Justice Read online

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  Torquere Press

  www.torquerepress.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Sara Bell

  First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  November 7, 2007

  "Maggie.” Marc pounded his fist against her office door, harder than he needed to but more gently than he wanted. “Damn it, open this door before I break it down."

  He heard her footsteps, slow and casual, as if she couldn't care less that he was having a conniption fit. A few seconds later the bolt slid free, and then she was peering up at him. Her freckled cheeks were pink and her face was flushed. Her red curls were wet with sweat, like she'd just run five miles.

  Her frazzled appearance drained some of the anger out of him. “What were you doing? And since when do you lock your office in the middle of the business day?” It was as she was searching for an answer that Marc realized Maggie's blouse was buttoned crooked. She'd skipped a hole.

  "You don't really want her to answer that, Ace.” Will came into view a second after he said it. He was grinning, and his pants were unzipped.

  Marc felt his own face color to match Maggie's. He was happy that his sister had found love—even though he was still creeped out she'd fallen for his best friend—but did they have to go around sneaking in nooners like a couple of horny teenagers?

  His lips fell into a hard line. “In case the two of you haven't noticed, we're trying to run a business around here. Is it too much to ask you to wait until the end of the work day to ... can you not..."

  "In other words, you want us to wait until five o'clock to have screaming monkey sex.” Will zipped his fly with an unrepentant smile on his lean, angular face. He put his hands on Maggie's shoulders and winked at Marc. “I'd say yes, but you'll have to talk to your sister. The poor girl can't keep her hands off me."

  Maggie swatted at him, but there was no heat to it. Anyone looking at her would know she was crazy about the guy. She straightened her shirt as best she could and looked up at Marc. “Was there something you wanted or did you come barreling in here just to make sure I wasn't getting any?"

  "Could you please, please, please not talk about sex and you in the same sentence? Thinking about my baby sister and Mr. Hysterical Laughter over there is almost as bad as imagining Grandma and Grandpa going at it.” The unwanted image floated into his brain and Marc wished he had a can of mental Comet to scrub it out. “Oh, God. I think I'm scarred for life."

  "Will, stop laughing like that before you give yourself a hernia.” Maggie reached the end of her patience. She glared up at Marc. “You have two seconds. Start talking."

  He lifted up the card he'd almost forgotten he was still holding for her to see. “I found this under my pillow."

  "And?"

  "And? Is that all you have to say?” Some of the anger he'd felt when he'd found the card returned. “It's a tarot card."

  "Yeah, I see that. So?"

  "So, you know how I feel about these things.” He was getting hot again. “They're nothing but a load of bullshit complete with pretty pictures."

  She narrowed her eyes. “Says the man who talks to ghosts for a living."

  "Whoa.” Will held up his hands. “I'm getting out of here before the two of you take the gloves off.” He kissed Maggie's cheek. “Go easy on him, slugger.” He squeezed her arm, then slid out past Marc and headed down the hall.

  Maggie watched him go, her expression wistful. “That man has the best ass."

  "Could you stop lusting after Will long enough to focus, please?” Marc flicked the bottom of the card to get her attention back on him.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “What do you want me to say?"

  "You can start by telling me why you keep leaving this card in my room when you know how I hate these things."

  That brought her up short. “You think I left it for you?"

  He tamped down a sigh. “That's what I just said, isn't it?"

  "Let me see that.” She snatched the card from his fingers and held it up to the overhead light. “The justice card.” Her eyes went from the card, to him, and back again. “This doesn't make any sense."

  "Isn't that what I've been trying to say? You know I don't believe in this fortune telling crap, so why would you—"

  "Marcus, would you please stop yelling at me long enough to listen?” She'd used his full name, and her voice was calm and earnest now, the way it always was when she was dead serious about something.

  The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle.

  "Marc ... this card didn't come from my deck."

  His stomach started to churn. “You're sure?"

  She nodded. “This comes from an old Rider-Waite deck. I use a Llewellyn set."

  Since Marc didn't know one deck from the next, he didn't say anything, just kept silent and stared at the card in her hand.

  Maggie put her hand on his elbow and led him into her office, shutting the door behind them. Normally, Marc relaxed into the quiet chaos of Maggie's personal domain—the cluttered bookshelves, the paper heavy desk, the myriad of plants poking out of every corner. Now he felt cold and more than a little scared as he collapsed into the overstuffed chair in front of the desk. No easy feat to frighten a man who'd made a career out of chatting up the dead.

  Maggie perched on the edge of the desktop, the card still in her hand. “You say you keep finding this card in your room?"

  "Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “For the last four days in a row. The first time, it was lying on my windowsill. I thought maybe you'd gone up to my apartment for something and accidentally left it there. I brought it down here and left it on your desk."

  "I never found it."

  "The next day I found it on top of my dresser, propped against Mom and Dad's anniversary picture."

  She pursed her lips. “Let me guess. You brought it back to my office."

  "Right, only to find it wedged in front of the toaster on my kitchen counter.” He made a face. “That's when I tossed it in the trash."

