Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey (2 page)

“He hasn’t done anything,” she whispers to me.

“Not yet,” I mutter back.

I’ve totally avoided Jason since he showed up at my house for the post-prom brunch my mom and I hosted.  It was, like, so inappropriate of him to just come barging into the house while we were all still celebrating and paired off.  Patrick had sensed it then, too, and had clasped my hand for support.  Or to mark his territory.  One or the other.  Talk about an awkward moment!  I’ve never wanted a sink hole to open up underneath me so much in my life.  Some psychic I am, huh?  Didn’t see
that
coming!

Celia moves from her pod over to mine.  I scoot over to make room for her five miles of legs.  “I just got an e-mail from Oliver with our London itinerary,” she tells me.

I take her tablet computer and scroll through the many things Oliver has in store for us.  Interviews with the media, tours of famous British places, an investigation at a castle or two, and— “What’s this one?” I point to an item on the list.

However, Celia isn’t listening.  She’s watching.  Not me.  Jason Tillson.

I follow her gaze and then blink hard, understanding just why she’s gawking his way.

Across the aisle, Jason has tugged off his black t-shirt to expose his finely tanned rib cage and muscular back.  What the…

I see Celia gulp noticeably.  Who can blame her?  The guy is a work of art.

Thankfully, he tugs on the British Airways t-shirt that came free in our pods as sleep clothes.

I nudge Celia with my elbow and giggle.  “Down girl.”

She pops to attention.  “What?  Huh?  Oh, I just thought I saw—”

“A hot guy.  I know.  Get over it.”

Celia’s cheeks heat, but she shakes her head.  “Whatever, Kendall.  It’s just weird to have him along.  I mean, Taylor’s going to take pics, and I’m here to draw any spirit experiences you have.  There’s not really any reason for Jason to be here.”

“Other than being over-protective of Taylor, and to tell the rest of us what we can and can’t do,” I say.

She steals one last glance at the guy she’s known her whole life.  “I just think he’s going to be bored this summer.”

I shrug.  “Not my boyfriend… not my problem.”  Handing Celia back her tablet, I say, “You know, let’s just deal with the schedule when we get there.  We’ve got a long flight.  You should relax and crawl into your pod.  Play with all the buttons and stuff, surf the web, watch a movie.”

Celia smiles at me and shakes her head.  “You don’t fool me, Kendall.  I know you’ve still got feelings for him.”

I stop clicking through my movie channels and give my bestie an incredulous look.  “Umm, no, I don’t.  I just don’t want him ruining this trip in any way, shape, form, or fashion.”

Celia returns to her pod where she nabs her change of clothes and her toothbrush.  She turns before heading to the bathroom.  “Keep telling yourself that, Kendall.  ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” she says in a fake British accent.

I roll my eyes at her Shakespearean reference to
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
and want one of my own.  “Good night, William.”

Celia walks off toward the bathroom and I hunker down into my pod.  I cue up the Audrey Hepburn/Humphrey Bogart/William Holden version of
Sabrina
and try not to think about the love triangle plot in the movie and how it mirrors my own existence.

My psychic senses tell me this summer is going to be anything but boring.

Before I even lift my eyelids, I know I’m being watched.

Like the proverbial hawk.

When I do finally peek, I see no feathers.  Only blazing blue eyes that are more incredible and deeper than I remember.  Jason’s perched on the edge of his pod with his tanned arms crossed over the top and his chin resting on them.  A skittle of electricity jolts through me at the sight of him gazing at me and I find myself sucking in a treacherous gasp.

I hate myself.

“Kendall, we need to talk,” he says, breaking the silence in first class cabin.

In order to avoid more traitorous reactions from my body, I pull the sleep blanket up over my head to hide my face and block out the image of Jason Tillson all fresh from sleep.

He laughs at me, a deep mirth that starts low in his stomach and bubbles up and out.  “You’re just as adorable as ever.”

Rage boils under my skin, bringing me fully awake.  He’s not allowed to talk to me like this.  No matter what.  We broke up.  He left.  I moved on.  I’m with someone else.

“I’m serious, Kendall,” he adds.

That does it.  I swiftly toss the blanket off me and say, “As adorable as Zelda?”

Ooo… I went there.

