Together Again: Spirit Travel Novel - Book #4 (Romance & Humor - The Vicarage Bench Series) (2 page)

By pursuing the car closely, Troy found it didn’t take a skilled detective to conclude that his quarry was headed towards the airport. What did take skill was getting a seat on the same plane. He managed it by duping the ticket-lady into giving him the same itinerary as the woman she’d just served.

“Hey, go figure,” he said, pointing to the raincoat-clad figure now walking toward the boarding area. “She’s going to the exact place I am. You can go ahead and make out my ticket like hers.”

“It’s not really so strange, sir. We only have two flights a day to England, and lots of people fly through London to Manchester.” Her perfunctory smile didn’t warrant his full-face response; relief prompted his pleased reaction.

For him, flirting came easily, but this time he hadn’t intended any tomfoolery. It took some doing to slide himself out from under the uniformed woman’s clutches. With her phone number written on the ticket flap, and his maxed-out Visa card burning his hand, he made his way to where he could keep his eyes on the notorious subject of his next blockbuster exposé. One that, with any luck whatsoever, could win him his own by-line with the
Chicago Sun-Times
.

Troy and the small woman in the red plastic coat were separated by four rows on the plane. She sat on the opposite side, aisle seat. By using his most charming manner on the chubby lady ticketed in the aisle seat in his row, he was able to switch to keep his subject in plain view. He turned around periodically, pretending an interest in the lavatory light, then made numerous visits, keeping tabs on her behaviour throughout the long night.

To watch without her knowing wasn’t an easy task, but he’d perfected his undercover surveillance technique years before. Her aura of melancholy made him wonder at her behaviour. She only pretended to sleep. Politeness to everyone she met seemed to come naturally, but her introspective attitude was a warning in itself—“Back off and leave me the hell alone.”

Troy still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t moved in on her. As a rule, in his trade, he’d be forced to ignore her kinds of signals. How else could he manage to obtain the powerful stories he’d gotten over the course of his distinguished career?

He knew his name stirred interest in the Chicago newspaper circles, interest he’d worked hard to inspire. He prided himself on getting features no one else managed to get.

So what was it about this broad that had him pussyfooting around—giving her breaks, treating her differently? Like now, for instance. After trailing her for hours, he found himself on a bench watching her from afar while she meandered alone.

He guessed her brave act appealed to his sensitive side and, instead of approaching to hound her about her story, he sat and stared, held back by the beautiful picture of serenity she now presented.

She’d removed her scarf and shaken her head to free her mass of blonde curls. They bounced every which way, a springy jumble of beauty framing her heart-shaped face. The wind took control and played havoc until, apparently tired of eating the strands, she swept the works behind her ears and collected it into a ponytail.

As if she heard silent music, she seemed to float from place to place rather than walking like a mortal. She wandered through the vicarage grounds and around a natural pond surrounded by variegated green plants. Some flaunted colourful flowers and others highlighted berries.

Rather than approach, to manoeuvre his way into her confidence, he waited. The bench’s position allowed him a full view of her every move. For now, he felt content to give her space.

Just then a grey-striped kitten jumped onto the bench near him and began to wash itself. Surprised, Troy watched as the feline’s tongue licked in sensitive areas. The animal paid him scant attention, and, once satisfied its body and paws were clean, his furry companion crouched to survey his surroundings. In a flash, the silly puss decided to swipe at a magnificent red rose that hung over the back of the seat, the breeze fluttering its luscious petals over the pointed ears.

The thorns looked deadly, and since Troy had a thing about protecting small creatures, he snagged the branch to push it backwards, out of harm’s way. A wickedly sharp barb pricked him, and reflex had him pulling his hand away, making things worse. It pierced deeper, until drops of blood emerged. He swore and extricated himself, then whipped his hand up to his mouth, scaring away the tabby.

As he sucked at the wound, he felt a strangeness enter him, like a low vibration of electric shock. It reminded him of a few occasions in congested traffic when he’d avoided a looming accident by a split-second decision. The resulting fear had made swallowing difficult and blinking impossible. Panicky nerve endings began rioting in his stomach, and sweat poured from his trembling body. He bent over, head between his knees, hoping to gain some relief. Could there have been poison in the spine that pricked him?

