I leaned back, panic rising in my throat. “Okay. No touching. But talk to me. Bloody hell, don’t tell me you’re dead and reanimated as a zombie or something.”
It sounded ridiculous, and the old Hunter would have laughed. This one simply furrowed his brow. “The young man you seek is alive, his spirit is quite strong, but I am old and know my way around a body.”
“Nigel?”
“Who is Nigel?”
Okay. Disorientation. Memory loss. Confusion. All things Ziggy had said to watch for. But then another thought invaded.
“Anu?”
A corner of Hunter’s mouth ticked up. “Indeed.” He looked down at himself as if inspecting his body. “This was not my intent. Something went wrong.”
“We were interrupted by Eskridge and his men. The vase was broken and… where is Nigel?”
“Again. Who is Nigel?”
“The ghost. The night clerk.”
“Ah yes, my acolyte. His given name is Arthur. Arthur Renfield.”
“You knew his name all this time? Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Arthur was never the sharpest when he was alive, and dead? Well, I can tell you I’ve told him his name countless times.”
“Nigel is not stupid. He translates for you. I’ve heard him speak Spanish too.”
I thrust myself away from him, frustrated. It was definitely creepy seeing his sweet face and having some arsehole talk through him.
“Gifts I bestowed so that he may be of use. Of service. Unfortunately, the human brain is a fragile thing.”
“And I want Hunter’s brain back in his head right now, do you hear me?” I clenched my fists.
There was silence for several agonizing seconds. “Your friend is here with me. His essence is… asleep?” His dark eyes sought mine and I shivered. “I am as troubled as you. The transference of our own essence into another is forbidden. Leaving this vessel without guidance will endanger us both.”
“So what do you need? To get this guidance.” I paced the small area in front of the couch. “First thing, we need to get your body back.”
“As well as the tablet. Talking in your language is so… tedious. I will take my sleep now.” Anu slid into sleep, taking Hunter with him.
I picked up my phone. “Ziggy? You said to call if there was a problem.”
After hearing assurances that they were on their way back to the apartment, I hung up and sat on the edge of the futon. Beside me, Hunter looked completely normal—peaceful even.
I remembered the terror I’d felt holding Charlie as he bled out on the street. Feeling that same terror now, I blinked back tears. I wouldn’t let that happen. Not again.
Searching through my contacts, I made another call. A wave of both relief and apprehension came over me as Abraham’s deep voice answered. I knew he would help—if he didn’t kill me first for endangering his best bartender.
Chapter Thirteen
Julian fails to keep his dream and his boss alive
When they got back to his apartment, Julian had Shorty put the old guy on his leather sectional. “Stay a minute and watch him,” Julian said.
In the bathroom mirror, he winced at the bruises on his jaw and ribs. The Brit had hit harder than expected. That had been a shit show. He’d intended to slip in, grab the old man and get out, but his guys tangled with a big guy outside and then, seeing the people surrounding the necromancer, the candles, chanting, he’d almost called it off. This was the same room where he’d found Ramon. But Shorty had barreled in knocking people left and right, so Julian had followed. He spat blood into the sink and rinsed.
When he emerged into the living room, Shorty was hovering over the old man on the couch.
“Go. I think we’ll be fine,” Julian said.
