Paranormal University: Third Semester
Paranormal University™ Book Three
Jace Mitchell
Michael Anderle
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2019 Jace Mitchell & Michael T. Anderle
Cover by Fantasy Book Design
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
This book is a Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, December 2019
eBook ISBN: 978-1-64202-667-2
Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-668-9
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Author Notes - Jace Mitchell
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Books By Michael Anderle
Connect with The Authors
Paranormal University: Third Semester Team
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Kelly O’Donnell
Jackey Hankard-Brodie
Debi Sateren
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
SkyHunter Editing Team
For Tucker. No one could ask for a better friend.
— Jace
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
to Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
to Live the Life We Are
Called.
— Michael
Chapter One
Richard did not—did not—want to walk into the room. Very few people ever entered this room, and Richard had considered himself blessed before. After what happened in Miami? He thought entering this room might actually be a curse.
He’d told those two witches in no uncertain terms how important it was to not fuck up. After what had happened in Boston, they could have no more mistakes.
And what did they do? Richard thought to himself. They fucked up. Badly. One of them is dead, and one of them is detained by the FBI.
Now he was here, called before the Five to report on what had happened in Miami. He’d had to report after Boston, and that had been bad. But this…
This was worse.
Because Miami was still overrun with ghosts, yet neither the Five nor the minions in the Following controlled the city. It had simply turned into a ghost town, and that was the problem, wasn’t it?
Because what exactly did Richard plan on telling the Five? As the door before him opened, he still didn’t know.
Richard didn’t take in a deep breath, nor did he show any nervousness. Before joining the Following, he’d been in situations that any normal human would consider beyond perilous. He knew how to remain calm, or at least, to appear calm, and that’s what he planned on doing here.
Whatever else happened, he couldn’t show his fear. The rest of the world didn’t yet know what these people were capable of. Richard did. He’d seen their power, even if he didn’t understand where it came from.
Richard wore his suit and tie, everything perfectly tailored. His motto was that if he died, he’d do it looking good.
The twelve-foot high solid oak double doors swung open, revealing a servant standing on either side. Richard didn’t look at them as he walked forward, and they didn’t glance at him either. Their eyes remained on the floor.
This organization survives on fear, he thought. I fear those above me, and those beneath hold that same feeling toward me.
He reached the center of the room and stopped. He listened as the doors swung shut behind him, the servants now on the outside. This conversation would only be heard by six people.
The Five were an odd group, to say the least. If you did not know them, you would not think they should be feared—certainly not as individuals.
Bill, Mike, Jess, Octavia, and Andrew. If they had last names, Richard didn’t know them. His former line of work gave him great access to information about people’s pasts, and to their current personal lives. Before starting this endeavor, Richard had spent a lot of time and effort to figure out who these five people were.
He’d failed.
Their pasts were cloaked with curtains so black and heavy that no one could see through them or lift them.
And still, Richard had joined, because while he didn’t understand their pasts, he did understand their power. He didn’t know where those powers came from or how it was even possible, but he’d witnessed them with his own eyes.
Bill was a short man with blonde hair parted to the side. He wore glasses with thick, coke-bottle lenses that magnified his eyes and made him look perpetually surprised.
Mike wore shirts that were too tight and had a belly that was too big. He suffered from alopecia, a disorder that meant he had no hair—no eyebrows, no eyelashes, nothing. He laughed with a squeal that was almost insufferable, and he always seemed happier than anyone had any right to be.
Jess and Octavia were odd in their own right. Jess had bright red, frizzy hair (and never call her Jessica) while Octavia was black with straight hair. Jess was white, Octavia black, but the two swore they were twin sisters. Outside their thinness—Richard sometimes wondered if they ever consumed calories at all—they looked absolutely nothing alike. Still, if you asked them, they were identical twins.
Andrew might have been the oddest of the group, though in a different way. He looked the most normal, dressing like any modern-day businessman. Button up, collared shirt, slacks, black or brown shoes. The problem was, and what really made Richard nervous was that he always spoke to someone who didn’t exist.
Andrew said she was real. Andrew would kill someone if they said anything that even hinted that she might not exist. But, if existence meant anyone else could see or interact with her, then she didn’t exist.
