Ghost Walking (A Maggie York Paranormal Mystery Book 1) (12 page)

“Dalia! How wonderful to see you.” Surprisingly fast on her feet, Selena swept forward and engulfed Dalia in a huge hug. For a moment, Maggie wondered if her distant cousin would be smothered by the woman’s ample breasts. But finally Selena released her and looked at Maggie. “And who is this?”

Please, no hugs. Maggie prepared to step back if the woman rushed her.

“As if you didn’t know. This is Maggie York. Sarah’s child.” Dalia turned to Maggie. “Selena is another cousin or maybe a great aunt of some kind.”

“Sarah’s, huh?” Selena inspected her. “Yes, I see the resemblance. That fiery hair, for sure. Well, come on in. What can I get you to drink?”

Both women declined the drinks but followed her inside. Maggie blinked. Except for the smell of melted wax and incense, the interior wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Neat, tidy, efficient. On one side, a dresser stood next to a cot covered with colorful knitted pillows. A yellow and white tabby had claimed one of them for her nap. A shawl, also knitted, draped over the back of a wood rocking chair. Pots of live herbs lined two walls, and on the other side of the room a small refrigerator—probably powered by a generator—and a propane cookstove served as the kitchen. A table for two squatted under the only window, which looked over the bayou. And everywhere, every single surface, held a sparkling crystal or a candle or both.

Over Selena’s objections, they took the straight-backed kitchen chairs and left her the rocker. The older woman settled her body in the rocker’s perfect fit and picked up a deck of tarot cards. Maggie suppressed a skeptical sigh. Now comes the hocus-pocus. Selena turned over the first card in the deck.

Despite her doubts, Maggie’s pulse jumped. The card held the dark figure of a skeleton. “Isn’t that the death card?”

Selena cocked her head at her. “It means change, not necessarily physical death.” Her head swung to Dalia. “Well, cousin, is that why you’ve brought her to me?”

“In a way. Maggie recently learned she has the gift and a unique affinity for spirits. She’s not happy about it, and I hoped you could add some perspective…and advice.”

The old woman hesitated, her eyes studying Maggie. “You’re awfully old to be introduced to witchcraft.”

Maggie’s brows lowered. She wasn’t looking for an introduction to witchcraft. And she certainly didn’t consider herself old.

“Selena, my dear, choose your words with better care.” Dalia’s voice held mild reprove.

“Oh, I didn’t mean you were old.” Selena gave Maggie an apologetic shake of her head. “Goodness no, you’re just a child, but most of us grew up with the Craft and learned it from infancy. It must seem very strange to you.”

“Well, yes. I don’t believe in magic.”

Selena looked at Dalia. “We do have our work cut out for us. Why don’t we start by telling me what happened that brought you here? How did your gift come to light?”

Between them, Maggie and Dalia filled in the details, from Maggie’s waking in the emergency room to the latest encounter with Hurst and JoJo in the hallway.

“What I really need to know is how to get rid of the ghosts,” Maggie said. “Something feels so off, creepy even…and the cold…” She shivered, remembering that ominous chill. “Of course I don’t want the voices back either.”

“You’ve felt the chill?” Selena looked at Dalia. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I didn’t know.”

Maggie felt she’d missed something. Both women suddenly looked solemn. “Is that bad?”

“It’s normal, but—” Selena shook her head. “Let’s not begin there. The good news—and bad—is the voices are gone. Once they fade, they don’t come back. They were a temporary side effect of the trauma. In your case, it’s actually unfortunate you’ve lost that ability. Satisfying the spirits is easier if they can tell you what they want.”

Maggie blew out an audible breath. “Well, frankly, I’m relieved. I don’t want to hear them.”

“You will,” Selena said, nodding sagely. “Mark my words. Ghosts can be very persistent, and they won’t leave until their needs are met. Do you know what they want?”

“I think so. Hurst expects me to find his killer.”

Selena looked taken aback. “Why you? That seems a rather outrageous and dangerous demand, even for a ghost.”

“Actually, that part’s not so strange. I’m a police officer. Or was at the time I was shot.

“You were wounded in the line of duty?” The older woman pursed her lips and rocked gently back and forth. “You hadn’t mentioned that before.”

“I assumed Dalia told you before we came. And Hurst was there when it happened.”

