Logan runs to his mother as well, and we reach her at the same time. She’s now prone on the floor, Cocheta on top. Helen makes choking noises, her eyes rolling up in her head.
Logan grabs his mother’s shoulders. It looks like she’s choking and I know my hero is about to attempt to help. Cocheta swears and I swat at her, but my hand passes through, connecting with Logan instead.
He gives me a look as I nearly knock him to the floor.
“Sorry!”
My mother’s voice rings out loud and clear. “Everyone move back.”
She’s taking charge like she is so good at doing. The folks gathered are like deer in the headlights, trying to figure out what’s happening. They yell questions. “Is she choking? Is she having a heart attack?”
“Get off of her,” I command the ghost.
Logan gives me another funny look.
“I’m trying to help her,” he says.
“Not you.” I lower my voice. “There’s a ghost strangling her.”
I hear several guests close by suck in a breath in unison, and I’m pretty sure one of them is my mother. Once again, I hear her say, “Give them some air, please. Move back.”
Dad gets in on it as well, coaxing the crowd away.
Logan’s face contorts. “A ghost?” Thankfully he knows about my abilities. “What do we do?”
I honestly don’t know. I look into Helen’s fearful face. “Tell her you’re sorry.”
Of course, she can’t do anything but struggle for her life. I snap my fingers at Cocheta drawing her attention. “Give her some air and let her speak.”
Cocheta jeers at me. “I will have my revenge on every one of Birdie’s descendants.” She shoots a glance at Logan. “I’m saving you for last.”
Persephone and Sherlock appear behind Logan, all smiles. Persephone is laughing as if he just shared a joke.
“Help Helen!” I yell at her.
They both snap to attention, hovering on either side of the melee. Everyone else is witnessing me speaking to ghosts and spirit guides, but to them it appears I’m talking to thin air.
Logan grits his teeth. He’s freaking out. “Quit worrying about them and help my mother.”
“I’m trying to,” I assure him.
“I know what Birdie and her family did to you,” I say to Cocheta. “None of it was fair or right, but revenge solves nothing. It doesn’t change the past, and it doesn’t make you feel better in the long run. You’re not even human anymore. You’re a spirit, and you need to cross over and move on.”
She releases Helen, who coughs and spits.
As I stare into her eyes, I wonder, does she not realize she’s dead?
That can’t be.
She stares at her hands a moment, as if seeing them for the first time.
“You’re dead, Cocheta,” I say softly. “It’s time for you to move on.”
The sound starts so low, I don’t notice it until I realize her body is trembling slightly. Then the sound of her laughter builds, shooting frosty shivers down my spine.
Without warning, she reaches out and grabs hold of me.
I don’t know how she has so much strength for a ghost, but she manages to shove a hand through my chest and grip my heart. “I want revenge.”
The sensation of her inside my chest makes me want to scream. My extremities lock up and I can’t breathe.
“What will that solve?” I gasp out. “Your anger is directed at Birdie, not Helen. Birdie was a witch who cursed you into that necklace then burned your dolls.”
Logan is helping his mother sit up. Someone brings her water. The onlookers have fallen silent, listening, and I hear Mrs. Cross try to save face, her voice raw. “That’s not true,” she says, her voice raw. “She’s had a little too much to drink, I think.”
Everyone is staring at me, including my mother, with a look of horror on their faces. I’m not sure if they realize I’m talking to a ghost, or think I’ve gone mad.
My heart feels like it’s going to burst.
“No one messes with my family and gets away with it,” Cocheta hisses in my face.
Every breath burns like fire. “I love my family, too,” I choke out. “I’d do anything for them. But I can’t let you hurt the man I love. You were wronged, and I’m sorry for that, but you might think twice about crossing me and causing even more problems for yourself.”
“Hurt me?” Logan echoes.
She snickers. “You can’t harm me.”
“Not true,” Persephone argues.
