The Resurrection of Josephine [A Ghost Seekers Novella]

by Melinda Barron

  This was the one who had looked at Martin as if he'd known what had happened at the cemetery. Obviously, Martin thought, he did.

  Martin heard the bathwater turn off, then a woman stepped into the room, her long hair braided and hung over her shoulder. She approached the bed and put her hand on the paramedic's shoulder, gently squeezing.

  When no one made a move, Martin's breathing slowed. He looked between them, wondering what the hell was happening now. Finally, he settled his gaze on the man on top of him. “You know, if I was supposed to pay for something this afternoon, you could have just sent me a bill."

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  Chapter Three

  "Don't scream,” the woman said, her voice soft.

  Martin laughed in response. “Have I screamed yet? Who the hell are you, and what the hell do you want?"

  "My name is Rumer Rousseau, and this is Noah Hopper. We're here to talk about Josephine."

  "Who?"

  "Josephine,” Noah said, his voice deep. “The spirit you encountered today."

  "Oh.” Martin pulled on his arms, and to his surprise Noah let them go. He rubbed his wrists, then bucked his hips. “You can get off me now."

  When the man didn't move, Martin bucked harder. “You know, most people knock on the front door when they want to have a conversation unless they're planning something that's not above board."

  "Your landlady let us in,” Rumer said. “She's very sweet."

  Martin groaned, then closed his eyes in frustration. “What lie did you tell her?"

  "It wasn't a lie. We said we needed a psychic, and we do.” She put her hands on her hips, and Martin frowned at her. “You're not a very good psychic, if you didn't know we were here."

  "I'm not that type of psychic,” Martin replied, pushing against Noah's chest. “Get. Off. Me. Now."

  Noah stood and held out his hand in an effort to help Martin up. Martin ignored it and stood on his own, then he turned to Rumer. “Get out, now, before I call the cops."

  "Don't you want to know about Josephine?” Rumer stepped in front of him, blocking his exit from the bedroom. “Don't you want to help us banish her?"

  "Why should I believe a word you tell me after you broke into my house?"

  "I told you, Janice let us in,” Rumer replied softly. “We need your help."

  "And I need a drink.” He pushed past her, casting a longing look at the bathroom as he walked by. So much for a nice long soak. “Don't let the door hit you on the ass, as the old saying goes."

  "Josephine is evil, and with your help we might actually be able to kill her this time."

  Martin took a bottle of bourbon down from the cabinet, snatched a glass, and poured himself a shot. He slugged it back, winced as the liquid burned its way down his throat, then poured another.

  "If you're waiting for the offer of a drink, it's not coming.” He grabbed the phone from its cradle. “Get out, or I dial 9-1-1."

  When neither of his uninvited guests made a move toward the door, he threw up his hands in disgust. “What are you people, stupid? Do you want to spend the night in lockup?"

  "Josephine LaClaire is wicked, pure dark evil. You know what she's done. You felt it today. Help us."

  Martin sipped at his drink, his mind in a tangle. He'd been planning to investigate the cemetery, and the spirit, and now here the information was, ready to drop into his lap. That didn't mean, though, that he trusted the two people standing in front of him. It seemed just a little too convenient for him.

  Martin crossed to the switch and flicked on the light so he could study them carefully. Rumer looked to be in her early thirties, with long black hair and dark eyes. She had a small mouth, with pouty lips. A small, upturned nose sat between her wide, expressive eyes. He guessed her to be about five foot six, with a few extra pounds that made her figure delightfully curvy.

  He turned his gaze to Noah. Even though he'd seen him that afternoon he hadn't really taken stock of him. From their encounter in the bedroom, he knew Noah was a big man, about two inches taller than Martin, and about fifteen pounds heavier. Martin guessed his age at around forty. His dark hair was cut short, and his equally dark eyes gave off a sense of distrust and anger that burned Martin to his very center.

  "Don't be pissed at me,” Martin said, pointing a finger at Noah. “I'm not the one in somebody's house, uninvited and unwelcome."

  "She's a witch,” Rumer said. “And she's been alive for centuries."

