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Authors: Margaret Millmore
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have them send what they have to San Francisco, and allow Phil to become the “librarian” of sorts.
He'd spent the last few months doing just that; the collection was monstrous now, and had come from all over the world. Phil spent most days hovering over an antique library table piled high with these tomes, journals, and missives, familiarizing and cataloguing them so they could be properly shelved on the floor to ceiling bookcases he had installed all around the perimeter of the room. I'd heard it was quite impressive, if not a bit chaotic. It was also where Vokkel's papers were housed. Once it was all organized, it would be the largest and most complete collection of information the Watchers have ever had, and it will be a fantastic resource, not just for them, but for ghost killers as well.
“This C1 thing?” I asked. Knowing Phil, he would probably spend all night poring through papers trying to find a connection, if there was one. But he looked tired too. “Phil, when was the last time
you
slept?”
He smiled. “It's been awhile, but don't worry about me. I've survived on less.” He drained his beer and tipped the brim of his hat. “See you two later.” He left before I could chastise him.
I hailed a cab to get us home—I was too tired to walk six blocks, uphill.
Chapter 10
The cab driver deposited us in front of our apartment building, and Billy and I wearily took the elevator up to the sixth floor. I was suddenly exhausted, but decided to decline Justine's dinner invitation in person.
When we entered the apartment, Billy let out a quiet but vicious expletive and stopped abruptly, causing me to run into her. Mumbling ungentlemanly words of my own, I moved around to face her. She looked angry and I asked, “What's wrong?” Then I heard the voices coming from the living room…one was Justine, the other I didn't recognize.
Billy walked stiffly into the living room with me at her heels. Justine looked up as we entered, a pained smile distorting her otherwise beautiful face. A woman was sitting in the arm chair across from Justine, and although I'd never met her, I knew who she was immediately.
She was gorgeous in a glamorous and worldly way. Her ebony hair hung just below her shoulders and her green eyes shone mischievously. She was dressed expensively in a navy blue silk dress and high-heeled shoes that accentuated her perfect, long legs. I knew that she had to be in her early fifties, but like Justine, this woman was aging very well and could have passed for the same age as Billy. The resemblance between mother and daughter was uncanny, but where Billy was very pretty in a natural way, Julie's beauty was sophisticated and elegant.
“Ah, there you are,” Julie exclaimed. Suddenly frowning, she said, “You look positively horrible. What in the world have you been up too?” She didn't wait for a response; instead, she turned to me and said in a flirtatious tone, eyelashes fluttering, “And who might you be?”
I was a hundred different kinds of exhausted, but the good manners my dad spent years pounding into my head took over, and I cordially replied, “Hi, I'm George. You must be Julie.” I began to offer my hand in greeting, then remembered the bandages and pulled back. “Sorry, we…,” I glanced at Billy, “have been up to all sorts of things.” I walked over to Justine and sat next to her, quietly asking, “Are you all right?” She smiled at me and nodded her head.
Julie was on the receiving end of a particularly nasty green-eyed glower from Billy. It would have crumbled most people, but Julie just smiled arrogantly and said, “I heard about your little fight with Daddy…it wasn't very nice, what you did.” Her tone was indifferent when she said, “Although I suppose I should probably thank you; after all, he left everything to me.”
In an eerily calm tone, Billy said, “Maybe I should remedy that and become the last in his line of heirs.”
If the threat had any effect on
He'd spent the last few months doing just that; the collection was monstrous now, and had come from all over the world. Phil spent most days hovering over an antique library table piled high with these tomes, journals, and missives, familiarizing and cataloguing them so they could be properly shelved on the floor to ceiling bookcases he had installed all around the perimeter of the room. I'd heard it was quite impressive, if not a bit chaotic. It was also where Vokkel's papers were housed. Once it was all organized, it would be the largest and most complete collection of information the Watchers have ever had, and it will be a fantastic resource, not just for them, but for ghost killers as well.
“This C1 thing?” I asked. Knowing Phil, he would probably spend all night poring through papers trying to find a connection, if there was one. But he looked tired too. “Phil, when was the last time
you
slept?”
He smiled. “It's been awhile, but don't worry about me. I've survived on less.” He drained his beer and tipped the brim of his hat. “See you two later.” He left before I could chastise him.
I hailed a cab to get us home—I was too tired to walk six blocks, uphill.
Chapter 10
The cab driver deposited us in front of our apartment building, and Billy and I wearily took the elevator up to the sixth floor. I was suddenly exhausted, but decided to decline Justine's dinner invitation in person.
When we entered the apartment, Billy let out a quiet but vicious expletive and stopped abruptly, causing me to run into her. Mumbling ungentlemanly words of my own, I moved around to face her. She looked angry and I asked, “What's wrong?” Then I heard the voices coming from the living room…one was Justine, the other I didn't recognize.
Billy walked stiffly into the living room with me at her heels. Justine looked up as we entered, a pained smile distorting her otherwise beautiful face. A woman was sitting in the arm chair across from Justine, and although I'd never met her, I knew who she was immediately.
She was gorgeous in a glamorous and worldly way. Her ebony hair hung just below her shoulders and her green eyes shone mischievously. She was dressed expensively in a navy blue silk dress and high-heeled shoes that accentuated her perfect, long legs. I knew that she had to be in her early fifties, but like Justine, this woman was aging very well and could have passed for the same age as Billy. The resemblance between mother and daughter was uncanny, but where Billy was very pretty in a natural way, Julie's beauty was sophisticated and elegant.
“Ah, there you are,” Julie exclaimed. Suddenly frowning, she said, “You look positively horrible. What in the world have you been up too?” She didn't wait for a response; instead, she turned to me and said in a flirtatious tone, eyelashes fluttering, “And who might you be?”
I was a hundred different kinds of exhausted, but the good manners my dad spent years pounding into my head took over, and I cordially replied, “Hi, I'm George. You must be Julie.” I began to offer my hand in greeting, then remembered the bandages and pulled back. “Sorry, we…,” I glanced at Billy, “have been up to all sorts of things.” I walked over to Justine and sat next to her, quietly asking, “Are you all right?” She smiled at me and nodded her head.
Julie was on the receiving end of a particularly nasty green-eyed glower from Billy. It would have crumbled most people, but Julie just smiled arrogantly and said, “I heard about your little fight with Daddy…it wasn't very nice, what you did.” Her tone was indifferent when she said, “Although I suppose I should probably thank you; after all, he left everything to me.”
In an eerily calm tone, Billy said, “Maybe I should remedy that and become the last in his line of heirs.”
If the threat had any effect on
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