The Ghost Hunter

  Ashley glanced at Camile, who shook her head, obviously confused.

  Devon moved toward Maggie, his hands outstretched, looking much like Camile had when she’d sensed him. Unease twisted Ashley’s gut.

  “Devon, what’s wrong with you?” Maggie whimpered, stepping back.

  Devon stopped and jerked his gaze toward Ashley. “Did she say something? I thought I heard a…a murmur.”

  “She’s there,” Ashley said softly, sinking onto the bed, too stunned to say anything more. For some reason, she’d assumed he’d still be able to see his ghostly friends.

  Maggie disappeared and reappeared in front of her. “Why can’t he see me?” Those accusatory blue eyes glistened with tears. Ashley knew how she felt. For some reason, the realization that Devon wasn’t Devon as she knew him, made her feel abandoned.

  “I don’t know.” She stood, smoothing her hands down her dress. “Devon, what exactly do you see and hear when Maggie’s in the room?”

  His brows were drawn together, his breath coming out in sharp pants. “It’s like…like I know she’s here, I get the impression, the feeling, like a chill over my body. And I see her.” He pointed toward where she stood. “A dark outline of a human shape that shimmers into focus, then disappears. And her voice…her voice is soft, muffled, but I can’t really make out the words.”

  “It’s more than I get,” Camile muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just feel a cool spot.”

  So this was it? Ashley was the only one left who could actually see and speak to the ghosts? Devon was lost to her? For some reason she felt more alone than she had when she’d first arrived.

  “Uh, Ashley,” Camile said.

  Depressed, Ashley was barely aware of Camile. She didn’t know what to do, which way to turn. Who could she trust? She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. God, what else could go wrong?

  “Ashley! Get down!” Devon snapped.

  “Huh?” She looked up to see a silver vase coming straight at her head. In that split second she knew she was too late. The thing slammed against her forehead, propelling her back onto the bed. Pain shot down her skull, ending in a dull throb at the base of her neck.

  “Awww!” she cried out, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. She pressed her hand to her forehead and could already feel a welt forming. “What the hell?”

  With a groan, she pushed herself upright. Devon had flattened himself to the floorboards, while Camile had somehow managed to take cover in the bathroom and was currently peeking out.

  “Who the hell threw that at me?” Ashley demanded, her gaze jumping immediately to Maggie. But the ghost child was whimpering in the far corner.

  Camile slowly opened the bathroom door wider, hesitant and careful. “No one.”

  Ashley rubbed the stinging injury. Shit, was it going to leave a scar? No one. Surely she’d misheard Camile. Had her injury bruised her brain? “What do you mean?”

  Devon sat up, his hands pressing the vase to the ground. “I think…I think it’s…dead.”

  Ashley stumbled to her feet. The movement sent her already aching head to throbbing. “Dead? What are you talking about?”

  Camile waved her hands through the air, hopping up and down like a rabbit on speed “The…the vase! It just came flying straight at you.”

  Ashley didn’t respond. They had to be joking. Yet, no one was laughing. She didn’t want to believe it, but odder things had happened. She swallowed hard, almost afraid to ask, knowing she had to. “No one threw it?”

  Camile shook her head. Devon was still watching the vase, as if waiting for it to attack. Maggie was cowering in the corner, of no use.

  Fanfreakingtastic. “That’s never happened before.” Understatement of the year.

  “Are you all right?” Devon asked, finally looking at her.

  She nodded, her gaze pinned to that vase. For one long moment, none of them spoke, as if too stunned, or too afraid. More like too confused. They sure as heck couldn’t question the vase, unless Camile had some potion that made objects talk.

  “Do you think…he did it?” Camile whispered.

  Ashley swallowed hard. “He?”

  “Cristian?”

  Her instincts immediately said no. It wasn’t Cristian’s way. He’d be more direct. Ashley shook her head. “I don’t know; I don’t think so. He left the house, we saw him drive away. Maybe it just…fell.”

  Devon looked at her like she was insane. “Fell across the room?”

  Okay, maybe that was a bit ridiculous, but what was the alternative?

