“Marguerite! Where are you?” Elizabeth shouted as she stood in the meadow.
Marguerite could see Elizabeth clearly now, but her inner voice warned her to be still and remain silent. She glanced behind her to look for Chebola Bula but could not spot him. Like a coward, she squatted in the tall grass and watched as the lights whirled around Elizabeth.
The young woman spun around whimpering. “Go away!” Elizabeth swatted at the blue lights like they were pesky insects. The largest of the illuminations swung closer as if to examine her, just as it had examined Marguerite a few minutes ago. When it didn’t immediately harm her, Elizabeth’s expression became less fearful. And like Marguerite had earlier, she reached out her hand. The lights grew still, bounced and expanded, just as they had with Marguerite.
The beam hovered near Elizabeth’s hand; it was so close that Marguerite believed her friend would touch it any second now. She wanted to warn her, shout to her, but she found that she couldn’t speak a word. A smile beamed across Elizabeth’s beautiful face as she made contact with the curious radiance.
But her joy lasted only the briefest of moments. Elizabeth snatched her hand back in pain as the lights closed in around her. They covered her, expanding into one overwhelming light and then blasting her with an evil hiss.
Marguerite watched in horror as Elizabeth burned. Her blond hair caught aflame first, just the tips of it, and then the hem of her nightgown blackened. Elizabeth’s skin caught fire faster than Marguerite could even imagine. As Elizabeth’s beautiful face twisted in agony, she screamed until she screamed no more. She fell to the ground in a burning heap, and the lights whirled away to the edge of the meadow, vanishing into nothingness.
Marguerite could only scream and cry.
Chapter One—Cassidy Wright
I saw Helen’s face through the peephole of Uncle Derek’s front door and smiled with relief because it wasn’t a ghost named Leticia. In Helen’s hands was a basket of goodies, along with her usual tote bag. I didn’t know why I was so apprehensive about door knocks at my new address. So far, no one had terrorized me; no spirits had rung bells or invaded my space. But then again, I hadn’t painted anything since I moved in either. Or at least nothing paranormal, but I knew that would change. I could already sense an image approaching, and I would see it fully soon. I shivered at that weird, semi-psychic insight and didn’t question where it came from. I’d probably never know.
“Come in, my friend. I see you brought more goodies. You know, you’re going to have to cut that out or at least bring sugar-free sweets. You’re making me fat, Helen Devry, and I am scheduled to run a marathon in just three months.”
Helen patted my cheek but didn’t make any promises. She stepped into the house smelling like vanilla and cinnamon, and I trailed behind her. We’d been working on a project together every Monday for several weeks now, ever since I moved into Uncle Derek’s place. Helen went into the dining room and deposited her tote bag and baked goods on the edge of the cluttered table. We had books and papers everywhere, but at least it was an organized mess. Helen and I knew exactly where everything was—including Noelle’s book, Mirror Images, which had more than a few slips of paper we used as bookmarks hanging out of it. With Helen’s help, I’d at least come to terms with my gift and made a stab at understanding it.
But to add to the mystery of why I saw visions and where they came from, I recently discovered Uncle Derek’s collection of newspaper clippings about my sister and me, as well as some about my mother. I hadn’t noticed it before, but each of us Wright ladies had been a creative person in our own way. My mother enjoyed sculpting and apparently won a few awards for her nudes. Kylie could sketch from the time she was small, and Uncle Derek managed to scrapbook a photo of her accepting a blue ribbon. I painted whatever popped into my head during dreams and visions, but there wasn’t much in the way of accolades for me.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t ask my uncle about any of it; he had been gone for months now, and I wasn’t much closer to understanding my role as a “visionary” or paranormal painter than I had been when he showed up as a ghost at my old loft. But at least now I had someone willing to help me investigate the phenomenon. My friend Helen was an excellent student, and she had the upper hand when it came to insight on local legends and family genealogies if we ever needed that information. Yes, she knew everyone and everything about Mobile, Alabama. After a few minutes of chitchatting, she reached for a china plate and handed it to me. I stared at the sugar-coated king cake longingly. I really wanted to say no, but how could I without hurting her feelings?
