The tower of books next to him was huge and he let out a slow sigh. There were so many to go through and it was late in the day. He started to set the book into the ‘keeper’ pile but his hand came to a halt. An unseen force held the book in his grip.
The smell of lilacs drifted in the air and he felt an overpowering sense of Stella. From the corner of his eye the lace curtain hanging at the side of the wide window, fluttered. He turned his head, peering hard at it, watching it slow down and then stop.
There was no doubt he was meant to read that book sooner, rather than later.
His thumb slid over the edges of the page and closing his eyes, he flipped the book open somewhere near the middle of it. If Stella wanted him to read a certain section, then the randomness of finding it like that, was as good a way as anything else. A paragraph was highlighted, the yellow lines wavy, with a penned asterisk in the margin.
“...that a grid of magnetic energy lines circle the earth. Places such as Stonehenge, the Pyramids and the Great Wall of China are positioned on these lines.
In the 1800’s many people in the British Isles sensed the energy of these lines and thought them to be ‘fairy paths’ connecting certain hilltops. Furthermore, it was a dangerous business for a wayward traveler to walk these paths.”
Barry’s forehead furrowed as he read. This had to be what Stella had referred to in the videotape—the hallowed ground was really ‘ley lines of power’. He flipped to the next page and once more his reading began where she had highlighted.
"More spiritual and paranormal activity is said to occur on these lines, with the power amplified where two ley lines intersect. Certain people sensitive to paranormal activity report low-frequency vibrations on the skin and sensations of dizziness and unbalance.”
Barry sat back in the chair and closed the book. He’d felt the tingle on the back of his neck, and sensed the old lady’s presence. Was this the way it would be from now on? If what he’d just read was true, Stella had known and chosen him over a blood relative to live in this space--a house centered on a ley line.
There was more to this than she’d let on. Why did it have to be someone with the ‘second sight’ who had to live there? He stood up and plucked the package of sticky notes from his shirt pocket, peeling one off and placing it on top of the pile of books. He’d keep these books and go through them later when they moved in. He’d have more time then.
A thud from the living room made him jump. Shit! It had been really loud. His heart beat harder as he strode through the kitchen and library, to enter the dimly lit front room. Everything looked the way it had when he’d left it earlier. He walked over to the window and peered outside. There was only the yard and the laneway where his cab was parked, no sign of anyone or anything.
Next to the car was an old apple tree, the trunk gnarled and twisted, bare of leaves but... His eyes opened wider when he looked closer and saw the flock of crows crowded together on every branch, their beady eyes watching him. There had to be at least a hundred of them!
The sight made his stomach roil and for a moment his knees turned to jelly. Their presence was ominous. Even if he’d never seen that old Alfred Hitchcock movie, ‘The Birds’, he would have known that. If there was any force or power that was trying to scare him off, they had picked the right weapon.
He hated birds with their quick movements and lice ridden feathers. He was even repelled by the colourful ducks and swans that swam along the city’s nature trail.
He closed the curtain and took a deep breath. Stella wanted him here. It had been so important to her that she’d sweetened the deal with the promise of half a million dollars at the end of a year. There was no way any stupid birds were going to derail that, especially not with a baby on the way.
He smirked and his voice held a trace of defiance. “Is that all you got, buddy?”
Buddy? Yeah. Instinctively he knew the malignant force was male.
A half hour later, he stepped outside and looked up at the apple tree. Nothing there now except a few leaves that refused to succumb to the winds of November. He locked the front door and when he turned to go to the car, a dark shape under the living room window caught his attention. He took a few steps closer and stopped. It was a dead crow; the head angled oddly to the side. That had to be the noise from earlier, a thud on the glass when the bird had flown into it and broke its neck.
His grimaced, walking over to get into the car. With any luck, some stray cat or racoon would find it and haul it off for a snack. He slid in behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. When he twisted to watch the laneway, to back out, his head jerked back seeing what lay on the front passenger seat.
