Crossroads (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 7)

by Catie Rhodes

  “Your grandmother knew me,” the awful voice chuckled. “Are you ready to deal for the little girl?”

  “State your terms.” Cecil sat down heavily on one of the logs.

  Something rustled in the bushes on the other side of the campfire. The fire’s light fell on a dimly outlined form. It stepped out of the woods, features coming into focus as it approached. I recognized the ascot first. Then the blazing fire lit the Coachman’s almost handsome, but too mean, face. “Your grandmother stole something from me, Cecil Paul Gregson. If you want the little girl back, you’ll give me both what was stolen and Peri Jean Mace.” The ground vibrated with the thunder of his voice.

  “Tell me where she is, and I’ll bring her to you,” someone, I thought Kenny, called out.

  The fire grew bigger, spitting and roaring. The Coachman stepped out from behind it, all shadows in the flickering light. “She stands by the far tree, a healer at her back.”

  Wide-eyed faces turned to regard me, many filling with contempt. Feeling more like I was back in Gaslight City than I had for months, I pressed my back against Wade’s chest. He clasped one arm over my waist. He wouldn’t let go, I knew, but he also couldn’t win a fight against the Coachman. Matter can’t kick spirit’s ass.

  “And if I refuse?” Cecil held his voice steadier than I’d have been able to manage. He sat calmly on the log, his ankles crossed, as though this was a board meeting or a civil negotiation.

  “See what I’ve already done?” The Coachman belched out a grinding glass chuckle. “If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll destroy all of you, take what I want anyway, and keep the child.”

  A trio of three shadows approached the pit, Dillon in the lead, Finn plucking at her shirt. She slapped him away. Jadine stopped several feet back, Zander in her arms. Dillon turned to stare at me, her face lost in undulating shadow.

  “And if I give you what you want?” Cecil still sat calmly, frowning at the fire.

  “You can forget this ever happened.” The Coachman stuck one hand in the fire, pulled out a ball of it, and tossed it into the crowd. People screamed and leapt out of the way.

  Cecil sat on the log, still except for the slight rise and fall of his thin shoulders. His face, reflected in the firelight, wore a sheen of sweat despite the cool night.

  “I say we do it.” Kenny walked to the edge of the campfire. “That woman is trouble.”

  A murmur of agreement rippled through the assembled group. My stomach dropped, and sweat prickled on my scalp. These people, the ones I spent months chasing down, really would give me over to a monster. And, in doing so, they’d doom Zora. Had they not believed what I told them about the Coachman needing me to complete his rebirth into Zora?

  Dillon approached the Coachman and stared at him the same way she’d stared at the waitress in that breakfast joint. “Give my Zora back. Now.”

  Wade drew in a deep breath at Dillon's show of bravery, stupidity, and impulsiveness.

  The Coachman laughed. He grabbed handful of fire and lobbed it at Dillon. She stumbled out of the way, but it caught her jeans somehow. They began to smoke. Finn wrestled her to the ground and rolled her.

  She scrambled away from him and went right back to the edge of the fire, glancing at me every so often. So she did remember. She knew the Coachman wouldn’t trade her child for me, that he was lying as bad guys are apt to do.

  Danielle walked to the edge of the blaze, smoothing down her caftan. She touched Dillon's arm. “Sugar, he’s not going to give Zora back unless we trade the other girl for her. Now I know she’s your cousin, but don’t you want your child more?”

  Dillon whipped her head back and forth, her anger burning almost as bright as the fire.

  “You’re all being stupid. We’re talking about the safety of the group.” Kenny walked to the edge of the fire to stand next to Danielle.

  Dillon exploded. She grabbed Kenny by the shoulders and pushed him at the Coachman. “He’s lying, you stupid sack of shit.” The words tore out of her, each one punctuated by a hysterical breath. “We give him Peri Jean, and it’s all done. He has to sacrifice Peri Jean, to take her last blood, so he can be born again. And he’s going to kill my sweet Zora in the process. Papaw, you know this.” She ran to stand beside Cecil.

