Midlife Ghost Hunter: A Paranormal Women's Fiction (The Forty Proof Series Book 4)

by Shannon Mayer

  Corb and I spoke in tandem. “Shut up, Alan!”

  I looked back at Corb, and that flame within me fanned higher. Maybe it was my own magic, reacting to his, or maybe it was just that I could almost see my last duck, and it was on fire.

  Hand on hips, I gave him a hard stare, seeing that this wasn’t going to go well. “You know what, let me make the decision for you, like you keep trying to do for me. Go back to Savannah, Corb,” I said. “Go. I can’t deal with you right now. People’s lives are on the line, and you want me to make a choice I’m not ready to make. Go back to the Hollows, or the council, or wherever you need to go. But it can’t be here. You can’t be here.”

  I swallowed hard on the tears that suddenly threatened and the tightness in my throat. I’d kissed him in the morning, and cast him out by afternoon. And I knew this would be it for us. His eyes softened ever so slightly, horror flickering within them as if he realized it too, and then they hardened almost as if he’d never cared about me at all.

  It was telling at how quickly he let his anger control him.

  I forced my feet to move. “Feish, you ready to go?” I asked as I strode past Corb and Sarge. I knew they were a package deal, and that was okay. I could do this without them. I had good friends like Feish and Kinkly, like Crash and Penny.

  Even so, a few tears slipped down my cheeks as I opened the door to the house and stepped into the gloom of the day. It matched my mood and the ache growing in my chest.

  “You couldn’t have them both,” Kinkly said softly. I hadn’t even noticed her landing on my shoulder.

  “I know. I didn’t ever really think that I could. I just didn’t think it would hurt like this,” I said as I kept my pace up, knowing that Feish would have no trouble keeping up. Only she didn’t follow me.

  I turned at the edge of the property, right where I’d cross over into the visible world. Corb and Sarge followed me out, and the two men brushed past me and went straight to the Mustang. There was no goodbye from them.

  No, that’s not entirely true. Sarge lifted his hand and gave me another grimace that said it all.

  He didn’t like this either, but he was Corb’s best friend and they’d been an item for a time, so, of course, he was leaving with the siren. I didn’t hold it against him. I waved back and even blew him a kiss.

  The engine of the Mustang revved and Corb peeled the car out backward, spinning the wheel in a crank that made the hot rod drift sideways with a squeal of tires and the burning smell of rubber. He didn’t look at me as he drove away, didn’t so much as glance in my direction, though I could see tension in the way he gripped the wheel, in the set of his jaw as he stared straight out the windshield.

  A weird mixture of anxiety, relief, and sadness bubbled up from my stomach. I made myself take a deep breath and blow out through my mouth. See, some of the yoga stuff Suzy had taught me was sticking.

  I looked back at the door of the house to see Feish standing there. “I have to stay with boss.” She hunched her back, her eyes mutinous. “He says you need time without me. I help him for a bit. He thinks he’s close to figuring out an issue with fae.”

  I paused and went back into the house to see Crash standing there, leaning on the table.

  “Trying to figure out what Karissa is up to?” I asked.

  He blinked at me. “How did you—”

  “She’s looking for the wings of a fallen angel, does that help?” I offered.

  His face paled and he swallowed hard. “Yes. Goddess help me, it does. But . . . I won’t be able to help you. I have to stop her.”

  The thing was, if he found the angel wings, that was one thing off my plate. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yes.” He took a few steps closer to me, reached up and put a hand to my face. “I’m sorry for what that cost you.”

  I nodded in acknowledgement, because I wasn’t sure what to say, and for a long moment, he just looked into my eyes. Then he let his hand slip and turned away. “Feish, we have to go!”

  Emotional fatigue is a real thing, and I didn’t have it in me to argue with Crash about Feish going with him. Nope, not today.

  Instead, I gave her a wave and got going on my own path. Maybe some time without my very blunt friend would be a good thing. Tears for Corb still tracked down my cheeks, no matter how many times I dashed them away, and I didn’t want either Feish or Crash to see me cry over something I’d always known deep in my heart wouldn’t work.

