Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey (7 page)

It’s all for show.

“Come forth and show yourself.  Who are you? Who has been terrorizing this house, this woman, her daughter?” Christian chants in a monotone.

The camera crew moves in to show Christian’s hands on the planchette as it travels aggressively on the table.

D.

O.

J.

O.

“Dojo,” Christian repeats.  “So, it is you.”

“Who is Dojo?” Jayne asks, peeping over her glasses.

Christian turns to her.  “Never address a demon by name.”

She shakes her head, her blond ponytail swaying.  “But you just—”

Christian tosses his head back.  “I am familiar with this one.  He is known to me.”

Oliver steps in near Christian.  “Tell us what you’re experiencing, Christian.”

The young Scot closes his eyes again and lolls his head from left to right.  Then he speaks again.  “I have known you, Dojo, for years.  You are the spirit that has haunted and terrorized me since I was a little boy.”

I reach out with my psychic senses to see what, if anything is present or near to us.  My abilities aren’t picking up a thing.  I don’t know if that’s because there’s nothing here and Christian’s just a big tool bag, or if this Dojo person is focused on his demonic task.

Christian’s eyes fly open and he screams out.  He grabs the Ouija board and lifts it over his head, shaking it fiercely.  Mrs. Flanders covers her head in protection and Jayne dives under the table.  I watch as Christian falls back into the chair and starts flailing about.

“You can’t have me.  You never have.  I-I-I…”  Christian slams the board to the table and then flops back into the chair, like he’s passed out.

I stifle the desire to laugh, as does Celia.  Instead, we watch the floor show.

Then Christian rises, and in a voice that’s nothing like his thick Scottish brogue, he says, “I am Dojo.  You have called me and I have come.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Flanders says on the verge of tears.  “Are you the one who has been causing trouble here?”

“I am,” Christian says deeply.  “I am Dojo.  You summoned me.  Now, what do you want?”

Oliver looks at our host.  “He’s doing what we call channeling, Mrs. Flanders.  He’s allowed this spirit to overtake him and speak through him so we can communicate.”

She blinks hard and looks around the table.  “Oh, well, then.”

“I am Dojo.  You have crossed me.  You have empowered me.  I shall never leave you.  Just as I have ruled over this boy since his birth.  His power comes from me.  Dojo.”

No one in the room moves.  Not even the sound guy trying to stretch the boom mike in.  From what I’m picking up, my friends don’t know whether Christian is the real thing or if he’s just crazy out of his mind.

I think it may be a recipe that includes both ingredients.

Christian screams out in pure terror, a shrilling shriek that would peel paint off the wall.  Mrs. Flanders staggers away, and all of us slide back from the table.  The camera man is fearless, and has the lens right up in Christian’s face.  Until the young psychic swipes his arm around in a kung fu chop to the left, knocking the expensive recording equipment out of Niles’s hand.

Olive moves in, placing hands on both sides of Christian’s head.  He holds him tight and begins to whisper close to Christian’s ear.  “Come back, Christian.  Kick him out.  Take back control.”

Slowly, Christian comes to and I let out the breath I’ve been holding.  As does nearly everyone else in the room.

“What happened?” he asks, slightly dazed.

Jayne pops up from underneath the table.  “You were channeling that guy whose name I’m not supposed to repeat.”

Celia slides her sketch pad and charcoal pencil down the table.  “Can you draw this Dojo clown for us?”

Man, I love her tenacity.

“Aye, I can,” Christian says.  “I’ve seen him my whole life.”

He nabs the pencil and begins to move it quickly over the paper.  Stokes and circles, lines and angles.  He’s obviously done this before.  When he flips the book around, I yelp out.  For looking back at me is a troll-like creature with a snake-ish face, eyes that hiss and stare out and a body similar to what most science fiction movies use to depict aliens.

Mrs. Flanders puts her hand to her heart and I fear for her health.  “Th-th-that is in my house?”

Olive slaps the drawing down and puts a comforting hand on Mrs. Flanders’s shoulder.  “I believe that’s enough for one night, my dear.  We’ll take our equipment, review our evidence, and then regroup with you.  How’s that?”

With a shaky hand, she reaches out to Oliver and holds on.  “I suppose I’ll have Father Andrew come over and bless the house tonight before I retire.”

“Good idea,” Oliver says.