“We’ll get fat together. Besides, Bruce wants me to put on some weight; I think he likes plump girls.”
I laughed at her confession. Even though Helen was sixty-five and had a very polished appearance, she was a girl at heart. I hoped when I was her age I’d be half as youthful. “Hmm. That’s more than I wanted to know.”
“Full confession, though. I didn’t bake this one. I picked it up on the way here. If you want to say no, I won’t get my feelings hurt. Can you believe we’re just a month away from the Big Boom Boom? I have another confession to make—I always eat my weight in these things.”
“It does smell delicious, but this on top of all the Christmas treats you’ve already brought my way…”
With a devilish smile, she said, “This goes so well with some black coffee. That cuts the sugar, and we’ll work it off soon. I hear we’re going out of town for our next investigation, up to Wagarville, of all places. What self-respecting ghost hangs out in the boonies?”
Helen and I poured cups of coffee, and I accepted a small sliver of the sweet cake. “Yes, I got that text this morning. I’ve never been to Wagarville. That’s up I-65, right? What’s up there?”
“Not a darn thing except Forrest Field, the place we’re investigating. Wait, that’s not true. There are a few excellent burger joints and campsites. Besides that, it’s woods as far as the eye can see. There’s been some recent excitement, though; some archaeologists are excavating a lost fort, Fort Dixon or something like that. I’m sure Midas will tell us all about it this afternoon. What time is the meeting again?”
After consulting my phone briefly, I said, “It’s at four. How are things at Dixie House? Is it still quiet? No sign of Erma?”
“No, it’s downright peaceful. Except for the guys working on the potholes on my street.”
We chitchatted a bit longer, and when I’d gobbled up my cake I picked up Noelle’s book and flipped to the bookmark I had inserted the night before. “In case I haven’t told you, Helen, thank you for helping me with all this. I’m sure you have better things to do, but having your help with this project is a real encouragement. I have so much to learn.”
Helen patted her lips with a paper napkin. “It’s my pleasure! I do love exploring new subjects—especially paranormal ones. Read what you have there, and I’ll tell you what I found.” She paused, her eyes tilted up to the ceiling as if she heard someone. “You got company?”
“In the attic? No, and please don’t freak me out. I think that’s just the house settling.” We quietly listened for a minute or two but heard nothing else. Ready to put my mind on something else, I said, “You go first. What I bookmarked is just a passage about a dream-vision Noelle had.”
Helen slid on her glasses and read from the printed page. “This is from Delchamps Spirit Guide. It says there are several ways to set boundaries with spirits. First, ‘Make sure you clear the room before attempting to make contact and after interacting with a spirit. You need to do this each session. Clearing involves using visualization in which you release all negative energy from your body; that’s clearing away any energy the spirit may have left behind. You’ll also have to clear the room or space where you were working. You can easily clear an area by visualizing that space as gradually filling with brilliant white light. Make sure you visualize the light in every corner of the room.’ Have you ever tried clearing a room or clearing yourself?”
Helen eyed me as if she were a game show host.
“What?” I chuckled at her expression. “No, I didn’t even know that was a thing. What about ghosts that contact you? Is there anything in there about that?” I asked hopefully. “How do I clear them away?”
“Unfortunately, no, not specifically, but I’m sure we could use some of this material. You’ll have to practice this visualization thing; we could do that together. Let’s practice visualizing the white light right now.” She put the book down and put her hands in her lap.
Helen might have been ready to roll, but I was a bit more reluctant. “Maybe later, Helen. I’m not sure about that as a tactic. What else you got in there?”
With a shrug, she picked up the small antique book again and flipped through the pages carefully. “Here’s something. Never drink or take drugs before attempting to contact a spirit. Don’t make contact while you’re unhappy or emotionally drained. It says you put yourself at risk when you do that. Negative spirits can catch hold of you if you approach them with a weakened psyche.”