In the past few months, she and Winter have been training me in ways to get earthbound spirits to cross over and stop hanging around the physical plane. It doesn’t always work, but in my mind’s eye I focus on creating a bright white light a few feet away.
Persephone gives me a thumbs-up and steps to one side of it. Sherlock follows her cue and steps to the other. I have no idea how to trick this ghost into crossing over, but I better think of something fast.
“I spoke to Birdie,” I tell her. “The last time you tried to kill me. Went back in time…told her what was about to happen. She’s sorry for what she did to you and promised to make amends, change the bad history between you. In another timeline, the two of you are friends.”
“Liar,” she snarls, but her grip eases a smidge.
“If you move on to the afterlife, you can find her and talk about it. She’ll confirm what I’m telling you. You worked it out, forgave each other.”
The hatred in her face abates, surprising me. The strain around her eyes and mouth softens. “I don’t believe you.”
Now who’s lying? I can breathe again. She wants to believe it, even if she’s skeptical. “Ask Persephone. She was there when I spoke to Birdie and changed your history.”
Cocheta glances at the angel, who gives her a smile. “Birdie’s on the other side of that light.” She points, getting in on the game. “Waiting for you. She wants to tell you how sorry she is. Your kids are there, too. They're excited that you’re finally coming home.”
Her grip on my heart lessens another degree. I hear people murmuring, asking Logan and Mama if I’m okay or having a fit.
As if we’ve called her, a familiar figure steps through the light. “Cocheta, it’s time to come with me.”
Birdie.
No one can see her except me and the other spirits, but as I look at her, the crowd follows my gaze. Birdie glances at me, and then her father joins her, coming to stand by her right side.
He puts a hand on her shoulder, his voice booming out. “We did you wrong, Cocheta.” I wonder if he knows no one can hear him. “We want to make it up to you.”
Like a balloon losing its air, Cocheta deflates. Tears well in her eyes and her voice shakes as she speaks to Birdie. “We’re friends now? How?”
Birdie hesitates. Her father squeezes her arm.
She nods, and I see Cocheta trying to wrap her mind around the idea that something in the past has changed. “Come with us and leave these poor folks alone.”
Cocheta takes a step toward them. “My boys are there in the light?”
Birdie gazes at Helen, then Logan. She gives each of her progeny a smile, even though they can’t see her. “Everyone you loved is there. A lot has happened in the time you’ve been in the necklace, and I’m real sorry about that. We have a lot to tell you.”
The crowd begins murmuring, not able to hear the conversation. I back away from Cocheta and Logan grabs my arm, pulling me to his side. Helen glares at me, and I give her a reassuring smile. “They’re working things out.”
Both she and Logan glance toward the space where the light is. “The ghosts?” Logan asks.
“Shh.” His mother smacks his hand, eagle eyes scanning the crowd. She raises her scratchy voice. “I’m fine. I got a piece of shrimp caught in my throat from the appetizers, that’s all.”
Logan and I exchange a knowing smile. “I just need another minute,” I tell him.
“Let’s freshen up drinks,” he calls
to the group and most saunter toward the bar. Montgomery drags Helen in that direction, too. “What is going on?” I hear him murmur to her.
Cocheta stares at me over her shoulder. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll be back.”
I rub the spot over my heart. “I think you’ll find things there worth staying for.”
The preacher and his daughter reach out their hands, and reluctantly, she accepts their invitation. The two women walk into the light, and Dupree glances back at me. “You did a good thing here.”
With another wink, he’s gone.
Persephone waves a hand over the light and it disappears. Sherlock heaves a sigh, removing his glasses and going about cleaning them.
I’m so relieved, I slump to the floor.
Mama and Daddy hoist me up. “Are you all right?” Mama asks.
“Yes, but I could use a stiff drink.”
Daddy pats my hand. “I’m on it.”
Helen returns, Logan beside her. “Well?”
“All done,” I tell her.
“You’re sure?”
Her son glances back and forth between us. “What just happened?”
