When Anna stepped back out onto Eden Street, she breathed in the warm, moist September air and looked up at the luminous streaks of pink and green trailing across the sky. The aurora borealis was visible at night now because of the solar storms. A part of her recognized its beauty, but she was scared, too, for herself and for her friends. Penelope’s murder, Cindy’s uncharacteristic viciousness, the way Pickens boldly offered them alcohol and drugs—it felt like a palpable evil hung in the humid air.
Anna thought about the Catilano girl, desperate to harm the puppy. She thought about her own anger, boiling inside, making her want to hurt someone. If something evil was brewing in Bloomtown, Anna had to figure out how to stop it. She’d lost her mother, but would be damned if she’d sit by and lose anyone else. She’d rather cross into Source.
But her sense of purpose and clarity was quickly overwhelmed by a thumping in her skull. The pain behind her eyes mocked her. Who are you to figure anything out, Goblin Girl?
PART TWO
Electrical Ghosts
Chapter Seven
The New Elf
Friday afternoon, Anna and Jack were shoulder to shoulder by the front door, peering over the Mountain of Mail through the sliver of accessible window to the street outside. Jack’s new assistant had called from Route 33 and was due to arrive at any moment.
When the bright yellow hybrid hatchback came into sight, its right front wheel was already on the sidewalk. The extremely blonde woman behind the wheel hit the brakes, but her front bumper still banged into the Fagan mailbox. She put the hatchback in reverse and backed off of the sidewalk, bouncing onto the street before slowly pulling into the driveway with one hand covering her mouth.
“That must be Ms. Sanders,” Jack said flatly, opening the front door. Anna trailed behind him to the driveway, trying not to smirk.
After parking behind Jack’s sedan, Geneva Sanders, aka the New Elf, flung the driver’s-side door open, frantically apologizing as the busted GPS inside her hatchback repeated, “You have reached your destination. You have reached your destination.” She turned the engine off and emerged from the car.
Clearly not someone concerned with the latest trends, Geneva wore a rainbow-colored tie-dye tank top accessorized by a thin chain necklace adorned with a quartz crystal. There was a wet stain on her long, billowy yellow skirt. She had a thing for yellow, it seemed. Not exactly what Anna imagined from a woman with a PhD in electrical engineering.
“What was I thinking?” Geneva said. “Well, I wasn’t thinking.” She took a much needed inhale. “I was on the phone—dumb, I know—and spilled my coffee.” She looked down at the stain on her skirt. “Turned the wheel by mistake and then overcorrected and—I am so sorry. How embarrassing.”
Geneva’s expression became unreadable as she assessed their overgrown front yard.
“Are you hurt?” Jack said.
“Just my pride.” The sound of harps and a soft rain billowed from Geneva’s hatchback. “That’s my phone,” she said, rummaging through her purse. “Oh it’s in my car. Do you mind?”
“Please,” Jack said. “Go ahead.”
Geneva opened her passenger-side door and searched for her phone. She emerged with her cell in one hand and a long black case in the other.
“Geneva Sanders,” she said, walking over to Anna. “So great to meet you. You must be Jack’s daughter.”
Before Anna could reply, Geneva’s phone started ringing again. Birds were now chirping in the harp-filled rainforest.
“I’ll just send this to voice mail,” Geneva said, tapping her phone—but instead of ending the call, her cell was now in speaker mode. A man’s baritone voice boomed out.
“What’s up, Genie? We got cut off?”
“It’s my lawyer and if I have to call him back, he’ll charge me,” Geneva whispered to Anna and Jack.
“Take your time,” Jack said.
Anna gave Jack a look. He was quite accommodating to someone who’d just smashed the mailbox.
Geneva resumed tapping on her phone to no avail. “It’s frozen,” she said, frowning.
“Gene-genie, is that you?”
“Bill?” she said, “Real quick, because I’m busy at the moment. I got the final papers. Thank you for that. But there was also another invoice from you, and I thought we were all settled up.”
