Strains from the string quarter sound out with “Jesus, Joy of Man’s Desiring” and I know that’s our cue.
“Ready?” I ask, taking her hand.
“Am I ever.”
We make our way to the vestibule and I clutch my small bouquet of red roses to my hip. Patrick’s waiting there for us in a black tuxedo, looking ever so handsome. I slowly step into the church and proceed down the aisle to the altar. I wink at Mom, Dad, Kai-Kai, and the grandparents. The church is aglow in the orange luminosity of the candlelight. Father Calder stands at the front dressed in a formal robe with white satin vestments. Father Mass waits for his bride, wearing a sharp Armani tux, seemingly relaxed and cool.
Riiiiight. I know better.
I wink at him as I take my place on the left of the altar.
The musical quarter transitions into The Bridal Chorus and the whole congregation rises. Before Loreen and Patrick can start in, there’s a small ruckus in the back of the church.
Mass’s smile vivifies and relief cascades over him. “He made it,” he says to Father Calder and me. “My brother made it.”
“That’s Raffaele?” Father Calder asks. “The Lord is good. It’s a blessing.”
I can’t really see down the aisle since everyone is standing, but I make out a dark figure moving through the audience to embrace Mass in a massive hug.
“I’m sorry, bro,” he says quietly. “Delta got me here as fast as they could.”
“It’s okay, Rafe. You’re here. That’s all that matters. It’s all good.”
Wh-wh-what did he call him?
I struggle to breathe and I feel my knees begin to buckle.
It’s not all good.
It’s not remotely good.
It’s not even in the purlieu of the district of good.
Because, although my attention should be turned toward my wonderful friend, mentor, and bride, I can’t help but stare slack-jawed at the gorgeous guy standing across from me in the best man position. A guy I’ve seen before, only not on this plane of existence. And not this young.
I’ve met his future self.
A future self I’m apparently intimately acquainted with.
Patrick kisses Loreen on the cheek and hands her off to Father Mass before taking a seat in the congregation. As Father Calder begins the wedding ceremony, with the standard, “Dearly Beloved,” I do everything in my power not to hyperventilate.
We turn to face the wedding couple and Mass’s brother gives me a heartbreakingly stunning smile. I feel it shoot across the altar at me and attack my entire being from coifed hair to high-heeled feet.
Ho. Ly. Crap!
I was fully prepared to meet Father Mass’s younger brother, Raffaele Castellano, a sophomore pre-med student at Harvard University.
I was not prepared to meet the man from my dream of Christmas Future.
The man who apparently fathers my twin daughters, Samantha and Claire.
The man whom I might possibly marry.
The man named… Rafe.
My heartbeat quadruples and I know I’m going to need medical attention before the cutting of the cake.
I have no idea what to do.
Excerpt from Ghost Huntress: The Journey (Book 6)
CHAPTER SEVEN
I never know when my visions or trances will hit me.
Sometimes it’s when I’m just hanging out with Celia or playing with my cats Eleanor, Buckley, and Natalie, at home. Most of the time it’s when I’m in deep R.E.M.
This time, it’s like everything around me freezes in a stop-motion way. If someone had just come through the room, tripped, and spilled a bag of popcorn, the kernels would be dangling in the air, frozen in time while my vision comes and goes.
Slowly, I look over to my right and see my spirit guide, Anona, materialize.
She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever seen or met in person. Of Native American decent, Anona stands before me barefoot, wearing a long, tan cloak with leather ties at the neck and waist. Her long, shiny black hair is straight and pulled to one side. Her dark brown eyes show her intense concern over what’s going on here.
“Kendall, you’re delving into an area you shouldn’t mess with,” she warns.
I shake my head, foggy almost from the daze I’m in. “I’m not doing it, Anona.”
“There are dark forces at work in this universe that we don’t understand.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Christian? Is he a dark force?”
She shakes her head. “That boy is a fool.”
“I can’t stop him,” I tell her, not even feeling my lips move.
Anona spreads her arms wide. “I can’t protect you against this, Kendall.”
“What is it, though?”
“You’ve gone too far from my reach,” Anona says. “There’s nothing I can do.”