A loud humming slowly diminished, and then faded completely as seconds ticked away. A voice, clearly heard, brought him upright in an instant.

“What happened?”
A young girl spoke.

Troy peered all around and saw no one. “Excuse me?” His voice sounded loud in the solitude of his surroundings. He turned in every direction, not understanding how words could be so distinct when there was no one in sight.

“It worked. Oh, my God! It really worked. I’m—ah—visiting your body. This is way too cool.”

“Are you suggesting I’m possessed? Seriously?” His voice lowered and a droll note entered. “That I have—”

“Yes I am, and don’t talk out loud. People will think you’re bonkers,”
the female whispered.

Plainly an unbeliever, Troy stood up, wobbled, and made his way around to the back of the bench to check behind the rose bushes. Then he circled to the other side, looking for the speaker so he could prove this weirdness a hoax. There wasn’t a soul in sight. He sat back down. It was either that or fall down.

“My spirit is inside you. We’re soul-roomies for a while.”
The girlish voice had a surprising huskiness that stopped it from being totally annoying.

The answer hit him all at once. He scrutinized the top branches of nearby trees for his hidden pretender, but there weren’t any close enough for her trick to work.

Of course! There must be a device attached to the bench. Her voice had to be coming through some kind of electronic gadget. After another careful search, however, he found nothing.

“Listen, you, whoever you are. Cut it out. I’m tired and in no mood to play along. Show yourself from wherever you’re hiding, explain how you’ve managed this setup, and the laugh will be on me.”

Two churchgoers, passing by on the winding path, stared at him, then hurried towards the vicarage. They glanced back before turning the final corner, and he heard their nervous giggles.

“See! I told you not to talk out loud. We can converse with our thoughts. Try it. It’s easy.”

By accepting her advice, he would be acknowledging the validity of her words, something he refused to do until he’d looked into every other avenue. After all, he was a reporter, a researcher—a whackjob, if this turned out to be true.

“You’re not nuts. I promise. It’s the roses. There’s some abnormal spell stuff inside them. When you jabbed your finger the magic must have gone into your bloodstream and mine at the same time.”

Okay, he’d try it her way and prove her wrong.

“You weren’t here pricking your finger. There’s only me and the darn cat I tried to save—the ungrateful little pest took off.”

Good God! She was right. He could converse with her even more comfortably from the inside. The acid in his stomach spilled over, and he felt the burning sensations spread. He’d better pay attention to this ghostly presence, because she seemed to know what had happened, and he hadn’t a clue.

“My uncle propagated roses from this same bush, planted it in his personal garden, and I pricked my finger there, on his plant. It’s the fact that we did it at the same time of day, you see, that’s important. Or at least I think that’s how the magic works.”

On the one hand, accepting he heard her words from inside his head rather than through his ears scared the hell out of him. But on the other hand, he didn’t want to be arrested and hauled off for talking out loud without anyone else in sight. They’d think him either high or nuts, and neither option appealed.

“So how do we undo the spell?”

“We can’t, or at least not for some time. You’re a Yank, right? I can tell by your accent.”

“I don’t have an accent, you do, and I’m an American, from Chicago.”

“Shi-caw-gow! Right! No accent. How come you’re here in Bury? Are you on vacation?”

“No, I’m a reporter following a story, and quit taking this situation so damn lightly. What the hell—ah—heck is going on? How did you come to be inside me or wherever the hel—heck you are?”

“You do swear a lot. I don’t mind. I’m almost seventeen. It’s not as if I haven’t heard it before.”

“You’re how old?” He yelled—out loud. Real loud!

“Shhhh! See, those old guys are looking this way funny-like. If you act too batty, they’ll call the coppers, and then we’ll be in a fine fix, won’t we?
”

“Look, I want you to leave me alone now. I’m too tired to figure out what’s going on here, so do me a favour and be a good kid. Come out from wherever you’re hiding, and I’ll buy you an ice cream or something.”