I tapped my pencil on the table and jotted down a few notes, then sighed and shook my head. “I’m certainly not much of a drinker, and I’m not on any medications. I can’t believe there’s no one out there with the same gift as me except this Noelle person who died a decade ago.”
Helen offered a sad smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Nervous as heck. We have this new investigation, and I know I’ll be painting. I mean, I always do…and this time, I can feel it, if that makes any sense. It used to be that visions would just show up without any warning. Now I can feel one hovering at the edge of my memory, or mind, or whatever. Do I sound crazy? Maybe I do need medication.”
“Stop that. I think that shows growth. It means you’re getting stronger.”
She squeezed my hand and I asked, “What if I open a door I can’t close, Helen? What if it ends up like the last time where ghosts are everywhere, even ringing my doorbell or coming inside my house, leaving wet footprints on the floor? I haven’t had any problems since I moved into this place, but how long can that last?”
She patted my hand and rose from her chair to pick up our dirty dishes. “Maybe you should paint somewhere else. Like in a studio?”
I tapped my lip with the pencil. “That might work, but half the time these sessions happen in the middle of the night or when it’s not convenient. I can’t imagine hopping in the car when I want to paint.”
Helen snapped her fingers. “Didn’t I see a garage in the back?” As if she had to go check it out right away, she took the dishes to the kitchen. “Yes, I can see it from here. That’s plenty big enough for an art studio unless your uncle has it stacked with junk.”
“No junk in there. My uncle was a very tidy guy. Tidier than me, by a long shot.”
She smiled, showing her even white teeth. “That space would make the perfect studio, Cassidy. Perhaps a little distance from your home is all you need. It’s worth a shot.”
The more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. “It does sound like a solution. That’s just far enough to make me think twice about painting but not so far that it would put me off it completely.”
“I’m dying to see the inside of it. Let’s go have a look!” Helen didn’t wait for my approval. She was tugging on her jacket and heading to the back door, ready to explore the garage. As she walked, she began sharing ideas about my new creative space. So like my friend to always get ahead of herself. And me.
Uncle Derek’s garage was about fifty feet from the house. The concrete floor inside was pristine, as if he’d never parked a car on it once, which wasn’t the case. I lifted the garage door handle, and the door slid up easily. Uncle Derek’s shiny black car sat on one side; the other side was almost bare except for a few shelves and the odd tool.
“This would make the perfect painting studio, Cassidy. I say move the car, have my guy come open up this wall and put in a window to show off that fabulous view of the backyard, and add some lighting. This is so doable, and I don’t think it would take that long. Maybe a week.”
“Really? I’ve sold the car back to the dealership—they are picking it up today. I have no use for an extra vehicle, and my uncle had no other family. Maybe this would work.” She clapped her hands together, and we walked around the cool space. I had to admit, I could see the possibilities. “What was the name of the guy you used for the Dixie House renovations?”
“Mike Treadwell. I can call him for you. He stays pretty busy, so I’m not sure how quickly he could get started, but it’s worth a shot. Let’s do it!”
Normally, I didn’t make impetuous decisions, but this felt right. Absolutely right. “All right. Make the call, Helen. See if Mr. Treadwell is available to come take a look. The sooner the better.”
Helen went back in the house to call him while I strolled around the double garage again. It looked barely used. It was like it was just waiting for me. Like it had been waiting for me the whole time. I smiled at the thought, determined to be happy and not apprehensive, even though I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I’d be painting in here tonight. With or without the improvements.
As I walked toward the door, I heard a voice—a man’s voice. There were no streets behind the house, no reason for anyone to be hanging around that fence. “Hello?” I called. I heard the mumbling again, but this time I knew it wasn’t coming from the fence line. This voice was with me in the garage.
Loa…
Before I could hear another word, I left the garage and closed the door.