“I am,” I inform Helen. I lean on Logan’s arm. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
The lights come back on. Everyone cheers.
I snap my fingers at the DJ and the music starts again.
Daddy returns with a cup of spiked punch. He gives a second to Mama. We both gulp it down.
“I think I’ll take my folks home,” Logan tells me.
“Good idea.”
“I’ll catch up with you later.”
He kisses my forehead and walks away.
As he crosses the floor, Mama and Daddy and I move out of the way of a couple wanting to dance. We stop near the side of the stage, the giant speakers blasting the pop version of Little Drummer Boy.
Rosie returns and waves at me from across the room. I wave back.
I’m debating whether to get another helping of punch or call it a night, when, from out of nowhere, a piece of mistletoe flies across the expanse and smacks me in the face.
“What the…?” I shift in the direction it came from.
My stomach sinks to my feet. “Oh no.”
“Miss me?” A flying spectral calls over the noise.
Sean O’Reilly’s ghost is back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
He swoops down, but it’s not me he’s gunning for.
He goes after my parents.
I jump in front of them throwing out my hands. The punch cup crashes to the floor.
His claws swipe through me, and while they do no physical harm, the sharp spikes feel like icicles.
I slam into Mama.
She and Daddy stumble into a tangle of cords and the big, black floor speaker. As they fall in unison with me, Mama’s foot catches in a cord and yanks the DJ table over.
Sean rails about my father, and attacks again.
His anger is palpable, and although his ghostly form can do no damage, his electrical energy makes the lights flicker.
The DJ is scrambling to pick up his table, the sound system balking and sending out ear-deafening screeches.
People gasp and stare once more, their expressions signifying they think we’ve all lost our marbles.
Logan and Helen rush to us. He helps me stand.
Mrs. Cross is still rubbing her neck, but she knows I’m seeing something otherworldly, and the fear in her eyes tells me she assumes it’s Cocheta’s ghost. “Do something!” she yells at me.
Daddy tries to help Mama untangle her foot. I attempt to calm Sean. “You can’t hurt us, so knock it off.”
His ghost blows past me so quickly, I feel the ends of my hair lift. One of the chandeliers above our heads trembles.
I fear that he, like Cocheta, may be able to do more damage than most.
An explosion of pops and crackles erupts from the DJ’s cords.
“Get Mama out of those,” I command Dad.
He looks flustered, trying to figure out what’s going on and do what I say at the same time. Logan launches himself in to help.
They want to protect us, but don’t understand from what.
Sean aims for me again. His energy acts like a magnet, drawing things to him now. Glass balls from the table decorations, mistletoe from the garlands—all of it coming at me like missiles.
I throw my hands over my head and duck as items pelt me and the stage. Mama cries my name, and in the next moment, anger flares in my stomach. Striding forward, I raise my hands and yell, “Knock it off!”
A strange silence falls and energy ripples up my spine. For a moment, I feel like Billie Dupree, giving the crowd quite a show.
Sean barrels through the large ballroom, creating more havoc. I call for Persephone or Sherlock.
Neither appears.
Frustrated, I stomp my foot. “Persephone, you’re lousy at being a guardian angel! I’m putting in a request for a new one.”
My outburst echoes through the space. I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to find Logan.
“What can I do?”
I wish I knew. I squeeze his hand as I say to my father, “It’s Sean. Try talking to him, get him to stop.”
Mama and Dad ask in unison, “Sean?”
“Tell me you didn’t kill him,” I say to Daddy under my breath.
“Of course, I didn’t.” He oozes disgust at the idea.
“Why is he coming after you then?”
Dad looks flustered. “I have no idea other than I told him I was going to win your mother back.”
Mama stops scanning for Sean. “You did?”
He takes her hand and draws her to him. “You bet I did. The biggest reason I came home was to see you and persuade you to marry me again.”