  Corb would one day be an amazing man, but in many ways, he was still just a kid, something he’d just proven with his behavior. It still hurt to see him go. Seeing the potential in someone and knowing it would never be for you was kind of a shit deal.

  “He didn’t handle it well,” Kinkly said. “That’s the problem with all those hormones.”

  I snorted, which wasn’t a good idea after all those tears. I scrambled to get my bag open and grab a tissue before I made more of a mess of my face. Alan looked up at me from the interior, his eyes scrunched. When had he climbed in here?

  “What are you crying about?”

  I shoved my hand past him and grabbed a tissue. “That time of the month, Alan, remember?”

  He grimaced, his nose wrinkling up and his eyes squinting shut, before he rolled so I was looking at his back. What a weird thing for such a little bag to hold so much.

  I wiped my eyes, pulled up my proverbial bigger girl panties, and made my way to the closest tourist shop, a little place called Reagan’s Firepit. I frowned at the painted flames encircling the sign, which advertised all sorts of metal trinkets, thinking Crash would fit right in. I let myself into the store, the smell of iron, wood, and fresh tanned leather washing over me.

  The shopkeeper saw me and smiled until I asked if she had a tourist map of the city. With a grimace, she handed one over. “All the shops have them, you know.”

  I nodded. “Yup, which is why I came in here.”

  I let myself back out of the store.

  Using a pen, I circled the cemeteries. The closest one was St. Louis Cemetery Number 1. I’d start there and see if I could find anything about Homer Underwood.

  I got us going in the right direction, telling myself this was why I was here—to find Gran and poor little Charlotte. The last thing I needed was to deal with men and hormones and shedding stupid tears over stupid boys who had to grow up before they’d be worth anything. I may have muttered that last bit out loud.

  Kinkly sighed.

  “Let me tell you something, girlfriend. Corb told you with his actions he doesn’t trust you to make good choices. He tried not to, but he couldn’t help it—he wants you to be what he wants you to be, not what you are. That’s not love. Something about you truly draws him like a fly to honey, but I don’t think he sees you for who you are. Strong, capable, and independent.” She paused and tugged on one of my curls hanging close to her. “When the right man comes along . . .you won’t have to tell him he’s acting like an idiot. He’ll fight to be what you need from the beginning.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “Kinkly, that’s pretty damn deep.”

  “I have my moments.” She laughed softly. “Fairies aren’t just all fluff and wings.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I saw the way Eric used to look at me,” she said. “And I liked it. But I knew it would never work long term—I mean, look at us, we couldn’t be more different in size—which is why I pretended not to notice he was interested. Men are dumb. Sometimes they want a woman so bad, they can’t see past the wanting and realize it’ll never work. Sometimes we have to do it for them, cut those ties and say goodbye.” She flew off my shoulder and circled around to face me, flying backward. “Like Corb and you. He wants you bad enough to ignore all the stuff that will keep it from working. But I think you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Again, deeper than I would have thought for the little fairy who I’d thought was oblivious to Eric’s attentions. “You’re better at this than me.”

  �
�Then why am I single too?” She laughed and lowered herself back onto my shoulder.

  I laughed with her. “Another point to you.”

  It was about then that gooseflesh rose up all over my arms and along the back of my neck. The sound of a drum, deep and rhythmic, boomed through the air as I turned the next corner, already knowing what I was going to see in front of me.

  St. Louis Cemetery Number 1 loomed ahead of me, the oldest cemetery in the city.

  And something in it didn’t want me around.

  17

  I rubbed my arms as I eyed the old cemetery gates. Sure, they were open, sure it was the middle of the day and there were all sorts of people walking around the grounds.

  But this was New Orleans, and the way my skin had reacted to the proximity of the cemetery was a big fat red flag I was not going to ignore. “Something ugly lurks in there. And I don’t think it likes me.” I spoke quietly, suddenly feeling very exposed.