Zelda’s the skank he apparently hooked up with while he lived in Alaska with his dad.  I didn’t need his sister, Taylor, to report this fact to me because Jason’s Facebook page had plenty of Instagram pictures of the two of them together rock climbing, salmon fishing, and other outdoorsy activities.

Jason’s eyes widen with nothing short of shock.  He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better than to do so.

At just that moment, Hyacinth, the flight attendant who’s been taking care of us, appears in the aisle.  “Good morning, miss.  Are you ready for breakfast?”

I sit up tall at the thought of more free food.  Anything to distract me from Jason’s intrusion.  “Sure.  Whatcha got?”

“Full English fry-up,” she says with a smile.  “Fried eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread, baked beans, and mushrooms.  I’ll set you right up.”

Inwardly, I cringe at the thought of what such a meal will do to my young arteries.  However, I give Hyacinth a big smile and nod.

She turns to Jason.  “I’ll bring you a tray, too, love.”

Love?  Hardly.

I stop myself, halting the flow of angry lava through my veins.  I swallow my pride and then say to Jason, “You know, you don’t owe me any explanation.  It is what it is.”

“No, it was what it was, Kendall.  The future can be anything we want it to be.”

“Maybe, but my
present
is with Patrick,” I say firmly.

“Oh, him.”  Jason groans and tosses his arms up, nearly knocking the tray of steaming, hot teacups out of Hyacinth’s hands.

“Careful, love,” she says with a smile.  “Here you go.  Your breakfast will be out straight away.”

I take the mug of steeping tea and blow on the top.  Anything not to look at Jason or be pulled into the depths of trouble those blue eyes offer.  Jason and I had our brief time together and I’ll always cherish it.  I’m with Patrick now.  The guy with the deep-chocolate eyes, the sexy singing voice, and the psychic connection through our minds.  I wonder if he can hear me this far away.

Patrick?  Are you there?

“Kendall…” Jason presses.

I don’t look his way.  I sense the frown on my face when Patrick doesn’t respond to me psychically.  I suppose an ocean between us has something to do with it.

Jason won’t leave me the hell alone, though… turning up like a bad habit every time I lift my eyes.  Is this what it’s going to be like all summer?  I don’t know if I have the strength to fight him off.  And what’s the deal with my heartbeat getting all freaky and double-pounding when he says my name and the mere sight of him all mussed and stubbled from sleeping on the airplane.

“Kendall,” he says a bit louder this time.

“Here we go, love,” Hyacinth says, setting a lovely tray of food in front of me.  Typically, I wouldn’t go for baked beans as a breakfast food, but when in Rome… err… London.

“Come on, Kendall,” Jason stresses.

I pop up and raise my eyebrows.  “I’m eating here, hello!”

He turns as I dive into my meal.  Nothing like yummy food to distract me from the cute guy who won’t leave me alone.

*~*~*

The Kendall has landed!  And I’m in the motherland.

Okay, so my adopted surname, Moorehead, is Scottish.  Still, it’s part of the British Isles.  And I couldn’t be happier to be here.

Celia bounces in place in front of me in line at Customs as she hoists up her backpack onto her shoulder.  Taylor, perfectly coifed and makeup’d from her overseas beauty treatment, smiles from ear to ear, frantically checking her Twitter and Tumblr accounts.

“This is so exciting!” she says with a bit of a squee in her voice.  “I’m going to Tweet non-stop all summer and do an amazing photo blog.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to go to Stratford-Upon-Avon to see Shakespeare’s birthplace?” Celia asks.

Jason nudges her.  “You have an obsession with The Bard, huh?  Always have, since like third grade.”

Celia’s cheeks splash bright fuchsia at his words, and I can see with my mind’s eye that the childhood crush Celia once had on Jason Tillson is still simmering beneath the surface.  It’s weird to think that these guys have known each other their whole lives, yet I’ve only been part of the group for under a year.

Taylor interjects, “If we can’t take a day trip out of the city, Celia, we can always go to the Globe Theatre in London.  Maybe even catch a show.”

“That would be cool,” Celia says as she tucks her black hair behind her ears.  I think of that One Direction song,
You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful
, when I think of Celia.  She’s tall and thin and has such a naturally pretty face hidden behind her dark hair.  She was really coming into her own… until stupid Clay Price broke up with her.  What a jerk.  Why didn’t I see that coming?  You’d think with my psychic abilities, I could give my friends more of head’s up when things are headed their way.  Of course, maybe that’s not how it works.  No lottery numbers for me or easy answers on tests, but in terms of connecting with lost spirits, I’m your girl.