His mouth went completely dry as he stared at it. The book on Ley Lines and Power that he’d been reading inside lay open on the seat next to him.
Chapter 6
When Barry wandered into the master bedroom, Myra was bent over, tucking the sheets under the mattress. She was a petite sprite, with strong and shapely legs, a fact that the tight black leggings did nothing to hide. Sunshine through the window highlighted the reddish glints in her hair when she straightened. She looked over her shoulder at him and cast a grin.
“Enjoying the view, you letch?” She flipped her honey blond hair and batted her Betty Boop blue eyes.
He stepped over to her. She wasn’t runway model gorgeous, more movie star striking. There was something about her that made people react and do a double take when she walked into a room. It was the confidence in her wide-set large eyes, or maybe her rich full lips twitching in a smile that bordered on sassy. He shook his head at the number of times guys gave him the ‘way to go, bud’ nod in bars when they were dating.
“You’re not done in here, yet?” He ducked to the side, dodging the pillow that she hurled at him.
“Whadayamean! I’m not the lazy lout standing around gawking, watching me work!” She laughed when he stepped towards her, scooping her up off her feet, the two of them falling onto the mattress.
He nibbled the hollow of her neck, a spot he knew she found both ticklish and erotic, breathing her floral scented skin. His hands pinned hers to the bed and he continued kissing her.
She nudged her head against his. “Barry! Stop! Your father and my brother are downstairs moving stuff into the house! What would they say if—”
“I know, I know...you’re right...but I can’t help myself.” He laughed when her leg lifted high enough to kick his butt with her heel, all the while squirming under him.
“Seriously, Barry! Stop!” But her narrow eyes and wide grin were anything but serious.
He released her hands and his fingers slid down her arm, to come to rest on the soft flannel covered mound of her tummy. “I love you, Myra. It’s really starting to sink in...we have a home.” He shifted and his face was poised above her tummy, “Isabella. It’s your Daddy talkin’ here. Do you think Mommy should quit slacking off, laying around in bed?”
Myra gave the back of his head a sharp cuff. “Isabella’s on my side on this one.” She giggled. “She knows the hand that feeds her.”
He scoffed. “Hand?”
“Actually, it’s the placenta, then it will be a breast—”
“Mmmm…” he said, diving down again.
“Stop it!” she slapped the back of his head. “There won’t be any hand feeding of Isabella for quite some time. For now, placenta.”
He looked up at her. “Placenta? Ewww.”
“Also called the after-birth, y’know.”
He blanched and sat up on the bed. “Super eeeew.”
She laughed. “Some cultures feed it to the mother, you know. In fact, most mammals, when the female gives birth, eat it afterward.”
“Stop.”
She leaned into him. “C’mon Barry, this is Bio 101 and Anthropology 101!” She popped him on the shoulder with a fist. “In faaact… some cultures make the father eat it! To regain his potency which he lost when he made the baby!”
Barry stood
. “I’m gonna be sick here…”
Myra lay back, laughing.
He sighed and shook his head. “Guess I’d better go downstairs and help out.” Before he went through the doorway, he turned and winked at her, speaking softly. “But tonight my dear, we christen the house, if ya know what I mean.”
His feet beat a fast staccato on the stairs and down into the front hallway. A gust of icy air blew in from the open door where his father and Myra’s brother, Tony, were carrying a golden pine desk into the house.
His father’s dark eyes looked over at him. “I think we’ll get snow later today. I don’t like the looks of that grey bank of clouds on the horizon.” The older man’s fingers looked cold and stiff hooked on the edge of the desk.
“Arthur-ites making a visit, Pop?” Barry asked.
Dad let his end of the desk drop down and rubbed his gnarled hands. “Just a bit, yeah.”
Barry watched his father. The man was barely sixty, but had really aged in the last few years. When the plant they both worked at was shut down and moved to Mexico, at least Pop had enough time in to be able to take early retirement. But the last five years had aged him terribly.