“Yeah, well, what’s-her-name, your ex-husband’s lawyer, had some kind of issue locating my office. So she calls and needs all this information, during my lunch, giving me indigestion—annoying woman—so, I had to charge you.”
Geneva rubbed the crystal on her necklace between her thumb and index finger.
“What I hear you saying, Bill, is that she called to…verify your address?”
“Yeah, something like that. I had the receptionist handle it. This ain’t a sweatshop, know what I’m saying? A man’s gotta eat!”
Geneva rubbed away. “I’m not judging you, Bill, but I feel uncomfortable with you charging—”
“Correspondence! You makin’ me go through this again, my little Genie in a bottle? An email, a phone call, a letter, it’s cor-re-spon-dence! Every correspondence is billable. Not my fault your ex hired a bonehead to represent him. You married him. Responsibility! Gene-genie-bambini! Own it!”
Geneva inhaled and let the air out slowly.
“So, we're done now, Bill? No more invoices?”
“You’re done with that cheatin' S.O.B., thanks to me. Move on and god bless. This call will be another two hundred and fifty, then you’re done with me, too. I’m gonna miss you, Gene-genie. Better pay me, though, or I'll sue you. Ha! I crack myself up.”
He hung up.
Geneva released her crystal and looked at Jack and Anna.
“Your mailbox,” Geneva said.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jack said, dismissing the mangled mailbox with a wave and eyeing the long black case that Geneva had retrieved from her hatchback. “Whatcha got there?”
“Oh! My invention.” Geneva lifted up the case and something rattled about inside it. “Might need to tighten a few screws after that fender bender.”
A gust of wind swept through the tall grass in the Fagan yard, revealing an upside-down blue sled, the paint chipped and weathered, that served as a makeshift trunk for bundles of Frisbees wrapped with twine. Back when Jack mowed the lawn and Helen sanded table tops in the garage, sending clouds of dust into the driveway, Anna, Dor and Freddy had invented a game for the hottest of summer days. To score a point, they had to jump through the sprinkler in the front yard while catching a Frisbee. They called the game Up Chuck, a name they were required to scream when a point was scored. The neighbors weren’t amused. Little did those neighbors know how bad living next to the Fagans would get.
Geneva squinted at the hoard pile for a moment and then moved on. “Anyway, my invention,” she said, “is revolutionary. What I mean is that it will…revolutionize the industry.”
Now she was gazing past Anna and Jack to the bulging, cracked garage door. In one high corner, a stain crawled over the paint. Something was leaking through the door. Impressive. Even for Jack.
Thrown, Geneva continued. “That is…I could use your influence to help market it and…it could be marketed.”
Geneva rubbed her crystal and closed her eyes, taking several breaths while Jack and Anna fidgeted.
“Mr. Fagan, what I meant to say is that my invention makes it possible to view 3-D, real-time images of electromagnetic fields. Paranormal investigators, such as yourself, have been held back for decades by the use of EMF readers that only give needle readings. With my invention you can isolate, visualize and document EMF anomalies in a way that's never been done before. Now”—Geneva fumbled in her purse, taking out a checkbook—“I owe you for the mailbox.”
“I’d love to take a look at that invention of yours once you settle in,” Jack said. “As for the mailbox, let’s worry about that after we set up shop at the new office.” He looked at her hatchback. “Have r
oom in there for a box or two? I’d ask you inside for some coffee but the place is a bit of a mess.”
A bit of a mess. Jack had a never-ending supply of euphemisms for his hoard.
Anna helped load up Geneva’s hatchback and Jack’s sedan with boxes—without having to be asked. She was trying to stay under her father’s radar because she had a plan, one he’d definitely not approve.
Despite the distraction of Geneva’s presence, the ache of Penelope’s death remained so acute that Anna barely registered the thudding in her head. Relief would only come with some semblance of justice. Izzy needed to pay and Anna was going make sure he did, all by herself. First revenge, then she could focus on whatever bad juju was unfolding in Bloomtown. She dropped a box of case files into Jack’s trunk with stony resolve, wondering if this was how it felt to be an adult.