  “Like a troll? They are ugly. Or a boogeyman? Also very ugly,” Kinkly said.

  I shook my head and walked along the outside perimeter of the graveyard, about five feet from the fence. “I’m not sure, but I think something else, something . . .” The only word that came to mind was darker, but that seemed as weak as the coffee Alan had liked. I pulled my map out.

  Begone.

  None of your kind are welcome here.

  Curses on you.

  I paused and looked around, thoroughly spooked. “You hearing that?”

  Kinkly shook her head and fluttered around my face. “I hear people moving around inside and your heartbeat picking up speed like you’ve been running. Maybe you aren’t in as good a shape as you think.”

  I ignored her jab. “Yeah, so for now, this is a pass.”

  I wasn’t into proving myself, and if something in there wasn’t interested in having me, I was leaving. I was too tired for another fight, run, or even verbal sparring with anyone.

  A quick glance at the cemetery, and I headed off in the other direction, ready to check out one of the other cemeteries. Because again, this was NOLA and cemeteries abounded.

  “What if that’s where Homer Underwood was?” Kinkly flew around my face. “And it was our first stop and you blew it? I think you should go back.”

  My feet grew heavy, and I stopped about a block away from the place, close enough that I still felt like I was crawling with ants.

  “Kinkly, I don’t want to go in there.” I leaned against the building. “It’s . . . there is something bad in there. And it doesn’t like me.”

  “Which is probably what we’re after. Aren’t we looking for bad guys?” Her wings brushed against my cheek, gossamer thin and soft as a feather.

  I put my back to the wall and looked toward the cemetery. I could just make out the tops of a few larger mausoleums from where I stood. She wasn’t wrong. And the quicker we figured out where the bad guys were holed up, the quicker we could get Charlotte and Gran home and safe.

  Gah, the logic galled me because I really, really didn’t want to go in there. I swallowed hard. “We’ll take a quick look. If anything goes sideways, we’re heading right back out. Okay?”

  “Fair enough,” Kinkly said. “I mean, sideways is rarely as fun as it sounds.”

  I pushed off the wall and strode back the way we’d come.

  With my vision narrowed on my goal, I kept my feet moving even as the buzzing and drums escalated and the disembodied voice harassed me.

  The closer I got, the more I struggled to breathe normally. One foot after the other, and then I was through the open gate and a sudden wash of darkness took me out at the knees.

  The voices were all over me.

  Vile.

  Mutt.

  Cursed one.

  Get thee gone!

  Kinkly’s voice called to me as I went to my hands and knees, clinging to a tombstone, the cold of the granite seeping into my fingers and spreading up my arm to my elbow.

  Well, this was going about as badly as I’d thought it would.

  “Robert,” I whispered his name, and the skeleton sprung to life beside me, just kind of appearing in the way that he did.

  Long dark hair covered his face he swayed in front of me and held out a hand. “Friend.”

  I grabbed hold of his bony fingers, and the sensations backed off enough that I could at least get my feet under me.

  “Help,” I whispered, my voice stolen.

  “Friend, help, whiskey,” he grumbled as he dragged me out of the cemetery and tourists gawked at me. Of course, they couldn’t see Robert, so it likely looked like I was being pulled about by a ghost. A flash went off from at least one camera.

  Outside the gate and once more across the street, I didn’t dare let go of Robert even though the darkness and voices had receded and I’d regained the ability to stand on my own.

  He swayed next to me as I stood breathing hard and staring at the cemetery. “Kinkly, that was a terrible idea. I’m not going back there . . .”

  A snort from around the corner of my building turned my head. I had to blink a few times because I couldn’t be sure of what I was seeing. A man who shared a name with that damn cemetery. A man who was supposedly on vacation.

  “Louis?” I stared a little harder to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

  The sub-par necromancer who worked with Eammon at the Hollows stepped around so he stood next to me, looking toward the cemetery. He wore a lovely bright red shirt that was open at the throat and a pair of skinny jeans that were far too tight. They made him look like he could be a skeleton under them. “That place is not dark, you twit. It just has very many dead people that you cannot handle, because you are a woman, and you are weak and old,” he said, his French accent thicker than I’d ever heard it.