I seriously don’t get what she’s telling me. My spirit guides constantly speak to me in riddles and puzzles. Why can’t they just say what’s on their mind? “You promised you’d take care of me.”
“There is another,” she says softly. “Another who is watching over you.”
I perk up some from my stupor. “Emily? She’s back?” I ask, almost begging. As soon as Emily, my first spirit guide, revealed herself to me as my birth mother… I lost her. She’d been with me my whole life, but as soon as I knew the truth, it allowed her to pass into the light. Great for her. Sucked for me. She’d sent Anona to be with me on the other side. But I want my mother. “Emily? Is she here again? Is she with me? Anona! Talk to me! Tell me!”
Anona brings her head down and closes her eyes, unanswering. And then she fades away.
Just like that, everything begins to move around me again, as though nothing unusual happened to me.
I have no idea how long I was out, or if anyone even noticed my spell-like state.
Patrick is over in the corner talking to Oliver. Taylor is setting up video cameras around the room. Maddie and Jess have their digital recorders out to try and capture electronic voice phenomena (EVP), while Celia is in full tech geek mode getting base readings of Mrs. Flanders’s house with her EMF detector. Jason’s tagging along with her, taking notes. At least he’s doing something useful and helpful instead of glowering.
Christian and Jayne set up at the nearby table, with him polishing up his Ouija board as Jayne sets out the planchette—the wooden pointer used on the board.
I rub my head trying to ease the throbbing of my psychic headache that always follows one of my vision trips. Or maybe it’s in anticipation of what’s to come this evening.
The doorbell rings.
Mrs. Flanders excuses herself.
Oliver follows her.
Patrick glances over at me and smiles weakly. He knows something that I can’t sense.
But I don’t need to, because everything’s revealed when two guys bumble into the living room with a video camera and sound equipment.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Oliver says. “We definitely want to get this on film. It’ll be great for the sizzle reel we’re going to pitch to the network.”
Taylor’s bright smile clicks into place. “We’re going to be on television?”
“No way,” Jess says.
Oliver twists his mustache. “Actually, I’ve had an idea, based on Christian’s experiences here in the UK, to feature him on a new show. It’s all in the development stage right now, but this is the ideal event to film and see how everything looks.”
My spirit sinks and I feel myself slouch into the sofa. “So, we’re just props here?”
Oliver places his hand on my shoulder. “No, no, Kendall. Do what you need to do during the investigation. I just want the camera crew to focus on Christian and what he’s seeing, feeling, and experiencing.”
Once peek over at him and I know what he’s feeling. He’s gazing into a small mirror that Jayne’s holding, checking his face and hair and dabbing a bit of pancake makeup on his cheeks.
“He’s put
ting on makeup?” I say incredulously.
Celia plops down on the couch next to me. “What’s going on here?”
“The Christian Campbell show, it looks like.”
“So, Mr. Bates?” Taylor asks. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Be natural, Taylor. Just do what you always do on an investigation.”
She looks over at me and shrugs. I lift my hands in defeat. It’s clear that we ghost huntresses aren’t needed here.
“Where shall I be?” Mrs. Flanders asks.
“I think it would be perfect if everyone gathers around the table,” Christian directs. “Mrs. Flanders to my right. Jayne to my left. And the rest of you…” He trails off and syncs his eyes with mine. A slight sneer lifts the corner of his mouth. “Well, the rest of you can just fill in the spaces and not fanny about.”
Celia sucks in. “Fanny about? What does that even mean?” She glares and then lowers her voice. “I don’t think I like this jerk.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say.
Patrick comes over and offers his hand to me. “Might as well join the dog and pony show,” he says with a laugh.
Everyone’s in place at the table, Taylor’s filming for our own purposes, but Niles and Jamie, the film crew, are set up and it’s literally…. “Action!”
Christian begins using the Ouija board with Mrs. Flanders and Jayne assisting in using the planchette. It begins sliding across the slick surface passing over letters and numbers, circling back, and bringing the pointer around in circles.
In the full spotlight, Christian closes his eyes and speaks out in a booming voice. “Who is here with us tonight? Show yourself to us. Use this divination tool to come forth.”
