by Mary Lindsey
He nodded and had to turn sideways as Vivienne burst through the door. She pointed a finger at me, eyes narrowed. “You did this, didn’t you? You’re so set on always getting your way, you involved my grandmother.”
“I . . .”
Charles saluted me and headed out the door. I couldn’t believe he was going to just leave me in this mess.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
She pointed her thumb in the direction Charles had taken his exit. “He pulled the plug on her shop unless I go with you today. What did you do, run and tattle that I wasn’t playing nice?”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re bailing on this. He must’ve overheard your little temper tantrum when you huffed out.” I took several steps toward her. “I’m a lot of things, but a snitch isn’t one of them. I’m on your side. I’ll always take your side.”
No problem reading her at that point. She was so angry, it was hard to catch my breath.
“Why?” she almost yelled.
I took several deep breaths and ran my hands through my hair. “Because it’s what I do. I’m trained to protect and serve my Speaker. My only function is to facilitate your success.”
She stared at me and caught her breath. Her anger ebbed, but I couldn’t read her emotions well enough to tell what had replaced it. She leaned against the counter by the stove. “Sucks for you, huh?”
“Pretty much.”
Her eyes shifted to the open file on the kitchen island. “Well, I don’t really have a choice, do I? What do I need to know?”
Now she was speaking my language. Work. “It’s a TV show filming.” I picked up the file. “The new homeowner called GhostHunters, Inc., to come rid her house of what she calls ‘an evil spirit.’ The owner of the ghost hunter business thinks the house is legitimately haunted and wants us there just in case.”
She took the file from me and thumbed through the top pages. “Is this for the show Spirit Seekers? ’Cause if it is, it’s totally bogus.”
“Yes, but they call us in all the time because even though they can’t get rid of ghosts themselves, they know ghosts are legit sometimes and are dangerous.” I took my place back on my stool. “Usually, the IC just resolves the ghost quietly during breaks or after shootings so that nobody’s the wiser and nobody gets hurt.”
“Why?” She closed the file and set it on the counter, then she got back on her stool.
“To help out and to earn money. Not only do we help the Hindered move on, we get paid for it. Lots of entities hire the IC. Police, FBI, even churches. We quietly and invisibly rid the world of hindered spirits and sometimes even help solve crimes using the information given to us by the Hindered.”
She rolled her eyes. “Because you’re just so awesome.”
“We are.”
She slipped off her stool. “Don’t count me in just yet, Pauly. I’m being blackmailed into this.”
Dread crept up my throat. She was being blackmailed into it. Who would force her? Certainly not someone inside the IC. I knew that was impossible . . . or was it? Everything I thought I knew had flown out the window when I met Vivienne. What used to be simple now seemed impossibly complex.
I finished off my orange juice and put the glass in the sink. “Are you ready?”
“One sec.”
I followed her out of the kitchen and watched as she bolted up the stairs two at a time. She was graceful and quick, even in her clunky boots. Moments later, she returned wearing a silver-spike-studded black leather jacket.
On the way to the resolution site, I briefed Vivienne on the case. Although she had been given a copy of the IC manual, she said she hadn’t read much of it, so I recited the finer points of a Speaker’s duties in a case like this. She didn’t act interested at all. Hopefully, this would be a simple case that didn’t involve soul-sharing. By all accounts, the spirit haunting the house was simply a powerful Hindered and not a Malevolent.
“What would happen if the IC weren’t around to help the dead guys move on?” she asked, toying with one of the studs on her jacket.
I turned onto a narrow county road. “After being stuck long enough, the Hindered would all become Malevolents and would eventually gain enough power to harm humans.” The pavement ended and I slowed down as the road surface became loose dirt and rocks. “It could mean the end of the living if it went on long enough and the Malevolents became too numerous and powerful.”
“So Hindered go away when we help them out with what’s bugging them. What about Malevolents?”
I slowed and pulled to the side of the narrow road to let an oncoming car pass. “Well, they ordinarily can’t be given what they want because it’s often an evil intent that holds them here. They have to be weakened until they no longer have the energy to remain Earth-bound. The Speaker wears them down, and the Protector pushes them out when they are sufficiently weakened for resolution.”
She shuddered and remained silent the rest of the way.
The address in the file led us to a farmhouse that stood on several acres on the outskirts of the city. Several vans with the Spirit Seekers logo and a few cars lined the dirt road leading to it. The gate to the house was closed, so I pulled up in front of a neighbor’s mailbox and parked.
Vivienne was already out of the car and over the gate by the time I had locked the car. “Don’t get dirty, pretty boy,” she taunted from the gravel walk to the house.
The gate was secured with a padlock and chain, so I climbed over as well. “Shhh,” I hissed. “We don’t want to disturb the shoot. We’re here at the request of the film company. We have to stay out of the way.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like I said, the show is totally bogus. I can’t believe people pay these crooks to come to their houses to do this. It’s a total scam.”
The door opened as she reached the first porch step. A tall, skinny guy in a black shirt stepped out and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He looked right past Vivienne to me as if she weren’t even there. “Hey. Are you the IC guy?”
I nodded.