  He sighed and stood, putting one arm around Dillon. “I do, honey, but I’d hoped we could get through this without him knowing we know.” Cecil faced the Coachman. “No deal. You’ll never have Peri Jean. You’ll never complete your resurrection. Now give the child back, and we won’t retaliate.”

  The Coachman shook. At first, I thought it was anger. But then he reared back and faced the sky. “Make me the fire, Darkness.”

  The Coachman grew more and more transparent until nothing was left of him. He stepped into the fire and disappeared into the orange and blue flames. A roar came from within the flames, and the fire exploded outward, throwing burning logs and flaming debris everywhere.

  Shrill cries of pain and fear filled the night. The Coachman, now a thing made of coals, stepped out of the fire, a halo of heat wavering around him.

  “There is no refusal.” The rough voice echoed throughout the camp. “I’ll simply kill you all and take her anyway.”

  “We’re not giving in to you,” Dillon shouted, spittle arcing from her lips. “I won’t help you kill my baby. You give Zora back. Now.” She ran at the Coachman, but Finn grabbed her around the waist. She doubled over, weeping.

  “You don’t have a choice, little mind controller.” The Coachman’s voice thundered through the camp. “It’s either that woman and your child or everyone here.”

  Dillon's sobs competed with the roaring fire. Nobody else made a peep.

  Kenny stepped forward again, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. He raised one shaking hand. “All right, folks. We’ve got a choice to make here. We give up two to save the rest of Sanctuary.”

  His wife, Anita, came to stand next to him. “You all know the right thing to do.”

  Dillon wrenched out of Finn’s grasp, leapt on Anita and began to pound her, arms swinging wildly.

  I tried to move forward. Wade held me against his chest. I pulled at one thick arm. His strength far outmatched mine. I wouldn’t go anywhere unless he allowed it.

  “I think I know something to do.” Wade’s whisper was hot on my ear.

  I turned to face him, too aware of the way his body felt against mine. I gasped. His face bore the marks of a fight. He had a deep cut under one eye.

  “W-w-what?” I gestured at his face, unable to get the words out.

  “I told you King was pissed at me for cutting out.” His gaze cut away from mine, and he reached into his jacket. I stared stupidly at the vial in his hand. He held it closer to my face. “Holy water. It’ll get rid of him.”

  “Forever?” I stared into Wade’s face, hoping.

  He shook his head. “Maybe long enough to make a plan. It’ll take him a while to work up the juice to come back.”

  I grabbed the vial and took off. Five feet from the monster, heat rolled off it, ruffling my hair and fluttering my eyelashes. The skin on my face tightened and dried. I could go no closer.

  The Coachman held out one shapeless, firey hand. “You know this is the best thing.”

  “Maybe.” I struggled to get the vial’s cap off using only my thumb.

  “No,” Dillon wailed. “Don’t go. He’s gonna kill my Zora. Please don’t.” Her shout dissolved into grunts and squeals as she tried to get away from whoever held her back.

  Cecil appeared next to me and gripped my wrist. “Absolutely not.”

  “Uncle Cecil, there’s no other way.” I called on the memory of every soap opera I’d ever seen for just the right amount of drama and martyrdom. My thumb finally got the vial’s cap rolling. It came off and fell to the ground. I prayed to the goddess of luck that the Coachman hadn’t seen it.

  Running footsteps came from behind me. I knew without looking it was Wade. It was time. I flung the contents o
f my vial of holy water on the Coachman.

  He screamed, the sound of two trains colliding, shaking the earth and trees. My ears hurt, and I clapped my hands over them. Cecil grabbed my arm and began dragging me away. Wade slung the contents of his vial on the Coachman. The smell of burning garlic gagged me. The Coachman flickered. One piece of him broke off and floated away. He flashed back into existence, again wearing his old fashioned clothes. His face was set in a snarl.

  “This is not over.” He pointed one finger at me. It turned to mist. The fog worked its way up his arm, disappearing him a little at a time. “You decide what’s more important—one woman and one little girl or the lives of all these people.” Piece by piece, the Coachman broke up, each pinpoint of light going a different direction. “You cannot run or hide. I will find you.” The Coachman had faded down to one point of light. It shot away from us and went into the sky, glowing until it faded from sight.

