Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey (8 page)

I groan inwardly, but smile at my friend.  “I’m glad someone rested.”  I scoop out some eggs onto my own plate and reach for a roasted tomato to go along with it.

“Were you thinking about what happened at Mrs. Flanders’s house?” she asks.

No, I was thinking about your stupid brother.

“Among other things,” I answer.

Taylor pats my arm gently.  “I’m sure we’ll be able to help her out.  We always help out.”

Jessica, Celia, Jayne, and Maddie wander in and we all dig in to the breakfast feast and the chatter about last night’s investigation continues.  I sip—gulp actually—my tea hoping the caffeine kicks in quickly.  Anything to tamp down all of my nerves and restlessness.  There’s an overall icky sensation covering me that I know is more than just Jason Tillson putting the moves on me.  It’s something from the other side reaching out to me, only I don’t know who or what it is.  Could it be this other person who’s watching after me, as Anona told me?  Honestly, why do these spirits have to be so vague?

The door to our suite opens and in walks Oliver, followed by Patrick, Jason, and Christian.

“Good morning,” Oliver says to us all.  “Pip-pip, cheerio, and all those other English quips.”

“Hey, Oliver,” we all sing out in unison.

Patrick comes up and hugs me from behind, planting a kiss on the top of my head.  His hair is all boy-messy from sleep and he’s got this sexy stubble on his face like he doesn’t care.  “Hey, babe.”

I don’t even look at Jason, although I can feel his eyes on me.  Christian, too, seems to be watching me.  What is it with these guys?  Do they all have to be so… overwhelming?

Patrick fills a plate with a heaping serving of everything on the table and then sits down opposite from me.  I concentrate on surrounding myself thoroughly with the white light to protect my thoughts and feelings.  The last thing I want is for Patrick to tap into my memory of last night’s debacle.

Oliver sets down his briefcase and reaches for a croissant and lets out a long sigh.  “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Christian sits to his right and seems as if he already knows what Oliver’s going to say.  A smug assuredness overcomes him and I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.

“What’s up?” Celia asks, speaking up for the group.

Oliver clears his throat.  “We won’t be going back to Mrs. Flanders’s house.”

“Why not?” I blurt out.

“That’s fine with me,” Jess says.

Jayne nods quietly.

“After we left last night,” Oliver says, “she contacted her Anglican priest.  He was none too pleased that she’d allowed ‘a bunch of spook hunters’ into her house and he accused us of ‘stirring up the devil.’”

“That’s ridiculous,” Patrick says.

“I agree,” Jess says, darting her eyes around.

I set my tea cup down.  “But Oliver, it’s clear there’s something haunting her house.  They’ve had poltergeist activity, and I’m sure once we review the recordings from last night, we’ll find EVP to back that up.”

He holds up his hand.  “Kendall, I understand, but Mrs. Flanders won’t allow us back anymore.  Her priest did a blessing on the house and that’s that.”

“What did she do with the Ouija board?” Maddie asks.

Oliver reaches over for his discarded briefcase, sets it on the table, and pops it open.  Slowly, he withdraws the Ouija board that Mrs. Flanders had in her house.  I gasp, as do the other girls.  Jayne, in particular, shudders a bit.  The young girl is definitely frightened, but she remains quiet.

“What are you going to do with that?” Celia asks.

Christian just snickers.  “I’ll take it, Oliver.  It’s been calling out to me ever since last night, so I think I should add it to my collection.”

I’m not crazy about the notion of one Ouija board in our presence, much less two.  But that’s just me.

Oliver hands the item over to Christian.  The young psychic stares directly at me, trying to penetrate my thoughts which I’ve thankfully guarded.

Then, he says, “Mark my word.  We haven’t heard the last of Dojo this summer.”

 *~*~*

After another full day of playing tourist—watching the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace, climbing to the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and taking a boat ride down the Thames—there’s no time left to hash about the men who’ve invaded my life.  Patrick’s in historical geek mode as we tour around, Jason’s hanging out with Celia who’s giving him her own narration of the city, and Christian is pensively hanging in the wings, seemingly bored with the architecture and antiquity of his own country.  I stick with the girls, snapping photo after photo of all the great sites and posting them immediately to my Facebook page for everyone back home to see.

Now, after a quick dinner at a friendly neighborhood pub, we’ve arrived via our chartered double-decker bus in the Kensington area of London, where our next investigation awaits us.