  "And then found it under your pillow this afternoon."

  "You got it.” He leaned back in the chair, weary in a way he couldn't explain. “I thought maybe you were trying to tell me something."

  "Not me, honey, but it's obvious someone is.” She laid the card on the desk beside her. “You're sure it's this same card you keep finding?"

  "Positive. Same picture of the same guy wearing the same blindfold and holding the same scales.” He lifted his eyes up to meet hers. “What does it mean?"

  "Just what it says. Justice.” She braced her hands against the edge of the desk and leaned forward slightly. “If I were doing a reading for you, I'd look at all the cards in the hand and how they played with and against this particular card. Given the other cards, I'd say it could mean anything from you needed more balance in your life to something in the past you needed to reconcile.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up one hand. “I know you don't believe in the tarot, and I promise I'm not trying to push my views on you. I just want you to understand what it could mean.” She made a ticking sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “One card by itself though ... I'd say someone is sending you a message."

  "By someone, you mean a spirit.” It wasn't a question.

  Maggie nodded. “Who else could it be? You keep your apartment loc
ked, and none of our clients or staff members ever goes up there. You and I are the only ones with keys, and since I didn't do it..."

  "It had to be someone for whom locks pose no problem.” He took a deep breath. Spirits he could handle. He'd been handling spirits since he was five years old. “You said someone was sending me a message. What kind?"

  "It's hard to say. At its most basic, the justice card can mean you're about to get a favorable ruling in a court case or you're about to resolve something you've long been struggling with. It can mean equality in a relationship or an objective decision you need to make."

  "I haven't been taken to court since Mrs. Simmons sued me for not making contact with her dead husband so she could tell him what a son-of-a-bitch he was for dying on her. And I don't have anything I've been struggling with or any unresolved decisions to make. As for personal relationships...” He gritted his teeth, a bad taste coming into his mouth. “You and I both know I don't do commitment."

  "You used to.” Her tone was gentle now, sympathetic. “Before things went south with Dean."

  Dean's name sent a familiar stab of pain through his chest, but Marc pushed it back. “He's the last person I want to talk about right now.” He straightened in his seat. “Since we've just ruled out all the aforementioned possibilities, tell me what else this card could mean."

  It was Maggie's turn to sigh. She let out a long, loud one before hoping off the edge of the desk and going around it to sit down in her creaky leather chair. She went quiet for a minute, the only sound the pounding of her fingertips against the metal desktop. Finally she said, “Let me ask you a question. How many spirits would you say you've crossed over?"

  The question threw him, and it took him a minute to answer. “In my lifetime, you mean? God Maggie, I'm thirty years old. I've probably sent hundreds into the light."

  "Let's just look at the six years since you opened up this practice,” she said. “Have you crossed over anyone who didn't want to go? What about the spirits who didn't have the light to look forward to?"

  That gave him pause. Marc learned from an early age—almost as soon as he'd learned he could communicate with the dead—that Heaven and Hell were very real. Not every spirit had a bright, shiny reward waiting for him. Some spirits were evil, and those were the ones who understandably put up a fight.

  "Wait a minute. You think maybe some spirit sent this as a warning?"

  "I honestly don't know.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, like she was cold even though the temperature was a modest fifty degrees out, unseasonably warm for December, even in Atlanta. “Sometimes this card can have a negative meaning, like maybe you're about to receive justice for a wrong you've committed in the past."

  "Like some karmic payback?"

  "Something like that.” Maggie stopped rubbing her arms long enough to slide out the top drawer of her desk. She pulled out a velvet wrapped bundle and placed it on the desk between herself and him.

  Marc didn't need her to unwrap it to know what was in there.

  "I don't want you to read for me, Maggie."

  "It's the only way I can tell you for sure what that card could mean.” She rested her hand on the still-wrapped deck of tarot cards. Her gray eyes were wide and unblinking. “I know why you're so against the tarot—why you're so afraid—but if you'd only give me a chance—"

  "Forget it, kiddo.” Marc stood up, then came around the desk and gently pulled Maggie to her feet. He was five years older and a good foot taller than her, but he knew it was never enough to convince her he didn't need her protection. Marc kissed her forehead. “I'll figure this out, Magpie. Don't worry about me."

  "Easier said than done. I—"

  Whatever she was about to say was cut off as a sharp rap sounded on the door. A second later, it opened and Will stuck his head inside. Marc could see past him, to where the newest member of the team, Alex, Marc's assistant, was waiting.

  "Sorry to interrupt,” Will said, “but a call just came in. Some guy in a little town outside of Athens claims the house he just inherited is haunted. He wants the full team to come out and investigate. Today, no less."

  "Did you explain to him that I have other cases to take care of first? Did you tell him there are other investigators who could probably take care of the problem for less money?"

  "I tried, but he wouldn't listen. Said he was willing to pay three times our regular fee, but only if we come today, and only if the great Marcus Elliot handles the situation personally."

