Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey (4 page)

“That’s
the
famous teen psychic, Christian Campbell.  He’s, like, all the rage on YouTube for his psychic gallery sessions over here in Europe.  He uses Ouija boards to connect with spirits of the people in his audiences.  I heard the BBC was looking to give him his own television show.”

I ignore the pop culture aspect of his bio and instead focus on his metaphysical object of choice.  A Ouija board.

A skitter of shock runs up and down the length of my spinal cord and I’m not happy about this at all.  The mere thought of a Ouija board skeeves me out.  Somehow, it just seems to be opening a portal that we don’t need to be messing with.  (And hello…didn’t anyone watch
Paranormal Activity
when that mofo burst into flames?  No, thank you!)

Maddie bounces in her seat in full fan-girl mode.  “How amazing is
this
going to be, getting to work with
the
Christian Campbell.”

“Thrilling.”  More than a bit of sarcasm laces my voice.

I turn to look at the celebrity in our midst.

Christian lasers his gray eyes at me and then places dark sunglasses on his face, hiding him from the rest of our group.

Ouija board use aside, there’s something about this kid that screams out, “Beware of Wolf.”

I wonder what we’ve got in store for ourselves.

The double-decker bus begins to move through the early morning Heathrow traffic.  I fascinated by my surroundings knowing there are rocks here in this country older than the entire United States.  It’s a bit overwhelming to do a quick mental flashcard review of the hundreds of battles, royal struggles, and religious melees this land has seen.  The awe-inspiring location doesn’t seem to affect Maddie, at all.  She’s more focused on gossiping about the “celebrity” in our midst.

She leans in and whispers, “I read online that Christian charges three hundred dollars for a private psychic reading, and that he’s booked solid through the end of the year.”

Patrick harrumphs.  “Guess he doesn’t have to worry about college tuition like the rest of us, huh?”

I elbow him in the ribs even though I totally agree with him.

Maddie types something into the browser on her phone.   “Check this out,” she says in a second.  “There’s a picture on his website showing him with angel wings, saying that he’s ‘a messenger of God.’”

I take the phone and peer at the webpage, screwing up my nose.  “Hmmm, last I checked, messengers of God didn’t charge three Benjamins per hour for their services.”  Father Mass, my Episcopal priest and friend, would be disgusted at someone using a psychic talent that God gave them for their own profit and fame.

Patrick takes the phone and scrolls around on the site.  I rest my chin on his shoulder and follow along with my eyes.  There are all sorts of scheduled appearances, interviews, videos, and testimonials on Christian’s page.  Patrick starts laughing.  “Get this.  He’s got a disclaimer on the site.  Right next to the PayPal button where you pay to schedule your three-hundred dollar session.”

I snag Maddie’s phone from Patrick to see this for myself:

LEGAL DISCLAIMER

Please be advised that no psychic reading can predict, forecast, diagnose, or provide information with absolute certainty.  No guarantees or assurances of any kind are given and neither Christian Campbell, nor his affiliates, will not be held accountable for any interpretations, misinterpretations or decisions made by recipients based on information provided during readings.

For entertainment purposes only.

“What a piece of work,” I mutter under my breath.  “Entertainment, huh?  He finds it entertaining to speak with the dead?  To be haunted—literally—by spirits who don’t know what they’re doing and why they’re doing it?  I’d like to tell him about the ghostly bitch that pushed me down the staircase and put me in the hospital, or the possessed doll that killed my friend Farah in a car wreck, or the spirit who led us out to the woods to find her dead body after her boyfriend murdered her, or—”

Patrick calms me by tightening his arm around my shoulder.  “Shhh…”

“Why use psychic abilities if you think it’s only for other people’s entertainment?” I ask passionately.  My friends and mentors, Loreen Wood and Father Massimo Castellano told me this is a gift I’ve been given.  A talent I have to use for good to help others.  Yet this well-polished kid gets to profit from his abilities?

Maddie seems taken aback.  Then again, she’s one of Christian’s fan-girls.  “We’re all into this for different reasons, Kendall.  Don’t wig.”

“I didn’t realize I was wigging,” I say to my friend.

She retrieves her phone and slips back over to her seat as the bus rounds a curvy bend.