  Kenny rushed over to us. “What is wrong with you? The safety of Sanctuary as a whole is your priority. Not your special favorites.” He gave Cecil a hard shove.

  Cecil staggered backward. I caught him by the arm and spun on Kenny. “Try it with me. I’ll shove ten pounds of shit down your throat faster than you can say ‘gimme more.’”

  Kenny's mouth fell open, and he doubled up his fist. “Don’t you talk to me that way, you anemic little whore.”

  I let go of Cecil and closed the space between Kenny and me. “Save it for pillow talk with your sister.” I tipped my head at Danielle. So what if the words made an enemy out of her. She’d been willing to give Zora and me to the Coachman.

  Kenny grabbed a handful of my shirt and reared back his fist. Wade pushed himself between us and leaned into Kenny's face.

  “You wanna fight?” He grabbed both of Kenny's arms where the other man couldn’t back away from him. “Or do you just save it for women who weigh a hundred pounds less than you?” Wade shoved Kenny. The other man sprawled on the ground. He lay there, lip curled, glaring first at Wade, then at me. Wade shoved me at Cecil, who gripped my arm and pulled me next to him.

  “My niece and I will fix this.” Cecil fell into a coughing fit at the last word. I held onto his arm and stared out at the crowd.

  “My uncle’s right. We are going to keep all of you safe.” The words came out before I had time to think them over.

  One man lingered as though he might want to say something, but someone smarter dragged him away. Nearby, a generator began blatting, and the camp lights came back on.

  “What are we going to do?” I spoke into Cecil’s ear. “He’s coming back.”

  “We’re going with our original plan. We’re having a séance.” Cecil coughed into his hand. “Samantha killed it before. She’ll tell us how to do it again.”

  “Good grief,” Wade muttered. He slung his arm over my shoulders. We followed Cecil to the rec room we’d set out for a lifetime ago.

  12

  THE REC ROOM turned out to be several rooms in a huge metal building. A small room with wall plugs and tables where people could plug in laptops or charge cellphones sat to the right of the entry hall. Across from it, a room with long benches and a podium up front might have served as a meeting room or a makeshift chapel.

  Cecil led us right into the main room. Vending machines selling soft drinks and calorie-laden snacks lined the walls. Cheap tables were scattered around the room. Old board games, their worn cardboard boxes leaning precariously, were stacked on a long, narrow table in the corner.

  Dillon went straight over there, sat down, and stared into space, rocking. Zander struggled until she let him down. He baby-walked to a wooden trunk, pushed it open, and pulled out several threadbare toys.

  “Finn, move some of these tables out of the way.” Cecil went to sit in a metal folding chair.

  Finn began working. After a second, Griff, Brad, and Wade helped him. Jadine led us to a closet where we found emergency candles and a black tablecloth. Jadine gave us specific instructions for setting up for the séance. Once we had the candles set up, she removed a lighter from her pocket and lit each one, her slim hand going right to the candle as though she could see it.

  I watched, feeling a combination of shame and awe. Jadine mastered her disability admirably. My ability was a gift, not something like what Jadine dealt with every day. I had a lesson to learn from her. She must have felt me watching her because she smiled at me. “We call what I do a séance too, even though I’m really just dream-walking into possible futures and distant pasts.”

  “She’s a big money-maker.” Finn pushed chairs around the table, seeming to need the movement, the busy work, the same way I did. “Part of it’s because she’s so pretty, I think.”

  Cecil sat down at the table. “Are we ready to begin, people?”

  “So how are we doing this?” Griff approached the table, arms crossed over his chest, staying as far from Cecil as possible.

  Cecil thought things over. “Let’s just try this with Mysti, Peri Jean, Jadine, and me.”

  “Why only you four?” Griff put his hand on the back of one of the chairs.

  Cecil nodded, as though he’d expected the challenge. “None of the rest of you are gifted with sight beyond the veil.”

  Griff made a face but moved away from the table. Brad took a chair near the séance table and clasped his hands between his knees. Wade moved off to a corner of the room, sat underneath a No Smoking sign, and lit a cigarette.