Once all of the boxes were crammed into the cars, they drove seven blocks up Eden Street, made a right on Washington and pulled into the sand and gravel driveway of a gray-shingled ranch house shadowed by towering pines. There was a “Rented by Saul Gleason, Bloomtown’s Top Realtor!” sign planted in the front yard. It featured a head-shot of Saul grinning with the condescending charm of a game-show host. Anna avoided his plastic eyes.
Jack unlocked the front door and the three of them stepped inside a spacious living room. Sunlight hit freshly painted cream-colored walls. Furniture delivered the day before was unpacked and ready for assembly. The living room would serve as Jack’s new office, while Geneva would be provided with free room and board in a bedroom down the hallway.
“So that's what a floor looks like,” Anna said, admiring the newly finished wood floor.
An hour later, Anna and Jack were sliding drawers into a file cabinet when Geneva came in the front door holding a large round mirror.
“It'll make the room look bigger,” Geneva said.
“Where did you find that?” Jack asked.
“My trunk. It miraculously survived.”
“You're not responsible for any of the furnishing. It's included in your room and board.”
“Oh!” she said, self-conscious. “I thought I’d contribute. Am I overstepping?”
“Not at all.” Jack was adamant. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”
They smiled at each other like goofballs.
The sugary exchange made Anna shudder. Who was this fancy new assistant with a PhD, anyway? When Jack left to pick up more boxes from the Eden Street house, Anna asked Geneva about her background in the supernatural.
“I studied incidents of paranormal activity in a lab setting: a psychic describing hidden objects, a medium communicating with the dead relatives of grad students,” Geneva said. “But I have little real-world experience. Why don’t you fill me in on the family business?”
Geneva sure turned that around quickly. Impressed, Anna searched for how to begin.
“Let’s start with your standard ghost, a human spirit,” Anna said, filing a poltergeist case in the new cabinet. “Who’s confused and doesn't want to leave their home, dorm room, favorite restaurant, whatever. Those cases are simple. You get their attention, tell them they're dead and that it’s time to move on. Most of them get it and leave. If not we’ll do a cleansing to push them out, or bring in a medium to talk them over.
“Jack also works on nonhuman spirit cases, but nothing genuinely evil. Tricksters, for example, can attach to and move objects. They like to hide keys, wallets, glasses, socks, remote controls. Slide furniture around a room a little each day, stuff like that. They play head games but don’t do any real harm.”
“If they’re not human spirits, what are they?”
Anna shrugged. “We can’t say for sure. Jack thinks they might not be spirits at all, but some kind of life-form we don’t understand. Maybe from another dimension. Holy water works on them, too, though. You only need a small spritz to send them packing. Where they go—into Source or back to wherever they call home—is unknown.”
“Tricksters,” Geneva said. “Fascinating. I hope I get to see one.”
“You won’t. They’re invisible. And you might change your tune if you had one blowing in your ear all night or snagging one of your favorite earrings, but yeah, I guess the brats are somewhat intriguing. Next on the rundown of pesky nonhuman spirits are the infamous, but again, not that dangerous, shadow people.”
Geneva’s eyes went wide. “I heard about them. The tall ones, right?”
“Yep, tall, scrawny, humanoid in shape. Also of unknown origin. They give off an icky vibe but rarely attack people. When they do, they just kind of rush through them, scaring people but not injuring them. They prefer to hover in corners of dark rooms, observing people, which can be terrifying, obviously, for anyone who sees them. But those who encounter a shadow person are normally terrified to begin with, because shadow people appear in homes already experiencing paranormal activity. Lucky for us, they are skittish and avoid confrontation, and, like Tricksters, a quick spray of holy water usually gets rid of them.
“It’s the human spirits who attach to objects and hang on tight; they'd rather spend eternity in a hatbox or an accordion than cross over. The powerful ones can also attach to people, even possess them temporarily, but it’s rare. Clearing haunted objects of their spirit attachments is my dad's specialty, and the real moneymaker.”
Geneva furrowed her brow. “Why wouldn’t they want to cross over?”