I feel a growl wanting to escape from me.  Instead, I tamp it down, trying to hold in my disgust.  “I’d never charge people three hundred dollars to help them with a loved one who’s passed on,” I tell my boyfriend through gritted teeth.

“Neither would I.”

Kendall, I don’t trust that guy.  Not one bit.

Why?

I can’t put my finger on it yet, but I don’t trust him.

I don’t either.  But it’s mostly because I don’t like the way Christian’s gray eyes cut through me.  Even though I have my back turned to him, I sense him there.  Christian Campbell is definitely trying to size me up and read me.

“That does it.”

Instead of playing psychic mind games, I knock Patrick on the thigh and get him to let me out of the seat.  I’m going to introduce myself to Christian and find out what his deal is.

Walking straight back to where Christian is sitting, I grip the seat back to steady myself from the bumpy ride.  The young girl next to him sits up, wide-eyed as I approach.  Then, she smiles sweetly at me.

“You’re Kendall from America,” she says in a thick Scottish brogue.

“Yeah, I am.  Hi.”  I extend my hand to her, and when our fingers meet, I see into her mind.  The small school she attends.  The herd of cats at her house that she cares for and feeds.  The sick grandmother she goes to visit every Tuesday and Thursday.  Mostly, I see the shy fear behind her kind eyes.  And, most definitely, a star-struck awe at the guy sitting next to her.

“I’m Jayne Mcburney,” she says.  “Oliver told us about you.  I think you’re one of his faves.”

I release her hand and then take the seat in front of them, twisting to face the two of them.  My cheeks heat slightly at the compliment, but I can’t think about that right now.  Christian’s eyes are shielded by sunglasses and he’s sitting very still and quiet.  The rapid tapping inside my skull picks up again.  It’s as though I’ve nailed up boards to cover up the windows to my soul, yet someone’s pounding on the outside to be let in.

That someone is clearly Christian Campbell.

He slowly draws off his sunglasses and stares me down.  “You’re the late bloomer, aren’t you?”

I cock my head at him.  “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.  It’s just that I began having psychic intuitions when I was five years old and I first saw... the beast next to my bed.”  He shudders and places a fist to his mouth, probably more for dramatic effect than anything else.  Jayne moves her hand to comfort him.  I guess she knows the story about “the beast.”  He peers directly at me.  “Yet, from what Oliver says, you’ve only had psychic abilities for a matter of months.”

“Since August,” I snap, as though I’m defending my awakening.  “It’s been almost a year.”

Jayne looks down and presses her glasses up her nose with her forefinger.  “My visions started when I was nine.  Seven years ago.”

The invasive knocking continues against my brains.  I tense up and glare at Christian. 
Ummm… I so don’t think so, dude.  First off, I just met you.  Secondly, not thinking you’re the most honest person on the bus, and, thirdly, my boyfriend’s the only one allowed to see and hear my thoughts and even that’s an iffy thing.

“I’m sure this will be an interesting summer then, Kendall,” Christian says.  His crisp, clipped accent nearly unnerves me.

So, I focus on Jayne, reading her mind clearly since she has no cloak surrounding her thoughts.  I see green, rolling hills, a churning, dark ocean, men in kilts—mostly warriors who could stand a long, hot shower, and, most interestingly, a long, curling mist trying to shroud a secrecy hidden deep within
someone
.  Not Jayne, though.  “You’re from Scotland,” I say, not ask, with a smile.  “What part?”

“Aberdeen,” Jayne says with a large smile.  “Have you been there?”

I shake my head.  “No, this is the first time I’ve been out of the States.”

Christian levels his eyes at me.  “Of course it is.”

Before I can snap his head off, Jayne tells me, “I won a contest on Christian’s website to come on this trip and learn from him.  I’m his protégé.”

She seems like a genuinely sweet girl, but I don’t think Christian Campbell’s the right teacher for her awakening.  What was Oliver thinking, bringing this polished piece of work on our trip like this?

A niggling in my head tells me that I need to reach out to Jayne.  She seems too naïve, so innocent, and so lost.  Her eyes are dilated and full of excitement and confusion.  I recognize all of the emotions because I had them myself the first day I arrived from Chicago, fresh to my new home in Radisson, Georgia.  And now look at me.  I reach out to the girl who’s only a couple of years younger than I am, yet it seems like such a bigger gap.  “I’m here to help you out however I can, Jayne.”

