What a Ghoul Wants

  “It’s still hard for me to believe one soul could have that effect on another,” I said. “I mean, he’s bound by a chain, Sam. And I know the chain isn’t real—it’s a manifestation of the Widow’s thoughts, so how come Merrick can’t figure this out?”

  My spirit guide smiled wisely before pointing to my hands. The moment I looked down I felt a cold heavy weight on both my wrists. I gasped as I held them up—they were bound by shackles. I tugged on them and the shackles tightened. They were very, very real. “Whoa,” I said. “How the heck did you do that?”

  Sam tapped his temple. “I have control here,” he explained. “The stool you’re sitting on, this dock, and that lake were all created by me. You see it, feel it, experience it, because you’ve allowed me to have control of the world you currently find yourself in. When Merrick and the other victims enter into their grounded state, they’re very confused. If the Widow gets to them before they can cross over, she sets the structure of what they see and experience. The chains that bind them are very real to them.”

  I eyed the shackles again. I felt there was a lesson Sam was trying to teach me more than what he’d just shown me, so I closed my eyes and focused. Feeling a little dizzy, I concentrated on the shackles around my wrists, making myself believe that I had control over them and my surroundings, and that I could make them disappear simply by willing them gone. In an instant I felt them disappear. I then fell right on my ass. “Ow!” I said, rubbing my bum and looking up at Sam, who was laughing heartily. I realized belatedly that the stool I’d been sitting on had also disappeared.

  “You focused a little too hard there, M. J.,” he said, snapping his fingers again so that another stool appeared.

  I got up and sat down again, grinning myself. “Thanks for the lesson,” I said to him. “So really, what we have to do is convince the Widow’s ghosts that the chains binding them to her aren’t real, right?”

  “That would be ideal, but I’m not sure she’ll allow you the opportunity, M. J.,” Sam said, losing all traces of his former humor.

  “Do you have any other ideas for freeing the Widow’s victims?”

  Sam turned to look out at the lake for a while, and I could see his easy countenance become troubled. “I do have one,” Sam confessed. “But it’s complicated.”

  “Complicated? In what way?”

  Sam turned back to me. “You’re my spirit daughter, M. J. I promised your mother that I’d look after you, and I know she’d want me to talk you out of even the thought of something so dangerous as freeing the Widow’s victims. Heck, she’d want me to tell you to pack your bags and hightail it right out of Wales, but I don’t know that I can do that. I took on the role of your spirit guide to be just that. To guide you, not to tell you what to do. Also, I know that if I tried to tell you what to do, you’d ignore me and do what you wanted anyway.”

  I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. Sam was the best in so many ways, but mostly in the way he really understood me. “What’s the idea, Sam?”

  “I’m thinking of a prison break,” he said. “Obviously the Widow is keeping these souls locked up in her portal, but if you can somehow damage the portal to the point where it weakens, then you might be able to have them all break out at once. The tricky part is getting around the Widow and that demon she’s attached to.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a chuckle, “that’s the tricky part.”

  “You’ll need to find a way to weaken the demon,” Sam continued, as if I hadn’t just made fun of him. “The best way to do that is to engage the Widow. She’s drawing all her energy from the demon, so if you can suck her dry by having her try to go after you, you’ll effectively rob it of its energy too.”

  “Is that why it didn’t show up when she and I were going at it in the south wing the other night?”

  Sam nodded. “I think it is.”

  My mind was once again awhirl with thoughts. Heath had suggested almost the exact same idea, and I really thought the two men might be onto something. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll talk to Heath and the others and see if we can’t come up with a plan. The other hard part is finding her portal. My theory is that she’s hiding it in a secret passage on the second floor of the south wing.”