  Ah, here we were, back to him being rude. Lovely.

  I let go of Robert, knowing that Louis couldn’t see him anyway. “Really, Louis the piss-poor necromancer who can’t even see my skeleton friend?”

  His long, thin face went bright red to match his shirt, and if he’d had a cigarette in his mouth, he’d have been able to light it on fire.

  “You are sensitive to the dead, yes? Why are you so surprised that they might overwhelm you in a town like New Orleans? And now, what, you want to prove yourself and go back in there? Idiot.” He arched a brow at me, and I glared at him.

  No, I did not want to go back in there. He was right. There were hundreds of ghosts in there, and the sensation was not pleasant—overwhelming was an understatement.

  “What are you doing here in NOLA?” followed quickly by, “I could use your help.” I said those words and instantly regretted what I’d said about him being a piss-poor necromancer just moments before.

  “No, I do not think so.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I am no good, remember?” He pressed his fingers to his chest. “I have been asked to come here to see my old mentor. He is in ill health and I have something special for him.” His nose went up into the air higher than usual. “Something very special.”

  I swallowed what little pride I had left. “Louis, someone stole my Gran’s ghost, and now they’ve taken a little girl as well. I am sorry I was rude, you caught me off guard”—only a small lie—“can you please help me find—”

  “I already said no.” Louis sniffed at me. “Perhaps if you were still a part of the Hollows, things would be different. As it is, you are just . . .you. Wretched and useless.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back, which tightened his loose shirt and showed an outline of something under it. I frowned and found myself grabbing at his shirt because the shape was that of a cross.

  Robert and I had put the dummy cross in the grave of Evangeline to throw off anyone who might be looking for the real deal. We’d made sure that we were a bit sloppy with our dig, and I’d known all along that Eammon had seen me. He must have told Louis.

  “What are you doing, you foul thing?” he screeched at me, but his scrawny arms were nothing to me, br
ute that I was. “You beast, get out of ’ere!” He slapped at me as I ripped his shirt to see the fake stone taped to his side. Of course, he couldn’t put it in a pocket, his jeans were too damn tight.

  “You stole it?” I had to play the part and even went so far as to reach for the fake cross.

  He slapped my hands away, and Robert let out a low growl and ground his teeth. For just a moment, I thought Louis flinched from him, but no, he was looking at me.

  “You should have brought it to us! To the Hollows!” Louis snapped as he fixed his shirt, backing away from me. “We are the guardians of Savannah, not you!”

  There was a burst in the air above our heads, like a series of bright blue fireworks. I frowned and even Louis cocked his head to the side.

  Kinkly flew up into the air and did a slow circle. “Bree, I have to go. Something’s going on, and I . . . Crash is calling me! He’s got Scarlet.”

  “Is he in trouble?” I yelled after her, wondering how she’d gotten all that from a series of blue fireworks.

  “Just needs me to follow the little runt!” she hollered back, and then she was gone in a burst of autumn colors before I could ask anything else.

  When I turned back, it was to see Louis’s bright red shirt all the way down the street. “Good riddance,” I grumbled. “You’re a jerk!” I yelled after him, and he flipped me off. The dude had the nerve to flip me off!

  I yanked my map out, turned it around three times, and realized that I needed to hold it a little farther away from my nose than usual. “Awesome. And now my eyes are going?”

  Nope, I was not going there, and neither were my eyes.

  “Come on, Robert, let’s see what else we can find in this town.”

  “Friend,” he said and then followed me dutifully as I made my way to three more cemeteries. None of them had a morgue, none of them had nearly as many ghosts like ol’ St. Louis Number 1 had, and none of the people I talked to knew a Homer Underwood. I should have pinned Louis to the ground and given him a purple nerple until he gave up information on Homer Underwood—because if Eammon knew him, I had no doubt Louis did too.