Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey (12 page)

To Patrick, I say,
I’ve never seen a bigger fraud in my life.

A fraud who Oliver supports.

What can we do?

Nothing.  Yet.  He’ll fall on his own sword soon enough.

But when?  In the meantime, all of these people are paying good money to hear him tell them things they already know.

There’s more to it,
Patrick says in my head.

What?

He has a darkness around him.  A low lying black density that surrounds him.

Jessica saw it.

And that’s why she left.

What can we do?

Watch him.  Closely.

Great.  In the meantime, the little shit gets seventy-five hundred pounds for today’s performance.

Not a bad take.

And Oliver believes in this kid to the detriment of the rest of our group.  We sit here like mere fans, pawns in the psychic chess match.  I don’t need to be photographed or interviewed, but I have abilities and see things others don’t.

Like Princess Di who is here in the audience.  She’s standing toward the back in a white sleeveless dress.  Her hair is brushed away from her face and she clutches a small purse.  Odd that she’s just hanging back like that.  I wave to her and she signals to me.  I wonder if she’s here to connect with someone or if she’s just curious about Christian.

Patrick elbows me and I jump a bit.  “Listen to what’s going on.”

I turn my attention back to Christian and the thirty-something man he’s now reading.  A glance behind me, and I see that the princess is no longer there.  I shrug inwardly; still curious as to why she’s hanging around us… around me.

“Oh, my,” Taylor says through hissed teeth.  “Is that what I think it is?”

“I brought this with me today,” the man says to Christian and hands him the polished board.

“Another Ouija board,” Celia notes.

“We’re going to need a whole other bedroom just for his collection,” Jason quips.

“Tell me where you got this, sir,” Christian presses.

“My grandmother bought it in Germany in the 1970s.  It’s been in our family ever since.  We’ve used it at parties and such as a conversational piece.  Lately, though, it’s been calling to me and I’ve gotten the same name over and over again.”

“Really now?  Let me see.”

Christian sits and places his hands on the planchette.  I don’t have to be psychic to know what’s coming next.  Closing his eyes, he begins to rock back and forth a bit.  “There is a spirit attached to this board.  Come forth and speak to us.”

The audience leans forward in unison to watch.  I let out a long sigh.

“Speak to me,” Christian demands.  “Tell me your name.”

The planchette moves around on the board and the man who brought it calls out what it spells.  “D.  O.  J.  O.  I’ll be damned if that isn’t the name I’ve been getting as well.”

“Isn’t that convenient,” I say, slumping in my seat.

But just as my doubts are solidifying in a not-so-positive opinion of Christian Campbell, I see exactly what Patrick is talking about.  A dark black mist hovers near Christian’s feet, circling and swirling around him, encompassing him in a twirl of negativity.  He’s so caught up with what he’s doing and so in love with the sound of his own voice, that I don’t think he realizes this
entity
or attachment is there.

Does he even see it?

I don’t think so.  Because as Christian hands the Ouija board back to the man and then bows when the audience begins its standing ovation, this darkness stands up right next to him, wrapping malevolent tentacles around the young guy.

Right then, my eyes sync with the being—if it even is a being—and I hear a deep, guttural hissing sound like a snake saying, “He is miiiiiiiiiiiine.”

Holy shit.

Is this Dojo thing for real?

 *~*~*

“Kendall, hurry up!” Celia shouts at me.  “We’re going to miss the train if you don’t put the moves on.”

Our time in London is over and we’re taking the Eurorail through the Chunnel tonight over to Paris.  While I itch with excitement to get to the City of Love and see Becca in her DJ contest, I’m leaving England’s capitol with an extremely sour taste in my mouth.

Christian collected four Ouija boards in our time here, each one of them spelling out the name “Dojo” to audiences small and large.  He’s been courted by the press and made the front page news with his “Dojo Disturbance.”  Yet, he doesn’t seem to get that he’s either delving into dark magic or opening up a portal to a realm he has no idea how to deal with.  If it is all just bull honkus—which I still think it is—there are kids like Jayne who are using Christian as a role model and that’s a dangerous spiral to wind down.

“Kendall!”  This time it’s Taylor calling out.  “We’ve got to go!”