I only pray that Christian made all that stuff up and that this poor woman isn’t in any danger.

*~*~*

That night, back at the hotel, Oliver has a bounty of food sent up from room service.  I barely pick at the burger and fries on my plate, still trying to grasp what happened a few hours earlier.  Christian set off for the gym and has been in full work out mode since.  Apparently, it’s how he “relaxes” after an intense channeling session.

Maddie disappeared to call her boyfriend back home and Jessica, Taylor, and Celia talked Aunt Andi into venturing out for a ride on The Eye.

I don’t know where Jayne disappeared to.  I worry about her and her connection—her attachment—to Christian.  That kid isn’t right, and I hate to see her dragged down along with him.

I push aside the half-eaten plate of food and reach for a can of soda.   As I open it, I feel warm hands on my shoulder.

“Hey, babe,” Patrick says.  “No appetite?”

“Not really.”

“I know what you need,” he says.  “Come with me.”

A naughty part of me giggles in delight over getting to spend some alone time with my boyfriend.  We take the elevator down to the second floor out to an open-air terrace that overlooks the balmy London summer night.

“Oh, wow, this is gorgy,” I exclaim.

“They just opened this patio up a couple of years ago.  They call it The Urban Garden.”

Looking about, there are lounge chairs, chaises, and an area to watch TV on the large screen.  Most of all, there’s a small, white-draped tent overlooking a view of neighboring buildings and the London Eye off in the distance.

“It’s perfect,” I say.  “Let’s make it our place while we’re here in London.”

Patrick pulls me to him, wraps his arm around my back, and places a kiss on my lips.  He’s so warm and strong and I just want to disappear into the moment.  His mouth is firm on mine and I move my lips to enjoy the feel of him so close.

“Mmm…,” I say when we pull apart.

“I’ve missed that,” he whispers into my hair.  “We’ve been too crazed.  I needs me some Kendall time.”

I laugh and hug him tightly.  “And I needs me some Patrick time.”

A gentle breeze dances over us as we start kissing again.  Nothing naughty or inappropriate, just being with the guy I’m crazy about and trying to block out the events of the evening.

Patrick pulls back, though.  “Crap.”

“What?” I wonder what’s happened now.

“My phone’s ringing.”  He dives into his pocket and activates the screen.

“Let it go to voice mail,” I beg.

Patrick’s eyes grow big.  “It says Kennesaw Hospital.”  He clicks on the phone.  “Hello?  Yes, this is Patrick Lynn.”

Silence.

He listens.

So do I, in his mind.

His father’s in the emergency room.  Kidney stones that have to be removed.

“Oh, Patrick!”

He holds up a hand to silence me.  The person on the other end of the call continues.  Patrick covers the phone and I hold his hand.  I’m transported into the call where I hear that his dad is going to be okay.  No need for Patrick to return home.  Selfishly, I’m relieved.  There’s no way I can deal with Christian Campbell’s machinations without Patrick by my side.

“He’s going to be fine,” Patrick says, hanging up.

He lowers himself into a chair and puts his head in his hands.  I won’t let him wallow, though, so I pull him to me.  He moves his head to my stomach and wraps his arms around me.  A long, exhausted sigh escapes him and I gently rub at his head, combing my fingers through his thick, brown hair.

“I’m so tired,” he mumbles into my shirt.

“You should get some rest,” I say.

His wide yawn is evident of his state of mind.  “So much for Patrick and Kendall time, huh?”

“It’s okay.  It was only our first day here.”  It’s too peaceful of a night to go to sleep yet.  “I’m just going to sit here for a bit and take it all in.”

He lifts up and pulls me to him again, placing a big smooch on my forehead.  “You’ll be okay?”

“I’m fine.  Get some sleep.”

Like a zombie, he wanders off, waving at me.

“Love ya, mean it,” I call out, but I don’t think he heard me.  There’s an actual ache in my chest thinking of the words that I usually toss out at most everyone.  Thing is, I do love him.  Like, big time.  Every moment with him, each experience …only pulls me closer to him.  A love deeper and more meaningful than what I felt for…

“All alone out here?” Jason asks from behind me.

I jump a bit, disappointed that I hadn’t felt his presence before he showed himself.  “Patrick just went to bed.”

