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

We parted ways across the street, where that same stray dog hadn’t moved from its place by the fence. “I don’t know who you are or how you did that, but thank you,” Eddie said.

“Take care of yourself,” I told him. “Good luck.”

Neither West nor Sarah had returned to the suite yet when I arrived, so I took off my jacket and my shoes, helped myself to hot coffee and some cookies from the freshly stocked goodies in the parlor, and thought about what I’d seen at the murder house. It didn’t surprise me that some kind of infernal taint afflicted Eddie. It probably sank its claws even deeper into Pat Quinlan, and no doubt the imp played a role in keeping Holmes’s victims from escaping. I wondered what effect it had on the storekeepers and their staff in the first-floor rental and how much that kind of evil might have polluted the entire block and the land beneath it.

I didn’t have that kind of expertise, but I had a contact in Charleston who was an even older immortal than myself, and he had knowledge of such things. I glanced at the time and knew he was still asleep in his safe place until sundown, so I promised myself I would give him a call once night fell.

Sarah arrived next, cheeks flushed from a brisk walk in the cold autumn air. Room service followed on her heels with a tray of sandwiches, crudités, assorted nibbles, and mini cheesecakes. Another server made a new batch of coffee and refreshed the creamer, sugar, and cups. Life with Sarah meant never going hungry.

“Oh, you’re here. Good,” Sarah said as she swept into the room, tossed her coat over a chair, and stepped out of her shoes. She washed up, then came back, made herself a plate, and plopped onto the couch to eat with such unapologetic glee I couldn’t help smiling.

“I’m famished,” she announced, and took a bite of a ham and Swiss sandwich, then crunched through a couple of carrots. “Go ahead—fix yourself a plate. I hope West gets here soon—I had a good morning, and I want to tell both of you all about it.”

I fixed lunch for myself and sat across from Sarah in the wing chair. Fancy furniture made me nervous since it rarely looked sturdy enough for my bulk. I’d already tested this chair, but even so, it took me a moment to let it take my whole weight.

“This hotel has good food,” Sarah enthused, jumping up to get a fresh cup of coffee and then curling back onto the couch, this time with a plate of cheesecake bites as well.

“Excellent food,” I agreed. I’d been hungry at times in my life and made do with much less fancy fare. That just made me all the more grateful when a good meal came my way, especially when it was shared with allies and close friends.

“You’re not going to believe what I found out,” West announced as he strode through the door. He stripped off his coat and hat, carried them to the bedroom, and tossed them on a bed—hopefully his and not mine—and then came back to retrieve a sandwich in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, foregoing the plate. Sarah just shook her head and chuckled.

“Go ahead,” Sarah said. “I’m going to savor this cheesecake.”

West finished his sandwich in record time. “I met with the man who started the occult bookstore. I hadn’t been sure what to expect—thought he might be walking around in wizard’s robes or something. Turned out to be a rather mousy guy in a three-piece suit who looked like he might be a professor. He’s a Spiritualist, like those table thumpers up in Lily Dale, but the store goes far beyond that…I felt a bit like I’d walked into a witch’s lair.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked, clearly fascinated. The glint in her eye made me wonder if she’d be paying the store a visit herself before we headed back to Cleveland.

“Crystals, candles, oils, and all kinds of powders and dried plants…thought I might get hexed just looking around,” West recounted, only partly kidding.

Sarah gave him a measured glance. “You don’t look like a toad to me. Well, more than you usually do,” she added with a twitch of her lips.

“I managed to skip that part,” West replied in a dry tone. “Anyhow, the man remembered Capone—younger at the time—being a regular. He would riffle through the books and ask questions, mostly testing the owner’s thoughts on whether he believed all of it was true. Later on, Capone asked about how to use the magic for his own gain. That started to make the owner uncomfortable, but he knew even then Capone was mobbed up. So he told him as little as he could and tried to steer him away from the sources that had spells of any real power. He definitely thought Capone was trying to teach himself to be a witch.”

Sarah ran her finger around the rim of her coffee cup as she thought. “He must really have had some talent. Anything else?”

West shrugged. “More of the same. Toward the end, Capone asked a lot of questions about demons. The bookstore owner swore he didn’t give Capone any real information, but that’s worrisome.”

“Did you get any input on the symbols or the words from the hidden room?” I asked.

West nodded. “Yeah. I took a few of the pictures, blown up enough that no one would know where they were taken. Made up a story about where I found them. What he said matched a lot of what we’d already worked out. He did say that some of them weren’t just for controlling ghosts or vampires…they were also ways to summon and master a demon.” He gave us both a pointed look. “And he swears Capone didn’t learn the marks from him.”

“Fits what I heard,” Sarah said, and set her cup aside, then stretched. “Both of