Lady Margaret Hewitt, a ginormous fan of Oliver’s, greets us as we file into her gorgeous home.  Actually, it’s more like a small castle in the middle of the city.

“Aren’t you teenagers adorable.  I’m so honored to have you here in my home.  And Oliver, you’re my favorite psychic on the telly.”

Oliver actually blushes at her compliment.  “Now, Lady Hewitt, you do go on.”

“How old is your house, Lady Hewitt?” Celia asks in full investigative mode.

“The land has been in my family dating back to the fifteen hundreds,” she says proudly.  “I’ve been here for thirty-nine years.”

“What sort of paranormal activity have you been experiencing?” Maddie asks.

Lady Hewitt takes a handkerchief from her pocket and dabs her pale, white skin.  It’s apparent there’s something causing the noble woman to perspire just thinking about what’s disturbing her home.

“There are what you’d call cold spots abounding in the house.  Not just in the winter time when a chill is expected.  Rather, in the middle of summertime.  Like this morning.  I was sitting down to my breakfast and my maid told me the pantry in the kitchen was ice cold.  I stepped away from the dining room and followed her to find that, indeed, she was not exaggerating.  I could see my breath when I walked into the storage space.  Then, I experienced the same thing in the sitting room later this morning.”

“It was in the nineties today,” Jessica notes.

“No kidding,” says Jayne.

I want to chalk up the cold spots to this simply being a drafty, stone building, but my psychic tingling senses tell me there’s something more here.  A presence that’s watching and lurking.  I spread my hands out wide and shut my eyes, opening myself up to whatever is here and whoever will communicate with me.  Patrick is by my side immediately and takes one of my hands in his.

I feel it too,
he tells me.

Is something following us?

Not us.  Him.

I open my eyes and glance across the room.  Christian is sitting in a large velvet chair staring off at nothing.  He appears to be in a trance that has Oliver and Lady Hewitt completely fascinated.

“Let’s do some EVP work,” Celia suggests.

“I’ll set up my cameras,” Taylor adds.

As our team settles into the sitting room, Oliver lowers the lights.  Taylor clicks on the infrared illuminator lights on her video camera so the night vision can record our investigation.  Jason plops down into a chair and holds a digital recorder that Celia has given him.  At least he’s participating and not being a bump on a log, like usual.

Patrick squeezes my hand and smiles at me.  “You okay?  Ready for this?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

But it’s a lie.  Not a deliberate one.  Immediately, my psychic headache begins to pound out in my temple.  It’s as though it’s rush hour in my veins and all the blood is zooming to be anywhere else right now.  I wince.  I cringe.  I shudder.

“No, you’re not fine,” Patrick says quietly.  He places his finger under my chin and lifts my eyes to his.  I meet his dark brown gaze and nearly want to melt at the concern pouring from him.

“There’s someone here.”

He nods.  “I feel it too.”

Over his shoulder, I begin to see an apparition materializing.  First, I see it’s the figure of a woman, thin and tall.  Next, I notice blond hair framing a beautiful ivory profile.  Distinctive nose.  Noble chin.  She comes into full view standing next to Lady Hewitt’s fireplace.

I nearly choke on my gasp.  “It can’t be…”

Patrick turns.  “I don’t see anything.”

I’m overcome with a sudden awe as I swear I’m staring at the ghost of the deceased Princess Diana of Wales.  I want to be a professional.  I want to remain calm and in investigative mode, but I can’t do it.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim, getting everyone’s attention.  “You guys, you won’t believe this, but Princess Di is standing right over there.”  I point at the fireplace.

The ghost turns her head and smiles directly at me with her prim mouth turned up at the corner.

“No way!” Celia shouts as Taylor flips her camera to focus on the mantle.

Lady Hewitt inhales quickly.  “The princess did live just over the way in Kensington Palace.  I had the pleasure of meeting her once when she was out strolling with her boys.  Lovely woman.  What a tragic loss for England.”

“But she’s right here!” I say, geeking out.

“Talk to her, Kendall,” Oliver advises.

Patrick laughs and nudges me ahead toward the specter.

Not knowing how to react, I curtsey.  The ghost chuckles at me and covers her mouth with her hand.  “Thank you,” she says.

“Oh, my God, Princess Diana.  I’m, like, a huge fan of yours.  I’m so in awe of everything you did in your life, especially all of the charity work.”