  "She's not alive,” Martin responded, taking another sip.

  "She's not dead either, and you know it."

  "What I felt was a spirit with no physical form.” Martin emptied his glass, the liquor taking effect and making him more talkative than he would normally be with total strangers. “That means dead. Mort, as they say in French; muerto as they say in Spanish; and abgestorben as they say in German. If that's not good enough for you, I'll turn on the computer and find you a few more terms."

  He smiled as he watched Rumer fight back anger. Noah's eyes flashed and grew even darker. She turned to her companion and shook her head almost imperceptibly, to try to keep him calm. These two were quite a pair. Martin wondered if they were lovers, or married even. They certainly fit well together.

  "She's not dead,” Rumer reiterated. “Her spirit is looking for a new home, after becoming displaced during a failed attempt at taking over someone's body. Please, let us sit and talk with you. What harm can it do?"

  Martin thought back to the pain he'd felt that morning, the icy grip on his heart, and the way the spirit had tried to take over. He knew Rumer was right, but her approach left much to be desired. Still, if they knew about the entity, they could help him. On the other hand, they could be in cahoots with the spirit, but somehow he didn't think so.

  Only one way to find out...

  "Fine.” He held up the bottle. “Drink?"

  "Yes,” Rumer said, holding up two fingers. “We'll both have one."

  "Have a seat.” Martin could hear the surliness in his voice. He took several deep breaths, hoping to get his emotions back under control. It was hard, though, when someone had basically busted into his home and gotten the upper hand with one tackle.

  He filled a bowl with ice, took down two more glasses and plunked them all on a tray before adding the bottle and carrying it into the living room. He placed it on the table, then sat across from his two unwanted guests.

  "Sorry, but I'm not inclined to be a gracious host. You can serve yourself."

  "I can't say I blame you,” Rumer replied, fixing herself and Noah a drink. “I'm really sorry, but I wasn't sure how to approach you, and since—"

  "You found yourself alone in my house, and you thought you'd snoop?"

  She had the good graces to look guilty, and Martin felt his heart soften just a bit. “Tell me about Josephine."

  "Josephine LaClaire was born in Lyon, France, in March of 1731."

  "No wonder she's in a cemetery,” Martin replied.

  "My grandmother met her in November of 1956, here in New Orleans."

  Martin frowned. “Met her as in channeled her at a séance? Or made some other contact with her spirit?"

  "Met her as in had drinks with her on Bourbon Street and became friends with her. Grandmother was in her thirties, and Josephine was in her sixties, or so it seemed. Grandmother told me she was a nice woman, at first, and she could sense the magic inside her. Finding another person with gifts was a blessing, or so my grandmother thought."

  The bourbon started to react with the fettuccini in ways Martin didn't like. Either that or he knew what was about to come out of Rumer's mouth, and that knowledge was making him nauseous.

  "Josephine was very strong, and it didn't take grandmother long to figure out what she was about. Josephine had perfected the art of befriending a witch, and then switching places with her, taking control of the younger body, and then killing her old one, thereby killing the witch."

  "Great.” Martin took a sip from his drink
, then fought back the urge to spit it back up.

  "You don't believe me."

  "Oh yes, after today, I believe you.” He sighed heavily. “Finish the story."

  "Grandmother said she'd worked out what was happening, and when Josephine made her move, grandmother was ready for her. She and two other witches bound Josephine, and then carried her to the Orleans Cemetery where they placed her in a crypt, thinking the New Orleans heat and humidity would do to her what it did to all bodies."

  "Basically cremate her,” Noah said and Martin shot the man a mock look of incredulity.

  "Really? I didn't know that the above ground crypts, while necessary because of the water table here, act like furnaces for bodies.” Martin sneered at Noah, who stood, his hands balled into fists.

  "You're a prick."

  "Screw you, Noah. Don't think that just because you got the upper hand on me by hiding in the dark it'll happen again. In a fair fight, I'd kick your ass.” Martin stood, balling up his own fists. It had been a bad day, and maybe hitting someone would make him feel better.