Chapter Two—Sierra McBride
I tapped on the keyboard, only pausing occasionally to rearrange the throw blanket around my legs and keep going. It was a good thing I dressed warmly today. I thought I looked like a million bucks in my short-sleeved black turtleneck; it was never that cold in Mobile. Just kinda cold. I wore black slacks and high heels too.
Joshua’s eyebrows rose when he saw me walk out of the bedroom this morning. “Where are you going? To a runway or the office?” He leaned down and kissed me and would have liked to do a bit more, but I was running late. And as I sweetly reminded him, he had a job to find. It had been months since his parents sold the laundromat, and he’d not been able to find anything at all. It was frustrating for him and for me. With the baby coming, I felt a bit anxious about our financial situation. As it stood now, our Christmas would be skimpy at best.
“It’s all your fault,” he said, trying his best to be seductive. “You know how much I love your sassy ponytail.”
I grinned and replied, “And my baby belly. Bye, sweetie.” I walked out of the house with our dog Bozo and Joshua trailing behind me. I promised them both I’d see them later.
“Go get ’em, tiger.”
I kissed Joshua goodbye for the third time, escaping with a laugh and getting into my car before he succeeded in changing my mind. Sure, I was pregnant, but I’d noticed some things about me I hadn’t expected. Like how much I loved chocolate… and “being with” my husband. It was as if every time we got together, our unhappy past was pushed further away. As if what happened before would never happen again. And I was sure of that because I’d come close to losing everything. And for what? Jack? Nope. Never again. I felt like the luckiest girl on the planet. Think positive, Sierra Kay, I encouraged myself. I had an awesome husband and a baby on the way, not to mention my first full-time job ever as office manager for Gulf Coast Paranormal. I could hardly believe it. Midas was simply the best almost-big-brother I’ve ever had. I hoped that he and Cassidy would be happy together. Those two were getting pretty close lately. I liked Cassidy. She was sweet…and she wasn’t Sara, Midas’ ex-girlfriend.
I spent a large part of my day getting our filing system in order. We had two filing systems, one for volunteers and one for clients. I updated the volunteer list, marked papers that needed Midas’ attention and printed off a new batch of applications. As I did my work, I listened to country music and drank decaffeinated coffee.
I couldn’t get enough of it, and the baby didn’t seem to mind. Lucky for me, I no longer felt sick. I’d had morning sickness for a few weeks in the beginning and thought I was going to die. I don’t know who gagged more, me or Joshua.
One applicant, a young lady named Arabella, was supposed to have arrived at one o’clock for the face-to-face interview, but she didn’t show up or call. Two strikes. The next on the list would be Aaron DeSearcy, who should have been here by now. It was three o’clock…getting close. I clucked my tongue and kept on working, turning up Gray Daughtry’s latest hit, My Kinda Girl. Midas was going to be so proud of all that I’d accomplished today. I felt good about how smoothly the Gulf Coast Paranormal office ran now.
We had a ton of unanswered emails, and I was anxious to make a dent in them before the team meeting. Where had the time gone today? I checked my cell phone again. Still no word from Joshua on any of those interviews. I prayed he got a job quickly. He wasn’t the kind of guy to lie about all day. For the nine hundredth time, I wondered if the McBrides had closed the Hullabaloo Laundromat because they were angry with Joshua. He had taken me back, even though he knew his Momma hated me. Not long after that, they announced they were closing up shop after twenty years in business. They had talked about doing just that once in a while, but the decision to close still felt like it was kind of out of the blue. Yeah, what a horrible time for his parents to shut down the laundromat. Luckily for us, Midas decided to pay his awesome research assistant and only office manager—me—a nice weekly paycheck.
“Sing it to me, Gray!” I said as the second verse of the song began. A wave of cold air washed over me, and I shivered. My new office was freezing. I was beginning to think that the heater wasn’t working at all. I chose this room because I wanted an office with a window, but now the frigid air was blasting through the glass panes.
Well, I can live with it. It’s not like Mobile has a ton of chilly days.
Haunted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 2) Page 22