I knee Patrick under the table and he loops his fingers through mine.
This is complete crap, I say to him.
It’s all for show.
“Come forth and show yourself. Who are you? Who has been terrorizing this house, this woman, her daughter?” Christian chants in a monotone.
The camera crew moves in to show Christian’s hands on the planchette as it travels aggressively on the table.
D.
O.
J.
O.
“Dojo,” Christian repeats. “So, it is you.”
“Who is Dojo?” Jayne asks, peeping over her glasses.
Christian turns to her. “Never address a demon by name.”
She shakes her head, her blond ponytail swaying. “But you just—”
Christian tosses his head back. “I am familiar with this one. He is known to me.”
Oliver steps in near Christian. “Tell us what you’re experiencing, Christian.”
The young Scot closes his eyes again and lolls his head from left to right. Then he speaks again. “I have known you, Dojo, for years. You are the spirit that has haunted and terrorized me since I was a little boy.”
I reach out with my psychic senses to see what, if anything is present or near to us. My abilities aren’t picking up a thing. I don’t know if that’s because there’s nothing here and Christian’s just a big tool bag, or if this Dojo person is focused on his demonic task.
Christian’s eyes fly open and he screams out. He grabs the Ouija board and lifts it over his head, shaking it fiercely. Mrs. Flanders covers her head in protection and Jayne dives under the table. I watch as Christian falls back into the chair and starts flailing about.
“You can’t have me. You never have. I-I-I…” Christian slams the board to the table and then flops back into the chair, like he’s passed out.
I stifle the desire to laugh, as does Celia. Instead, we watch the floor show.
Then Christian rises, and in a voice that’s nothing like his thick Scottish brogue, he says, “I am Dojo. You have called me and I have come.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Flanders says on the verge of tears. “Are you the one who has been causing trouble here?”
“I am,” Christian says deeply. “I am Dojo. You summoned me. Now, what do you want?”
Oliver looks at our host. “He’s doing what we call channeling, Mrs. Flanders. He’s allowed this spirit to overtake him and speak through him so we can communicate.”
She blinks hard and looks around the table. “Oh, well, then.”
“I am Dojo. You have crossed me. You have empowered me. I shall never leave you. Just as I have ruled over this boy since his birth. His power comes from me. Dojo.”
No one in the room moves. Not even the sound guy trying to stretch the boom mike in. From what I’m picking up, my friends don’t know whether Christian is the real thing or if he’s just crazy out of his mind.
I think it may be a recipe that includes both ingredients.
Purchase Ghost Huntress: The Journey.
Excerpt from POSER
CHAPTER ONE
“Chai! Come on, Squirt. We’ve got to get going, the car’s waiting,” Claire-Ann shouts up the stairs of our massive penthouse loft that overlooks South Beach and the Atlantic Ocean.
I cringe and keep brushing the knot out of my dark brown hair. Hair that’s way too long for its own good. Claire-Ann won’t dare let me cut it; no way, no how.
“Why does she always call you ‘Squirt?’” my best friend, Katy Kingston, asks from my bed. She’s sprawled out painting her nails with my Club Monaco Nail Lacquer Duo of Froth and Wave. I picked it up at the photo shoot yesterday afternoon for Fendi Casa Designs, a local Miami Beach furniture designer. I was lying on this sand-colored satin couch with my hand draped over my face. To hide my slightly crooked schnoz, no doubt.
I reach for my bottle of Tommy Girl and spritz a stream on my neck and chest. To hell with that crap about spray, delay, and walk away crap. If I pay good money for perfume, it’s going on me. It’s this thing I have for smells. Or rather, my fear that I’ll smell. Shower time prior to an evening out is a ritual in itself for me. Deodorant soap like Lever, Dial, or Irish Spring, followed by a luffaing with Avon Brown Sugar body scrub. Then there’s the whole lather, rinse, repeat, condition with the Biolage Energizing Shampoo and Detangling Solution Conditioner I buy religiously. Once I’m out of the shower, it’s time for clear gel stick deodorant, followed by a good blast of Secret spray, a generous spread of Avon’s African shea butter lotion and Aveda foot relief. I also overdo it on the facial moisturization so as to not have to resort to face lifts when I’m in my late forties (like my mother.) First, a layer of Clinique’s Skin Texture lotion, followed by their Moisture Surge and a good dabbling around with the Daily Eye Benefits. Am I the walking poster child for Sephora or what?
