ENTANGLED (12 page)

Me? I carried three bottles of drinking water and an energy bar in my backpack, and a vial of holy water in my pocket. Da had insisted. Oh, yeah. And hope. I carried oodles of hope.

The six of us had dodged couples strolling the bay front sidewalk, watched ghost tours come and go, and generally worked to stay inconspicuous. Now the time was ten-thirty.

“The tours are winding down,” Brick observed from beside me. “In another hour, the restaurant patrons should be gone.”

“But the bars won’t close until later,” Deidre said.

I’d already thanked the young woman for her research. Now I smiled at her. “If drinkers stumble into the supernatural show, they’ll figure they’re seeing things.”

“Or sober up real fast,” Don added.

Brick grinned, then turned to me. “Ready to start contacting Guillelmina?”

“Just let me have some privacy.”

He frowned. “I wanted to get this recorded. Is that a problem?”

“If I say yes, will you drop it?”

“No.”

“You can be a real pain, Brick.”

Dan snorted and Melody coughed.

I took a digital recorder and sat on the sea wall fifty yards or so south of the Castillo de San Marcos, known locally as the fort. This is where the original docks had been built; I did remember that from history class. The spot also put a bit of distance between me and the distraction of Brick.

Bollards linked by heavy, large-linked chains ran the length of the seawall. I leaned against a bollard, and with the recorder running, I took a deep breath.

“Hello. My name is Colleen Cotton. I’m trying to reach a young girl named Guillelmina. Is she here?”

A few adult ghosts pressed closer, but no child materialized.

“Listen, I need to find Guillelmina to get rid of a pirate. Robert Searle. Word has it that he’s coming back to St. Augustine to feed on earthbound souls. The ghosts here think you scared him off before, and that you can do it again.”

Adult ghosts nodded, but didn’t add comments.

“Okay, I see other spirits here. Some of you have been banding together. There is safety in numbers, but there is strength in numbers, too.”

A few spooks tilted their heads as if they weren’t getting the hint. I laid it out for them.

“I’m saying you can band together to fight Searle. Don’t leave the job to a little kid, people.”

Now the ghosts stirred, seemed to murmur to one another.

“Hey, if you can’t scrape up the courage to drive this Searle guy away, at least help me find Guillelmina.”

“We shall.”

Faster than I could blink, Zavier popped into sight flanked by five Spanish solider ghosts.

“You shall what, Zavier? Find the child or fight?”

“Both. We shall report back shortly.” He turned to the soldiers and snapped orders in Spanish. They zoomed away in a contrail of energy, then Zavier disappeared.

‘Shortly’ is a relative term, and to a ghost it appeared to be an eternity because after an hour Zavier and the soldiers hadn’t returned.

Discouraged but not defeated, I continued calling for Guillelmina as I alternately paced the sidewalk, sat on the sea wall, and took the occasional break to save my voice. Did I feel like a moron saying pretty much the same thing over and over? Yes, but there were worse things in life—and afterlife—than dented pride.

At twelve thirty-five, I’d begun my spiel of asking for the girl again when Zavier appeared.

“Ghost woman,” he said with a bow. “She is here.”

Zavier floated to the side, and a dark haired girl wearing a long nightdress drifted to stand before me.

“Hello, Mistress Colleen.”

My knees caved and my butt landed hard on the seawall. “Guillelmina? You know me?”

A light giggle made me smile. “You said your name each time you called me.”

“You’ve been listening a while, have you?”

Her angelic little face turned grave. “I needed permission to come back.”

“Can you drive Searle away again?”

“With help.”

She turned to Zavier, held her hand up to him, and together they moved toward the sloping grounds of the Castillo with a legion of spirits following. I’m sure my jaw dropped and my eyes bugged when more spooks zipped in from the direction of the Spanish Quarter and the Huguenot Cemetery. Even the water ghosts ventured onto land.

I was so distracted by the spectacle, I squealed when Brick laid a hand on my shoulder.

“What the hell is happening by the fort?”

I blinked at him. “You can see the ghosts?”

“I see white figures. What gives?”

“Guillelmina showed. I think she’s rallying the spook troops.”

“No kidding?”

“Looks like it to me.” I glanced back at the gathering of ghosts, then caught movement from the corner of my eye.

Something rose from the waters of the bay, fifteen yards from the seawall, right in the midst of five anchored sailboats.

Masts rigged with tattered white sails bearing the red Spanish cross broke the surface first. Then, in slow motion, the dark body of the ship appeared. And so did a figure on the deck. The pirate Robert Searle.

The apparition was white like a photographic negative, but the outline of his body and his arms spread wide gave the clear impression of a large hat, a big-sleeved shirt, and a vest. He held a cutlass in one hand, a blunderbuss in the other, and seemed suspended in the past until his eye sockets turned black.

Searle pivoted toward the ghosts gathered by the fort, lifted the firearm, and took aim.

I shouted without thinking.

“Guillelmina, take cover!”

She cried something I didn’t catch and flew toward the ship with her ghost army following.

Spooks swarmed the ship from the water line to the top of the tallest mast, swirling the vessel as if it were caught in a waterspout. The main body of ghosts surrounded Searle, their numbers so many I lost sight of the pirate. Thumps and shouts, even gunfire and explosions erupted from the center of the spirit storm. For long minutes the battle ensued, the sounds so real and loud to me, that I expected the living people of the sailboats to come topside to investigate the disturbance.