Jason bobs his head and advances toward me.  He’s wearing tan shorts and a light blue shirt that I can tell matches his eyes, even in the darkness of the London night.  “It’s quite an adventurous path our summer trip has taken already.  Never a dull moment in the life of psychic, Kendall Moorehead.”

He’s too close.  I need to make space.  I crawl into one of the large vinyl chairs and pull my feet up on the edge.  Then I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my chin on my knees, trying to fold up into the smallest space possible.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Jason.”

He runs his hands through his hair and then sits down next to me.  Stupid boy.  Can’t read my body language, eh?  “Oh, I think I’ll always worry about you, Kendall.  Even when I was in Alaska, I thought of you.”

I can’t help but harrumph at this admission.  “Whatever, Jason.”

He looks out over the skyline and traces his finger in the air where the outline of The Eye is spinning slowly.  “It’s not whatever, Kendall.  Because you’re still dragging my sister into your dramas.  Over and over again.  Like tonight at that lady’s house.  What was that all about?”

I bolt straight up, my feet thwacking on the deck floor.  “Give me a break!  Taylor is part of my team and she was
invited
 to participate in some pretty important ghost hunting cases this summer. 
You’re
the one who merely came along for the ride.”

“Taylor’s not as strong as you.”

“So says you.”

“She can’t handle this stuff.”

“Taylor’s fine,” I insist.

“But will you be?”  Jason turns to me, concern painted all over him.  “Come on, Kendall.  A demon named Dojo with the head of a snake and the body of an alien.  Really?  Is this why we’re in Europe?  Dealing with bullshit like this?”

I point my finger in his face.  “I’ve dealt with a lot of paranormal crap since you’ve been gone, Jason.  I’ve helped a lot of spirits who were lost and stuck and missing.  This is no different.  I’m doing this because it’s what I’m meant to do.”

Shaking his head, “You’re going to wind up hurt.”

“No, I’m not.”

A long sigh escapes from him.  “I can’t deal with this.”

I grind my teeth together and then say, “I have no idea why you’re here at all.”

Swiftly, Jason takes me by both shoulders and shakes me a bit—not in a bad way at all.  “I’m here because I still care about you, Kendall.  I’ve missed you so much.  I can’t stop thinking about you.  I hate myself for losing you.  There!”

Shock rocks me from head to toe.  There was a time when I would have melted in a puddle at his feet just to hear him utter those words.  Now, I’m way too stunned to move or speak or breathe or think.

Jason draws me to him and his grip turns to a caress.  “I still love you, Kendall.”

He what?

Before I can breathe or even comprehend the meaning, the atmosphere around us shifts.  Heated energy crackles around us and I can’t move.  Paralyzed by the jolt of his admission.  He still loves me?  He hates himself for losing me?

Jason angles his head to the right and moves in for the kill.  Then I feel his lips on mine—only for a second—and then an explosive bombshell zips through me, surprising me enough to push him back and jump to my feet.

I wipe away his kiss with the back of my hand.  “Are you kidding me?  You can’t do that.”

Jason’s eyes blaze with a passion I’ve never seen from him before.  “I can’t kiss you?”

“No!  These lips don’t belong to you anymore.  I’m with Patrick.  Deal with that, Jason!”

Then I shove him.  Hard.  Like Wonder Woman strength hard.  Like someone else is helping me hard.

“Kendall!  Don’t!”

I run past him straight for the elevator.

I’m not aware of pushing the penthouse button, yet somehow I manage to do it.

Key card in the lock, jerk the door open, and flee into the bathroom.

Immediately, I twist on the cold water and begin to splash my face.  A cool awakening that washes away what just happened.  Or, at least I hope it does.  I don’t like how his kiss made me feel.  Missed.  Appreciated. 
Loved
.

Slamming my hands to the countertop, I glare at my reflection.

“
That
will never happen again.”

After a night a whole hell of a lot of tossing and turning, I reach for the teapot and fill my cup up with a second helping of English breakfast to help bring me into the real world.

“
Bonjour
!” Taylor sings out as she takes a seat at the table next to me in our penthouse suite.  A bountiful breakfast has been delivered and is spread out before us.  She reaches for a plate and heaps on scrambled eggs, slices of ham, and buttered toast.  “I have never slept so wonderfully in my life.  It’s like that mattress wrapped its arms around me and hugged me all night.”