Speechless, Mrs. Prescott stared at me for a long moment. My quiet words and honesty seemed to have the desired effect—silencing her vile and accusing tongue.
“Look!” cried Emily, pointing through one of the windows.
We glanced out and flames flickered and crawled up one side of the church, smoke billowing out over the once peaceful church grounds. A flaming torch came sailing through the church window shattering glass all over everyone in the vicinity. The torch landed on the tabernacle, and the tablecloth burst into flames.
“Put that out!” shouted the minister.
Christian leapt into the aisle and tried to douse the flames with a tablecloth from a side table.
Another torch came flying through the window, and I immediately ran to put it out. I knew we wouldn’t be able to control the inferno if O’Reilly and his men continued throwing flaming torches into the church. A smash, and a third torch sailed into the sanctuary, hitting the altar this time.
While we doused the flames, we could hear loud voices sounding gruff—more like growls. O’Reilly and his men must be yelling at someone, I thought and looked out the broken windows into the haze but couldn’t see who was involved. “Emily, what’s going on?” I asked hoping she could give us something—anything akin to information.
Emily closed her eyes and screwed her forehead up tightly, in deep concentration. “The men. They’re not alone. Another group has joined them.”
Sounds of a struggle could be heard outdoors—shouts and cries of pain.
“It’s the lost souls! They’ve decided to join Henry!” Emily said with sheer elation.
I could hear O’Reilly arguing, trying desperately to persuade the others to abandon Henry and stay with him.
“Why must you side with him?” O’Reilly said. “He has brought nothing but trouble. We are cursed because of him!” he said, pointing accusingly at Henry. “Henry killed us. It’s his fault we are here, and now he must pay—with the life of the one he loves.”
“Don’t listen to him!” Henry shouted. “He will sacrifice you all to save his own soul. O’Reilly is only capable of loving himself.”
“We must listen to Henry!” said another voice, one that I recognized as Johnny Prescott’s.
O’Reilly roared, and a battle ensued outside the church. They were evenly matched, Henry and the lost souls against O’Reilly and his eleven men.
Suddenly, more glass shattered as the church window above the altar broke. A flaming stick flew through the window, and the carpet around the altar ignited. This time, the fire was too big to put out. One of O’Reilly’s men lifted another called Jackson, and shoved him through the broken window. Within seconds, he will be among us, and we’ll be easy prey, trapped inside this so-called sanctuary.
All seemed lost for a moment, but then I remembered the wooden box I’d left on the altar. I’d been told the symbol was one of protection and power over the fourth plane. I gazed at the circled rose with the strange inscription and with a burst of light—an idea was emblazoned on my mind’s canvas. “Everyone grab a candle from the altar!” I instructed, motioning to the candles lit by Christian earlier.
“What? Why?” the others protested, their eyes full of panic.
“Make a circle around the altar with the candles.”
The minister nodded, understanding my idea. “Yes! Do as she says to. We must make a protective circle.”
Reverend O’Neill ran to the altar, picked up one of the small votives, and handed it to a parishioner. Following my inspiration—we placed the lit candles in a large circle.
“Does anyone have a rose clip, flower, something with a rose. . .” I asked them looking around for volunteers.
Mrs. Harmon walked up and handed me a brooch—a red rose with a diamond sitting among the petals.
I pinned the rose on my blouse and stood in the center of the make-shift circle. Trembling but following suit, they all joined me standing within the flaming circle.
Jackson somersaulted onto the ground, a few feet away from the circle. Wearing an ugly grin, and with a terrible gleam in his eyes, he ignored the flaming carpet and started walking toward us, scowling at everyone as we huddled within the protective circle. Jackson started to advance but couldn’t breach the circle of flames.
“That won’t save you,” he sneered. “We’ll burn the entire church to the ground, with all of you inside—flamey circle and all! One way or another, you’ll die tonight, Alice!” He looked around and picked up a fallen torch and went to grab a candle so he could re-light the charred wood.
As I looked at the blazing flames from the carpet, I reached for the wooden box on the altar and moved toward the flames, stepping out from within the protective circle.
“Alice! What are you doing?” shouted Christian.
I ignored him and tossed the wooden box into the fire and it was immediately engulfed in flames. As it burned, Adrianna’s warning came back to me, “The box cannot be destroyed by fire. Only fanning the flames will unlock its secrets.”
As the box caught fire, a bright light filled the room, a shining glow stunning everyone, including Jackson. The light became so bright we had to shield our eyes. When it finally dimmed, the only remains left of the box was a rose amulet, similar to the one carved on the box-cover, and a dagger made of a very bright, almost white, metal.
“God have mercy,” the minister exclaimed. “A holy dagger!”
I ran to pick up the knife and amulet, drawn by the power—a magical power—I could feel emanating from them.
“Alice, don’t! You’ll burn yourself!” Christian exclaimed.
But when I reached to grab the dagger, it was as cool as marble. “It’s okay,” I said, turning the dagger over in my palms.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Jackson lunging toward me, trusting in the dagger’s power, I turned to face him. When mere inches away, I plunged the silver dagger into his dead heart. He let out a deep and disturbing wail then a long sigh and with a peaceful look on his face, he evaporated. I caught a glimpse of his eyes as he went, but instead of hate, I saw they were filled with remarkable gratitude.
