Read Online Ghost Key by Trish J. MacGregor - Free Book Online Page B

peered out from behind his glasses like those of an anxious dog that feared it might not be fed. Sam was editor of the local newspaper and, so far, he and Liam had been a good fit. But when Liam was alive, he’d been a lost human with an alcohol problem and sometimes in the bar at night, he tipped a few too many. That worried her. On the other hand, Liam obviously enjoyed physical existence and maybe that alone would prevent him from blowing it.
    “Liam, I thought you posted the time of the meeting on the newspaper Web site,” she said.
    “I did. I guess they forgot to check the Web site, Dominica.”
    “I can see we need to rectify that. ”
    “Hey, it’s not like this is corporate America, Dominica,” Whit remarked, and opened his arms wide. “I mean, really.” His gesture encompassed not only the old scarred table at which they sat, but the entire dilapidated barracks with the lack of electricity, the faint stink of mold, the filthy floors. “They need an incentive to attend.”
    Whit surprised her, as he often did. She liked that, the element of surprise and mystery. Whit had been executed seven months ago for rape and murder, and until he had answered her call, he had been stuck wandering around the lower astrals, wondering what the hell had happened to him.
    “The incentive is the vision, Whit. A brujo enclave in the U.S. Here.”
    “A lot of them may not understand what that means,” Liam remarked.
    “Since your host is the editor of the newspaper, Liam, it’s your job to explain it to them, which you apparently haven’t done. An editorial might do the trick, okay? Are we clear, Liam?”
    Liam looked conflicted. “I don’t know if that’s wise until more of us have hosts.”
    Whit nodded. “I agree, Nica. A lot of residents have already left the island. We don’t want to do anything that frightens away more potential hosts.”
    “How many in our tribe have hosts right now?” she asked.
    Whit didn’t hesitate. “Two hundred and two.” Whit, the numbers man. “At least half of them are couples.” He grinned. “Easy access to sex.”
    Good, she thought. That minimized the possibility of bleed-outs that sometimes occurred when her ghosts engaged in sexual encounters so passionate and lustful that the host bodies were overtaxed and bled out. Couples tended to be less forceful with each other. Since her arrival, thirteen hosts had bled out. Those bodies had been disposed of expeditiously so the deaths hadn’t attracted attention from outside authorities. She intended to keep it that way. Early on, she had forbidden the seizure of any child under sixteen. Nothing would bring outside scrutiny more rapidly than a bunch of dead kids. She had also forbidden any more bleed-outs. Any brujo who violated that law would end up in this wooden box for a hearing, just like Von.
    But Von’s offense was far more serious. “Let’s get down to the unpleasant business that brought us here,” she said.
    “We’re not going to wait for the others?” Liam asked.
    “They’ll hear it through the net,” Dominica said. Everyone in her new tribe would hear the proceedings through the telepathic net that connected them. “And if the other members of the committee choose to grace us with their presence, they can vote. But they aren’t necessary to these proceedings. As Whit so eloquently pointed out, we’re not a corporation.”
    The door behind them creaked, the old wood groaning, the rusted hinges squeaking, and Gogh lumbered into the kitchen carrying a paper bag. “Sorry I’m late,” he called out, as if they were all hard of hearing. “Had to stop by the market.” He set his bag on the table and brought out a selection of bottled water, soda, juices. “Take your pick.”
    Gogh’s peace offering, she thought. He had died in an L.A. gang war about a year ago and had been trapped in the lower astrals by rage and confusion. His host, Richard Pinella, was the head bartender at the hotel, a handsome man in