  Marc frowned. He had to earn a living just like everyone else, but he wasn't in it for the money, not really. And he hated it when rich clients threw their weight around. He was about to tell Will to call the guy back and tell him to take a hike, when Maggie stopped him.

  "Sounds like he's desperate, Marc.” She laid her hand on the crook of his elbow. “If he's willing to pay that much, he must be really scared."

  Marc chewed on his lip. Maggie had hit on his one weakness. He remembered all too well the helplessness he'd felt when his gift first manifested. The last thing he wanted was for some poor schlub to be a slave to the terror and uncertainty that once dogged him. Before he could stop himself, Marc said, “Call the guy back, Will. Tell him we'll be there by sundown."

  Will nodded, and Maggie wrapped her arms around him and gave him a squeeze. “You're doing the right thing. I'm sure of it."

  Marc hugged her back, feeling anything but certain. From the edge of the desk, he could see the justice card. Even though the character on the card was blindfolded, Marc got the feeling it was staring back at him.

  * * * *

  It was well past dark by the time they pulled into Darensville. Marc hated being late for anything, but it had taken them forever to get all the equipment packed and the whole team ready. Not to mention Maggie kept following him around, bugging him to let her do a reading and trying to stuff talismans and other good luck charms into his pocket. He'd finally laid down the law when he caught her sneaking a rabbit's foot into the inside pocket of his coat. She'd stopped talking to him after he'd so callously pointed out the damn thing hadn't been so lucky for the now three-footed rabbit.

  His sister aside, Marc admitted to himself he was dragging his feet for another reason. He hated haunted houses, if in fact this was a true haunting and not something else entirely. The something else he didn't want to think about, but as for the haunting ... he'd much rather deal with an enraged poltergeist or a spirit who was hanging around the battlefield where he'd died or lingering near a loved one. Those spirits who chose to hang on to a particular place—usually a musty old manor that looked like something out of an Addams Family episode—were almost always hard to cross over. Some of them didn't know they were dead, and some of them were simply too stubborn to move on. Then there were those who stayed for other reasons. Personal reasons. The kind of reasons that could get a guy as dead as the ghost he was working on if he wasn't careful.

  A chill ran down his spine, and he shuddered.

  "You okay?” Will turned from the main drag onto a gravel road. “You look a little green."

  "I'm fine."

  "If you say so.” Will shot him a glance, then trained his eyes back on the road. “Look, if you aren't cool with me and Maggie..."

  "If I wasn't, it wouldn't do me a damn bit of good.” Marc almost smiled. “My sister is a grown woman, and she knows what she wants. I can think of worse things than having Maggie fall for my best friend, a guy I've known and loved practically my whole life."

  Some of the starch went out of Will's posture. “Good. Because I really love her, you know? When we were growing up, she was this little pain in the ass who followed us everywhere and bugged the shit out of me. Then I realized I'd been looking at her for years without really seeing her. All of a sudden, she wasn't Maggie, your kid sister, she was Margaret Ann Elliot, beautiful woman."

  "If you start comparing her to a summer's day, I swear to God, I'll hurl."

  Will laughed. “Sorry. I get carried aw
ay when I talk about her, but I can't help it. Maggie's the one.” He sobered. “I don't mean to rub your face in it."

  "Relax.” Marc cuffed his shoulder. “Just because I've given up on happily-ever-after doesn't mean the rest of the world should. It makes me feel good to know you and Maggie are together. As long as your intentions are honorable, I'm cool with the two of you."

  "You can relax on that account. I'm going to marry her as soon as she quits being stubborn and tells me yes.” Will took another turn, this road more gravely and uneven than the last. “It's not too late for you to get back into the game, you know."

  Marc bit back a groan. “Careful. You're starting to sound like your girlfriend."

  "Can I help it if the woman makes good sense?” Will lowered his voice. “I liked Dean. Hell, part of me still does, but he was a total bastard to treat you like he did. That doesn't mean every guy out there is just waiting to screw you over. Take Alex, for instance."

  Alex. Marc almost winced. It was no secret that Alex had a crush on him, which was the main reason he'd made the guy ride in the equipment truck with Maggie and not in the van with him and Will. Marc liked Alex. He was a good assistant and had a damn good chance of developing his fledgling skills as a medium into a power that would rival Marc's own, but Marc felt nothing for Alex save friendship. Period.

  "You take him,” Marc said. “The kid is nine years younger than me, and we have nothing in common except we both see dead people. You and Maggie have got to stop trying to fix me up."

  "I'll let it go for now, but sooner or later, you're going to have to get back on the horse, my friend."

  "I date."

  "No, you don't. Dating implies getting to know someone.” Will made a face, and though his eyes never left the road, the censure was clear. “You don't date. You pick up a string of losers for a quick fuck and then toss them out the minute they ask for round number two."

  Marc thought that was a bit harsh, but it was close enough to the truth that he didn't say anything. He pointed to a “Private Drive” sign up ahead. “Is that our turn?"