The ghost dips her eyes demurely at the compliment as the rest of the team surrounds me with camera and digital recorders.

“Are you in pain?” I ask.

“No, dear.”

“What happened that fateful night in Paris?  In the Pont de Alma tunnel?”

She doesn’t respond.

I push, though.  “You died in a horrible car accident.”

The princess nods.  “The accident happened very quickly.  My pain has been forgotten.”

From across the room, Christian apparently can’t stand that I’m conversing with a famous British ghost.  He tugs out one of his Ouija boards and crosses over to where I am.  He sits down on the floor in front of where the princess is standing and lays the board on the floor.

“Jayne, I need you,” he says calmly.  She scuttles over quickly and sits next to him.

Incredulously, I say, “I’m sort of in the middle of a conversation here, Christian.”

He doesn’t care or even acknowledge me.  Instead, he places his hands on the planchette as Jayne does the same.  “I’d like to communicate with the spirit that is here with us this evening.”

Patrick steps up.  “Dude, Kendall’s talking to the spirit right now.  Back off.”

Oliver puts his hand to Patrick’s chest to stave him off.  “It’s okay, Patrick.  Let’s see what Christian has in mind.”

I look at Princess Di who doesn’t seem amused by this.  “Don’t let him do this,” she says firmly.

“What choice do I have?” I say back to her.

The planchette moves underneath Christian and Jayne’s fingers, sliding left and right.  Glancing at Maddie, I see tears filling her eyes and she begins to tremble.

“This isn’t right,” she whispers, but no one seems to care.

Christian closes his eyes and rolls his head around, performing, this time, for Taylor’s video camera.  She zooms in on him, not missing a moment, and he definitely starts to put on a show.

“Come speak to me,” he says in a monotone.  “You may use my body as a vessel to communicate with us.  Who are you?  Who is this spirit that dwells in Lady Hewitt’s home?”

I reach for Patrick’s hand again and lace my fingers through his.  Our psychic energy surges together and I’m nearly lightning-bolted in place.  An unseen vortex of cold air encircles us, swirling around and down, over toward Christian and Jayne seated on the floor.

“I call upon you to tell us your name,” Christian says.

I watch, wide-eyed, as the planchette moves rapidly across the polished wood.  Just as it did last night at Mrs. Flanders’s house.

Celia announces, “D.  O. J.  O.  Dojo.”  She snaps her head up.  “It says Dojo again.”

Maddie begins to cry.  “I don’t like this.  Oliver, I’m frightened.”

He shushes her.  “It’s okay.”

No, it’s not okay.

Christian’s hands fall off the planchette and he flops backward onto the antique carpet.  Lady Hewitt nearly spasms with her quick intake of breath.  Christian jerks to the left, then the right, and squirms around on the carpet.

I honestly want to laugh in a sick sort of way.  Is this kid for real?

Patrick steps in front of me almost to provide a barrier between me and Christian’s shenanigans.  Still, Christian shouts out in pain, writhing about.  I steal a glance at Princess Di who fades away into a mere wisp of a cloud.  Even she isn’t impressed with the goings on here.

Then Christian screams out.  “I am Dojo!  The dark and evil lord.  You will not cross me.”

Jayne cries and backs away from Christian as fast as she can.  Still, he continues channeling.

“I am the demon Dojo.  You will bow down and worship me!”

A large oil painting over the fireplace crashes forward, falling to the floor where the princess once stood.  Patrick and I jump back as the frame barely misses us.

“Get out!” Christian shouts.  “Get out of my sight!”

Jessica and Maddie cling to each other, both of them crying hard.  Celia reaches for Jason, who wraps his arm around her.  Taylor, God love her, keeps a steady camera on the action.

Jayne covers her ears with her hands and screams out, “Christian!  Stop this!  You’re scaring me!”

“I am Dojo!  I am the lord demon.  Worship me now!”

I break free from my boyfriend and grab Oliver’s arm.  “You’ve got to put a stop to this!  Everyone is freaking the freak out.”

Lady Hewitt agrees, “I do believe the young woman is right.  This is way beyond what I expected when I agreed to let your group in for an investigation.”

“I do apologize, Lady Hewitt,” Oliver says.  “We never know what we’ll encounter.”  He bends down to touch Christian, who rears up and smacks at Oliver.  Christian’s fist connects squarely with Oliver’s right eye and we all gasp.