Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey (3 page)

I rub my eyes and shake my head hard trying to catch my breath.  Aunt Andi approaches from behind and rubs her hand across my shoulder.

“Kendall, is everything all right?”

I nod, but say, “No.  Not really.  Just getting long distant messages from ghosts of centuries past.”

Andi’s eyes shift to concern.  “Loreen said this might happen.  What with you still having your psychic awakening and spirits knowing they can come knock on your skull, so to speak.”

I wince.  “What do you mean?”

My aunt smiles.  “These centuries-old ghosts see fresh meat.  You basically have a neon sign over your head.  You’ve got to shut yourself off the best you can.”

Talk about the ultimate history assignment if I were to help Mary Queen of Scots find her chopped off head, or help the Jacobites with their uprising in the Battle of Culloden, or help Richard the Lionhearted pass into the light.  Or even meet Shakespeare and ask him if he really wrote all those stories or if Christopher Marlowe did it.  That would be the penultimate of coolness.  That’s not what I’m here for, though.  I’m here to work with Oliver on his important cases.  That’s what I’ve got to focus on.  We’re here to help the living, not the dead.

“So what did Loreen say?”

“She said you have to protect yourself not only in a bubble of white light around you, but you have to make sure you visualize the light going through you, penetrating you, coming in and out and forming a fortress around you to keep these spirits at bay.”

A spiritual suit of armor.  Makes sense to me.  “I’ll make sure I protect myself, Aunt Andi.  Thanks.”

She smiles and touches her forehead to mine.  “Just call me Andi, sweetie.  I’m so happy to be with you on this trip.”

I hug her to me.  “I’m so happy to have you in my life.”

“Hey, you’re blocking the aisle!” Celia says kiddingly.

“And I happen to know there’s a gorgeous guy waiting for you,” Taylor says, holding up an iPhone that shows Patrick’s recent Facebook post and then reads, “Waiting for Kendall at Heathrow Airport.  I can feel her getting nearer…”  She puts a hand to her heart.  “That is the sweetest thing ever.”

Thank heavens Jason has his ear buds in; otherwise I’m sure there’s be some extensive color commentary.

Who cares, though!  I can’t wait to see my sweetie.  He’s here.  I just have to find him.

I bob and weave through the rest of the terminal, making my way to the escalator that takes me to baggage claim.  The terminal building is silver-shiny and very high-tech and modern looking.  You’d never know it was merely a crossroad for destinations and journeys.

And then I see him.  Actually, I
feel
him first.  A bright, spreading warmth coats me in love and comfort from the inside out.  Patrick Lynn is here waiting for me.  My feet carry me forward on the terminal floor, past the hordes of people waiting for their bags at the incoming Berlin flight.

At carousel number eight, I barely see our flight number from Atlanta displayed on the board.  Instead, I spot the familiar head of brown hair and the gorgeous brown eyes peering out over a white cardboard sign that reads: 
I *heart* Kendall Moorehead

Did Patrick just tell me he loves me?

“Awww…
c'est si romantique,
” Taylor says with her hand over her heart again.

I see Jason roll his eyes and then gag like an eleven-year-old boy, until Celia smacks him hard in the stomach and he stops.

“Hey, babe!” Patrick shouts out, obviously not hearing my psychically-posed inquiry.  Oh well, I’ll drop it for now.  I’m just so damn happy to see him.

I run the last few steps toward him and literally throw myself into his arms.  He lifts me off the floor and swings me about as though I weigh nothing at all.  (Not an option after that fattening breakfast!)  He sets me down and kisses me firmly on the lips. I totally want to make out with him more, but this isn’t the place.  Instead, I lace my fingers up into his thick hair and hug him again.

“I thought you’d never get here,” Patrick says close to my ear.  “This is so cool.  We’re going to have an amazing summer together.”

Just as I relax into Patrick’s arms, I see
him
again.  The World War II pilot.  He’s off to the side of carousel five, and he looks so much like he wants to tell me something.  I shake him off and close my eyes, building that white light reinforcement around me for protection.

When I open my eyes, he’s gone.

I hope that’s the last I see of him.

“I can’t believe Tillson is here,” Patrick mutters to me.

“Taylor’s part of my team,” I say as I watch the bags parade around the belt in front of us.

Patrick frowns at me.  “You know I mean Jason.”

