarah had the soul of an international spy and the instincts of a cat burglar, which had saved our hides many times. Both West and I knew that when she wanted to, she could out-sneak anyone.

“Some of the symbols reminded me of the ones from King Tut’s tomb,” Sarah said. “My father was a huge fan of Howard Carter, the archeologist, and became one of his patrons. That’s how he got chummy with the Earl of Carnavon, who bankrolled most of Howard’s expedition.”

West and I exchanged a glance, noting that Sarah and Carter seemed to be on a first-name basis. Nothing really surprised me about Sarah’s wide-spread connections anymore.

“Anyhow, I rang Howard last night, and we had a lovely chat…then I brought up the symbols that were in that sealed room.” She shifted on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her as she cradled a cup of tea.

“He’s