  Sam eyed me quizzically for a moment before leaning out to wave his hand over the water. Its black calm surface swirled a bit before becoming a little smoky; then as if by magic an overview of the castle appeared—as if we were looking straight through the roof into the second story. I could see details like the burgundy carpet, the peeling paint, a lopsided portrait, and then, when Sam pointed, I could see a dark swirling blob of energy obscuring the secret passageway and the stairwell within it.

  “You’re correct,” Sam said. “Somewhere in there is her portal.”

  “It’s getting to it without getting killed that’ll be the tricky part,” I muttered.

  “Isn’t it always?” Sam said with a nudge to my arm. “I’ll help you in any way I can,” he vowed. “The vests were a good idea.”

  “Wasn’t mine, but I’ll pass along your compliments to the help.” And then I focused back on my other questions for Sam. “We’re also going to try and find the duke on our ghost hunt tonight. I know I saw him after I jumped out the door of the south wing, but I may have also gotten a glimpse of him out on the moors too, and I can feel it in my gut that I need to find and engage him, but the local folklore suggests that those who encounter the Desperate Duke are marked for death. Should we be worried about that?”

  Sam laid a gentle hand on my arm. “I think you should be worried about everything, M. J. But maybe not that in particular. Ghosts who appear to those who die soon after get a bum rap. The ghosts don’t bring on death; they’re there to warn that particular soul to be careful, do something other than what they were planning to do, like evacuate in the face of a hurricane instead of riding it out. They act as a warning, not as a curse. I also don’t think you should go against your gut. Your own spirit is attempting to lead you in the right direction, and that’s something you should never ignore.”

  “Yeah, that was my feeling too, Sam. Thanks for the affirmation.”

  “Anything else?” he asked me.

  I was grateful for all the advice that Sam had given me, but one of the things that still troubled me greatly was this demon the Widow was involved with. I didn’t really know what it was or what it could do, and that was something to be worried about. “Do you have any suggestions for how to fight the Widow and her pet demon if we happen to encounter both of them at once?”

  Sam actually shuddered. I’d never seen a spirit do that before. “My advice to you is this: If you see both of them coming for you at the same time, run like hell, M. J. Run like hell.”

  Chapter 12

  The alarm went off at twelve thirty a.m., but I’d been up for at least half an hour, considering all that Sam had told me. Next to me Heath stirred and slapped his arm across the nightstand to shut off the alarm. . . which was on my side. I quickly silenced it and propped my head up on one elbow to look at the hot guy in bed next to me. “Hey, there,” I said.

  Heath opened one lid. “I know that tone.”

  “What tone?”

  “That’s your how-you-doin’? tone.”

  “Well,” I said, “how you doin’, baby?”

  Heath chuckled. “You realize this is gonna make us late.”

  I leaned over to wrap my arms around him. “So we’ll be late.”

  Thirty minutes later as Heath and I shuffled quickly down the staircase, I could hear Gilley saying, “They’re probably bonking. Those two can’t keep their hands off each other. You should have seen them in Santa Fe.”

  This of course was an exaggeration. . . well, at least for the first part of our trip to New Mexico. Still, Gil shouldn’t have been wagging hi
s tongue about my personal business, so when we reached the group and everyone looked up at us, I made sure to give him the old death-ray stare.

  “You look freshly tousled,” he said to me.

  Damn my nonexistent superpowers! “Shut it, Gil.”

  Gil turned to Michel and mouthed, “Told you so.”

  “Now that we’re all here,” Gopher said to us, “let’s go over our strategy for tonight. We should have at least four hours of good film time before the spooks quiet down, and I’d like to start in the south wing—”

  I’d been afraid Gopher would change his mind about letting us work our way up to that, and luckily, I had my speech already prepared. Truthfully, it had been part of my plan to take advantage of Heath and make us late. “Actually, Goph, while Heath and I were getting ready, I swear I saw the duke out on the grounds. I think we should head out there right away and get him on tape. That way we’ll have some good variety to show Chris in the morning. I mean, if we can get him on film, it’s bound to make our movie even more compelling.”