“I’m sorry to be a bother, but I’m here for some time. As far as I can tell, the spell takes a while to wear off. It’s the gospel truth! You can hear me from inside. Admit it. We’re talking, right? I know it and you know it.”

“Quit telling me what I know. If you are inside me, or whatever ‘wooo-wooo’ you’re on about, then where’s the rest of you—your body? If you’re so smart, tell me that.”
He jabbed the air with a forefinger to make his point, a natural hand waver and face maker when he talked. Or maybe it only happened when something displeased him; fortunately, no one was watching him at the moment.

“A bit touchy, you foreigners. I was in my uncle’s garden, I pricked my finger on a rose thorn, and—crikey, here I am inside of you. My body is probably in a coma, lying across his bench, waiting for poor Uncle Robert and the tea tray he went to organize.”

Troy’s head sank down again into his waiting hands. He massaged his fingers through thick waves and rubbed, as if he could extinguish the events of the last few minutes. This phenomenon was just too much for a guy who hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before.

He emptied his mind, completely shutting down, but a second or two before everything went silent, he heard her giggling childishly and chanting, “
yesss… yesss….”

Chapter Three

“Here we go, Dani, my love. A nice cuppa for me, and a mug of coffee brewed for you, since you refuse to recognize the proper traditional drink. And, you’ll be happy to note, Mrs. Dorn baked the same biscuits you devoured the last time you were here to vis…”

Dr. Andrews came to a dead stop by the wooden table. The tray clanked down, rattling the cups and saucers, breaking some of the china. Liquid spilled, flowing in all directions until it reached the table edge where it dripped to the ground in a modest waterfall.

The biscuits tumbled and bounced eventually rolling over and landing in all directions on the cobblestone walkway—food for the noisy but patient warblers to feast on later.

“Bless my soul, not again!” Dr. Andrews ran to the girl’s limp body, folded like an envelope, her arms crossed over her stomach, legs crossed at the ankles, and her top half bent over so that her forehead came close to touching her knees. All that kept her from falling to the ground was the way her body leaned against the high iron side of the bench.

The doctor in Robert Andrews merged with the loving uncle as he took her into his arms, angling her so he could check her pulse. It beat normally. He lifted her eyelids and knew she wasn’t there. Blood on the thorn of the red rose near her feet indicated what had happened.

This wasn’t his first experience with spirit travelling. The same kind of disturbing and frightening incident had occurred before. That episode had ended with a positive outcome, but this time it affected the one person in the world he most loved. He hugged her close, trying to still the tremors attacking his body, and it was then his gaze fell on his notes all piled on the table in disarray, totally unlike the way he’d left them.

A rational explanation for the weird events he’d recorded on those pages hadn’t yet come to him, no matter how much research he’d done or how he’d racked his brain, questioning, always questioning.

His enquiries hadn’t uncovered anything, nor had the many volumes of paranormal information he’d read. As far as he knew, no other place had ever experienced such a miracle. It seemed that Bury possessed the only magic rosebush—make that two bushes—in the world.

Again rechecking Dani’s vital signs, he admitted what his brain wanted to refute. She was spirit travelling. Where—in whom—and when—he did not know. What he did know was that if anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. Keeping that damn rose bush where she could get at it, leaving all his notes lying around where she’d be able to read them, those errors made this his fault.

“Idiot! Blasted fool idiot!”

She looked so pale and innocent in his arms that he felt weak from the fear of what could happen to her. The resemblance to her mother, his older sister, emerged more strongly when his precious niece lay unmoving.

His sister! Marion… Oh, my God! She would go barmy and blame him for everything. How could he rationalize the rosebush’s magic to his bossy, paranoid sibling? And trying to use it, as a reason for her daughter to be in this situation would, quite frankly, never work. In fact, nothing about the truth would pass muster with her. He needed to come up with a credible excuse—and fast—for keeping Dani here, in hiding, with him. Apprehension loomed like “the knowing about a dentist’s needle before the filling.”

Dani’s unruly soft curls tickled his chin, while a whiff of her favourite flowery scent assailed his nostrils. The brilliant colour of her hair, eyebrows, and long reddish lashes highlighted her unblemished white skin.