But back to Katy’s question instead of cataloging the products spread out before me. “Claire-Ann calls me ‘Squirt’ in reference to my conception.”
“Huh?”
“Frozen Pop. Sperm donor. Get it. Squirt.”
“Ohhhh, that’s right! I keep forgetting that. Shit, Chai, don’t you ever wonder who the guy was?”
I shrug as I reach for my lipstick. It’s always been Claire-Ann and me... no one else. “You can’t miss what you’ve never had, you know? I mean, I know he was a student in New York back in the late 80s and was supposedly becoming a doctor. That’s all I really need to know.”
Maybe that’s why I have this internal itch to go into the medical profession myself. Seems like the Frozen Pop passed on his learning genes. God knows, I certainly didn’t get my academic achievement from high school drop-out, Claire-Ann.
Katy blows on her wet nails and leans back on my bed. “See, if it were me, I’d have to, like, call the Sperm Bank of New York and find out who the swimmers belonged to. What my roots and heritage are.”
“Roots and heritage? Are you Alex Hailey? You should be in drama club instead of me,” I say with a laugh. “It’s pretty simple. Claire-Ann had reached a point in her life where she wanted off the drugs and wanted a baby. She bought a test tube and voila, Instant Chai.”
“You’re so blasé about it.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s not li
ke I can change it.”
“It’s just so...weird, Chai.”
“It’s never been an issue, honestly.”
Katy tosses her short, bobbed blonde hair around. “I couldn’t go through life not knowing who my dad is.”
I drop the silver lipstick case onto the table. “That’s ‘cause your dad is one of the richest men in Miami.”
This time it’s Katy’s turn to shrug. Kathryn Irene Kingston lives the perfect life, ensconced in her Star Island mansion (next door to JaRule—actually, he’s just renting, but still...), her mom works for the Miami Beach Tourism Bureau and her rich father lavishes them with expensive gifts galore. Not that I want that, but her mom cooks a mean pot roast, helps Katy with her homework, and encourages her to go to college instead of pushing her toward the cutthroat world of fashion modeling.
“Chai, are you ready?” Claire-Ann shouts again. Only this time, I hear her coming up the stairs.
“I’m almost done.”
“Wear the Jimmy Choo gold sandals I bought you last week. They’ll make your legs look a mile long. You need to be taller.”
Right, because models have to be a certain weight and height. Heaven forbid that my five-eight isn’t considered Glamazon enough. I’m sure that’s my father’s fault.
Claire-Ann enters my bedroom decked out in hip BCBG fashion (that’s probably too young-looking for her, but she wears it well) and her makeup draw perfectly on her too-too tightly pulled face. Damn Dr. Sheldon for the last face lift that makes her appear slightly Asian.
“Hey, Katy. You going with us, honey?” Claire-Ann asks.
“Not tonight. I have a date with Rick Sommers.”
“On a Thursday night?” I ask, like it’s some big deal for anyone in our clique to go out on a school night. God knows Claire-Ann drags me out enough when I should be doing homework.
“It’s a study date,” Katy says, beaming. She’s been digging Rick for a time now. Good for her making some headway with him.
I sigh. Katy gets to do real high school things, like study and go on dates—with one of the hottest hunks in school—and go to bed at a decent hour. Me, I’m up all night, in the gym first thing in the morning, and then I hit the ground running with school, photo shoots, and just being Claire-Ann’s daughter, which is a full-time job in itself. It’s amazing I can keep up this pace she’s got me on without major medication. Besides, the guys at school who’ve shown interest in me only pay attention to me because of my quasi-celebrity status. High school boys are so stupid. I can’t wait to get to college.
The Tidings - [Ghost Huntress 0.5 - A Christmas Novella] Page 9
