Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey (16 page)

“
Oui,
” Becca says with a laugh.  She glances past us and sees the guys.  “Hey, Jase, great to see you.  And, hey, Patrick.”

Both guys wave at her.  They seem more interested in the street fair going on around us, filled with performance artists, music, vendors selling every kind of food imaginable, and the free performances on everything from jazz to hip-hop, electronica, House, and Dance.

“Are y’all hungry?” Becca asks.  “There are gyros stuffed with frites over there, falafels from the Jewish neighborhood food carts, crepes galore, and any kind of pastry you could want.  The chocolate éclairs over there will curl your hair.”

We all laugh and I tell Becca, “We ate at this awesome bistro near our hotel called Café du Marche”   Mmm… roasted chicken, potatoes, salad, and fresh bread…doesn’t sound so spectacular, but it was ambrosia for only a few euros.

“You won’t go hungry here,” she tells us.

A tall guy with jet black hair, at least three days of stubble, and clear green eyes interrupts with a hand on my friend’s shoulder.  “Rebecca, it is time to get back to work.”

“Oh, right.  This is Alain, y’all.  He’s from Nice.  Which is nice, huh?”  Her nervous laughter lets on to me that he’s a lot more than a mere acquaintance.  I see them together in the south of France frolicking in the Mediterranean Sea and kissing on the beach.  Glad to see she hasn’t been pining away for Brett, aka Dragon, back home while she’s been in the City of Love all summer.  Perhaps there’s something in the air here that makes people just want to… celebrate life.

“Pleased to meet you all,” Alain says with a thick French accent.  “
Oui
, we must start, Rebecca.”

She waves at us and then disappears back up onto a small stage area where the electronic music is blaring from.  Patrick wraps his arm around my waist and we blend into the crowd to watch the DJs perform.  There stands Becca in all her glory; in her true element.  She’s got the headphones wrapped around her neck and is spinning a mix of dub step with a classic Beatles tune.  She looks like a model straight from the Paris runways.  Glamor, glitz, and googliness over Alain, who’s standing nearby, cheering her on.

Wow, she is vibrantly happy.  It’s written all over her face.

I lean back into Patrick’s strong chest and close my eyes as the music flows around me.  The rhythm reaches out to my very soul, making me tap my sandaled feet.  The smooth beat Becca spins blends into a mellow groove with the grinding club drum bass.  I laugh in spite of myself.  Who knew I knew so much about Dance music?  Becca’s taught me a lot.

“The crowd is digging her mix,” Patrick says near my ear.

“She’s amazing.”

As her concert progresses, the crowd begins to dance unabashed, and we join in with the melee of waving hands and arms.  Patrick actually moves to the groove with me, spinning me around in front of him as he holds our joined hands high.  Becca waves out to us and we take tons of pics of her as we cheer her on.  Taylor’s snapping away and I even get some video on my camera phone.  I can’t wait to post these all over Facebook and Twitter.  Dragon’s going to kick himself for letting beautiful Becca go so easily.

After a few pumping songs, Becca slows things down with a chill out tempo to get everyone close.  The street lights adjust to a lower hue and you can literally feel that romance is in the air.  Patrick pulls me to him and we dance together.  I weave my fingers around his neck and up into his thick hair.  He nuzzles my shoulder with his chin, softly humming along to the music.  I breathe in the scent of him, spicy from his cologne, yet warm and boy-sweaty from the summer heat.  I love being in his arms, feeling protected and loved.  Even though he hasn’t actually said the three meaningful, magical words, he’s still the best boyfriend.

I turn to look over at Taylor who’s found some hot French friend of Alain’s to dance with and…  I do a double-take.  Are Celia and Jason slow dancing?  Together?

I cock my head a bit and peer over Patrick’s shoulder to see my gangly, gorgeous, geeky friend absolutely beaming as she looks up (and it’s a big deal for Celia Nichols to look up at someone) into Jason Tillson’s blue eyes.  The same Dasani-blue ones I once gazed into the exact same way.

She’s not wearing makeup for Christian Campbell… she’s doing it for Jason!

It’s like I’ve been smacked in the face with a cold glass of iced tea.  Celia once had a massive crush on Jason before I came to town and now she—
hey, they’re kissing!

“Oh, my God!  Jason and Celia are totally making out,” I exclaim to Patrick.

He turns.  “So they are.”