Selena stopped rocking. “He saw who shot you? Was he shot by the same person?”

“I’m not certain the same person held the gun, but I think the same man ordered it. Our cases are definitely tied together.”

“So if you find the shooter, you’ll both get what you want.” Selena leaned toward Maggie with a pointed look. “Each family member with a special ability was given it for a reason. Seeing into the future, speaking with animals, communing with the dead, healing the sick or injured. You’re being asked to do what you already do best. Solve crimes. Is that really so bad? Haven’t you always acted on behalf of the victims? Your gift makes it more personal.” Selena allowed a smile to surface. “It’s like you have clients who can assist you in doing your job even better. Hurst may be useful in finding your killer and his, if you let him.”

“How? He doesn’t say anything.”

“Did you consider he might be able to hear you? Talk to him.” When Maggie twisted her face in a doubtful frown, Selena gave an impatient snort. “You are the doubter, aren’t you? Ghosts are nothing more than confused dead people. They don’t understand what they’re supposed to do. In some ways they’re like children. You have to take charge. Tell them what you want. Nine times out of ten they’ll eventually do it.”

“What if Hurst is the exception?”

“Then he won’t pay any attention to you at all. But I don’t think that’s likely.” Selena spread her hands. “What do you have to lose?”

Maggie shrugged. “Are the ghosts of all murder victims out there wandering around? Are they going to come to me with requests?”

“Heavens, no. Ghosts have to have a personal connection to reveal themselves, even to someone with the ability to see them.”

“Like being at the murder scene or sharing a killer?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, that would be enough,” Selena agreed. “Most ghosts move on immediately, even some who died violent deaths. Only those with an unresolved issue make it through the veil, and they disappear when it’s resolved.”

When Maggie remained silent, Selena must have decided there’d been enough ghost talk. She spent the next hour telling stories passed down through the family and trying to convince Maggie they were a privileged clan, not burdened or cursed by their unique abilities.

Maggie grew restless and shifted several times to find a more comfortable position. Selena finally broke it off. “We’ll leave the rest for another day. I can see you have more than enough to think about.”

But Selena and Dalia took the time to make a list of things they thought Maggie needed to know.

“Why all this?” Maggie asked doubtfully when they showed it to her. “I only want to learn how to control the ghosts.” She pointed at number five on the list. “Why do I need to know about someone named Kate Batts? I’ve never heard of her.”

“The Bell Witch,” Dalia murmured.

“Witch?” Maggie scowled. “I don’t want to hear anything about witches.”

“But she’s actually a ghost. A nasty ghost. While most are harmless if you’re reasonably cautious,” Selena said carefully, “there are exceptions. Which brings us back to the chill you felt when you interacted with Hurst.”

Maggie didn’t know what was coming, but something in Selena’s voice made her suck in her breath.

“Ghosts are not from our world. They bring a little of their own dimension with them when they come through the veil. That’s the cold you felt. While no real harm has yet occurred from these brief incidents, every encounter with the chill of the Beyond leaves a marker on your soul. Over time, extreme exposure would leave so many markers you could be drawn through the veil against your will, trapping you there for…eternity.”

Maggie stared at her, the silence so profound she heard the blood pounding in her ears. “Geez, this can’t be real,” she said softly. “But it is, isn’t it?” No wonder they hadn’t mentioned this earlier, she would have run screaming. She might yet.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Selena hastened to add. “Most ghosts keep their distance, if you let them. And I can teach you ways to avoid contact with rogue ghosts, like Kate Batts. Usually they’re beings who were evil in their human lives. I’ll prepare you in case someone like Kate shows up, a being whose evil makes it powerful and hard to control. Such a creature would try to force itself upon you.”

Maggie put up her hands in self-defense. “Stop. I’ve heard enough. Don’t tell me anymore. Not tonight. You’ve made your point. We’ll talk again.”

By the time Dalia and Maggie started home, twilight had deepened into a dark, moonless night. Even her bright beams cut only a narrow swath through the inky black along the swamp road. Maggie kept her speed down to avoid missing a turn and ending eye to eye with an alligator in the murky waters.

Maggie’s thoughts swirled, and Dalia respected her need for silence until Maggie asked, “Why does Selena live way out here? Doesn’t she get lonely?”