  "Stop it, both of you.” Rumer stood, moving close to Noah as if to keep him in place. “I realize this is unpleasant for everyone, but there's no need to have a pissing contest. We need your help, Martin, and I intend to get it."

  "Then put a leash on your friend,” Martin said. “Or maybe he'd like that too much. What about a muzzle? Or—"

  "Enough!” Rumer screamed, then threw a hand in the direction of both men. They went flying back into their seats.

  Martin was stunned by her show of power, but Noah seemed even angrier than before.

  "We do not have time for this.” Martin could feel the energy radiating off Rumer's body. “If Josephine has garnered enough power to get out of her crypt, then she could very well be able to slip the bonds of the cemetery soon. And if that happens, then she'll go looking or a fresh body in which to resurrect herself."

  "Nice,” Martin said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Your grandmother bound her there once. Have her do it again."

  "She's dead,” Rumer said softly. “That's why the spell was broken. We meant to go to the cemetery before she died, transfer the spell's power to me so I would be the guardian, but grandmother died suddenly, a month ago."

  "I'm sorry,” Martin said, truly meaning it. “What about your mother? Wouldn't she know what to do?"

  "My mother ran off when I was a child,” Rumer replied, her voice devoid of emotion. “I have two other friends who know the craft, but neither of them thinks they are powerful enough to help."

  "I'm not a witch,” Martin said. “I'm a medium, a spiritualist if you will. I can talk to the dead, but I can't predict the future, and I don't have any other psychic abilities."

  She leaned toward him. “You can talk to my grandmother, though, can't you?"

  "It's possible, unless she's crossed over. Then it's doable, but harder.” Martin glanced at Noah, whose anger had faded. He was looking at Rumer with concern.

  "What do you need? Let's do it right now.” Rumer stood back up, walking toward the kitchen as if she would find whatever was necessary for séance.

  "I can't,” Martin said softly. “Not today. I'm weak from this morning. She drained me. I need to bathe, and sleep. I'm sorry."

  "Of course.” Rumer came to stand next to him. “I'm just worried she'll get out, and someone will die, and it will be my fault."

  "It won't be your fault.” Martin and Noah said at the same time. The two men exchanged glances, then Martin looked back at Rumer.

  "Answer me this. If we succeed in binding her back in her crypt, then what happens? She's strong enough that when her body disintegrated, her spirit lingered. What makes you think it will take this time? You'll have to find a new guardian when your time comes to die, and the cycle continues from there. Or what happens if, heaven forbid, you're killed in an accident or something? Why don't you find a way to kill her?"

  Noah stepped closer. “For that to happen, she'd have to resurrect herself into a new body, and the new body would have to die."

  "That sucks,” Martin said, nodding. “Hard to kill just a spirit. But may I remind you it didn't work last time?"

  "I know,” Rumer whispered. “I'm working on it."

  "Terrific,” Martin replied. “If it's any consolation, her fight with me today probably drained her, too. And the body they buried today doesn't have a spirit attached to it. Mr. Jackson's already crossed, so she can't feed on his energy."

  "That's good to hear,” Rumer said. “When can you do the séance?"

  "Tomorrow night,” Martin said. “I have several friends who can sit with us, to strengthen the circle and help guarantee success in contacting your grandmother."

  Rumer nodded, then stood, and surveyed the room. “Where's the extra bedroom?"

  "Excuse me?” Martin looked at her in frustration, his ears hearing what she was saying, but his mind refusing to believe it.

  "Your guest room? We'll sleep there."

  "Uh ... no.” He indicated the door. “You came in through the front, you said, you can leave the same way. Call me in the morning."

  Rumer sighed, then ran her fingers through over her tightly bound hair. “There's no couch big enough for us to sleep on, and if you don't have an extra bed, we're just going to have to sleep with you."

  Martin snorted out a laugh. “In your dreams, baby. I don't have a guest bed because I don't like people staying over. I like to be alone sometimes, and this is one of those times. Which means I want to sleep alone. No offense to your beautiful self, or to your wonderful lover here, but I'm not the mood for company. So I repeat: You can leave the same way you came in."