  “Still, even if he’s gone,” Camile said, wrapping her arms around her waist, a defensive action that told Ashley the witch was feeling as vulnerable as she was. “It doesn’t mean he couldn’t have done a spell or—”

  “I’ve arrived,” a deep voice rumbled through the room.

  Ashley froze, her heart skipping a beat. “What the hell was that?”

  “You heard it too?” Camile clutched onto her arm, her frantic gaze searching the area.

  Other than Devon, Camile and Maggie the room was empty. Had Cristian put a spell on her quarters? Was he trying to scare her off? It didn’t seem like something he’d do, but she wouldn’t put anything past the man. “Did you hear it, Devon?”

  He nodded, unease flickering in his blue eyes. Oh God, it had to be bad if a former ghost who’d seen it all was nervous.

  She turned. “Maggie, did….”

  The child’s attention was focused on the fireplace. A whispered warning caressed her skin. Slowly, Ashley followed Maggie’s gaze. A man stood there, his gray face pulled into a snarl, his red, glowing eyes were made all the more frightening by the encroaching darkness of night.

  Ashley stumbled back, gasping. “Th…there!”

  He was gone in a blink. Her frantic gaze searched the room. Was her head injury making her see things?

  Camile and Devon spun around, searching the fireplace.

  “What? Where?” Camile asked.

  Ashley flattened herself against the wall. “There…there was a man, a thing.” She pointed toward the fireplace, her arm shaking. “His skin was gray and he had stringy white hair and…and red eyes. Tales from the Crypt,” she blurted, as if that explained it all.

  “Are you sure?” Devon asked, stepping closer to the hearth.

  She curled her fingers to keep from reaching out and yanking him back for his own safety. “Yes! Yes, I’m sure.”

  “I saw him too,” Maggie whispered.

  Ashley felt a hysterical bubble of laughter form in her throat. It didn’t help to have a ghost backing her up, a ghost no one could hear. Still, at least it was someone. “Thanks, Maggie.”

  She nodded. “What was it?”

  Ashley shook her head, raking trembling fingers through her hair. Dear God, as if they needed something else to happen. “A ghost?”

  The child drew her knees close to her chest. “Not a ghost. He didn’t feel like a ghost.”

  “What?” Shocked, she stepped closer to Maggie, her fear momentarily forgotten. If not a ghost, then what? “Are you sure?”

  “What is it?” Camile demanded. “What’s she saying?”

  Not a ghost? Fear wove its icy fingers through her body. Her attention flashed to Camile and Devon who were waiting impatiently for her to speak. “Maggie said it wasn’t a ghost.”

  “Then what was it?” Devon demanded.

  “I…I don’t know.” Frustration made her voice sharp. She moved tentatively around the room, peeking under the bed, looking behind the painted folding screen in the corner, but saw nothing.

  “Maybe it just fell,” she insisted once more. Sure, she didn’t believe it, but how else could she explain the situation? “I mean maybe…” The small clock on her bedside table moved, metal scraping against wood. “Maybe …we…should go.”

  The clock lifted from the table, hovering in the air. Too late.

  Her eyes widened. “Get down!”

  Camile and Devon
immediately dropped to the floor. Ashley fell just as the clock whizzed past and crashed against the wall. The force of the impact made the antique piece crumble to the floor in pieces.

  “Who the hell did that?” Camile asked.

  Ashley groaned, and stumbled to her feet. “Fanfreakingtastic.” There was no denying it now. Something was very wrong. Anger spurred her forward. Damn it all, she was sick of being attacked.

  “Death to all,” a voice growled.

  “Well, that’s just rude,” she muttered, searching for the beast responsible, or at least some sort of weapon.

  When had the paranormal became so…normal, that her life was like a T.V. sitcom?

  “Get down!” Maggie cried out, still cowering in the corner. The paperback book on Ashley’s bedside was hovering in the air. Then the shovel next to the fireplace rattled. If that wasn’t enough, the high heels she’d recently purchased shot toward the ceiling. Camile stumbled back.

  Devon raced toward the fireplace like some damn superhero. “Go on, I’ll hold him off.”

  Ashley released a manic laugh. “Hold him off? There is no him to hold off!”

