“Ow. I heard you,” Mordecai hollered. “Stop punching me!”
I put my hand over the bottom of the phone. “Daisy, stop hitting your brother,” I yelled. “We didn’t get him patched up so you could beat on him.”
“He deserves it,” Daisy yelled back. “Leaving empty cartons of ice cream in the freezer is bullshit.”
“We only have ice cream because of me,” Mordecai said. “Ow, would you stop?”
“We only went without ice cream for years because of you, too,” Daisy said. “Stop squirreling away. What, all those practice sessions and you can’t take a chick’s punch?”
“You’re in the practice sessions, too!” Mordecai yelled.
I leaned back in my chair so I could see around the wall and down the short hallway. “Stop fighting, you two. Take it out in practice.”
“He’s not in a vulnerable position in practice,” Daisy said, and another punch landed.
She had a point.
I pulled the phone from my head, checking to make sure there was still someone on the line.
“Hello?” I said.
“How is it you knew Detective Miller?” the man asked.
I squinted an eye when someone down the hall screeched. It was impossible to tell who it was.
“Well, that’s the crazy part I was talking about,” I said, leaning forward again. The kids would survive. “You remember that movie a long time ago where that kid reveals that he can see dead people? Well, I’m magical, and I can, in fact, see dead people. Kind of like the people you have on staff, but a lot more effective. Jim was haunting a criminal—Romaro or Romano or something, I try not to get names—and his last request was that I get this message to you. So there you go. Take it or leave it, it’s up to you, but that’s all I know.”
“This was…when?”
Daisy stomped back in the kitchen, empty-handed.
I put my hand over the bottom of the phone again. “Where’s the carton?” I asked her.
“Let that idiot throw it away. He should’ve done it in the first place.”
“Daisy—” I shook my head and returned to the call. I did not have the patience. “This was…about four weeks ago now,” I told the detective. “I was paid to send the ghosts across the Line—honestly, it doesn’t matter. You’ll just think I’m weird. Bottom line, Jim really wanted someone to get that message to you. Eight-seven-seven in terminal three. He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask. I’m just passing it on. My conscience is clear.” I leaned back with a farewell on my lips.
“How is it you know Romano?” the man asked before I could get away.
Daisy opened the refrigerator, leaned against the door, and stared into its depths.
“Daisy, you’re wasting electricity,” I admonished her. “Get in and get out.” I returned to the call. “Sorry, we’ve gotten some charity in the last few weeks and it has resulted in more than enough food to go around. It’s causing all sorts of unforeseen problems. Anyway, I don’t know Romano. He showed up at my booth at what they call a magical showcase, asking that I banish a few ghosts. Before I banish an entity, I let them speak for five minutes. Jim gave me that message to pass on. Eight-seven-seven—”
“How did Jim die?”
“I don’t know. I ignored him for most of his five minutes.”
Silence stretched across the line.
“I know how that sounds,” I rushed to say. “But I’m not in the habit of listening to descriptions of grisly violence. I try to tune that sort of thing out. But as I said, he got my attention at the end of his five minutes and made sure I heard that message and who to give it to. After that, Jim-the-spirit was okay to leave.”
“Jeez, whoever you’re talking to sounds dense,” Daisy muttered.
“To leave?” the detective asked.
“To go across the Line. To rest in peace.”
“I see.” The man’s tone suggested he thought I was hiding something. “You’re magical, did you say?”
“Yes. So anyway, good luck. Hope you get your man. Bye.” I pulled the phone away from my head, ignoring the detective’s “Wait—”, and tapped the button to end the call. He seemed like the type who would call me in for questioning. That was not something I wanted any part of.
“Did he believe you?” Daisy asked as she pulled out a carton of milk.
“He was too busy being suspicious to believe me. He probably thinks it’s a trap, or maybe that I’m a criminal snitch, or…who knows.” I stood from the table and swiped my hands together. “No longer my problem. I did what I promised. End of story.”
She shook her head slowly. “You should’ve used that letterhead I stole from Denny’s dad. It couldn’t come back to bite you, that way.”
Denny was a guy Daisy had kept on the hook for a while—even after she stole shifter medicine from his dad’s vet shop and blackmailed him to stay silent about it. Mordecai and I had nagged her until she stopped seeing him.
“I didn’t leave my name,” I said. “How could they possibly find me?”
She rolled her eyes at me as she pulled a box of cereal out of the pantry. “You used your cell phone, dummy. They could trace it.”
“They don’t trace every call, give me a break. And besides, Kieran prepaid the phone service for a year. Given what I know about his obsessive need to control every situation, it’s probably in his name. If there’s a problem, they’ll go straight to him. Still not my problem.”
“Unless you two fall out. Then he could just turn you over to the cops.”
“He’s a Demigod, Daisy. A Demigod of Poseidon’s line—one of the Power Three.” She looked at me with a blank face. It occurred to me that she had some gaping holes in her education. “The Power Three gods are the original brothers. Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon. Many believe they are the most powerful of the gods. Demigods of their line often have more power, though how much more, I couldn’t say.” She continued to stare at me with a blank expression, and I realized that it wasn’t a lack of knowledge, it was a lack of interest. “Right. Anyway, he might not be in charge of a specific territory yet, but he’s one of the most powerful people on the entire planet. If he wants me dead, he’ll kill me himself. He won’t even need to hide the body. The man could literally just say ‘oops’ and walk away. I’m a nobody living in the cracks between the magical and non-magical societies. No one would be bothered.”
“And you took a job working for him?” She clucked her tongue. “Suicide.”
I let my mouth drop open as I stared at her incredulously. “Have hormones clouded your brain, or something? You helped me set up that job. You got him to buy me a Burberry, and you negotiated a higher salary. You’re just as much at fault as I am.”
“I’m a good business manager. I don’t advocate which jobs my client should and should not take. That would be unethical.” The cereal pinged off the sides of the bowl.
I threw up my hands. “You’re talking gibberish. Look. He’s not going to kill me. We both know that. Not unless I piss him off or something—”