Four and Twenty Blackbirds (Eden Moore 1)

I looked down at the beads, and back at my hotel room. I listened hard, but heard no warnings or prohibitions from the grave. Something was up, but whatever it was, my ghostly guardians must have felt I could handle it. Besides, even without Eliza's fussing, I wouldn't have felt safe in that motel another night; and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious to know what she really wanted. I didn't believe for a moment that she was scared of Malachi, not any more than I was.

"I don't know. " I sighed, knowing I ought to know better. "Do you have cable?"

"Cable television? No. No, I don't. The old TV barely picks up the locals. "

No big surprise. "Then just say 'please. ' "

"That's all it'd take?"

"That's all. "

"All right then, please follow us home. And be sure you don't leave that knife here. "

"Don't worry," I told her. "It stays with me. "

II

She gave me a room on the second floor with a window that overlooked the front yard. The portal was flanked by immense, heavy draperies that hung down from cast-iron café rods and tied back with gold cords. I let them fall closed, sealing myself into the place with only the light from the bedside lamp.

The bed itself was tall, nearly waist-high against my torso, and covered with a light duvet warm enough for winter, but not so heavy that it'd cook the sleeper in summertime. My duffel bag was perched atop the overstuffed pillows leaning against the thick, darkly varnished headboard. The antique board rather uncannily resembled a huge wooden tombstone, carved with deep swirls and lilies; it lacked only an epitaph and the requisite dates to cross that fine line from tacky to the macabre. I wasn't sure I'd be able to sleep in it at all, but truth be known I didn't plan to sleep anyway. Not in this house, much less in that bed. Even if Malachi were safely in police custody, Tatie had many secrets, and I was willing to bet she kept them within arm's reach.

Specifically, I had a feeling she knew about that book with the stolen hand. Perhaps it was intuition, but it was possibly something more independently minded. Either way, I had little upon which to base my suspicions. I'd inferred from our previous conversation that she'd had more contact with Avery than one might have thought, and she was therefore only on

e degree removed from John Gray himself if, as I was by then fairly certain, Avery had joined him at his Florida coven. It wasn't much to go on, but it was better than nothing.

I'd been instructed to make myself comfortable and then return to the main dining hall for supper. I didn't think Harry would be able to top IHOP, but by then it had been a long time since I'd eaten and food sounded good.

Tatie Eliza was already ensconced at the head of the table when I arrived. An ice-filled glass of sweet tea and a white china place setting signified my seat at the other end. Harry had laid out more silverware than I was likely to use all day, but I knew roughly what fork went with what dish, so I wasn't too afraid of looking like a fool.

Harry pushed the swinging door to the kitchen aside with his thigh and brought forth salad and rolls. I reached for the outside fork and munched on the greens without speaking. Eliza did the same.

Since I was uncertain what would offend her and unwilling to make myself appear ignorant, I wondered privately where Harry ate and whether or not he'd care to join us. No doubt it was profoundly improper for the manservant to join the family, but when the family was reduced to one lonely old woman, what did propriety matter? She couldn't have been so dead set on formalities as all that; after all, she did have a colored girl sharing her table. Her parents would do barrel rolls in their coffins if they knew.

"Tell me," I eventually broached, determined not to eat in silence. "How did it happen—what Malachi did to make Harry take a poker to him?"

She chewed pensively at a wedge of tomato before answering. "He raised a hand to me. That boy raised his hand up against his own flesh and blood. "

In the name of good manners, I refrained from pointing out that I was his own flesh and blood as well and he'd made a fine tradition of raising a hand to me for fifteen years. "How cowardly of him, to attack a woman of your . . . health. "

"Yes. Cowardly. "

"But why did he attack you?"

The kitchen door opened again and Harry carried in the main course of rice and grilled chicken. I set the salad fork across the remains of the greens and reached for the next piece of silver in line. Harry was either a fabulous cook or he knew one, for everything was fantastic. I'll never say he topped Lulu, but he gave her a run for her money.

"I hope he didn't hurt you," I said, taking a bite and allowing Eliza time to elaborate.

She shook her head. "No. He just made me mad. Got his hands up around my throat before Harry heard the commotion and came to help me. "

I tipped my head toward the kitchen door. "Harry's quite a useful guy. You should give him a raise. "

"Listen to you—talking money at the table. Not sure why I'm surprised; I know who raised you. "

Rather than get us both riled by defending myself, I tried to drag the conversation back to the most obvious topic. She was playing nice, for her, anyway. She might let something slip if I played my own cards right. "That's neither here nor there. But what did you—I mean, what I meant to ask is, what happened to make Malachi come after you?"

She took another bite and her own sweet time replying. "He was asking after some book. He wanted some old book and he thought I had it, and I don't. I guess God was wrong on that one. "

"God?"