  The book blasted toward Devon. He dove to the throw carpet and the book slammed against the wall, then slid to the floor with a thud. Apparently the ghost didn’t like cozy mysteries.

  “Shoes!” Camile cried out.

  Ashley’s stilettos were coming straight toward them, the heels like sharp daggers.

  “Die!” the voice rumbled.

  The three of them fell to the floor and the shoes slammed against the wall. Death by high heels, how embarrassing would that have been?

  “Damn it,” Ashley snapped. “Those shoes were new!”

  Devon jumped to his feet. “This is getting rather out of hand.”

  “To say the least,” Ashley muttered, tucking her feet under her body and preparing to stand. There was a sharp rattle of metal against metal. Ashley froze, her heart plummeting. “The shovel!”

  Devon jumped back, sidestepping the object as it slammed against the wall, denting the plaster. Ashley’s anger grew. Whatever it was, would destroy her home.

  “We’ve got to leave now!” Camile demanded, her voice quivering. She was ready to bolt, but Ashley wasn’t so sure they should. She was damn tired of running.

  The air suddenly shimmered with a bitter blast of cold that sent Ashley’s hair whipping around her face. Chills raised goose bumps on her body. The rogue spirit appeared near the fireplace, looking just as frightening and just as ugly as before.

  “He’s there!” she cried out, pointing and jumping up and down like a child who’d just seen Santa Claus….an evil Santa Claus.

  “Where?” Devon demanded.

  The ghost’s thin, grey lips lifted into a creepy grin while his gaze slid to Devon. The silver sword rose from the bed and she knew, dear God, she knew what he was going to do.

  “Devon! Down!” she screamed.

  Devon ducked and the sword whizzed past his head, the point embedding into the wall.

  Frozen in shock and horror, they stood there, their mouth’s hanging open as the sword wavered back and forth from the impact. Things had suddenly gotten serious; life and death serious.

  “Shite,” Devon whispered. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blade. “This is ending now.” With a growl, he jerked the weapon from the wall, plaster crumbling into a pile of white powder on the floor.

  Devon’s breathing was harsh, his eyes fierce as he turned. Ashley barely recognized the man. Where had the meek and weak human gone? “Where is it? Where’s the spirit?”

  “The fireplace, right there.” Ashley pointed.

  Devon leapt over the bed with a war cry. In that moment she could believe that Devon and Cristian were related. With the sword high, he swiped the blade through the spirit and landed elegantly on his feet near the fireplace. There was no unease on his face; it was as if killing spirits was completely natural.

  The rogue spirit cried out, his body jerking and convulsing with the impact.

  “I see it,” Camile whispered, latching onto Ashley’s arm. “I see him.”

  Sure enough, the spirit became solid. Too stunned to move, they stood there, watching the thing jerk and waver in and out of focus. Then finally, with a puff of air, he exploded into a million gray particles. A wretched burst of wind threw them backward and Ashley and Camile fell to the floor, a mass of tangled arms and legs. Around them lingered the scent of a decaying body.

  “Ugh, what’s that smell?” Camile asked, untangling herself and sitting upright.

  With a groan, Ashley pushed herself up onto her elbows. Devon was kneeling on the floor, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. How the hell had he known what to do? She shook off her surprise, pulling her attention from him to survey the destruction.

  “Everyone all right?” She stood on trembling legs, locking her knees for fear her body wouldn’t hold her.

  Camile nodded, her eyes wide, her face pale. Maggie still cowered in the corner, but managed a small nod as well. Truth was Ashley wasn’t sure if she was okay. She couldn’t seem to wrap her brain around what had just happened. Impossible, insane, ridiculous, were just a few words that came to mind. Pressing her fingertips to her throbbing temples, Ashley took in a deep breath. The horrifying scent entered her nostrils and she gagged on the smell. It was like someone had died and been rotting in her bedroom for a month. She forced her dinner to remain firmly in her stomach and focused on Devon.

  “Devon, how’d you—”

  He shook his head, still staring at the floor where the evil spirit had only seconds ago been standing. “I don’t know.”

