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  FATAL PHANTASM

  THE FATAL SERIES

  BOOK 4

  MAGGIE SHAYNE

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Maggie Shayne, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Maggie Shayne

  Published by Oliver-Heber Books

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  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Also by Maggie Shayne

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  The most familiar eleven notes of Chopin’s Funeral March droned from the programmable doorbell’s hidden speakers. Kiley probably should have taken that as a sign.

  She was snuggling with Jack on the sofa, watching their favorite TV show, and making fun of the phony ghost hunters’ manufactured fear of static sounds on their digital recorders.

  She wasn’t sure how life could be as good as it currently was, but it was damn near perfect. Their ghost busting business was providing the whole gang a steady income, the house was amazing, Lady El was minding her own beeswax (mostly,) and she and Jack were damn near perfect.

  Hush, sister. You wanna jinx it?

  The house ghost’s face superimposed itself over the TV show, translucent, like a reflection. Tonight, Lady El wore a gold turban, her lashes were a jungle, and her jowls were a little bit saggy.

  “Someone’s at the door,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, I guessed that by the doorbell. And who added the Funeral March to the repertoire?”

  That was me. Lady El, puffed her cigarette, and blew lavender-scented and non-carcinogenic (she promised) smoke at her. Kiley was usually the only one who could smell it, or even see her, which was weird, her being a full-on muggle and Jack being sort of a ghost-whisperer.

  Just had a feeling it was called for, Lady El said, or thought or whatever. She didn’t speak aloud, but inside Kiley’s head. Or something.

  “So are we going to get the door?” Jack asked.

  “Nope.” Kiley snuggled closer. “It’s the business entrance, and business hours are over.”

  The ominous notes played once more.

  “They aren’t taking no for an answer, though.” Jack self-extracted from the snuggle.

  Kiley grumbled but got up, taking her phone with her, as one does, and followed him deeper into the house, past the staircase, to the room that used to be a library and now served as Spook Central HQ. Yes, it was a ridiculous name. But it had been used by the best. Buffy, the Ghostbusters, even the Scoobs. The original ones.

  “Maybe we should get a dog,” she said to Jack as she stood beside him at the French doors. A female shape was on the other side of the semi-sheer curtains she’d put up because it was creepy sitting in front of bare glass on a dark night in a place spooks loved. “Better not be another damn ghost. Then again who else would show up at this ungodly hour?” She glanced in passing at the antique mantel clock she’d found in the attic, but it had stopped at 1:13, possibly days ago at 1:13.

  Lady El looked back at her from the glass that covered the clock’s face. A copper red curl hung out of her shimmering gold turban, resting artfully across her forehead. It’s called an eight-day clock because that’s how often you have to wind it, Einstein.

  Kiley ignored her, and tapped the phone in her hand. 8:38. “Who knocks on a door at 8:38?”

  Sister, you’re older than me, and I’m dead!

  Jack opened the doors.

  The woman who stood on the other side had masses of thick blond hair spilling down past her shoulders and wore a clingy dress with a neckline so low and a hemline so high they nearly met. She reeked of money.

  Kiley hated her on sight, and Lady El hissed like a cat or a vampire or something.

  The woman at the door flashed a toothpaste commercial smile, breathed Jack’s name, and then she hugged him.

  She fucking hugged him.

  Kiley cleared her throat. Loudly.

  The blonde released him, and he had the good sense to back up until he was standing right beside Kiley. He even took her hand, which made her smugly confident. But he didn’t say anything, and he seemed shocked or worried. He kept looking at her, and then at the woman, and then at her, and then at the woman.

  Rolling her eyes, the blonde reached past him and stuck out a hand. “You must be Kiley,” she said. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

  Kiley took the bait, so she had a grip on her hand when she went on. “I’m Julie, Jack’s ex.”

  “Ex-what?” Kiley didn’t mean to crush her hand, but she must have because Julie winced and twisted it free.

  “Wife,” she said. She rubbed her hand, then lowered it to her side, and smiled brightly.

  “Oh.” It came out like a squeak. Kiley cleared her throat, squared up and said, “Oh, that Julie.” Because she’d be damned before she would admit that he hadn’t told her. Ex-wife? Ex-wife? What the actual—?

  Told you not to jinx it.

  Kiley looked up at Jack. His eyes were round, guilty, and maybe pleading. Hers were probably like barbecue skewers stabbing into them. There was a dangerous burn behind them, though, and while she didn’t much care to leave them alone together, she thought it best she get the hell out of there before she did something that couldn’t be undone and would result in prison time.

  “I was just, uh, heading upstairs,” she said with all the dignity she could muster in her jammies and furry penguin slippers. And then she pivoted and left the office. She even closed the double doors behind her.

  Are you out of your mind? Leave the doors open …unless you’re going to listen outside it …wait you’re still walking. Why are you going upstairs?