Dad looked around the house, shaking his head slowly. “Y’know, kid, you’re the best investment I ever made.” He turned to his son and smiled.
Pop was right. He lent Barry the start up money to get his taxi and all the other stuff he needed. Barry paid him back quickly; just as they agreed. But if Barry hadn’t been a full time driver, he would never have met Stella… He folded his arms and looked at his Dad with love. “Y’know, I got a line on some swampland in Florida…”
Dad waved him off. “I’ll take a pass. Take it up with the Koch brothers maybe.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Y’know, son,” Dad stepped around the desk. Tony stood by silently watching the exchange. “Your mother would be thrilled to see you moving into this place too.” He patted Barry’s shoulder. “You’ve always… always were a good boy… and a good man. I’m glad that old lady saw it in you too.” He turned again admiring the burnished woodwork and craftsmanship of the house.
Mom. The guilt of that day washed over him in a wave. He had kept silent about it since the day she died. He just stared at the floor.
Myra’s brother Tony, broke the silence. “Hey, this is the last piece, Barry. Where do you want it?”
Barry grabbed the end of the desk his Dad had been handling. “Down the hall here,” they went down the hallway past the living room. He was going to make this his study or something. Maybe he’d write a book based on his experiences driving a cab. They brought in the desk and put it against the wall it shared with the living room.
As they carried the desk, his father closed the front door and then walked slowly behind them. “Lucky the old lady left it furnished. You’d have a hard time filling this place up, son.”
“Lucky! I’d say Barry’s got a horseshoe stuck up his ass! Talk about luck of the Irish!” Tony flashed a grin and turned to navigate past the furniture in the living room.
Behind him, Barry’s Dad continued. “Do ya suppose this fireplace works?” The clang of the brass doors covering the dark hole in the brick sounded. “Let me see...what’s this?” The sound of metal scraping against metal, could be heard.
Barry and Tony continued into the small room that overlooked the back yard, now empty of everything but the shelves on the walls, filled with Stella’s books. Myra had put her foot down and had them taken out of the dining room.
“Well, looky here!”
Barry set the desk down next to the wall and turned to see his father warming his hands in front of the low, gas-fired flame. The old man shuddered and his face was lined with concern. “I don’t know what it is about this room...there’s a draft or something.” He forced a smile. “You’re gonna need this fireplace, if you spend any amount of time in here.”
“You got that right, George! That makes it much more cozy.” Tony stepped into the living room and stood next to Barry’s Dad. “Well, it’s the north side of the house. It’s bound to be colder and the fire helps but...” He smiled. “If it were me, I’d spend all my time in the kitchen and dining room. There’s a cheery feel to those rooms. They’re brighter.”
Barry’s hand rose to massage the back of his neck, where his muscles had tensed up. Even his Dad and Tony felt the different vibes in the living room and library, and they didn’t have the touch. Whatever energy dominated this side of the house was by no means welcoming.
Footsteps on the stairs caused them all to turn and see Myra pop into view. “Who’s hungry? I thought I’d go get a pizza or some subs.” She grinned and wandered into the room, her eyes wide with pleasure. “Wow! That fireplace actually works?”
Barry watched her sidle up next to his father, vying for the heat.
“I’ll go. You guys stay here and enjoy a break.” Barry stopped in the archway and looked back, shooting them a grin. “But you’ll have to put up with my choice for lunch. I say we have pizza.”
When he stepped outside, he pulled the collar of his coat higher against the November chill and the blustery damp air. He glanced up at the apple tree and felt relief seeing only the bare branches.
He was about to get into the car when he spotted a tall man standing at the end of the laneway staring at him. The dark overcoat and big hulking body were familiar and his stomach grew tight. Shit. It was Gordon Braithwaite, the son of a bitch from the lawyer’s office.
Barry took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders while he walked down the gravelled drive. “What do you want?” Gordon stepped closer and Barry held up his hand. “That’s far enough. You’re trespassing right now.” It was a line he’d never thought he’d ever be able to say, not on a cabbie’s pay. He was filled with dark glee being able to say them to this bastard.