  Maggie whimpered, drawing Ashley’s attention to the little ghost. Seeing the child’s panicked face, stirred Ashley’s memory. She knew how Devon had gotten rid of the spirit. His actions resembled Maggie’s description of what Cristian had done. Fear and shock mingled together, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. Ashley swallowed hard, staring at Devon, attempting to find some clue as to his identity. Everything the child ghost had said, was true. The proof was in Devon‘s actions. Cristian was killing her ghosts.

  “What was that thing?” Camile asked.

  Devon‘s face was grim as he dropped the sword to the bed. “Evil voice, wretched scent, flying objects. I think it’s obvious what it was.”

  “Right, obvious. Mind giving us a little hint?” Ashley asked, annoyed.

  Devon sighed and looked her directly in the eyes. “That, my dear, was a poltergeist.”

  Chapter 20

  Ghosts, witches and poltergeists? Oh my.

  Ashley’s life had become a paranormal joke. What had she done to deserve this? She’d brushed her teeth and flossed nightly. She said her prayers…well…about once a year, but still. She’d never harmed anyone. Actually, there was that one doctor she’d punched at the psych unit but she’d only been fourteen and the doctor had sworn Ashley was claiming to see ghosts because she wanted attention. The bitch had the entire hospital ignore her for a week. And there had been that one time she’d stolen lipstick from the drug store, but she’d been only thirteen and she really didn’t think it was fair to be punished for something you did as a teen. After all…

  “I’ll just need…” Camile’s voice trailed off and she shook her head, the frustration apparent in the tight lines of her lips.

  “You don’t know,” Ashley finished for her.

  Camile nodded. They ducked under the branch of a Maple and followed the dirt path to Mad Rose’s cottage.

  “I’m sorry,” Camile whispered, “but I think I’ve gotten in a little over my head.”

  Ashley stumbled, her heart dropping. “What do you mean?”

  Camile didn’t respond, merely sighed. Was she going to abandon her? Ashley swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. She couldn’t expect Camile to stay. It was selfish. She sure as hell didn’t blame her for wanting to leave, so why did she feel so hurt? “I…I understand. When are y
ou leaving?”

  Camile frowned, playing with the blue bracelet on her wrist. “I’m not leaving. We’re in this together, right?”

  Tears stung Ashley’s eyes and she had to bite her lip to keep from throwing her arms around Camile’s neck. She wasn’t leaving her. She wasn’t alone anymore. Apparently noticing Ashley’s reaction, Camile’s face softened.

  “You silly goose.” Camile slipped her arm around Ashley’s shoulders leading her toward the cottage.

  Ashley felt like an idiot. She wasn’t used to showing her emotions. “I’m sorry, I just…I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know anything.”

  Camile gave Ashley’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “We’ll figure it all out. Obviously neither of us has much experience with the paranormal, but we’re powerful, Ash. We’ll just think of this as…our coming out party.”

  Ashley laughed. “Yeah, I sort of wish I hadn’t been invited.”

  Camile gave her a wavering smile as she pushed open the gate to Rose’s home. “I know what you mean. But don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere and neither is Devon.”

  Just the mention of Devon brought up an odd mixture of feelings she’d rather ignore. She was attracted to him, but he was a former ghost, for God’s sake. Who knew if Camile’s spell would even last. And then there was Cristian. Cristian, with his mysterious ways, his bold arrogance and dark looks stirred a warmth inside her she’d never felt before.

  As she waited for Camile to unlock the front door, Ashley looked to the skies as if the answers to all of her problems would be waiting there, drawn out in the large fluffy clouds that were currently drifting across a brilliant blue backdrop. A year ago, her biggest problem was the type of wedding dress she’d wear. She’d wanted something simple, summery and at the beach. He’d wanted something extravagant, at The Hilton.

  She laughed, the kind of laugh an insane person produces; half hysteria, half amusement. “How the hell did I get here?”

  Camile pulled open the cottage door. “Fate? Destiny?”

  “God, I hope not,” Ashley muttered, feeling suddenly sick to her stomach.

  Destiny. Fate. That would mean she had no control over the situation. The thought of having no control sent bile to her throat.