“Ignore him, Patrick.  That’s what I plan on doing.”

I want to believe that, Kendall.

I sigh. 
I don’t have feelings for him anymore.

He has them for you, though.

That’s his problem.

With that, I turn to Patrick.  “Enough.”  Then I lean and point at my black suitcase.  “That’s it.  That’s the last one.”

He hauls it up off the belt and lets out a giant-sized groan.  “Holy crap, Kendall.  What did you put in here?  Kaitlyn?”

I giggle at the thought of my little sister stowing away in my bag.  “No, fortunately the brat is at soccer camp in Florida.  A long way from me.  I just brought changes of clothes, bathing suits, dresses… shoes.”

He shakes his head.  “How many pair?”

“I don’t know; I didn’t count,” I say firmly.

“Patrick, darling,” Taylor says, nearing us, “a woman never needs to justify the amount of items—clothing, jewelry, or makeup—that she requires to be beautiful for her man.”

“Kendall’s perfect just as she is.”

Taylor gives me the doe-eyed look for the fourth time in the last ten minutes.  “Honestly, Kendall.  He’s a keeper.”

I’m about to respond when I hear my name called out and see a red-headed blur coming at me.

“Jessica!” I shout out and run to meet her halfway.  We meet in a tangled mess of gangly arms and legs hugging and squealing.

“Oh, my God!  I can’t believe we’re in England!” she says exuberantly.

Jessica Spencer was my roommate at Oliver’s enlightened kids’ retreat in California.  We’ve kept in touch via e-mail and social media, but haven’t seen each other since.  This is really awesome to be able to spend more time with a west coast friend and someone who’s also dealing with paranormal phenomena in her own life.

“Have you seen the Pucketts?” she asks.  Maddie, Erin, and Harper Puckett from Alabama were also at the retreat with us.  We’d been told by Oliver that the girls were invited along on the trip.

“Did someone say my name?” I hear the high-pitched southern drawl say.

I spin around and see Maddie Puckett, without her sisters, in a bright yellow sundress and sunglasses perched atop her head of golden hair.

Hugs and air kisses are disbursed and Patrick moves in to hug the two girls as well.  He takes their bags and adds them on to the rolling palate that already holds our own.

“Well, if it’s not old home week,” Maddie says with a wide grin.  “Too bad Harper and Erin opted for cheerleader camp instead.”

“Are they crazy?” Celia blurts out.

Maddie winks.  “A little.”  Then she spots Jason.  “And who are you?”

Taylor steps up.  “He’s my twin brother.  Watch out for him.”

Maddie smiles brightly.  “I don’t know if I want to.”  If southern charm actually oozed, we’d all be standing in a big old mess of it right about now.

Jason, being a southern gentleman himself, extends his hand.  “Hey, I’m Jason.”  Then he drops contact and goes back to reading messages on his phone.

Maddie glances over at me.  “Your ex?”

“Yep.”

Her eyes shift over to Patrick.  “And your current?”

“Yep.”

She smiles wickedly.  “Excellent.”

A man in a blue uniform approaches our group.  “I’m looking for Oliver Bates’s group from America.”

“That’s us!” Celia says.

“Please follow me.  I’m here to take you on a tour of the city, and then deliver you to your hotel accommodations.”

Very posh.

We gather everything and head outside to the waiting area where a perfect, red double-decker bus is idling.  There are people on the top deck, but I don’t know who they are.  I try to hone in with my psychic senses, but I’m not getting anything.  It’s like there’s a shield there.  A steel wall of sorts that I can’t see through.

“This is wicked cool,” Celia says and then climbs up onto the first level of the bus.

Taylor has pulled out her Nikon and is snapping pictures in burst mode.  Patrick steps up into the bus and then reaches behind him and extends his hand to me.  So sweet.  I accept it and follow him onto our transport.  The guy in the blue uniform is taking care of all of our bags, so I head to the back of the bus and slide up the tiny spiral staircase that leads to the top.

The sun has broken through the clouds since our early morning arrival and it’s starting to heat up.  I glance over to the seats that are occupied and see a young girl with straw-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail.  My abilities tell me she’s fifteen years old, but right now, she’s putting out the vibe that she doesn’t want to be bothered at all.  The guy next to her has spikey, highlighted—come on, that’s from a bottle!—blond hair and he’s deep in conversation on his phone.