Suddenly, the battle stopped and I saw why. Robert Searle’s unearthly body was lashed to a mast, his black maw of a mouth screaming curses as the ship sank back into the bay.

Huzzahs, cheers, and a rebel yell rent the night, and in the next instant the spooks dispersed. Some zoomed back through town, others settled into the water. Guillelmina, a shy but triumphant smile lighting her elfin face, wafted near me to hover over the seawall.

“It is finished. He will not return again.”

“Thank you for coming, Guillelmina.”

“Thank you for believing, Mistress Colleen.”

Guillelmina glanced toward the fort.

“Do you need help getting back?”

She shook her head. “My mother is just there.”

The ghost drifted off, and sure enough, a figure bathed in blinding white light materialized not twenty feet away. A spirit holding her arms open to embrace the child. When Guillelmina’s energy merged with her mother’s, a shaft of light shot high into the night. And then they were gone.

I stared at the sky, expecting to feel awe or triumph or simple satisfaction. Something besides this empty sort of sadness and bone deep exhaustion. I had to leave before I fell into a comatose heap.

“Colleen,” Brick’s voice rumbled in my ear.

I’d forgotten he stood with me during the battle, and tripped into his chest as I turned. When he caught me close, I realized I still held the digital recorder in my hand.

“Here,” I said, shoving the device in his chest. “I think it ran for that whole event.”

“Uh, that’s great, but are you all right?” He peered into my face, then looped an arm around my sagging shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you another bottle of water and a snack.”

I stood straighter and shook my head. “No, Brick, not now. I just need to get home.”

“Then let me drive you. Don can follow and bring me back.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I just, well, I hope you got what you wanted tonight because I won’t be doing an encore.”

Two days later, I’d more or less recovered my strength. Da informed me I’d lent more of my own energy to the ghosts than I realized. That’s why I’d been so wiped out.

Brick hadn’t contacted me, but Martha called to say her home was blissfully quiet again, and that Zavier had found another piece of jewelry she’d been hunting.

I smiled at her message, but not so much at the spate of calls to cancel consultations and interventions. Of course, I’d known that hauntings might subside when the local spooks no longer felt threatened, but I was left with precious few clients to see in the coming weeks. I needed an infusion of funds fast.

I also needed to stop thinking about Brick, my attraction to him, and his lack of communication. So, when Saturday dawned cool and clear, I threw on my oldest work clothes and headed to the garage to sort through generations of what I hoped might be valuable junk. If I didn’t unearth a treasure or two to help pay my taxes, I’d invade the attic next.

By noon my back yard was pot-marked with furniture pieces, over fifty boxes, and old bicycles. Only a few items appeared to qualify as vintage or antique so far, but I held hope for what the boxes might be hiding.

I traipsed in the back door to grab a bite of lunch, and had just entered the living room when the front door burst open and a man holding a huge bouquet of fall flowers stumbled over the threshold.

“Brick? What are you doing here?”

“Call off your Da,” he ground out, “and I’ll tell you.”

I snapped the order to cease, and a chuckle echoed.

Brick straightened his blue polo shirt, closed the door, and strode across the room. “How are you, Colleen?”

“Surprised.” And desperately working to deny the thrill of seeing him again.

“Recovered from our big night?”

Something about the sparkle in his eye said more than words. “Did you come to tell me you got paranormal evidence from Halloween?”

“We got a mother lode of it, and the team is urging me to put it on YouTube. But that’s not why I came by,” he said as he paced closer. “It’s not why I brought you flowers.”

He stood so near that a petal of one deep orange mum tickled my chin, and his breath fanned my face. “Then why are you here?”

“I had to apologize again. You may not like the term, Colleen, but you are a rare medium. One who is the real deal. One I’d work with again any time, if you’re interested in a limited partnership.”

“How limited?”

“Let’s discuss it over dinner,” he said with a slow, sexy smile. “Is seven o’clock tonight too soon?”

As it happened, seven was perfect. As perfect as the kiss we shared on my doorstep at the end of the evening.

A promise of more to come.

A cancer diagnosis is shocking, devastating, life changing. My grandmother’s fatal illness began with breast cancer, and far too many of my family members and friends have battled or will battle this disease. My short story is dedicated to all those sisters. Please do breast self-exams, have yearly mammograms, and be health proactive in every way. Survive and Thrive!

Nancy Haddock is the national bestselling and award-winning author of the “Oldest City Vampire” series published by Berkley, available in trade paperback and e-book formats. Her mystery-romances are set in her beloved St. Augustine, Florida where she often meets visiting readers for coffee.

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We save what we love. I love humans, even though I'm not one, and while I can't save them from themselves, I
can
protect them from supernaturals like me. My name is Kali Sweet and I’m a vengeance demon. I run Sweet Investigations and work for the Bridge Council, the supernatural world’s version of the Justice Department.

A week before Halloween in the Windy City, the trees were leafless skeletons against a murky sky, bare branches dripping rain. One storm was done, another moving in, and the atmosphere was tight and leaden. In two hours, the Chaos Demons rock band would take center stage at The United Center, a.k.a. the Madhouse on Madison, and the place was already jumping. Fans clogged the parking lots, security was heavy. High pressure shoebox lights laid a haze around the building. A breeze kicked up, scattering a confetti of wet leaves around my feet.