“Thank you,” Jackson whispered as his spirit rose and flew from the church—finally free.
I looked at the dagger in my hands, shocked that Adriana had been right. I am a Ghost Maven and I’ve just taken my first step to embracing my true heritage—magical heritage.
“You did it!” Christian said, edging toward the rim of the circle.
Inside, the church still burned, alight from Jackson’s torches.
“Oh my God, this fire! We’re going to die anyway,” someone screamed.
Soon, we were all choking from the thick acrid smoke. It filled our lungs, making it impossible to breathe.
“Get down on the floor,” Christian shouted, motioning frantically.
We dropped down onto our knees, trying to inhale what little air existed and crawl toward an exit. We could hear banging on the church door, and I feared O’Reilly and the rest of his men waiting outside—then I recognized the voice.
“Alice? Alice, let me in!” Henry screamed.
“We can’t. If we open the door, they’ll come in,” Christian cried.
I ignored him again and, clutching the ghost slayer in my hands, ran to unbolt the door. Frantically, I fumbled with the latch.
“Don’t!” Christian said again more frantically. He started to run toward me, his arms waving, eyes wide.
“I have to,” I shouted. The lock was stubborn, but I managed to pry it loose. “Henry!” I screamed when the doors swung open.
His face was bruised, clothes ragged and torn, and he looked like he’d been in a fight or two, but to my eyes—he was the only sight I’d never been so glad to see.
I threw my arms around him and hugged him as though I could absorb him into me. “Are you all right?” I asked, voice quivering.
He nodded. “You have not been injured have you?”
“No, and I killed one of the
ghosts,” I said proudly.
“We must leave,” Henry said, nodding behind him.
I froze when I saw O’Reilly’s men circling the church. The lost souls helped Henry and made a valiant effort, but O’Reilly’s men were fighters at heart. I feared that if we tried to run, they would easily catch us.
“Wait. There’s another way,” said Christian, slamming the heavy door shut once Henry made it inside. “Everyone, follow me.” Then he began to crawl on his hands and knees through the smoke.
“We’re trapped,” I said. The smoke suffocated me and I was convinced we would all die—here in this church.
“No we’re not!” shouted Christian. He crawled along the aisle to the tabernacle and pointed to a marble slab. “Help me!” he shouted to Henry.
The two of them lifted the slab, exposing a dark corridor that led under the church.
“A secret passage!” I exclaimed.
“Yes. Used by smugglers in the olden days to steal rations.”
“Where does it lead?” I asked, curious to find a real secret passageway.
“Under the church and to the cemetery outside,” Christian replied. “C’mon, Alice. You go first.”
Chapter Twenty-four: The Vault
Henry and Christian lowered me down into the passageway, about a ten-foot drop to the darkness below, so my legs dangled beneath me. I had to jump the remaining few feet, onto the cold, hard floor beneath. Luckily, I didn’t twist an ankle. With the passage so dark and musty, I couldn’t see much in front of me.
Emily came next. She squealed as they lowered her, until she, too, touched the ground.
“Ugh. What is this place?” I asked, looking around in the darkness at the damp, glistening walls.
“It’s an underground vault,” Christian shouted from the top. “Come on, Dad. You’re next.”
One by one, the others were lowered into the vault, though some insisted on being difficult.
“Would you rather stay behind and be burned alive?” Christian asked a complaining Mrs. Prescott.
That silenced the old woman, and she, too, agreed to be lowered into the darkness. Ethan followed Mrs. Prescott, and soon all were safely below, except for Henry and Christian. They jumped the ten feet and landed safely beside us as flames consumed the interior of the church.
“Come on,” Christian said, leading the way.
We followed him through the passageway, past several tombs covered with dusty cobwebs. I read the names of some of the deceased, thinking of those who had died while the rest of Pacific Grove had gone on living.
At the end of the passageway, a brick wall reared up in front of us, seemingly a dead end. We searched and searched could find no likely exit.
“Great,” said Henry, exasperated. “What now, Preacher Boy?”
“We go up,” said Christian, pointing to the ceiling above.
I looked up at the ceiling—nothing but darkness, Christian started to push on the roof. Once the hidden panel was out of the way, we all witnessed a glimmer of light from edges around the outside.
“An exit!” I exclaimed.
The panel popped open, and Christian urged everyone through. We came out in the graveyard, and the ground underfoot was damp and springy, making it difficult to move. All around us, headstones reared up from the ground.
In the distance, I could hear the cries of O’Reilly’s men. The church continued to burn and by now the flames had engulfed the entire roof, likely to collapse at any moment. The rest of the parishioners, including the minister, quickly scattered, running in all directions through the mist.
“What now?” I asked Henry.
“This way,” Henry urged, yanking my hand.
I followed, running as fast as I could, breathing hard from trying to keep up with him. Christian, torn between running after his father or following us, deciding after a split second, decided to follow us, Henry, Emily, and me, into the mist.