  Kiley didn’t reply to her pesky but lovable ghost and continued to her room. She closed the bedroom door behind her, blinking her hot eyes. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry.

  Don’t cry! Spy! Lady El stood in the mirror. It was a big one, so Kiley could see more of her. She wore a white dress that hugged her substantial curves from boob to ankle, its skirt ruched to hell and gone. Her belt, necklace, and earrings were all gold, like the turban. You should be listening in.

  “I’m not that insecure.” She was, though. Sure, she’d been badly burned by the guy before Jack. The one who’d romanced her just long enough to get her account numbers, and then stolen her entire inheritance, which had been substantial. She’d convinced herself it was unfair to carry that baggage into her relationship with Jack. She was completely over that. She’d left it behind.

  Those tears tell a different story, sis.

  “Yeah, so does the feeling of my heart being crushed all over again.” She knuckled her eyes dry. “But it’s just anger. Besides, I trust Jack.”

  Seriously? You trust him? Still?

  El made a good point. If Jack would keep a secret this big from her, what else might he not have told her? Hell, she didn’t even know he’d been a shrink until it had come up in a case. And the suspicious monster she’d put to bed was waking up and it was pissed.

  But she would not reduce herself to acting like a jealous, insecure lover. If you didn’t trust someone the solution wasn’t to spy on them, it was to dump them.

  Oh, hell. That was not a fun thought.

  Fine. If you won’t spy, I will. El puffed her cig, blew the smoke into a big cloud that covered her reflection entirely, and vanished from behind it.

  Kiley paced. She talked to herself. She swore a lot. She told herself this wasn’t the same. It wasn’t at all the same. Mark—if that had even been his real name—was nothing like Jack. Jack was a good man, she knew he was.

  Oh, God, but she’d thought his predecessor was too, once.

  She took off her penguin slippers and threw them at the wall. And then she heard Jack coming up the stairs. Must’ve been a short conversation.

  It was, and there was no further touching, either. Oh, she reached for his shoulder, but he turned away—pretty elegantly, too. I don’t like her, though. Not one bit.

  “Thanks, El.”

  Jack opened the bedroom door and stood there like he wasn’t sure whether to come in. She faced him from four feet away, composing an intelligent and unemotional question in her mind. What came out was,

  “What the actual fuck, Jack?”

  He lowered his eyes. “It was …we were in college. It only lasted six months.”

  “You were married.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you didn’t tell me.”

  “I was going to tell you, but then it felt like I’d waited too long, and then …” He trai
led off.

  So he didn’t have a reason. Hell, she’d hoped he might have some perfectly logical, valid reason. “This is a big deal,” she said. “First, I didn’t know you were a shrink. Now, I don’t know you were married to a freaking Kardashian? What’s next?” Her eyes widened. “Do you have kids?”

  “No. Look, Kiley, she means nothing to me. It’s been fifteen years. I haven’t even seen her since—”

  “You are missing the point by light years, Jack.” She closed her eyes. “I trusted you.”

  His eyes took on a wounded look. “Past tense?”

  “Well, once someone lies to you, you’d have to be an idiot–”

  “I never lied to you.”

  “You lied by omission, and you know it.” She lowered her head. “Maybe …you should go.”

  Go? What do you mean, go? Lady El shouted so loudly in her head that Kiley found it hard to believe Jack couldn’t hear her. Hell, she was surprised the whole neighborhood couldn’t hear her. Just give him back to her, why don’t you?

  Ignoring Lady El, she tried to meet Jack’s eyes, but that just made hers swim with more tears. “I’ve been lied to before. You know that.”

  “I know,” he said. “But I’m not a con out to steal you blind, Kiley. I’m your …your guy. I love you.”

  He’s the best thing to happen to this house in centuries, sister. And the best thing that ever happened to you. And you know it, oh yeah, you do.

  “Will you just shut up!”

  “I guess that’s fair,” Jack said. “You need some space. I can …go bunk with Johnny for a couple of nights.”

  It’s. A. Big. House. Dumbass.

  Kiley closed her eyes, took a deep breath, tried to feel her own feelings. She didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to make it okay again.

  “It’s a big house,” she said, even though it would feed El’s ego. “I can have space with you here.”

  Thank you, sweet Jesus. In the mirror, Lady El fanned herself with the most elaborate fan Kiley had ever seen. It had huge, fluffy white feathers and gold sparkles.

  “Speaking of space …”

  All right, all right, I can take a hint. I’m gone.

  “You’re right,” Jack said. “I’ll go.”

  “I didn’t mean you.” Kiley reached out for his arm because he’d started to turn away. “It was El.”

  “Look, I don’t know what you want. You want me to go? You want me to stay? Just tell me what you want. Don’t make me guess, cause I stink at it. You know that about me by now.”