“Some have no idea they’re dead, but it also depends on the spirit’s belief system. Some were mean as hell when they were alive, and they're afraid to face judgment. Others were decent enough but taught to fear the afterlife, so they panic and latch on. If a spirit won’t release their grip on an object, we weaken them by binding them with holy water. It’s their choice to either cross into Source or remain attached, but they can't do much harm after the binding.”
They took a break and Anna began scrutinizing herself in the new mirror, pulling a section of hair forward to hide her scar. She tried not to think about how much she missed Penelope and hated Izzy, or the hateful way Cindy had lashed out at Doreen. But the sound of Dor’s pillow-muffled sobs remained fresh in her memory.
Anna’s gut told her that the solar flares were somehow behind the malevolent upsurge in Bloomtown, but now she wasn’t so sure. The sun storms were affecting a large part of the hemisphere, and the world wasn’t falling apart any more than usual. If it wasn’t the solar flares, then what else could bring out so much ugliness in people? Anna sucked in air. Tricksters. Of course. Driving people crazy was their jam. Maybe Bloomtown had been invaded by an unusually hostile breed of Tricksters not content with simply annoying their targets. Maybe they wanted to hurt them too. A fresh pain flared in her head, redirecting her focus. First she needed to avenge Penelope’s death, then she’d ask Jack to help tackle Bloomtown’s possible downward spiral. Anna was so engrossed that she didn’t notice Geneva standing beside her until she spoke.
“Mirrors can be a doorway into your soul,” Geneva said, “if you really look at yourself.”
“Huh? I am looking at myself.”
“True,” Geneva said, “I mean, look into yourself.” She addressed Anna’s reflection in the mirror. “Supposedly, if you can quiet the chatter in your mind and then look deeply into your own eyes, your soul can leave your body and travel through the astral plane, the first level of Source, as you call it.”
“What do you call Source?”
“I think of it as an infinite sea of quantum possibilities.”
“Where does your soul go?” Anna asked.
“Anywhere. Any time,” Geneva said. “It’s been reported that there are no limits, that your thoughts guide your journey. Whatever, whenever, you think about. Pop. You're there. It’s not easy, though, I hear. Going out of body isn’t for the weak. You have to be brave.”
During Anna’s encounter with Source, that night years ago with Mary-the-child-bride, the light had been beautiful. But it frightened Anna, too, how the light had pulled on h
er, and how badly she’d wanted to disappear into it, even if it meant leaving her father behind.
As if on cue, Jack appeared, paintbrush in hand. “Want to see your new room?”
Geneva squeezed Anna’s shoulder. “You come, too.”
Anna followed them down the hall into one of the ranch house’s two small bedrooms. The other bedroom was for “storage,” and Jack had sworn not to stuff it with his things.
Geneva’s bedroom was bright, airy, and clean, just like the rest of the house. Jack had painted it a pale shade of warm yellow. He hovered by the doorway, not sure where to put his hands.
“It feels so good in here,” Geneva said.
Anna had to agree.
“I ordered you a mattress.” Jack cleared his throat. “Not just a mattress, but…a headboard, too, bedding, the whole shebang. It should all arrive tomorrow.”
Oh my god. Was he blushing? He was. All afternoon he’d stole glances at his new apprentice, and Anna wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Had he looked at her mother like that when they first met, before they fell in love and began dreaming of a life together? The thought thickened her throat.
Geneva ran her finger along the top of the bookcase next to her bed.
“I have the strongest sense of déjà vu,” she said. “Some people think that's a sign, that you're right where you're supposed to be.”
Jack nodded like he knew exactly what Geneva meant, but his puzzled eyes told another story. Anna, however, did understand. There was something about Geneva that felt familiar.
“Tonight,” Jack said, “I’ll clear off space on the couch for you to sleep on back at the house.”
“Nice sales job, Dad.”
“Um, thanks, but a hotel is good,” Geneva said.
Once they finished for the day, the three of them took a last look around.
“Looks great,” Jack said.
And it did, like a new beginning.
The Ghost Hunter's Daughter Page 7