  Gopher’s brow shot up. “You saw him?”

  I nodded, and prayed that Gil—who always knew when I was fibbing—kept his big yap shut.

  “How long ago?”

  “Just a minute or two!” I said, trying to appear anxious. “Come on, Goph, we’ve got to get a move on if we’re going to get him on film!”

  All around me the crew began to hoist backpacks and equipment onto their shoulders, and Michel, John, Meg, and Kim were already following Heath (who was in on my ruse) to the door. “Yeah,” Gopher said. “Okay. But let’s regroup here in the main hall around three so we’ll have lots of time to—”

  No one waited for Gopher to finish his sentence; we all hurried out the door and left him to gab at Gilley. I almost felt bad for sticking our producer with Gil, but then, Gilley was getting on my last nerve these days, so I stopped short of actually feeling sorry for him.

  As we walked, John quickened his stride to come up next to me. “What’s your game plan?” he asked, making sure to put his palm over his microphone. I didn’t think that Gil and Gopher were listening in yet, but I was glad that John wasn’t taking any chances.

  “I really do want to try and find the duke,” I told him, covering my own mic too. “When I was inside the south wing, I spotted him along the far right side of the castle, near the lake.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell the girls and we’ll all keep an eye out for him.”

  John dropped back to whisper to Michel and the girls and Heath took his place next to me. Holding up the new expensive infrared camera, he flipped the switch to the attached lights on the top of the camera and nothing happened. “Great,” I groaned. “The infrared is already broken. Didn’t Gilley test all this stuff before sending us out in the field with it?”

  “For your information,” I heard Gilley say tersely in my ear, “I did test it. It works perfectly well. Have Heath turn on the viewfinder and look into it.”

  Heath did that with me watching over his shoulder, and as if by magic the world was illuminated in a purple blue haze. “Cool!” we both said.

  “I read about these,” Heath told me. “This has better results than the night-vision cameras, because even spooks who aren’t visible on the night-vision cameras can be seen on an infrared.”

  Heath and I were leading the others toward the drawbridge, and I was about to give them instructions on where to point their equipment when I heard a loud thump right underfoot that stopped me in my tracks.

  Looking down, I noticed that I’d taken the very first step onto the drawbridge.

  “Not this again,” Heath whispered, pointing the camera down at the planks, and as he did so, he sucked in a breath. “Em! Look at this!”

  I gulped and leaned over to look. Below us, seeping through the cracks in the planks I could see a purple glow. I lifted one foot and took a tentative step, and the blob moved to that exact spot, and just as I set my toe on the dock, a tremendous whump vibrated through the planks.

  “No. . . freaking. . . way!” I heard Gilley whisper in my ear.

  “What’s happening?” Gopher asked, replacing Gil’s voice with his.

  “M. J.’s got a friend,” Heath said quietly. I could feel the crew gather at the edge of the drawbridge, watching the screen over Heath’s shoulder.

  Meanwhile I held perfectly still. I didn’t quite know what to do. I’d been through this before and wasn’t in any hurry to repeat it.

  “Why is she just standing there?” Gopher complained. “M. J., move!”

  I looked back at the group, uncertain, and caught Michel’s eye. He was filming with a night-vision camera, and he lowered it to move around the group and approach me. “We’ll go across together,” he said, but the moment he stepped onto the planks, two tremendous thumps echoed up from the wood. “There’s a second one!” Heath whispered.

  Michel had stopped dead in his tracks too, and I saw that he now looked properly frightened.

  “Maybe we should all go together,” John suggested. “I mean, it can’t follow all of us, can it?”

  Bravely he and Heath stepped out onto the planks, and each of their footfalls was followed by the same kind of pounding I’d been subjected to. “Damn,” I swore, looking to the far side of the drawbridge, which felt a million miles away. “We’ll need to run for it.”

  “I don’t want to!” Kim cried.

  “Me either!” said Meg.

