Homeward Bound (Journeyman Book 1) (21 page)

“No bad omens yet,” he said while setting the frame down, tiny motes kicking up after the soft thump of silver on the tabletop, “though I guess my symbol back on the door there didn't conjure up a feather duster for its lil’ hand; how the hell did all this dust get in here?”

“Wards only affect living things,” Adrienne answered with a smug look as he stepped through the curls of visible air into the living room, “well soul bound things anyway. Duh.”

Gage’s attention was, noting the fireplace along the back wall still had a chunks of scorched log resting in the hearth and adjacent to it, running along each side, large windows loomed in the shade. On the left hand side, a set of French doors near the end of the breakfast table lead out to another large patio, the once green plants visible through gaps in the curtains having long since withered to brown.

Adrienne continued around the overstuffed sofas into the modern kitchen that was attached to the breakfast area, while Gage took up on one of the largest of the soft seats. His hefty boots made two clunky
thumps
when he slung them up on the coffee table.

“Damn, manners?” Adrienne said to him with disdain, opening up some of the curtains and twisting the blinds to let a little more light in.

“You seen the state of this place?” Gage replied with equivalent scorn.

Good thing she wasn't close to him after that reply, as she might have popped him with a fist, though that might just be the reaction he was looking for. It was hard to gauge if it was all in his master plan or just luck in how the proverbial cards fell, but he had her confused once again, thinking at length about him while he was just sitting there on the sofa, almost innocently, thinking about God knows what.

Attempting to push him out of her mind, she looked around the kitchen; it had a distinctively modern flair with its stainless steel appliances, black granite countertops flecked with gold, and milky glazed cabinetry. However, looking out from various nooks and crannies were motherly trinkets and plaques that tied the space back to its country roots.

A little black sign hung crooked over the backsplash behind the stovetop, decorated with yellow egg shapes and letters that read ‘Wicked chickens lay deviled eggs’. With a chuckle and a bit of OCD, Adrienne stepped over to straighten it, passing through an area of intense cold.

With each breath, clouds of vapor formed; it had to be at least twenty degrees colder than the surrounding area and the feeling icicles could form out of the moisture collected in her now sniffling nose was a very real possibility. She leaped back a few feet in surprise and the temperature began to rise again, her hair standing on end.

“Gage…” she called out collectedly. “You might want to come take a look at this, and snatch the EMF reader if you can.”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” his voice came from the living room; it was calm and collected as well, though a pronounced vein of nervousness ran through the words.

She took a few steps to her left and craned her neck around the wall, catching a solid glimpse of a rooster shaped cookie jar as it rose off the counter in front of her and floated merrily into the middle of the living room. The lid separated off of the base and both pieces stopped in front of Gage, still resting with his feet up, taunting him for a moment in the air between his legs.

Then, as if someone decided to turn gravity back on, they dropped one at a time to the floor. The base fell with a heavy and expected
thud
while the lid, a few inches further from him, turned on its side and gunned into the floor with a hollow
clank
that echoed through the room.

Gage lifted his feet off the table and took to his knees, puzzled by the different sounds he had just heard, while Adrienne bolted to the truck for some of their gear.

He took a knuckle and rapped it along the hardwoods, searching the space between the sofa and coffee table. The sound went from deep and solid to soft and vacant. Pulling back the edge of the vintage rug, his latest suspicions were confirmed; there beneath the Persian threads was a trap door. A tiny ward had been placed on the edge, damaged by the lid when it dropped.

“Would ya look at that,” Gage whispered to himself, running a fingernail along the tiny dent in the broken symbol, “a concealment ward. Powerful one. Where’d you come from, ya little devil?”

Adrienne returned a short time later with a leather satchel, overflowing with ghost hunting paraphernalia. She reached in and brought out an EMF meter, one of their fancier ones that had the Mosely touch for added signal detection. Holding it close to the cookie jar halves, the rows of LEDs flickered green.

“The green confirms it; we have an Earthbound spirit,” she said over the meter’s faint, Geiger-like clicks.

“That and seein’ it happen with our own peepers,” Gage responded acrimoniously as he pointed two fingers in the shape of a V at his eyes.

She withdrew the device smugly and returned it to the bag. The lights calmed, unlike her mood, then diminished. “Give me vamps all night long,” she stated, “I hate ghosts.”

“So whatcha think this door in the floor is?” he asked poetically. “I've no doubt our lil’ poltergeist and whatever’s down there are related.”

“So… let me get this straight: you've no idea what this is or what is down there?”

Gage nodded indifferently and Adrienne looked as though she was seriously contemplating banging her head as hard as she could, right there on the spot he was pointing to.

“If I
did
know, I wouldn't have asked ya,” he stated. “Honestly, had no idea a door was sittin’ under the living room coffee table this whole time. Heck, I used to lay under there on my stomach and play with Hot Wheels for hours.”

“How is that possible?” she wondered out loud.

“All boys played with cars at some point, Ady.”

She didn't reply, instead just staring blankly; he didn’t like this new look of hers and was missing the eye roll.

“Well… you didn't know my dad,” Gage said matter-of-factly. “He was loving and great, but also had a shit ton of secrets. I always thought there was more to him than just a simple nine to five at an accounting firm. Apparently, one of those secrets included the ability to place a concealment charm on a door to hide who knows how many more down there. We only found it thanks to the not-so-random face plant ol’ Foghorn Leghorn
did; beak broke clean through the ward.”

“Oh wow!” she said, her mood improving mood. Wards and weapons were nearly as exciting to her as his own tools - well, one in particular.