“Oh, never that. I don’t know why she didn’t tell you. She can’t see ghosts, but she hears their voices. In a city like New Orleans so many spirits spoke to her, the sound was overwhelming. She couldn’t distinguish one from another. So she moved to seclusion. But she’s never alone.”

Apparently things could be worse than a ghost sighting now and then…as long as she didn’t go near them. Maggie sighed and returned her full attention to their precarious route. With a sense of relief, she finally turned onto a two-lane road. A black SUV appeared almost immediately, swung in behind her, and hugged her rear bumper. Maggie moved to the right to give him extra room to pass. Instead, he increased his speed and tapped her bumper, jolting her car. Dalia squeaked and grabbed the console.

“What the hell? What’s the matter with him?” Maggie scowled at the SUV in her rearview mirror. It dropped back, and then crept close again. When she sped up, the driver matched her speed. Maggie’s stomach clenched. This wasn’t a case of road rage. The Tahoe had been waiting.

Reaching for her waistband holster, she took out her SIG and laid it in her lap.

“Mercy me,” Dalia murmured.

Maggie abruptly shifted into a lower gear and put on the brakes. She’d hoped to force him into passing or dropping back, but the SUV kept coming, slammed into her bumper with a squeal of metal against metal, and began pushing her car forward. As their speed rapidly increased, she shifted upward to save her gears. The two cars raced through the dark at speeds approaching eighty on winding roads built for fifty miles per hour. The Tahoe gradually shifted toward the center of the road, metal screeching again, and increased pressure on the left rear corner.

Dammit. He was trying to shove her toward the right shoulder of the road where water gleamed whenever their car lights swung in that direction. Fighting the wheel, Maggie managed to keep them out of the swamp…until she spotted the sharp turn directly ahead. They’d never make it.

“Hang on,” she yelled, jerking the wheel toward the left lane, taking the curve on the fly. Tromping on the brakes, she skidded her car a hundred and eighty degrees to face the Tahoe. “Now we’ll see what you’re made of,” she said softly. She hit the gas, and her car leaped forward directly in the path of the oncoming SUV. Just when she thought she couldn’t hold the course another instant, the other driver blinked first, swinging out around her and racing off toward the city.

Maggie brought her car to a halt. Her heart pounded, her palms suddenly sweaty now it was over. Thank God for police academy road training. She was tempted to give chase, but there wasn’t a prayer of catching him, not in that modified SUV with its oversized tires and supercharged engine. Besides, her knees hadn’t yet stopped shaking.

She took a deep breath and looked at her wide-eyed companion. “You OK?”

“I think so. I’ll know more once I collect my scattered wits.” Dalia’s fingers were locked in her lap. She finally relaxed them and cleared her throat. “You have bigger problems than ghosts.”

Yeah, Maggie got that. Someone very real had tried to kill or terrify them. She picked up her phone to call it in, but she was out of service range. She frowned. Should she even report it? The SUV’s license plate had been removed, the windows were tinted, and she couldn’t see the driver. It looked like a Tahoe, but black SUVs were common, even used by most government agencies in the country. Would her account be passed off as another spurious report? Dalia’s support wouldn’t help…not if they discovered she was a spiritualist. Maggie was in no mood to face another skeptical or overly sympathetic cop. She laid her phone back on the console, shifted the car into gear, and started for New Orleans.

“Aren’t you going to call 911 or something?” Dalia asked.

“No. At least not tonight. He’s gone. I’ll take you home.”

Maggie kept the SIG in her lap and a sharp eye on every crossroad. As they got closer to the city and traffic increased, she watched every vehicle, alert for any hostile moves. But no one paid any attention to them, and she dropped Dalia off without incident.

Tension still tingled between her shoulder blades. It might be a normal adrenaline reaction, but she wasn’t about to ignore her uneasy feelings. Not with everything that had happened lately. After parking her car, she palmed her pistol and carried it at her side until she was inside her apartment. Still not satisfied, she cleared her residence, silently gliding from room to room, pistol ready. She opened every closet, even checked under the bed, until she was sure she was alone. Only then did she throw the double locks on the apartment door.

She stood uncertainly in the middle of the living room, finally laid her SIG on the coffee table, and went to the kitchen for a glass and a bottle of wine. She programmed soft music on the surround system, curled up on the couch with her wine, and called Annie.