  Meg and Kim were along as backup should one of our cameras fail, and I figured that as long as the three guys and I had working cameras, then we should have plenty to spare.

  “Go back inside, then, ladies. We’ll take it from here,” I told them while eyeing the boys meaningfully. “On three?”

  They all nodded, but just then in the center of the drawbridge we heard three loud raps—as if whatever evil under the planks was daring us to go for it.

  At the end of the last rap, John took off running, and his sudden bolt for the other side of the bridge got the rest of us moving.

  The planks underneath were a thunderstorm of noise from our footfalls and the matching pounding from the underside. My feet and knees felt every jarring blow and my teeth seemed to be rattling in my head. The traverse was painful, and as much as I tried to pour on the speed, my body couldn’t help but brace a little at each footfall, which hampered my pace.

  All of us were in the same boat, because no one seemed able to keep a steady stride. Through the noise I could hear Gopher yelling something, but what he said I hadn’t a clue, nor did I much care. I just wanted to get across to solid ground.

  At last John reached the cobblestones, leaping onto them in a move that Baryshnikov would’ve envied. Heath was next, followed by me and finally Michel.

  Upon reaching the safety zone, we all fell to the ground and lay there panting. I rubbed my shins and knees and cursed the thing below the bridge that had made the run so painful.

  “I have no picture!” Gopher shouted. “What’s happening! Gilley, make them tell me what’s happening!”

  “It’s not like they listen to me,” Gil snapped. “M. J.? Heath? Are you okay? Over.”

  I pulled the microphone closer to my mouth. “We’re okay for the most part, buddy.”

  “If you’re all okay, why aren’t you filming?!” Gopher shouted.

  I pulled the headset off my head and rolled onto my side to get to my cell phone. Lifting it out of my back pocket, I dialed Gil’s number and he took the call right away. “He’s driving you crazy, right?” he asked in a muffled whisper.

  “You’ve got to do something,” I told him.

  “Who’re you talking to?” I heard Gopher demand in the background.

  “My mom,” Gil said without hesitation. “Her bursitis is act
ing up again.”

  “Gil,” I said softly. “Seriously. His headset needs to have a major malfunction or I’m going to kill him when I get back.”

  “Gilley!” Gopher demanded. “No one’s responding to me!”

  I looked around. The guys had all removed their headsets—John had even tossed his a few feet away.

  “Leave it to me,” Gil whispered. “And tell everyone to switch to channel nine.”

  I sat up and told the boys to switch to the new channel, and reluctantly they all donned their headsets again. At first all I heard on the new channel was static, but then Gil’s voice came through loud and clear. “I don’t know, Gopher,” he said. “Your headset was working fine just a minute ago.”

  “Well, now it’s full of static!” I heard Gopher shout. The pressure of pleasing Chris was really starting to take its toll on our producer. I mean, Gopher is almost always a pain in the ass, but even he’s not usually this much of a tyrant.

  “I can either stop the shoot and try to fix your headset or I can let them continue and relay your instructions to them. You’ll still be able to hear everything they say through the feed,” Gil told him. “Once I turn it on, that is.”

  “Don’t we have any spare headphones?” Gopher asked.

  “No,” Gilley lied.

  “God bless you, Gil,” I said.

  There was more grumbling in the background, and while Gilley and Gopher worked it out, I gathered the shaken remnants of my crew and motioned them well away from the drawbridge. “Is anybody hurt?” I asked first.

  Michel pulled up one pant leg and I sucked in a breath when I saw his knees were both swollen and blue. “I fell,” he said. “While I was down, they pounded against my knees.”

  My own feet were seriously sore, so I gingerly took off one boot and the accompanying sock. I flashed a light onto the sole and hissed. My entire heel and the pad of my foot were a light purple, and I knew they’d get much darker as time wore on.

  The other crew members also took off their shoes, and all of us had some bruising, but mine was by far the worst.