Speaking of, there’s an oddly-placed gentleman standing in front of us in the passport line.  His clothing of thick wool and jacket trimmed in fur—in the dead of summer—tells me that he’s no tourist on a cheap vacation package to enjoy the exchange rate of the dollar versus the euro.  He’s… from the past.  Leather pants and thick boots make me think he’s from the World War II era.

“Excuse me, miss.  Perhaps I can assist you,” he says to me.  “May I show you around?”

I freeze up, unsure at first if maybe I’m wrong and he’s some sort of costumed entertainment at Heathrow airport, not a real apparition addressing me directly.  He looks pretty authentic in his leather and with those goggles around his neck.  Almost too good.  He’s got to be an actor.  Right?

I shift my eyes over to Celia to get a reality check.  “Do you see him?”

She glances about.  “Which him?  There are, like, three hundred people in line.”

“The World War II pilot standing to my left.”

The pilot shakes his head at me.  “Oh my, this isn’t working.”

“What isn’t?” I ask him.

The ghost stares at me.  “I’ll have to try something else.”

Then he fades away.

Celia grins at me.  “Oh, it’s started already!  Excellent.”  She sets her backpack down and reaches for her sketch pad.  “Tell me all about him and I’ll draw him for you.  You know Heathrow Airport was constructed from land from the former Heath Row farmers market area, hence the name.  It was first established in 1929 as a small aircraft field and then in 1944, the land was used primarily for military aircraft, so that more than likely explains the—”

I stop her with my hands.  “Never mind.  He’s gone.”

Taylor nudges me from behind before I can overthink the brief close encounter.  “Your turn, Kendall.”

I step up to the counter where the worker barely glances up at me.  He seems exhausted, even at this early morning hour, from dealing with some many incoming flights to his country.  He takes my passport and scans it through some machine before flipping through the empty pages.  This may be my first time out of America, but I know it won’t be my last.

“Purpose of your visit?”

Technically it’s business, but I don’t say that.  “Summer vacation.”

“How long will you be in the United Kingdom?”

“Two weeks,” I say, feeling like I’m taking a college entry exam.

He still hasn’t glanced up at me.  “What’s your occupation?”

I try not to laugh.  “Umm, I’m in high school.”

Finally, he lifts his head, realizing he doesn’t have to go through the stiff business routine anymore, and smiles at me.  A crooked-toothed grin, but a grin nonetheless.  Then he punches a stamp into my passport and slides it back to me.  “Welcome to the United Kingdom, dearie.  Enjoy your stay.”

I retrieve my documents and pass through.  I’m on British soil now, officially!  So much to look forward to this summer… yet.  There it is.  The wave of nausea.  The searing pain.  Suddenly, the psychic headache begins to tap at my skull on the left side.  Hard.  Menacing, almost.  Dread overwhelms me, starting at the tips of my toes and flaming out the top of my head.  I’m cold and scared and locked in place.  Not freaked out that I’m in a foreign country without my parents or anything.  It’s more like there’s a niggling in my head telling me something’s not…
right.

I turn and watch passengers from other planes slip through the bonds of the customs check out.  Waves of psychic energy reverberate from all of them.  The man in the turban is worried about how much a cab into London will cost.  The small Asian woman fears she won’t make it to the Royal London Hospital in time to see her dying sister.  The French couple holding hands and making out are afraid…
ooo!
...they’re having an affair and are afraid their spouses will find out.  So not my business!  But, hey… some advice?  Don’t mack on each other in a public place where everyone has a cell phone with a camera and video recorder.  Duh!

But this is no laughing matter.  There are others.  Spirits.  Entities hanging around the living.  Random ghosts from centuries gone by.  Not just a few hundred years of existence, like my own homeland.  Rather, England has the psychic energy of
thousands
of years hanging onto the shorelines, the cliffs, the cities, and the countryside.  It’s like a blasting wave of electricity reaching out to me, warning me, almost.  A peasant woman stands in one corner, wandering, lost.  A Beefeater stands guard—of what?—a few feet away.  A dirty ragamuffin of a kid is chasing an equally grimy mutt.  Something tells me none of these people are props or actors of any sort.