Richard honestly didn’t know what Andrew was doing, only that he talked to this imaginary person like they were best friends.
Richard stood ‘in front’ of these five people. The ones who founded the Following and controlled all the offshoot sects and factions. Whatever else these five might be, they certainly had foresight.
Mike, Jess, and Octavia all sat at a wooden table. Andrew leaned against a wall to the side of the room while Bill sat cross-legged on t
he floor, playing solitaire.
Andrew’s arms were crossed over his chest. “So, Richard, it looks like our plans have been foiled again.”
Bill didn’t look up from his card game. “Foiled, foiled, foiled.”
Andrew raised a finger and pointed to his left, at the imaginary person. “She doesn’t like it.”
What the hell is her name? Richard thought but did not ask.
“We called you here to find out what happened,” Octavia informed him.
Jess nodded. “My sister and I are very curious about that, given the last time you spoke to us, you said things had been taken care of in Miami.”
Bill flipped a card onto the floor. “Taken care of. That’s what you said.” He looked at the card. “Son-of-a-bitch.”
Mike squealed his pig-like laugh. “Bill’s a riot, ain’t he?”
Richard waited for the Five to stop speaking—this was how it always went. They always talked like this, but eventually quieted down enough to let him answer their damned questions.
Richard cleared his throat. “It appears that our colleagues in Miami underestimated the FBI and the university’s students.” His voice was clear and loud, spreading out across the chamber.
Andrew turned to his left. “I know, I know.” He looked back at Richard. “She says that’s obvious, and not what anyone here is asking. We want to know what happened.”
Andrew didn’t take his arms off his chest, and Richard felt that was a good thing. Any movement by Andrew could mean Richard’s painful death.
A month had passed since the disaster in Miami. Richard had spent that time trying to figure out what had gone wrong, which wasn’t easy, given Miami was effectively controlled by ghosts.
“The two women’s names were Marilyn and Tina. They trapped the leprechaun who assisted in the Boston cult’s demise and used him for bait to lure the FBI down to Miami. There was a battle at the witches' choosing, which they lost. Marilyn is dead, killed by the students’ leader. Tina was wounded but not killed. She’s in an FBI black site right now. Miami is still evacuated, with the government working on plans to eradicate the ghosts.”
Richard grew quiet. He’d been succinct and to the point.
Bill flipped another card down. He smiled broadly. “Jess, can you ask him why in the name of the Wizard-of-fucking-Oz he allowed those two psychopaths to operate down there?”
Jess nodded, obviously not going to repeat the question.
Richard kept his eyes on the three sitting at the table. “I reported back after my last conversation with them. Everyone here agreed to let them operate under the assumption that they would create chaos, and that we could expand in other areas of the country while they worked. Unfortunately, their chaos did not last long enough.”
Andrew shook his head. “No. It didn’t. What can this Tina witch tell them about us?”
“Not a lot,” Richard responded. “She’s seen me, but that’s all. Original communications, some terminology, but not much else.”
“Can you kill her?” Octavia asked.
Mike squealed, his fat belly jiggling beneath his tight green t-shirt.
“I would need to enter the FBI black site, which is possible. But I’m not sure killing the witch is in our best interest.”
“She wants to know why?” Andrew asked. He glanced to his left. “You don’t have to keep repeating the question. I heard you the first time.”
Despite their power, Richard knew more about what was happening on the ground. The answer was obvious. “If Tina dies, our stranglehold on Miami dies with her. Most of the ghosts, if not all of them, will disappear. It’s the spells they cast that are keeping the ghosts active there, and if neither of them is alive to maintain it, then the spell vanishes.”
Bill finally looked up, his coke-bottle glasses magnifying his face. He stared at Richard, though he spoke to Jess. “Jess, ask this diddly-fuck pea-brained dope if it’s better to have them interview the witch or lose Miami.”
Richard kept his gaze on Jess as she nodded at him. Not for the first time, he wondered if Bill had Tourette’s syndrome. “I don’t think Tina knows enough to hurt us. There is a chance the ghosts could spread out from Miami, thus creating more terror and diverting more resources. In my professional opinion, I think we should leave the witch alone. Let her rot in the FBI cell.”