  "You're kidding, right? Josephine is my responsibility, and there's no way in hell I'm leaving you alone for her to attack in the middle of the night."

  "She can't make it past the cemetery gates, remember?"

  Rumer took a step closer to him, and Martin could see real fear in her eyes. “So you say, but I don't trust the bitch one iota. If you want us to leave, call the cops. If not, show us the way to your bedroom, cause we're not leaving."

  "Then you can sleep on the fucking floor.” Martin headed for his room. “Use a couch pillow if you want. Good night."

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  Chapter Four

  Rumer awoke cuddled between two large male bodies. She snuggled down, savoring their heat, and the fact that when she moved, she could feel both of them stir. There had been quite a fight when she and Noah had followed Martin into his bedroom.

  Despite all his bravado, and his screaming, he'd finally skinned down to his boxers and said fiercely, “I don't give a crap what you do anymore. I'm tired and want to go to sleep.” He'd crawled under the covers and within minutes, he'd done just that.

  Now she lifted the sheet and looked down. A nice-sized erection greeted her, tenting out the material of Martin's boxers.

  Stop it, she chided herself, there's no time for this. Still, she continued to stare, her hand itching to cup him and gently squeeze. After she and Noah had stripped to their undies and joined Martin on the big bed, the medium had stayed mostly to his side. Until the middle of the night when he'd turned and spooned Rumer against him, his hand stroking her hip. He'd caressed her side, cupping her bare breast, and gently squeezed her nipple.

  She'd been awake, but she hadn't fought him. After all, she'd forced herself into the man's bed, who was she to deny him a little feel. Plus he'd been asleep, and she hadn't wanted to wake him. He didn't seem to mind that she was a woman, which made her wonder about his sexual preference.

  She and Noah had been lovers for years, and at one point they'd invited another man to their bed. They'd hoped it could be something permanent, but it hadn't worked out that way, and in the end, things had gone back to just the two of them.

  Still, she knew Noah sometimes craved a man's touch, and she hated to deny him. She turned her head to study Martin Vandreen. Tall and athletic, with sho
ulder-length dark hair and beautiful green eyes. His lips were full, and she imagined kissing them. Imagined him kissing Noah while she was sandwiched between them.

  She often woke up aroused, but it was generally because Noah woke with a hard-on, and wanted to play. This morning it was the heat of both men, the combination of their skin against hers, the pull of Martin's psyche, despite the words he'd exchanged with Noah last night while they were both trying to prove they were top dog.

  She glanced at Martin's chest, bare except for the silver Eye of Horus amulet, which hung off a leather thong. She ran her hands up to her neck, where the identical amulet hung. Noah had one, too. The Eye of Horus was said to be helpful in warding off the evil eye, and she wondered if it had come into play yesterday, if it had helped Martin escape Josephine's clutches.

  "Handsome, isn't he?” Noah's voice was soft in her ear.

  "Thank you."

  Martin's voice made her jump, and then she laughed. “I didn't know you were awake.” She turned to where he now lay on his back, making his hard-on even more evident.

  "Right, I'm in bed with two people I don't know, one of them who has looked at my cock, twice...” he stopped speaking when Noah moved over her enough to pull back the sheet and study Martin's boxers. “Make that both of them."

  Rumer smiled at him, happy he wasn't upset that they were checking him out.

  "I'm not having sex with you,” Martin said, standing quickly. He did nothing to hide his hard-on though, and she smiled.

  "I—um, we—can take care of that for you.” She pointed to Martin's cock.

  "Thanks for the offer, but no. Maybe some other time."

  "Is it me?” Noah held up his hands. “If you're not into guys..."

  "I like guys just fine,” Martin replied. “I like women, too, and I'm happy to see we're all on the same page, but the fact remains I know nothing about either of you. You busted into my house, and you forced your way into my bed. So thanks, but no thanks. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just go in the bathroom and jerk off."

  "Why don't we all play together,” Noah said. “I'm hard, too, and I know my baby's wet. Mutual masturbation might help us forget the horrible way we met last night."