“And before you ask me,” he said right as her mouth began to spin up for another salvo of questions, “no, I don't know who this ghost could possibly be.”

She sunk back onto her knees. “Your dad maybe?”

Gage chuckled a few times before continuing, “Yeah, I thought it might be one of the folks at first, which made me really uncomfortable. Surprisingly uncomfortable, now that I think about it. I don't think I could handle too much of that right now, especially Mom and her finger waving over my tattoos. But seriously, I can't think of anything off the top of my head that would bind either of them here and though Dad might have some kind of unfinished business with his secrets, I don't think any of it would've warranted going all Patrick Swayze, though I could be wrong. Barring them, that leaves us one answer: an unknown spirit tied to an item somewhere in the house, more than likely something that’s tucked away down below.”

Adrienne dug into the bag and grabbed up the meter again, waving it over the door. With a sudden jolt it sprang back to life, her eyes like saucers taking in the green lights flashing wildly, shifting from the verdant hues of before to deep reds.

“Gage, there’s a lot of energy down there,” Adrienne reported, “I mean a ton of it. I’ve never seen the meter go red before; that can’t be good.”

The clicks, which had been distant pings before, rapidly increased in frequency to become a constant, unnerving buzz. The mere sound of it made Adrienne feel dizzy, her focus wavering as the secondary flag-arms shot up on either side.

“That’s a new one, too,” she said, both impressed and anxious. She craved the days of having a single comforting emotion at a time, but those were long gone. Looking down to the digital display, she saw that it was maxed out with all numbers at nine; the LCDs fluttering just as nervously as her heart was.

“We have got to open this bad boy up!” Gage exclaimed, his face and body fidgeting with excitement, in direct contrast to her unease. Massive numbers always seemed to get big men excited: weights lifted in the gym, the horsepower of a car engine, or how pegged out a supernatural field meter was. All of that and factors well beyond her female understanding were cause for instant boners.

So it was the two positioned themselves, ready to lift off the coffee table. Without warning, one of the photos in the entryway slung itself from the table with a loud crash.

They both stood straight up in unison, attention drawn toward the front door. Soon the rest of the pictures followed like a herd of lemmings, cascading onto the floor in a raucous metal and glass waterfall.

All around them, the paintings on the walls began to sway in their frames, the crooked pinnacle of an obsessive-compulsive’s worst nightmare, while the lights flared up brightly with supernatural energy.

Suddenly, a chilling scream burst its way through the room, cracking the mirror over the fireplace.

“Ah shit whoever this is, they’re comin’,” Gage said hurriedly, “Is there any salt in that bag of yours?”

Adrienne rifled through the contents, pulling out a long plastic container of iron filings. There was a crinkled sticky note taped onto the side; it was from Joey and read, ‘Sorry, Hometown
Grocery
was closed so borrowed the salt for steaks. Promise to replace in the morning.’

“No, seems not!” Adrienne said crassly, shoving the note up in Gage's face. “But we have iron powder.”

“If we didn't need that kid so much, I swear I’d kill him,” he replied after reading the note for himself. His eyes rolled, which was definitely a rare sight. Fighting to suppress his annoyance, he turned and made a mad dash for the kitchen.

As he ran, the pots, pans, glasses and silverware seemed to forget the laws of physics, flying randomly around the room in a culinary cyclone. He dodged his way through with barely a bump until a large copper pot struck pay-dirt on his knee. He stumbled to the floor, but thankfully exactly where he needed to be.

In front of him was the cabinet his mom kept all the spices in. Muttering a little prayer, he reached out to open it, a knife nicking across his forearm as he pulled. His prayer was answered; there inside was a plain blue box of pure sea salt.

“That’ll do lil’ rain girl,” he said, tearing it open and dumping the chunky white crystals into the container of iron, shaking vigorously.

Limping, he made his way back to Adrienne while reciting a short Latin spell over the container. Now blessed, he tossed the mix over to her and walked over to the fireplace, picking up an iron poker to defend himself.

Adrienne proceeded to pour out the salt and iron on the floor around them, but the circle she needed to make was too large and the canister was emptied early. There wasn’t enough material to close the gap.

“Shit, why can’t this ever be easy?” she complained as she bent over and used her hands to spread out the particles dangerously thin. By the end of her efforts, she was successful and the gap was gone.

With the protective circle finished, she leapt back up and stepped cautiously over the line to join Gage in the center.

The wails, tortured and malevolent, continued to rise.

The duo tried to prepare themselves for an imminent attack, looking around to anticipate where their unseen adversary would materialize. They had no idea where the strike would come from. It drove Adrienne crazy.

The screams had grown deafening, stabbing their ears with agonizing precision and bringing them to the brink of bleeding. Gage dropped the rod on the floor and raised his hands to block out what he could of the noise; Adrienne soon followed suit, nearly blacking out from the buildup of pressure.

The strike came sooner than expected and from all around. There was a brilliant flash and everything became white. A loud ringing pounded their temples and continued to echo between their already sore ears for a few more minutes.

Amidst the bleached haze, Gage’s sight was slowly returning to normal. He squinted at the random blobs moving in front of him, trying to make out the shifting and undulating patterns. He couldn’t, though one area remained steadily bright, possibly growing brighter. He shielded his eyes with an arm while frantically rubbing his eyes with the other.

He looked again.

Oh my God. This has to be a dream.

There, standing before him, clad wholly in billowing robes of rosy light, was a person he had never expected to see again. His mouth agape, the single word he was trying to say took a lifetime to pass over his chapped lips.

“Mom?”