A beautifully wide smile runs across her face.  “Thanks, Kendall, that’s—”

“—not necessary,” Christian finishes for her.  Then he adds, “
Tapadh leat
” in a thick Gaelic brogue.

“Thank you,” Jayne says, nodding her head at her mentor.

Okay, so that’s the way it is.  I understand perfectly.  I leave them and move up the aisle to return to my seat.

“Is he as big of a jerk as I thought?” Patrick asks.

All I can do is harrumph.

While I’ve been chatting it up, our double-decker has rolled straight from the airport into the famed capital city of England.  Modern building tops peek up through medieval structures, blending together in a harmonious historic architecture of what makes London one of
the coolest
places on the planet.  So I’ve read.  And now I’m here!

“You’re missing the view,” Patrick says to me.

“Not anymore.”

Like a kid at Disney for the first time, I hang over the edge of the bus watching Londoners rushing to work this Monday morning.  Lush green trees, a perfectly manicured lawn, and a reflecting lake catch my eyes.  It’s St. James Park.  Not that I see a sign or anything; I just
know
.  This is one of the most amazing things about being psychic now.  I just know
all
of these historical things.  I squint harder at the area and literally see the outline of the old York Palace that King Henry VIII got from his counselor, Cardinal Wolsey.  (Okay, so I watched
The Tudors
on Netflix and learned some things.)  But as I gaze out, the beautiful landscape turns a bit dank and dirty.  There are camels, elephants, and crocodiles wandering about as though they fit naturally here.

“What the—?”

Patrick, always reading my thoughts, speaks up.  “When King James I took the throne of England, he turned this place into an exotic pet display area.”

“Why? I ask.

Patrick shrugs.  “Because he was the king and he could.”

I snicker at the thought and then my breath halts.

Did I just see the soldier from the airport watching us pass by?  I shake the image out of my head, wondering who this intruder is and what he wants with me.

Mentally, I charge back up my white bubble of light.  I’m not letting this soldier or Christian Campbell or any unwanted dead tenant take up residence in my mind.  That’s just the way it is.

“Look!  It’s Big Ben!” Celia calls out.

“Wicked!” Jessica shouts.

Taylor focuses her camera lens on the golden building to our right housing the infamous House of Parliament and the equally renowned Big Ben.  As our bus speeds onto the bridge over the Thames, I glance over and take in the London Eye.  It’s hugely out of place and sticks out like a sore thumb, all mechanical and modern in a city of feudal treasures.  A major fish out of water.  A bit like me, I suppose.

Then the creepy chill hits my spine again, reminding me that all is not as it seems and I need to be on alert.  This isn’t just some happy-go-lucky European summer jaunt.  There’s work to do here.

The watching eye in London isn’t some slow, mechanical Ferris wheel; rather, it’s the polished teenager sitting behind me.

I’m going to have to guard my every move.

We have seriously arrived in the lap of London luxury.  Or rather, the best hotel that Oliver Bates’s television reputation can buy.  Which is quiet chic.

Taylor drops her bags onto the bed in our penthouse—yes…penthouse!—apartment at the Park Plaza County Hall across the river .  I guess I should call it a flat, though, to get into the vernacular of my surroundings.

Maddie Puckett rushes over to push the curtains aside “Y’all!  Check out the view!”

I follow the other girls and gasp when I take in the awe-inspiring skyline of London, with the Eye staring back at us.  I could spend a year exploring this hotel suite alone, with the kitchen, lounge, living area, and outside balcony, but I need to snag my sleeping space first.  Since Jessica and I’ve shared a room before, the two of us pair up in one of the bedrooms with Taylor and Celia claiming the one in the large suite, and Jayne and Maddie agreeing to share the pull-out sofa bed.

“Where’s your aunt staying?” Jess asks.

“She has a room down the hall,” I tell her.  “She’s here to chaperone and support and everything, but she doesn’t want to be in my way.”

Jess nods.  “She’s way cool.  Things are looking up for you, Kendall, since our spring break.”

I feel a slight blush, knowing she’s talking about Patrick.  “Yeah, things are great with Patrick.  We were really meant to be together.”