Umm, yes they are!  Right here in Paris.  The city of love.

Right here in front of me!

Wait a second…

For a moment, my heart cracks and aches as I watch my former boyfriend and my best friend together, apparently quite into each other from the way things are progressing.  Suddenly, Patrick tightens his grip on me as if to remind me of where I am and who I’m with. 

Oh, right.  This is a good thing.

What two better people than Celia and Jason?  They’ve known each other since they were little kids, have grown up together, and share so many common interests.  Some psychic I am, since I never saw this one coming.

A crazy big smile crosses my face and I breathe a sigh of relief.  My heart stitches back together quickly and the moisture on the rim of my eyes isn’t for any kind of loss or jealousy, rather it’s from a joy that Celia and Jason have found each other.

I nudge Patrick.  “I had absolutely no idea.”

He tilts his head down and kisses me deeply, touching my soul with his.  When he pulls back he says, “Yeah, well… I did.”

The next day, our group meets up with Becca, Alain, his friend, Rémy—who Taylor swooned over all night—at the park next to the Eiffel Tower,
Parc du Champ de Mars
.  Look at me getting all French and stuff.  When we arrive after the short walk from Rue Cler, we see Becca’s toting a huge picnic basket and Rémy’s carrying three French baguettes like they’re military rifles on his shoulder.

“I hope y’all are hungry,” Becca shouts out to us.

“I’m famished,” Taylor responds.

Celia steps back from me.  She’s been a little standoffish since last night’s DanceFest.  Even though I smiled brightly at Jason and her together, I can see that my friend is feeling a little bit of guilt at hooking up with my ex.  It really doesn’t matter.  I’m happy for them.  Really, I am.

“We okay?” I ask her as we help Becca spread out the large blanket over the lush green grass.  “Wasn’t last night great?”

She glances over at me and a slight pink blush crosses her cheeks.  “It was.  Kendall, I need to tell you—”

“You and Jason hooked up.  I know.  I saw.  I’m thrilled.”

Her eyes grow huge.  “You are?”

“Of course.  As you said, I can’t have all the guys on this trip.”

She shakes her head.  “Kendall, I never meant—”

I take her hands in my and bounce them up and down.  “It’s totally cool.  You guys look awesome together.  I just want you to be happy.”

Celia launches at me and hugs me like she’s never hugged me before.

“Now what?” Jason asks.

I sneer at him.  “You think something’s wrong just `cause we hug.”

He nods.  “When girls hug, it means something’s happened.”

Okay, Jason.  “Yep.  You guys happened.  And I’m very happy for you.”

Now Jason blushes as he shifts his eyes over to Celia.  She reaches out her hand and meets his halfway in the air space between them.  I grin broadly at them.

“I love it.  Come on, let’s eat!”

Taylor dances in place.  “And then let’s climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

“And spit off the top,” Becca says cheekily.

“I can’t wait to see what the world looks like from up there,” I say dreamily.

Patrick lowers himself down to the blanket and pats at the spot next to him.  I plop down and reach forward to grab a grape off the platter Becca’s setting out.  There are several cheeses, deli meats, sliced apples, grapes, carrots, bread, and a huge box of pastries.  She also breaks out a couple of… wine?”

“Umm, Becca, aren’t we a little young to be drinking?” I ask.

“Technically, Alain is old enough to drink because he’s eighteen.  However, this is not alcoholic.  This is club soda with grenadine flavored Sirop Teisseire in it.  It’s a totally French drink and I thought it would do in place of champagne.”

“What are we celebrating?” Taylor asks as she sits down next to Rémy.

“Life,” Becca says, raising her plastic cup high.  “To good friends, a beautiful summer day, the opportunity to be here, and to all the lost souls we’ve been commissioned to help.”

I swallow hard as the fizzy-syrupy drink suddenly sours in my mouth.  I feel my pulse pick up as disappointment in my own cowardice cascades over me.  As lovely as this picnic is—we’re sitting under the Eiffel Tower…hello!—we shouldn’t be here.  We shouldn’t have wasted the last two days being tourists when Christian Campbell is still out there somewhere spewing his garbage on an unwitting public who easily parts with their money for the wannabe TV talent to tell them things they already know.

I set my cup down.  “We have to go back.”

Patrick turns to look at me.  “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

“Back where?” Becca asks as she breaks off a piece of the baguette.