Another piece of mistletoe lands in my hair. I whirl on Sean. “Stop acting like a spoiled brat,” I yell at him. “Whatever your problem is, it doesn’t matter now. You’re dead! Go to the light, already. Things are great on the other side, you’ll love it.”
Those still around gawk. Helen rubs a hand over her face. I notice a gal has her phone out recording me.
This will be spread all over Thornhollow before morning.
Persephone still doesn’t make an appearance, but suddenly Sherlock is there. “Would you like me to try, dear?”
“Be my guest.”
As Sean picks up speed to dive at us once more, Sherlock lifts into the air and intercepts him. He grabs Sean by the lapels and the two begin to tumble and wrestle above our heads.
A spirit fight. Now I’ve seen it all.
I take a step in retreat and run into Logan. His arms go around me. “What’s happening?”
“A ghost hitchhiker I picked up the other day is fighting with Sean’s ghost.”
“Oh, okay,” he says, deadpan. “I figured it was something like that.”
I jab his ribs with an elbow. “Well, at least this ghost is trying. Persephone has abandoned me.”
“Don’t give up on her yet.” Logan has a soft spot for the angel since she recruited him when I was being held at gunpoint by my former neighbor back in October. “She did help us out last time you had…an issue.”
The door flies open and Detective Jones strides in. He pulls up short, observes the messy decorations and disastrous pile of equipment behind us, and frowns.
His gaze lands on Dad. “Nash,” he calls as he marches toward us, oblivious to the two ghosts fighting overhead. “Got some news for you.”
Sherlock gets the upper hand. Then Sean sucker punches him in the face. I hear his glasses break, and Sherlock lets out a curse.
“Detective,” my father says as Jones shoots me a look.
“Sorry to bust in on your party, but I thought you’d want to know. Just got word about the autopsy. O’Reilly didn’t die from choking on your guitar pick.”
Overhead, Sean stops brawling with Sherlock, pushing him off and glaring at Jones.
“What did he die of?” I ask.
>
“An overdose.” Jones has his hat in his hands and fiddles with the brim. “Your buddy had cancer, Nash. Doc got hold of his medical records and seems he had about six weeks to live. Appears he decided to…”
“No!” Sean screams and dives at us.
Sherlock intercepts him, knocking him aside as Jones finishes. “…take his own life. OD’d on one of his medications right before he went to The Wedding Chapel. He must have stuck the guitar pick in his mouth once he got on the grounds, attempting to make it look like you were responsible.”
No wonder he looked so bad! It wasn’t alcohol, it was the disease.
And Haylee Dean is innocent.
The news has a ripple effect. My dad's shoulders slump. Mama throws her arms around his neck and hugs him. At the same time, Logan squeezes my shoulder.
“I told you Daddy wasn’t a murderer,” I tell Jones. “You owe him an apology.”
He huffs. “I was going off the evidence.”
“Whatever.” I turn away from him to hug Dad.
Jones walks away, calling over his shoulder, “Merry Christmas, y’all.”
When I release Daddy, I look up to find Sherlock removing his broken glasses. He gives me a salute, then takes Sean by the back of the jacket and shuffles him toward a glowing light on the other side of the room. Travis’ ghost is waiting for Sean.
I watch them go into the light together, half wondering if Sherlock is crossing over as well. I feel a little sad at the thought.
Logan touches my cheek. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you cleaned up.”
“Sorry about the show,” I call as Logan leads me out. “Everything’s fine now. Let’s finish the Mistletoe Ball, shall we?”
Dad jumps on the stage, wrestling the mic from the DJ and waving people forward. “Get everybody back in here,” he commands. “We’ve got good music to dance to and delicious food to eat!”
Rosie runs around, trying to pick up the various table decorations. Several women join in to help. “You okay?” she asks before we’re out the door.
“Yes,” I tell her and I mean it.
Logan escorts me to the women’s restroom. There he dabs a wet towel at my cheek. My hair is a disaster, and somehow my dress is torn.
Magic & Mistletoe, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 2 Page 12