  He looked at her, waiting, and she opened her mouth, closed it again, and then decided that since their relationship was crumbling before her eyes, she might as well be honest. “I want you to have told me about her from the beginning. I want this never to have happened. And short of that, I don’t fucking know what I want.”

  “I was going to tell you. I’ve been planning to tell you, and then things happened, and I didn’t. And then it seemed better just to …” He turned his palms up. “I’m an idiot. And I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are.”

  “Wait, which one?”

  “Both. But you were married. Jeeze, Jack, you lived with that woman. You slept with that woman every night. You snuggled on a couch and watched TV with her. You shared a home and bills and meals and—”

  “It wasn’t like that. But I know this is a lot. And thank you for the offer to let me stay, but I think I’d better give you some space. This all happened pretty fast, between us. It wasn’t what you had in mind.”

  “Wasn’t what you had in mind, either.”

  He pressed his lips tight and came closer, took both her hands and said, “For what it’s worth, I get why you’re mad. I don’t blame you. I’m aware I screwed up, and I’m sorry.”

  Ohhh, that’s good. You gotta admit, that was good.

  She shrugged. It was a start. It wasn’t everything she wanted to hear.

  Well, sure! You want him to say you’re better. Prettier, kinder, more fun to be with, better in bed, and that he’s way happier with you than he ever was with her and that— El popped into a mirror, one hand on her chest, the other arm out wide — and that he knew not what love was until he set eyes on you.

  Kiley rolled her eyes.

  Lord, why can’t I talk to him instead of her? Lady El asked the ceiling.

  “I love you,” he said. Then he kissed her forehead.

  She didn’t respond in kind. She just walked past him out of the room, headed downstairs, and went to the kitchen to make a cup of something soothing. Wine, she decided.

  Do you know what he’s doing up there?

  Kiley jumped so hard the wine she’d just poured sloshed onto her chin before she even got the first sip.

  Packing. He’s packing!

  “It’s fine. He’s right. This isn’t something you just breeze past. It’s serious.”

  You wanna talk about serious? I am dead. This is a tempest in a teapot. A bump on a log. Teats on a boar hog. It’s meaningless. You don’t want to be alone.

  “Tonight, my friend. I really do.”

  She refilled her glass and carried it back to the staircase, because Jack was coming down, a little black satchel in one hand. It was reassuringly small.

  He met her eyes and gave an awkward smile that broke her heart a little. She walked with him through the little foyer to the front door. He said, “I’m only a few minutes away if you need me.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay.”

  “You um …never said what she wanted. Probably none of my business but—”

  “She’s being haunted, wants to hire us. That’s as far as she got. I told her it was a bad time. She’s supposed to come back tomorrow during business hours. Ten a.m.”

  “You can’t possibly think we’re taking the job.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I thought we could hear her out and discuss it. Isn’t that what we do?”

  Wrong answer. You are blowing it, Jack! Lady El shouted even though she knew Jack couldn’t hear her.

  Kiley lowered her head, didn’t answer.

  He hesitated a second and then he just left. Just opened the door and walked out.

  “He didn’t kiss me goodbye,” she whispered as he got into his stupid van.

  Damn, Lady El said. I’m gonna miss watching that man shower.

  CHAPTER 2

  Johnny texted her, and in spite of all Maya’s efforts, her heart jumped for joy when his image lit up her screen. She loved the look on his face in that shot she’d assigned to his contact info, three-quarter profile, chin low, eyes looking up at the camera, wearing the kind of smile that made you wonder what he was up to.

  But then she read the message.

  “Jack just showed up with baggage. Maybe check on Kiley.”

  “On it,” she texted back. And then she stared at the screen for a full minute, watching for those promising ellipses dots to appear. They didn’t. Johnny had bought her fake relationship with Joe, hook, line, and sinker. And that was what she’d wanted. It was why she’d asked Joe to play this stupid game to begin with, so Johnny would let go of his hopeless romantic ideas about the two of them and fall for somebody else. Somebody younger, closer to his own age.

  She was doing the right thing by him. It was the right thing.

  Sighing, she thumbed her phone and texted Kiley, who had somehow become her very best friend. She didn’t even have to think about what to say. She typed it fast.

  “I need a venting & vodka night. U in?”

  The dots appeared, because girlfriends didn’t leave each other hanging. “Can we do it here? In jammies?”

  “Obvi. B there in 20.” Maya got off the sofa, where she’d been watching Hallmark movies and debating the pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia in the fridge. She wouldn’t even have to change clothes. Her nightgown could double as a sundress, and her silk kimono would make the perfect bathrobe.

  She grabbed her slippers off the Turkish rug on the hardwood floor. Her modern, asymmetrical house had been under construction for two years, and she was finally in it and was in love. She had a studio now, soundproof for making videos and podcasts and recording audio versions of her books about Witchcraft and natural magic.