“To the tour with Oliver… and Christian Campbell.”

Alain’s brow lifts.  “The Scottish teen psychic?  He was on Métropole 6, one of our TV stations, yesterday afternoon.  My
grand-mère
is going to his psychic reading at the Ritz.”

“Are you kidding me?” I shout.

“What’s the deal with this kid?” Becca asks.

We catch her up on everything that transpired in London and since we got to Paris.

I pick at a piece of brie on my plate.  “It was wrong to leave and let Christian get his way.  Oliver’s judgment is clouded about Christian and I should have tried harder.  I shouldn’t have left Jayne.  I should have protected her more.”

Becca flattens her lips.  “Then do something about it.  You’re frickin’ Kendall Moorehead.  You’ve taken on a hell of a lot more than some fame-hungry, self-aggrandizing Scot.  You’ve dealt with malevolent spirits who’ve hurt your dad, pushed you down a staircase, damn near killed you, and did kill our friend, Farah.  This Christian kid is a piece of cake.”

Turning to Patrick, I snicker.  “She makes it sound so easy.”

Jason draws himself up from his stretched out position and pops the last bite of his cheese and bread into his mouth.  He withdraws his tablet computer from his backpack and fires it up.  “Actually, Kendall, it might just be that easy.”

Now I lift a brow.  “What are you talking about?”

Celia stops chewing.  “Jason and I stayed up late last night doing some research on our little friend Christian.”

I slant my eyes toward her.  Yeah, research… between make out sessions.

“What did you find?” Patrick asks, intrigued.

Jason taps on his screen a bit and then turns the tablet around.  “I was thinking about this alleged ‘Dojo Disturbance,’ so I Googled around some.  Turns out this disturbance is for real.  Or at least there’s a bit of a world-wide epidemic of reports of a spirit using this name.”

Nabbing the tablet, Celia clicks on a bookmark they saved.  “It seems that these reports stem from a particular type of tree that’s on the border of Germany and France.  A company made Ouija boards from these trees and sold them throughout Europe to kids in the 1960s and 1970s as toys.”

Becca tosses her head back.  “Who wants to play dress-up with Barbie when you can communicate with Satan?”

“Seriously,” I say, sarcastically.  “So what about these boards from this tree?”

Jason reads on.  “The trademark is owned by Hasbro back in the states, but other companies make similar boards in the same manner to be used as a ‘parlor game.’”

“I think I prefer gin rummy,” Taylor says quietly.

Celia reads:  “One of the first mentions of using a Ouija board is found in 1100 AD China historical documents of the Song Dynasty.  The method was known as
fuji
or ‘planchette writing.’  It means ostensibly contacting the dead and the spirit-world, and, albeit under special rituals and supervisions, was a central practice until it was forbidden by the Qing Dynasty.”

She’s starting to make my head hurt.  “What does this have to do with Christian?”

“We’re getting to that,” Jason says.  “See, the word ‘Ouija’ comes from the combined French and German words for ‘yes’ –
oui
and
ja
.  A lot of the original boards were actually made in both countries until Parker Brothers bought the idea.  Now, Celia managed to get one of Christian’s prized boards before we left his company.”

“Celia!  You stole it?” Taylor exclaims.

“Sort of.”

Becca leans over and fist bumps Celia.  I merely smile.

“I looked at the board and saw a name on the board,” Celia says.  “It said Nuremberg, Germany.  So, I did a little more digging.  Seems that tilia trees are prominent in this area of Germany.  Manufacturers use tilia sawdust to make medium-density fiber board.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.  “You’re making my head hurt.  What does this have to do with Christian?”

“Be patient, Kendall,” Jason says, standing up for Celia.  She smiles at him.

“Sorry… go ahead.”

“Ouija boards are made from MDF, or medium-density fiber board.  Most are now produced for cheap in China—”

“—just like everything else,” Patrick quips.

“—but these older boards, the ones people are claiming the Dojo Disturbance on, come from those original tilia trees in Germany,” Celia says.  “It gets better though.”

Jason lights up.  “Oh, this is the best part!”

Blinking hard, I listen up.

Celia taps the tablet again and pulls up a genealogy website.  “I hacked a little more and found that back in the 1950s, a particular tilia farm in Nuremburg was owned by a man named Henrik Anderson who willed it to his adopted son from his Scottish war bride, Anderson MacLeod from East Kilbride, Scotland.”