“Don’t even think about it,” Patrick quips.

“About what?”

“Him.”

“Him who?”

Patrick rolls his eyes and then covers them with his sunglasses.  “I saw you checking him out.”

“I so wasn’t.”  I stick my tongue out at him and then slide into one of the bench seats, patting next to me.  Patrick laughs and plops down next to me, wrapping his arm around me.  I feel so warm and comforted and secure.  It’s great that we don’t have to speak so much because we each know what the other is thinking and feeling.

Well, most of the time.

Like I’m butt-crazy in love with this guy and he hasn’t said that three-word phrase yet.

And I know damn well that he knows I want him to.  That he…

I wince.  The psychic headache is back.  This time with a vengeance.  Patrick notes my discomfort and holds me tighter.

“It will pass, Kendall.  It’s all the residual energy from all the centuries of war, battles, struggles, you name it,” he tells me quietly.

I want to believe that’s what it is, but there’s something off.  Something’s not right.  It’s radiating all around us like a force field.

It’s something…
bad.

I try not to make a big deal out of these sensations as everyone else piles onto the bus.  Taylor and Celia take the seat opposite us, while Maddie and Jessica each take a seat.  Jason, with ear buds in, sits alone, three seats in front of me.  It’s like he’s annoyed that he’s here.  Honestly, can’t he just relax, get over himself, and have a good time?

Patrick slices his eyes over to me, obviously picking up on my thoughts.  “Do you really care?”

I flatten my mouth.  “Stop eavesdropping.”

He rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger.  “Sorry.  Hard to do sometimes.”

Aunt Andi’s the last one on, and she snaps her phone shut.  Then, she pats my hand as she takes the bench in front of Patrick and me.

“I’ve never been to London.  This is going to be very exciting,” she says.  “While you guys are doing your thing with Oliver, I’m going to scope out some of the art galleries.”

I lift a brow.  “Looking for stuff to take back to your gallery in St. Louis?”

“Possibly.  It’ll also keep me out of your hair while you’re busy,” she says.

“She doesn’t mind you in her hair, Aunt Andi,” Patrick says.

“You’re so adorable,” she says, making Patrick blush.  She turns to glance about and sort acts like she wants to takes charge since Oliver isn’t here with us.  “So, does everyone know each other?”

“We’re good,” I say.

All the intros were done in the airport, except for the couple in the back.  Although, I know deep down that they’re not a
couple
couple.

I turn my attention to the blond ponytailed girl.  She’s really cute, but I can see that she’s extremely shy, hiding behind her stylish wire-framed glasses and squinting up into the sun.  The guy with her finally clicks off his phone and stares forward.  The blond girl gazes up adoringly at him like she’s some presidential candidate’s wife out on the campaign trail.  She’s totally into him.  Crush as big as the British Isles.  And I can’t blame her.  The guy is… gorgeous.

He’s not gorgeous in a ruggedly handsome way like Patrick or a classic high school jock way like Jason.  This guy is… pretty.  And he knows it.  I’m easily picking up that he’s been praised and placated his whole life about his good looks.  Narcissism exudes from him, mixed with an over-confidence that keeps him going.  His skin is tanned—a bit too much—and it looks as though he’s had a slight tattoo of eyeliner.  I’m not getting the vibe that he’s gay or anything.  Just on his own plane of existence.  His golden hair is sculpted and styled and I dare any wind gust to mess it up.  His eyes shift directly toward me and there’s a jolt through my body.  Not like I’m attracted to him or anything.  (I have enough men on this trip,
thankyouverymuch
.)  I am intrigued by him, though.  Gray, clear, emotionless eyes cut through me, issuing a warning of sorts and pulling up a dark, black curtain of mystery around him.  I try to read him, but he’s mentally shut me down, blocking me from knowing any details of the who, what, where, when, why of who he is and what he’s doing here.

The only polite thing to do—what my mother has taught me all of my life—is to introduce myself and be civil, since we’re apparently going to be living and working together this summer.

Just as I’m about to nudge Patrick to let me up, Maddie Puckett gasps like she’s just seen David and Victoria Beckham.  She slides over into Andi’s seat and hunkers down low to whisper to me.

“Oh, my God!  Do you know who that is back there?” She’s obviously star struck.

I’m figuring it’s some Simon Cowell discovery I don’t know about, so I shrug.