“Great, I’m Steve Jacobs, owner of GhostHunters, Inc. Thanks for coming.”
“I’m Paul Blackwell.” I shook his hand and gestured to Vivienne. “This is Vivienne Thibideaux, my associate.”
He shook her hand. “Hi, Viv.”
“Vivienne,” she said, pulling her hand away.
He put an arm around my shoulder and led me away from Vivienne to the edge of the porch farthest from the door. “So, we kind of have a situation here. Usually, people call us with ghost stories, and they are just that—stories. This one seems to be credible. We’d just love it if you and your chick could rid the place of this ghost for us before we begin.”
I was beginning to share Vivienne’s obvious dislike for this guy. “She’s not my ‘chick,’ she’s my business partner.”
He shrugged. “I’ve told the homeowner you’re a medium. In the past, you guys have just come in and taken the ghost out with you. Can you do that?”
I looked over my shoulder straight into Vivienne’s eyes. She’d followed us and was only a foot or so behind.
“Vivienne is the one who hears the voices of the dead, not me,” I said, positioning so that she was included in the conversation. “And we’ll try. When do you start the shoot?”
“Twenty minutes. The homeowner is really skittish. She paid us to rid the house of the ghost, and we talked her into letting us film it for an episode of Spirit Seekers. She didn’t like the idea at first, but we convinced her finally.” He winked. “Gotta make a living, you know.”
“Yeah,” Vivienne said. “Gaff the poor haunted people while you lie to them, then sell that lie to a TV show and make even more money off their misfortune. Well played.”
I groaned inwardly. She was going to blow the whole deal. Charles would never forgive me.
Before I could say anything, Steve jumped in to his own defense. “Look, sweetheart—”
The rage rolling from Vivienne caused me to hold my breath. Clearly, she didn’t like endearments.
“In most cases,” he continued, “there’s no ghost and we give the people peace of mind. And in cases where they really are haunted, we do the right thing and call you guys.” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “We perform a public service both ways.”
Vivienne put her hands on her hips and glared at him until he squirmed. “So either way you slice it, you’re scam artists.”
Steve’s face went red, and he shoved his glasses up his nose. He opened his mouth to say something, but Vivienne cut him off.
“S’okay, Stevie, sweetheart. My grandmother is a fortune-teller. And even though our clients weren’t terrified, I grew up doing the same thing—tell some lies, make them feel good, and take their money—no harm done.” She leaned casually against the porch railing. “I’m right there with you. I just don’t pretend to be a philanthropist.”
“Excuse us a moment.” I took her hand and led her down the porch steps with me. “What are you doing? You are going to blow this whole deal,” I whispered.
She jerked from my grasp. “So?”
“So, it matters. That guy isn’t hurting anyone, and we can help this woman and that Hindered in there. That’s what you are called to do. Help the Hindered pass over.”
She met my eyes directly. “Ah, so now being an entrepreneur has a higher calling?”
“Yes. It’s not about money at all.”
“Says a guy who drives a Mercedes and lives in a mansion.”
I paced in a small circle and glanced at my watch. This was a nightmare. “We have fifteen minutes left to get in there and resolve this case.”
“Rolex?” Her smirk was maddening.
I stopped very close to her, about a foot away, and kept my voice low so that Steve could not hear it. “Why do you have to do this? Why do you piss off everyone around you? What is it about ‘I’m on your side’ that you don’t understand?”
“No one is ever on my side. Ever.” She headed for the gate.
“Vivienne, please,” I called. “Then be on my side. Help me out. Please.”
To my relief and surprise, she stopped and her shoulders relaxed. Maybe that was the key; she didn’t want to receive help, she needed control.
I stayed planted in place for fear she’d bolt if I got closer. “It would mean a lot to me if you’d cooperate just this one time and help me resolve this case. I agree that the guy is a jerk. We can’t fix that, but we can help the homeowner. Let’s just go in, find out what the Hindered wants, help it, and get out. It should be simple.”
She came closer until she stood toe-to-toe with me and stared directly into my eyes as if looking for something there. Honesty? Trust perhaps? I held my breath and waited for her answer.
“Your eyes kick ass. They’re almost purple,” she said.
I stared in stunned silence as she tromped up the steps and into the house. No one could ever accuse her of being predictable.
The small farmhouse was in chaos. Crew members crowded together talking. Light cables snaked across the living room floor. A small camera was mounted on a tripod in the corner, and a man held a larger camera on his shoulder.
A tiny woman who looked to be in her early fifties, dressed in jeans and a striped shirt, sat on the sofa next to another guy wearing the same black shirt as Steve.
“I just want it gone,” the woman whined. “I didn’t want all this to-do and hassle.”
The man patted her hand. “We’ll get it out very soon. We appreciate your letting us film it.”
A man laying cables in the corner bumped an end table with his knee, and a vase fell to the floor with a thud. The woman on the couch screamed.
I looked across the room to Vivienne, who was wandering the perimeter, appearing to study pictures hanging on the wood paneling. She met my eyes and shook her head. She couldn’t hear the Hindered.
“Sorry,” the woman said to the man next to her. “It kept me up all night knocking things over. I’m a little jumpy.”