I heard the shouts of O’Reilly’s men as they continued fighting the other lost souls. From their cries, it seemed the sailors were losing.
In the gloom, O’Reilly wailed, “There they are! Don’t let them get away!”
My heart leapt into my mouth as we zigzagged through the headstones. I gripped Henry’s hand tightly, afraid to let go.
At the exit of the cemetery, Henry stopped running. “Take Alice with you and head for the lighthouse,” he told Christian. “It’s the nearest place. The spirit of the lighthouse keeper may protect you from O’Reilly.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I will distract O’Reilly. He is following your scent, tracking you. Give me your jacket,” Henry said.
I took off the jacket Christian had given me and handed it to Henry. The night air was cold, and I began to shiver.
He took the jacket in his hands. “I’ll join you once I’ve disposed of O’Reilly.”
“What about the other men?” I asked. Some of them had been killed in battle, including the one I had slain with the silver cross, but others remained.
“Those who are left will retreat. They are cowards, lost without O’Reilly.”
“Henry, be careful,” I said, sensing the usual dread—fear of never seeing him again.
“I will. Now go!” With that, he vanished, heading back toward the church.
I turned to Christian and Emily, both terribly frightened. At that moment, I realized how much I cared for them. “Come on,” I said. “We’d better go. If we follow the coastal path, it will lead to the lighthouse.”
The three of us ran through the cemetery gates and headed downhill.
Just stick to the path, and we’ll be okay, I said to myself.
We traveled for what seemed like forever, when Christian stopped at the sound of rushing water. “I thought this was the way to the lighthouse,” he said, “but how do we cross that?”
I looked to see where he pointed. We were on the banks of a black river that wound its way through the Monterey valley like a thick snake.
“We have to cross it,” said Christian. “It’s the only way.”
I shuddered, looking at the fast-flowing torrent of water. “I can’t, Christian. I’m still too terrified of the water. You two go on without me,” I said sadly, resigning to my end.
Chapter Twenty-five: The Lighthouse
The river loomed ahead, menacing in the darkness. I paced up and down along the muddy banks, peering at the shore seeming so far away.
“Come on, Alice. It’s only a short swim, and it’s our only chance. You heard what Henry said,” Emily urged. “We have to get you to that lighthouse.”
“I can’t,” I said. “You know I’m afraid of the water.”
“You can,” Christian replied firmly. “If you don’t, we’ll all die.”
We could hear O’Reilly shouting in the darkness. Although muffled, he sounded close. I wondered if he figured out Henry tricked him and now was on to my real scent.
“Just go without me,” I said. “I’ll be all right. I’ll hide somewhere. Really, you two should just go.”
“Like hell we will,” said Christian.
This brought me to reality—I’d never heard him swear before now.
Christian waded out in the water, with Emily in tow, shivering with the cold. They turned back to look at me, pacing on the banks.
“Come on!” Christian urged. “We’re not going any farther without you.”
I shuddered, took a deep breath, and plunged into the freezing water and before long it came up to my chest. Splashing through, I tried to keep my head up, making a feeble attempt at dog paddling toward Christian and Emily.
When I was within his reach, Christian grabbed my arm and pulled me close to him. “Just hold on to me, and don’t let go,” he instructed. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He started to swim across, and I tried to help him by kicking my feet, never once letting go of his neck. His strokes were strong, and I could feel his muscles contracting, working hard to pull hi
s own weight and mine. Soon, we were halfway across the river. I tried to look for Emily, and saw she was ahead of us and nearly the other side. Being a nimble swimmer, Emily reached the far bank within a few strokes.
Finally, we lay on the bank, breathing heavily, chests rising and falling as we gasped for air—soaked and exhausted. The three of us were like drowned rats, writhing on the shore.
“We must keep going,” Christian said, panting. “We have to get to the lighthouse.”
Finally, I managed to sit up. “Okay. I’m good. Let’s go.”
The fog was even denser on that side of the river because it directly faced the ocean. Underfoot, I felt the spring of green grass, and assumed we were on the golf course. That made it easier to run, and we quickly gained momentum. For a tiny moment, I felt a glimmer of hope.
When I turned around, though, I didn’t see my friends. “Christian!” I shouted fearfully. “Emily!”
No answer.
My heart began beating wildly, and I feared the worst. Did I somehow take a wrong turn in the fog?
Then I thought I heard a voice sounding like Emily’s calling me. I started to move toward the voice, but the closer I got, the farther away it seemed.
“Christian! Emily!” I called again, almost a scream now.
Again, no answer.
Oh God, what do I do now? I felt like sinking into the ground and giving in to defeat.
Sitting in stark terror and awaiting what came next, something caught my eye. A strange green light, ahead about fifty feet, moving slowly in the fog. It had a mysterious glow about it, like an aura. Fascinated, I watched curiously until my mother’s words from the séance came forward—follow the light.
I trusted and believed in my mother, so I started to run into the unknown toward the strange green light.
Once within ten feet, I could see it was someone carrying a lantern. I tentatively approached, but the figure didn’t speak. “Hello?” I asked meekly.
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