“Okay, okay!”  I shove the last of my toiletries into my makeup bag and cram it into my suitcase.  The stupid thing won’t shut so I have to sit on top of it to smash everything down.

Aunt Andi pops her head in.  “It’s now or never, babe.”

Reluctantly, I leave my lovely London home, yet look forward to a new adventure ahead.  With all that’s happened in this city, I feel like our work is left… undone.  So many questions left unanswered, yet Oliver seems content enough to move us along.  I thought we were here to help people with hauntings in their homes and connecting with their loved ones.  However, all of this just got tossed out the window once Christian Campbell moved center stage into the main spotlight.  And what of Princess Di?  Have I seen the last of her?

There’s an inkling inside of me that Christian is going to get what’s coming to him.  That karma’s going to catch up and kick him squarely in the behind.  I don’t wish it on him; I just know it’s going to happen.

Everyone’s gathered down in the lobby and Oliver rallies us toward the double-decker bus one last time.  Swiftly, our ride delivers us to the train station where we board the Eurorail for the two-hour journey to Paris.

Taylor sits next to me on the bus, not even thinking that I might want to sit with Patrick.  He’s got his headphones and sunglasses on, though, so it’s okay.

“I can’t believe I’m going to Paris,” my friend says.  “I’ve wanted to visit Paris my entire life.”

I snicker.  “You’re only seventeen.”

“I know, but still.  The Seine, the Champs-Élysées, the Louvre, ahhhh…”

From the look in Taylor’s eyes, I see the distant love for a city and a culture she worships.  I’m so glad she could come along this summer, even though it’s turned out to be a different experience than I’d expected.

We arrive at St. Pancras station in London just in time to board the train headed to Paris’s Gard du Nord.  Or North Station as Taylor, Little Miss French, tells me.

Although I thought everything was good between Patrick and me, he still seems a little distant.

“Are we okay?” I ask.

Patrick plays with the train ticket in his hand.  “Yeah, I suppose.”

I lay my hand on his arm, hoping to connect more with him.  He stops and looks down at where I’m touching him.  His usual warm smile that comes from our closeness isn’t there.  Instead, I read so much pain, confusion, and worry on his handsome face.  “Something’s bothering you.”

He flattens his mouth.  “Understatement of the year, Kendall.”

I move my hand onto my hip.  “Honestly, you’re not still miffed about Jason, are you?  I told you that—”

Patrick waves me off like an annoying fly.  “I don’t care about Tillson.  Whatever. He’s harmless.  I’m worried about
him
.”  He points ahead at Christian, who’s signing an autograph for a lady who’s cooing all over him.  “He’s brought a darkness to our group.  I’m watching him like a hawk.”

“Are you going to sit with me on the train?”  I’d hoped for a little cuddly-snuggle time during the blacked-out Chunnel portion of the trip, which takes us under the Strait of Dover over to France.

He rubs his eyes with the index finger and thumb on his non-sprained hand.  “Maybe.  I don’t know.  I’ve got a lot on my mind, Kendall.”

Like he’s the only one.  I’m tired of trying to spark the romance on this trip.  “Fine.  Be that way.”  Stupid boy.

I spin away from him and catch up with Celia and Jason who are already boarding the train.

“Don’t be like that,” Patrick calls out.  “Kendall!”

It’s too late.  If he’s going to put distance between us, then let him.  He’s not the only one concerned about Mr. Campbell.  But I’m not going to let it ruin the most romantic city on planet earth.  Patrick can pout and be pensive on the ride over.  However, once we’re in France, he better man up on the passion part.

Inside the train, I find Jayne seated alone, staring out the window.

“May I sit with you?”

She bobs her head; a pout crosses her face.

“What’s wrong?

“Christian’s all but ignoring me.  He’s got the press around him and he’s loving the attention.  He’s forgotten about me.”

I stow my suitcase overhead and then rest my backpack on the seat next to me, facing my friend.  “He’s a guy.  They thrive on attention.”

“How am I supposed to learn things from him when he’s so busy fighting Dojo?”

“That’s what you’ve got me for,” I say with a wide smile.