  “Mr. Hill, please turn off the lights. They’re to your right.” Cecil ignored the cigarette and the sign. Wade stood and did what he asked.

  Darkness swallowed the room for several seconds until my eyes adjusted to the candlelight.

  My uncle opened his mouth and took a breath to speak but then closed it again. A lifetime of knowledge moved behind his dark eyes. “My grandmother ended her life angry at all of us. Her judgment wasn’t what it once had been, and we sold the house she owned near here. Samantha was forced to live in Mama and Daddy’s caravan. That’s what we called them back then, caravans not RVs. Samantha went downhill fast after that.” He took Jadine’s hand on top of the table and gave it a squeeze. “After Samantha’s death, some of her things were missing. Fern and Mama both wanted them. Mama ordered me to contact Samantha’s spirit for information. It went bad. Samantha made it clear she wanted nothing to do with any of us.” Cecil spoke directly to me. “I have no idea how this is going to go.”

  I nodded my understanding.

  “I want to call a circle.” Mysti looked to Cecil for permission. He nodded.

  I began gathering the extra emergency candles to make the four compass points to represent the four elements.

  Mysti put her hand on my arm to stop me. “Just a basic circle. Samantha’s your ancestor, and this is what you’re made to do. I just want to discourage interference.” I nodded and set the candles back down.

  She got up and dug through her bag until she found a container of sea salt. She walked slowly around our séance table until she closed the circle. With a nod, she indicated I should join her. We stood with our arms out, palms facing the ceiling. I imagined a hole in the crown of my head and the brightest of light streaming from the heavens into me, lighting me all over. A hum worked its way through my body and warmed my cold toes. Mysti nodded at me, and we spoke together.

  “To the god and the goddess, we ask for blessings within this space. We ask for protection in crossing the veil between this world and the next.” The hum of Mysti’s and my energy grew within. The circle went up like a sheet of invisible lightning. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight with its static pull. Mysti nodded. “So mote it be,” we said together.

  We sat back down at the table. Cecil stared at me as though seeing me for the first time. Jadine had a half smile on her face. She had liked the ritual.

  “And so we begin,” I said and called the spirit world through my black opal. The mantle whipped inside me like a torn sail. Now that I knew it hadn’t absorbed prope
rly, I worried every time I felt the power moving on its own. But right now I needed it and would just have to make the best of it.

  “Uncle Cecil? Papaw? Do you want to call your grandmother?” Maybe she’d forgiven him by now. Their connection in life was more likely to entice her to visit than the call of a stranger. I could force her, but I’d save that for a last resort.

  “I flat-lined during surgery for my heart. I haven’t been able to call a spirit since.” He watched me across the table, something dangerously close to excitement, dancing behind his dark eyes.

  “Why don’t I lend you the power?” I held my hand across the table, fingers splayed.

  Cecil watched my hand, curiosity, then worry, moving across his face. He took my hand and nodded. I closed my eyes and found the thread of magic deep inside me. It vibrated, hot with promise. I closed my will on it and pushed it through the black opal. The stone heated in response, burning my chest. The power arced down my arm and into Cecil’s hand. He jerked and sat up straight.

  My uncle took several deep breaths and then spoke, his soft voice raised to a baritone thunder. “Samantha Jeanette Herrera, I call to your spirit. I beg forgiveness for the indignity of your final days and request the honor of your presence this night.”

  We waited. The candles flickered, the guttering flame hissing. The coldness of spirit spread throughout the room and seeped into my skin. Whispers filled my head. Mysti’s grip tightened on mine, signaling she heard them, too. I waited for Samantha to make herself known. Instead the room faded. Samantha wouldn’t grace us with her presence after all. She was going to show us a vision.

  The four of us fade into being, still holding hands, in an overgrown field overlooking Camilla Plantation. The house, heyday come and gone, is now a leaning wreck. A heavy, ugly pall hangs over the house. In another situation, I’d have gone a hundred miles out of my way to avoid it. And nobody could pay me enough money to go inside.