Claire wanted to focus on what the FBI had developed. “And you two? It was said you might have something that can also help?”
Lance nodded. “There has been a little bit of ghost activity on the West Coast, and one of our agents documented that salt works against them. What we’re bringing is firepower. Shotguns with shells containing rock salt. Knives encrusted with salt, specifically made so it doesn’t affect the steel’s integrity. It won’t wipe out the entire infestation, but it should help in a jam.”
That was all Claire needed to hear. They had to get out of here and down to Frank. “When do we leave?”
Lance spoke from behind the group. “The plane is ready. We can take off tonight.”
“This is some kind of joke, right?” Dean Pritcham stared at Claire from behind her desk. The group had retreated to her office after Claire dropped her bombshell. A ghost came to visit me, and he’s going to help us get to Frank.
Claire shook her head. “No joke.”
Lance was pacing in front of the couch, Remington sitting on it. He stopped in front of his partner, turning his back to where Claire was sitting. “She’s having a psychotic break. There’s no way she can go down there like this.”
Claire stood up then, her hands balled into fists. “That’s bullshit. I’m not having a psychotic break. We’re going to Miami to kill ghosts, and you’re saying one can’t come to talk to me about where Frank is?”
Lance turned around and stared for a second, his face stern. He started pacing again without saying a word.
“Where’s the ghost?” Remington finally asked. “If it’s going to help us, where is it?”
Claire’s hands went limp because she didn’t know where the ghost was. He said he’d come back in a few days, but that had been last night, and now she was standing here in front of all these people with no idea how to answer.
And they’re starting to think I’m insane, she thought.
The knock on the door was solid, the person on the other side rapping three times.
Dean Pritcham’s brow furrowed. “No one should be interrupting right now.” She called loudly, “Who is it?”
“The ghost.” The sound of rustling leaves came through the wooden door, sending a chill up Claire’s back and a smile over her face. “But you can call me Al.”
Chapter Eighteen
The witch smiled. “They’re coming, Frank.”
Marilyn the Bitch, as Frank had started thinking about her. He thought a few more days had passed since his capture, although he could only really guess due to his surroundings. The other witch was named Tina, although she wasn’t in the basement with him right now. Only Marilyn the Bitch.
“Who’s coming?” Frank asked.
Marilyn gave him a smile. “Aren’t we past the point of playing dumb with each other, Frank? You know I have the Sight. I may have missed that little ghost visiting you, but I do know that he eventually made it up to Boston. And now your pals are coming to save you, but that’s what we wanted all along.”
Frank remained in his chair, unable to move. They let him use the restroom twice a day, but even then, their spells only allowed him to walk a straight line and nothing else. The moment he tried to veer off the markings on the floor in front of him, he felt an electric shock too great to ignore.
Teleportation?
Ha. Ha. Ha.
“Well,” Frank mused, “If she’s coming, I suppose that’s bad news. Ye little party is almost over.”
“She.” Marilyn had that same bitchy smile. “Your friend, huh? I can see her. Claire? Isn’t that her name?”
Frank was silent. He didn’t know what this bitch could or couldn’t see, but he knew he hadn’t mentioned Claire’s name in front of her.
“She’s a pretty little thing,” the witch continued. She turned so that her shoulder faced Frank. Her hand outlined a person in the air as her lips moved rapidly—just like Tina’s had when that black hole opened. An orange spark lit at her fingertip, and as it moved through the air, Claire took shape.
An ephemeral version of her, but Claire all the same.
Frank could see through her, to the other side of the room, but she was still incredibly lifelike.
“Yes, she’s coming, Frank,” Marilyn told him. “I don’t think those higher in my organization know about her yet, but that’s only because they don’t have the Sight like I do. Or, if they have it, they’re not using it like I am. Either way, they will know about your Claire very soon.”
Marilyn circled around the image of Claire, looking at it the way one would a statue. “I can see the future, Frank. Yours, hers, so many peoples’. Do you know what I see when I look into her future? Greatness. She’s strong, stronger than you, stronger than her friends who are coming with her. She might be able to stop what’s happening to the Veil.” Marilyn stepped into the image of Claire, and it disappeared at once. Marilyn was left staring at Frank with that same smile. “But I’m not going to let her, Frank. Because when she gets here, I’m going to kill her. The rest of them? They’ll die, but she’s the key. Once she’s dead, the others won’t matter.”
Frank gripped the armrests hard, veins popping out across his forearms. He gritted his teeth but remained silent.
“Ah, yes, if you don’t say anything, I won’t know anything.” Marilyn chuckled. “But that’s not true. I see everything.” She took another step closer and then squatted down so that they were face to face. “Since your friends are on their way, we’re going to move you.” Her smile widened. “I don’t think you’re going to like it very much.”
After a moment, she stopped grinning, her lips rapidly repeating silent verses and a dead expression in her eyes.
She waved her hand in front of Frank’s face, and darkness took the leprechaun once more.