Celia, Jason, and Taylor take the next compartment over, and I see that Patrick’s opted for a seat on his own.  As the train lumbers away from England and out underneath the English Channel, I lay my head back and try to relax as the car rocks softly back and forth with a chugging rhythm.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep or whether I’m actually dreaming when I sit up and feel a chilling draft in the compartment.  Jayne’s spread out on her seat, sound asleep, her glasses askew on her face.  The air density in our area thickens and I find it a bit hard to intake a strong breath.  My chest feels tight and heavy as though something is sitting on me.

Then, a misshaped figure much like a see-through black specter takes form and begins to hover over Jayne.  Fingers of curiosity stretch out at her, and I feel like I’m trapped in a
Harry Potter
novel watching the Dementors begin to suck the life out of people.

“Leave her alone,” I shout.

The figure freezes and then zings out of the cabin.  A chilling cold follows in its waking, bringing chill bumps dancing all up and down my arms as though I’ve gone outside in December without my coat on.  Only, it’s the dead of summer.

“What the—”

Anona materializes next to me.  Her beautiful face is drawn and concerned.  “You have to protect her, Kendall.”

“I’m trying.  It’s hard, though, when she has such hero-worship for Christian.”

“She’s young and confused.  She looks up to you,” my spirit guide tells me.

“I know.  I told her I’m here for her.”  I grasp onto my train seat as the car rocks back and forth on the rails.  It’s as though it’s trying to shake off the evil presence that’s traveling along with us from the British Isles over to France.

Anona, unaffected by the motion, says, “You must do more.  There are dark forces at play, Kendall.”

I lean forward.  “Like what?”

Her voice echoes out around me.  “Everything is not as it appears.”

“You keep telling me that, Anona.”  I want to pull my hair out of my head.  “Why can’t you be more specific?  I can’t fight something if I don’t know exactly what I’m up against.”

“I’ve done what I can, Kendall.  Watch over Jayne.  I can go no farther with you.”

“Anona, please!  You can’t leave me.”

“You’re not alone.  You’re never alone.”

She fades away, though.  Gone, as quickly as she arrived.  The details of her face melt away into a thin fog that quickly dissipates.  The temperature of the compartment returns to normal, almost stifling now as I try to breath through the warning Anona tossed out at me.  The car lists to the left as we’re, no doubt, going around a curve, and I hold on, letting Anona’s words sink in.  Frustration courses through my veins as fast as this train zipping over the rails.

I slam my fist to the seat and pound the fabric a few times in utter frustration.

I watch Jayne sleeping, vulnerable and so naïve.

And I’ve never felt so alone in my whole life.

I slip out of the train compartment and down the corridor to the washroom.  I splash water on my face, letting the frigid liquid wake me out of my shockwave of disbelief.  I slide my hands over my cheeks and try to shake off everything.  Anona’s warning.  The specter over Jayne.  The mistrust of Christian.  The confusion over the way this trip is turning out.

When I leave the washroom, I peak in on Patrick, hoping to tell him what happened.  He’s spread out on his seat, asleep with his sunglasses in place and his headphones spilling out Dance music in a blaring tone.   Instead of waking him, I bend down and kiss him on the cheek, smoothing a lock of his thick hair to the side.

My stomach growls out its discomfort, so I head off to find the food car to see what they have to offer.  Holding on to the hallway railings as the train rocks from side to side, I queue up behind a French couple and then order a croissant and a Coke Light.  (I love the European name for my beloved Diet Coke.)  After I hand over a couple of euros, I make my way into the club car and see Christian sitting in a booth with his laptop open in front of him.

“Well, look who’s up,” I say, trying to steal a glance at his screen.

He quickly snaps the lid shut and places his hands on top of the computer.  Even my intense psychic abilities can’t penetrate the casing of his machine to see what he’s up to.  Probably doing an Excel spreadsheet for all of the bank he made in London.

“Miss Moorehead,” he says formally.

I smirk at him.  “I’m not calling you Mr. Campbell, Christian.”

“I was merely being polite.”  He motions across from him.  “Please, join me.”

Reluctantly, I slide into the seat and set my drink and food in front of me.  I pinch off the end of the croissant and pop the buttery pastry into my mouth.

Christian leans forward, his gray eyes penetrating me.  “I know all about you, Miss Moorehead.”

“Kendall,” I say after I swallow.  “My name is Kendall.  We’re like seventeen, not fifty, Christian.”