Speed Dating With the Dead by Scott Nicholson Read Free Book Online Page B

danger his daughter was in.
    “All I’m saying is that it’s just a piece of pasteboard with some letters on it,” Kendra said. “But you better check your spiritual condition before you play.”
    Amelia sniffed. “The dead can tell who’s playing for keeps.”
    “Tell them about the Commodore,” hubby said.
    “That’s for the beach house,” she said. “I’m here to channel Margaret Percival.”
    “Why don’t you come say hello?” Kendra said, pointing to the wall. A portrait of a woman with short, curly hair and sad eyes hung above an antique tea table.
    According to hotel legend, the portrait had been found at a 1950’s flea market by a maid, and she’d sworn it bore an uncanny resemblance to the vanished Miss Percival. Taking it as a sign from God, the maid had purchased it and given it to the hotel. The Roach figured it was just another flea-market hype job, since the hair style was wrong for the era, but the hotel had gone so far as to attach a copper nameplate beneath it that read “Margaret Percival.” The nameplate appeared much newer than the ornate but chipped wooden frame.
    The Roach was about to give his opinion when the portrait fell from the wall, the glass shattering.
    “I caused that,” Amelia said. “With my mind.”
    “I wouldn’t admit it,” Kendra said. “The hotel might stick damages on your bill.”
    The Roach examined the wall where the portrait had been. A tiny hole was ringed by plaster dust. The picture hook had apparently lost its grip.
    She’s got a mind like a claw hammer, then.Bet she uses the head of the hammer on hubby.
    “She’s a demonologist, too,” hubby said.
    The Roach shot her a glance. She was too young to know better. Anyone claiming to be a demonologist was worth avoiding. The real ones, like him, worked best in secret. It was an unfortunate calling, not a hobby.
    “Among other things,” Amelia said with pride. To hubby she said, “You’d best notify the hotel staff before someone gets cut.”
    “Why bother?” Kendra said. “A little blood is just what we need to get the party started.”
    “Blood magick,” Amelia said to her. “Are you a virgin, dear?”
    “Excuse me?”
     ”Are you familiar with Aleister Crowley?”
    “Come on, Kendra,” The Roach said, ferrying her away. “Some more guests are checking in.”
    “Cool,” Kendra snapped. “Maybe they’ll be old perverts, too.”
    Amelia glowered at the teen. “I would hate to fetch a demon on you.”
    “You don’t want one of her demons,” her husband said, arching his eyebrows into arrow tips. The Roach wondered how many demons he’d been subjected to during the course of the marriage. Plenty, by the looks of it.
    “Why don’t you two come to the medium parlor?” The Roach said, appealing to Amelia’s ego and letting her assume her presence was awaited with all the anticipation of a visiting queen’s. “Wayne Wilson is expecting you.”
    “I hope it’s in one of the haunted rooms.” Amelia G. stepped over the broken glass and followed The Roach down the hall, hubby trailing and sipping his drink.
    “I believe they’re all haunted,” The Roach said.
    “Got any demons here?”
    “Only the ones you brought with you,” The Roach said, wishing it were true.
    The hall was buckled and warped, the angles slightly skewed by decades of wooden bones shifting on concrete footing. The scarred oak floorboards creaked under their feet, and mirrors placed at strategic angles suggested subtle movement at the edges of the shadows. The Roach had been in a number of reputedly haunted structures, and most of them had age and faulty architecture in common. It was another of those contrived truisms of the field: ghosts avoided clean, well-lighted places.
    They were heading up the stairs to the second floor when a brittle crash sounded on the landing above. The Roach looked back at Amelia, whose plump face bore a look of childish pleasure.
    “Sometimes I don’t know my own power,”