And he was a bastard. Barry had loosened the restraints on his touch as soon as he recognized Gordon and had been rewarded with a psychic stench from this jerk.
Gordon’s hands were thrust deep inside the pockets of the old, wool coat, and a knitted hat covered his head. His eyes were narrow, shooting glowering daggers at Barry. “That house should be mine! I’m her blood. What the hell did you do to the old bat to con her out of this place?”
Barry stepped closer, into Gordon’s space. Even though Barry was tall, he still had to look up into the man’s eyes. And he was a lot bulkier. Barry felt especially skinny going toe to toe with this jerk. Even so, from the flinch back of his head, Gordon wasn’t used to people standing up to him.
Gordon was the big fish in a small pond—a prison filled with small-time hoods and punks. The understanding flashed through Barry’s brain in a micro-second. Gordon was a bully through and through.
Barry’s voice was an ominous hiss. “Get lost, jerk. If I catch you lurking around here again, I’ll call the cops.” There would be times that Myra would be at the house on her own and this thug—
Oh my God! Barry faltered a step backward as a picture of Gordon beating Myra, dragging her by the hair on her head flashed in his mind. She was a matchstick compared to this monster. And the jerk had no right being there, spying on them while they moved into the house.
A blast of icy wind blew Gordon’s knit scarf up, slapping against his jowly cheeks and eyes. For a moment the old hulk faltered.
Barry’s eyes opened wider and his body tingled. His eyes focused on the waves of sickly pea green emanating from Gordon’s body. It pulsed and hovered making Gordon’s face grow dimmer in the sickening hues.
Barry gasped. He knew he was seeing this guy’s aura, but he had never seen an aura before. He clenched his fists and growled at the man. “Get in your car and leave here. Your father and his brood were cut off from Evelyn’s estate years and years ago. You have no claim.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Barry’s head jerked back. What the hell? He didn’t know any Evelyn or anything at all about Stella’s family!
But he knew he was right.
<
br /> His words also knocked the stuffing out of Gordon. For a moment his mouth fell open and then snapped shut. His eyes were narrow and spittle formed in the corner of his thick lips when he spoke. “She told you that? Lies, all lies. The old bat was senile and you played her! Jails are filled with con artists like you!” But Gordon had stepped back and was turning to go back to the street even as he spat his insults.
Barry stood his ground watching Gordon walk out of the laneway and then disappear. With every breath, his body became heavier and heavier. His vision blurred for a few seconds and he blinked fast to clear it. The surge of energy was gone, replaced by a heaviness weighing down his muscles.
He turned and walked back down the laneway to his cab. The screech of a bird overhead made him startle and look up. There in the apple tree, a lone crow, black and shining as obsidian, flapped its wings, its beady eyes watching him with malice.
Chapter 7
Two weeks later...
Myra took the pot off the stove and glanced out the window over the sink. The snow was still falling in fat, sleepy flakes, blanketing the back yard in a pristine slumber. She poured the ginger tea mix through a strainer, taking a deep breath of the spicy steam to clear her sinuses. She picked the mug up and wandered over to the old, wooden table to take a seat there.
Much as she hated being sick and missing work, the moment was comfortingly self-indulgent, relaxing in the quiet of their house. The snow storm just added to the sense of cozy hibernation. Now, if only Barry didn’t have to drive that day, ferrying Christmas shoppers or people not wanting to drive the snow covered roads.
She blew her nose and tossed the tissue into the waste basket. Her fingers flew on the keys of her laptop. This would be the extent of her Christmas shopping, searching and typing instead of trudging along with the other hordes at the mall. She had a pretty good idea what to get her brother and his kids, but Barry was still a mystery. Page after page of gift ideas filled the screen and she became lost in the web of items.
The Ghosts of Centre Street: A Haunting of Kingston (The Hauntings of Kingston Book 3) Page 4