“Rot!” Mike screamed. He put his hand over his belly as if that could somehow stop the thing from its monstrous shakes. “In his professional opinion! Let her rot!”
Bill shook his head and looked back down at his cards. “Fat boy loves to laugh.”
Andrew uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands into his pocket.
Richard kept watching from the corner of his eyes. Andrew’s hands were dangerous.
“She says to tell him about the Midwest,” Andrew instructed.
Mike’s laughter subsided. “The Midwest, yes, yes. There’s stuff going on in the Midwest. Nebraska.”
“Well, that should solve every-fucking-thing,” Bill mumbled as he flipped another card down. “Jess tell this diddley-fuck what’s happening in Nebraska. Fat boy isn’t saying anything.”
Mike laughed silently, though his belly still shook.
It wasn’t Jess who spoke this time, but Octavia. “The Veil is tearing in the skies. Only at night. It started a few days ago, and it hasn’t been reported on in any wide scale yet. Much of the world is too concentrated on Miami to deal with anything else. Do we have any operatives in Nebraska?”
Richard shook his head. “No. The state’s population is too dispersed for maximum effect.”
“Do you have any idea what might be happening?” Octavia asked.
“No,” Richard replied. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Octavia stopped talking, and Jess picked up without missing a beat. “We believe the FBI is aware of this tearing, and are, or will be, sending agents out there to view it. We want you to do the same, and if possible, kill the FBI agents. We don’t know how large of a cohort they’re sending, but the more you can kill, the happier we all will be.”
Bill shook his head, his lips twisting into a look of disgust. “Jess, tell this poophead fuck that he hasn’t made me very happy lately. Not very happy at all.”
Andrew glared. “You haven’t made her very happy, either.”
His hands were still in his pockets, so Richard was fine with that.
Mike sat up some. “I’m happy. Happy as a clam in shit.” He was smiling, though Richard didn’t understand his reference at all.
It didn’t matter. Richard had his marching orders.
“I’ll go see what’s happening in Nebraska and report back. If I can, I’ll kill any agents I come across.”
Chapter Two
Grassy land stretched as far as Remington could see.
Lance sat next to him, staring out of the car’s window. “Sometimes I think it would be nice to move to a place like this. Somewhere away from the city. Quieter. More peaceful. Then I get here, and all I can think is it’ll take me an hour to find a McDonald’s and that I should forget about any real entertainment.”
Remington chuckled but said nothing. The sun was falling and night coming down across the Nebraska prairie. Remington and Lance had arrived this afternoon, dropped their bags in a twin bed motel room, then checked up on email and other work matters. They were here for one reason, to observe what the whispered rumors were about.
Both Remington and Lance were nervous about this particular assignment, not because the danger was obvious, but because of how this apparent tear was occurring. Things crossed through the Veil on a regular basis. The Internet was full of videos showing such things happening.
What didn’t happen was the Veil tearing but nothing coming through, and now the Veil was tearing night after night in one spot, but no Mythers crossed over.
All the FBI’s information said that no cults existed in Nebraska—so why would the Veil open in this one particular spot?
Neither o
f them knew what the hell was actually happening out here, and more, neither had time to deal with it. They still had Miami to deal with, which was a growing shit storm if Remington had ever seen one, plus their recruitment duties, plus the possibility of the western university being taken underneath the FBI’s aegis. Not to mention the various Veil crossings.
There was also some kind of new mythical video game causing problems in California.
It gave Remington a headache just thinking about it all.
Lance spoke from the car’s passenger side. “I’m worried about Frank.”
Let’s add more to these headaches, Remington thought. “Why?”
“He’s not talking to anyone. Not even Claire. No contact with her at all.” Lance glanced at Remington. “Have you heard from him?”
Remington kept his eyes looking out the front window. “You’d know if I had. He did this last time, though. He disappeared.”
Lance shrugged. “Yeah, but last time we knew his whereabouts. Now he’s disappeared. We don’t even know what state he’s in.”
Remington smiled. “If I didn’t know better, Agent Lance, I’d think you actually care for our green Myther.”
Lance rolled his eyes. “I know he’s okay physically. I just wonder about his mental state.”
Paranormal University: Third Semester: An Unveiled Academy Novel Page 1