Chapter Nineteen
They were thirty minutes from landing when Marissa came to Claire. The jet was a private FBI aircraft big enough for thirty people or more. Marissa had ridden in the back with Dr. Tharos, the two of them pouring over the Book of Shadows. Dr. Tharos’ Latin wasn’t as good as Marissa’s, but he understood a lot more about the book than anyone else on the plane. Anyone human, that was. It turned out Al knew a bit, too, so he was helping them.
Jack was back there with them, although he’d been sleeping the last time Claire checked, which was fine. He needed it, and he wouldn’t be casting spells anyway.
Remington and Lance were on the plane, too. Lance was in the back, while Remington had sat up front with Claire. He hadn’t spoken and neither had she since take-off.
Claire had been focusing on what must be done. Saving Frank.
Marissa sat down next to Claire, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Hey.”
“Everything okay?” Claire asked with real concern. She could read Marissa well, and knew that something was bothering her. Heck, Marissa pulling away from her studies was enough to show something was wrong.
“There isn’t enough time.” Marissa looked straight ahead, not turning to meet Claire’s gaze. “There isn’t enough time to learn all of it. Dr. Tharos said it takes years for witches to learn their craft. A three-hour flight isn’t going to be nearly enough. I can’t do it.”
Claire’s eyes flicked to Remington, but he appeared to be snoozing, his head slumped against the window.
It doesn’t appear she cares whether he hears, Clare thought.
“Frank’s in Miami, Marissa. He’s down there, and he’s alone, and most likely, they’re hurting him. I’m not really sure what to tell you, except coming to the front of the plane to tell me there isn’t enough time is only eating up time.” Her face was stern and her voice more so.
Marissa turned to her with shocked eyes. She’d never heard Claire talk in such a way, at least not to her. They were a team, and now Claire was acting as if they weren’t. As if somehow Marissa was doing something against the team.
Claire said nothing, only held her gaze. Get back there and learn those spells, she thought. Frank
’s life may depend on it.
Marissa’s face morphed from shock to hurt, her eyes narrowing and her lips thinning. “Aye aye, Captain.” She stood up and walked through the door leading to the back of the plane.
Claire fell back into the seat, sighing. She closed her eyes and just sat there. She wasn’t sure if she’d done the right thing, but she knew she’d been right about Marissa wasting time. Coming up here to discuss that she wasn’t going to learn enough wouldn’t help her learn.
“You handled that wrong,” Remington told her.
Claire’s eyes opened, and she looked over at him. The agent was still slumped against the window, appearing to be asleep.
“Yeah?” she asked. “That may be so, but my best friend is trapped by some witches and a whole lot of ghosts, and my only chance of getting him back is her learning those spells.”
“Are you listening to yourself right now?”
Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you mean?”
Remington shifted slightly so that he could lean more against his shoulder. “My best friend. My only chance. It’s all about you, and maybe some about Frank.”
Claire sank a bit deeper into her seat, realizing how she sounded from someone else’s perspective. “He went down there for me. I put him in this situation. I’ve got to get him out of it.”
Eyes still closed, Remington shook his head. “Some of that is true, and some of it isn’t. Frank did go down there for you, I won’t deny that. But it’s not your job to get him out of it, and if you get off this plane thinking that, everyone is going to die.”
“What are you talking about?” Claire was angry, and despite her question, she didn’t want to hear any more from Remington.
“The mission isn’t to get Frank back. The mission is to find the people responsible for bringing ghosts over, then kill them, and in doing so, break the spell that allowed them to cross through the Veil. We will try to get Frank back, but that isn’t the mission. It’s not mine, and it’s not anyone else’s, either.”
Claire’s anger grew. “He’s my friend. I’m not leaving him down there.”
“I know you love him. Hell, I’m fond of him, too. But Frank made his choice, and if he had to decide whether we lose the entire team or save him, I think I know what he would choose. Just like he chose to go down there, he’d make the right call here as well.” Remington opened his eyes. “You need to get your mind right, Claire. Marissa came up here because you’re her leader. There’s a time to bark orders, and a time to let someone confide in you. Right then, she needed to confide, and you should have let her. You’re too focused on getting Frank back, to the detriment of your team. No one is saving anyone if we’re not all in it together. You understand?”
Claire met his gaze but said nothing.
Remington closed his eyes as the plane grew closer to Miami. “Focus on the mission. Focus on your team. That’s the only way we get Frank back.”
A large whiteboard stood at the front of the hotel room. Claire didn’t know how the agents had gotten it, but Remington and Lance had rolled it into the room about thirty minutes ago. They’d also brought a projector with them and set it up so that it hit the whiteboard and showed an overhead view of downtown Miami.
They were thirty minutes outside of the city, and Claire understood why. Miami wasn’t a city in the typical sense any longer. The people who had lived there were gone, either dead or evacuated. All that remained were buildings. But they weren’t empty. Things filled them, just not humans.
Now, in the hotel room, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt stood in front of the whiteboard, and hanging in the air was a red dry-erase marker. You couldn’t see what was wearing the shorts or what held the marker. It all appeared to simply be suspended in mid-air.
Claire sat next to the projector with Jack directly to her right. The two FBI agents stood behind the students.
Al, of course, was the one holding the marker.