The man patted her shoulder and said something in a comforting tone.
“So, did you get your chick in line?” Steve said from behind me.
My desire to punch him surprised me. “No.” Vivienne didn’t need to be kept in line, she needed to be freed to relax and be herself. I just had to find what made her tick. “My job is to assist her, not control her.”
He whacked me on the back. “Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.”
I looked across the room to find Vivienne studying me. She looked from my clenched fists back up to my face, then to Steve. Because there was so much going on in the room, I couldn’t feel her emotions. Again, she shook her head.
“She hasn’t heard anything yet,” I whispered to Steve.
The woman on the sofa blew her nose into a Kleenex. “The ghost only comes out at night. I don’t know why we have to make such a fuss during the day. I really wish all of these people weren’t here.”
“Sometimes apparitions respond to activity,” the man next to her on the couch said.
“Time!” Steve called. The people in the room scattered and manned their various posts. Two behind cameras, two with reflective boards, and a guy who looked to be dressed as a Native American all stood at the ready.
The woman on the sofa sat up straight and dabbed her eyes with another Kleenex. Vivienne signaled me to come to her from an archway leading to the back of the house. I tiptoed around behind the lights and joined her. “There’s nothing here,” she said. “Maybe the TV jerks are wrong.”
“Maybe, but the woman is honestly shaken. She believes something is here. Have you called it or tried to communicate?”
She rolled her eyes. “Here’s how it works: Dead guys talk to me, I don’t talk to them.”
She was wrong. Speakers reached out to the Hindered all the time. But I knew enough about her now to know that telling her she was mistaken would backfire. “Have you tried? Sometimes it works.”
“Like, try to get it to talk to me?”
I nodded.
Her fear spiked. “On purpose?”
I had been right. She was afraid. “Yes. It won’t hurt you. I’ll be here. If it possesses you, I’ll shove it out if you don’t want it to share your body.”
“Let’s get this straight here and now. The dead guys can just tell me what they want, and that’s that. I don’t do the soul-sharing garbage or possession. Nope. No way.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. “Seen it, and it’s not gonna happen.”
She’d seen a soul-sharing. “Your aunt?”
She nodded. “Her partner was the one who could do it.”
“Your aunt was a Protector.”
She shivered. “It’s freezing in here.”
It wasn’t. The lights had made it hot. Scorching, in fact. I pulled her farther into the hallway with me. Her skin was cold to the touch. Terror shot through her and into me, causing a thrill and an adrenaline dump.
“It’s here,” she whispered, clutching my sleeve. “Oh, God.” Her fingers twisted in the fabric. “It’s really pissed off.”
I pulled her trembling body next to mine and rubbed my hands down her back to warm her up. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’m right here. Ask it what it wants.”
She shook her head and plugged her ears. “No. I want it to leave me alone.”
“You need to help it. It only wants help. Please, Vivienne.” I took her face in my hands, focusing on transmitting as much calm through my palms as possible. The ends of my fingers felt tingly.
She looked dazed for a moment, probably because of my transmission, then she nodded, stood up straight, and took a deep breath. “What do you want?”
&nbs
p; The single lightbulb in the hallway flickered and went out. Flooded with Vivienne’s fear, I pulled her against me even tighter. “He wants them to leave,” she whispered.
A loud pop came from the living room, followed by shouting. Still holding Vivienne, I moved to the archway and peered into the room. It appeared a large stage light had exploded, stopping the shoot. The guy dressed as a Native American was standing closest to us, holding an abalone shell with something burning in it with one hand and a feather in the other. “I only brought enough sage for one shot,” he told the guy next to him.
The homeowner sobbed on the sofa as several crew members swept up glass.
Vivienne’s fear shifted to anger.
“Just hang in there, Mrs. Nelson.” Steve told her. “We’ll be up and running again soon. We’ll start over with the history of the murder that took place in the house and then you telling us about the first time you heard the man in your hallway, then we’ll burn sage in all four corners of the room again.”
“Burning sage?” Vivienne’s voice was a low growl. “She’s terrified, and they are screwing with her. I hate this.”
The woman sobbed loudly from the couch. “Please don’t make me go through this again.”
“Better hurry,” the guy with the abalone shell said, “or we’ll have to cut my part. I’m almost out of smoke.”
Vivienne pulled away. “Enough!” she shouted. “That’s enough. This woman needs help. She doesn’t need to be exploited.”
Steve crossed to us and spoke very low. My adrenaline spiked and my body immediately prepped for a confrontation, because for a moment he acted like he was going to get physical, but he kept his cool. “Get her out of here right now, or I’ll go public about the IC. I’ll go to every media outlet I know and tell them all about you. I know how important it is for you guys to remain invisible. I can fix all of that. Now get out.”
He was evidently satisfied with his threat, because his facial expression could only be described as a gloat. As quickly as it came, it left, replaced by wide-eyed terror.
“Under the boards,” he croaked in a gravelly voice. Steve grabbed his throat and gasped. “Help me,” he said, sounding like himself again. He staggered forward and grabbed Vivienne by the shoulders. “Please.”