Claire was starting to get used to the sound of his voice, although she didn’t know how much the agents liked it. But they could see the ghost now, which was a good thing. Their minds had evolved so that they no longer needed to be in danger to recognize Mythers.
Marissa needed more time with the Book of Shadows, so she and Dr. Tharos were in the room adjacent to Claire’s.
Al moved the marker toward the board. “This is where he originally fought them.” A red circle outlined a building. “That’s where they’re summoning the ghosts, too. But that’s not where he’s at now.”
The sound of rustling leaves filled the room with his voice, but Claire was actually starting to think this ghost was a pretty nice…guy? Whatever. He was at least helping them find Frank.
“This.” Another circle enveloped a building about ten blocks over. “IIs where they were keeping him last. He was in the basement at the bottom, but that’s not where he is now.”
“How do you know?” Remington asked.
“Because why you all were checking in here, I was doing actual work. Scouting and such. Had my ear to the grindstone, or whatever that saying is,” Al answered. “The witches moved him.”
“Why would they do that?” Jack was looking at the whiteboard, trying to figure out where they might have taken him. “If he was secure in that basement, what’s the point?”
The clothes changed position again, this time as if Al was studying the board. “Because I imagine they know we’re here, and Frank is their bait. So hiding him in a basement isn’t going to be part of their plan. They’re going to want him to be somewhere you think you can get to him, and more importantly, somewhere they can set you up.”
“So, it’ll be a trap?” Claire hated looking at the ghost because, for the most part, there was nothing to see. She simply looked past him.
“Without any doubt,” Al answered nonchalantly.
Claire wanted to lean forward and say something to Remington but kept her mouth shut. It seemed like getting to Frank was the only way to accomplish the mission.
“If I were a witch, where would I put you, Frank?” Al mused.
Remington glared in the ghost’s direction. “So when you were out ‘working,’ you didn’t actually find out where Frank was?”
Al didn’t turn around, and when he answered, he didn’t seem to notice or care about the anger in Remington’s voice. “Nope. None of the sane ghosts want to get involved. Getting the information I did was hard enough.”
Jack stood up and walked to the whiteboard. He studied it for a second, apparently not disturbed by the ghost standing next to him. “What about at one of these spots?” He put his hand out, and Al placed the marker in it. Jack circled a few different spots on the board.
The room was quiet as everyone studied what Jack had done.
“Are you saying the top of the buildings, or just randomly circling places?” Claire asked.
Jack didn’t turn around, only shook his head in exasperation. “Yeah, Claire. Just randomly circling spots. I was thinking about drawing a circle on the carpet, but figured we’d have to pay for the damages, and I know Lance is a tight-ass when it comes to expenses. Yes, I mean on top of the buildings.
“Why would you think it’d be there?” Claire stood up as she spoke, ignoring Jack’s barbs. She walked over to him and stood at the board.
Jack turned to look at her, as well as the FBI agents. “Well, getting up to the top would be very dangerous. We’d be in a confined place, and traveling up, so we’d be at a disadvantage, as well as trapped. If we made it to the roof, the space would be wide open, meaning any number of ghosts could attack us from all directions. They’d have two different opportunities to kill us.”
Everyone was quiet again, clearly thinking through what he’d proposed.
“Well? What do you think?” Jack asked.
Al answered first. “There is some sense to it. I can travel to Miami and try to scope some things out. I don’t know if anyone will talk to me, but I can ask.”
Claire didn
’t like the idea of burning more time. “How long will that take?”
“A few hours tops,” the ghost responded as his clothes turned toward her. “Some of the sane ghosts might talk to me if I already know he’s on a roof.”
“How do we know we can trust you?” Lance called from behind them. His voice was stern and hard.
Al placed the marker down, and the clothes moved so that he appeared to be facing the agents. The shirt’s shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know. All I can tell you is what I told Claire. If those witches die, there’s a good chance I’ll die with them. They used spells to get us over here, and they’re using spells to keep us here. If those spells end, I don’t know what happens to me.”
Lance’s face didn’t change a bit. “And if they don’t end, if the witches live and we die, it would seem pretty obvious what would happen to you.”
Another shrug. “Frank told me to bet on her, not on the witches. That’s what I’ve done. Not sure what else to tell you. Believe me or don’t.”
Lance turned to Remington. “We don’t need him. If they’re using Frank for bait, we’ll find them regardless. This could just be part of the trap.”
Claire stood up. She trusted her gut, and it was telling her their best chance of finding Frank was with Al’s help. “If we don’t use him, we’re missing out on the things he’s going to hear. The things he can tell us.”
Lance looked at her. “Is that worth the risk that he’s leading us directly into a trap?”
“I don’t know about risk,” Claire told him firmly. “I only know that I think our chances are better with him than without him. Given that I’m the leader of this team, I say we’re working with him.”
Lance raised an eyebrow. “The leader of the team?”
Claire didn’t back down. “That’s right. As far as I understand it, you two are in recruitment, not offensive maneuvers. That’s my job. So we’re working with Al. Plus, at this point, if it’s a trap, we’re already trapped. He knows everything about us—what we’re after, and what we have. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Paranormal University- Second Semester Page 18
