The Gateway Trackers Books 1 & 2

by E. E. Holmes

  Campbell, meanwhile, had inclined his head lovingly toward this creature, as though in an embrace. I leaned forward, straining every sensory and extra-sensory muscle I had, trying to hear or sense what the “angel” was saying. I gleaned nothing, and instead had to concentrate on fighting my headache and dizziness, which were both building steadily.

  “Marigold!” Campbell shouted suddenly. “Marigold Jackson! Your beloved husband Harold is with you again today. He sits beside you, in that very chair. Although it appears empty to you, I assure you it’s anything but!”

  Every head whipped around in fascination at the woman named Marigold. She was perhaps in her late fifties, and well preserved, no doubt, by a good deal of skillfully executed plastic surgery. Clutching convulsively at a string of pearls around her neck, she turned, with her eyes full of tears, to stare into the air beside her—air which I could clearly see was indeed occupied by the spirit of a man with a mustache, a receding hairline, and an indignant expression.

  “Don’t you talk to her!” he shouted in a Texas drawl, shaking an angry fist at Campbell. “Pick on someone else, why don’t you, and leave my wife alone!”

  Marigold, oblivious to her husband’s protests, cried, “Harold! Oh, Harold, I just knew you were here. I could sense it. I could just sense it!” She dug into her purse, extracted a wad of tissues, and began sniffing noisily into them.

  “Harold, if there’s anything you’d like to say to your wife, she’s here! She’s listening,” Campbell urged. His expression was eager and open, and he was looking in the direction of the chair Harold was indeed occupying. However, it was quite obvious Campbell had no idea that Harold, as he continued to shake his angry fist, was not sitting in that chair, but standing upon it.

  “I’ve got something I’d like to say to you!” Harold shouted. “You’ve got some nerve, tricking my wife into coming here and squandering all our money on your parlor tricks! She never had any sense when it came to money, that’s nothing new! Jewelry, shoes, that ridiculous elliptical exercise contraption she bought off the TV! She probably won’t even touch the damn thing! But that’s nothing compared to this foolishness! You’re nothing but a swindler, that’s what you are! A low-down swindler who oughta be in jail!”

  Some of the other spirits were protesting now too, shouting their support for Harold’s tirade. Campbell seemed oblivious to all of it; he was listening intently to his “angel.” A moment or two later, though, Campbell chuckled and shook his head.

  “Now Marigold,” Campbell began, shaking his finger at her as if she were a naughty puppy, “Harold asks you to have a bit more sense with how you’re spending your money! He says he’s not convinced you’ll even use the elliptical machine you bought off the TV!”

  Marigold’s mouth fell open, then she began to laugh through her tears. She faced Harold again, although her eyes were focused on his sizable belly rather than his face. “Oh, my stars! I’m sorry, cupcake, but the before-and-after pictures were mighty impressive.”

  Almost everyone among the living laughed, Campbell included.

  “That’s not what I meant!” Harold shouted to Campbell over the laughter. “You know that’s not how I meant it!”

  Campbell put his hands up to quiet the continued laughter. “I’m glad we can find humor even amid our grief, but let’s not lose sight of the fact that Harold is watching out for you Marigold. Even now, he wants to make sure you’re taken care of.”

  Marigold’s eyes filled with tears again, although the smile remained on her face. “That’s my Harold. He always took such good care of me!”

  “Well, now you need to take good care of yourself, Marigold,” Campbell said solemnly. “That’s what Harold wants now. So rein in those frivolous purchases, young lady! Harold left you quite comfortable, but you mustn’t expend your resources on home shopping channels, alright?”

  Marigold continued to laugh and cry simultaneously. Harold sat down, muttering under his breath. I picked out the words “durn snake-oil salesman” before he faded completely from sight.

  “Good then,” Campbell said, with his winning smile still lighting his features. “Let’s see who else is with us—hidden from our sight, but never from our hearts.” As he closed his eyes once more, I leaned forward, catching Milo’s eye; I raised my eyebrows at him.

  “Oh, right!” he said loudly, suddenly remembering that he was supposed to try to get himself noticed. He stood up and started waving his arms; his calls joined those of the other spirits vying for Campbell’s attention.

  “Hey! Mr. Campbell! Over here! I need to talk to Hannah! Please, Mr. Campbell, I have an important message for her!” Milo was truly made for this role; no one could demand attention quite like he could.

  Campbell, his eyes closed, sat listening intently for a moment. Then he opened his eyes again and looked right at me. My heart skipped a beat before I realized Campbell was actually looking just next to me, where Milo had positioned himself.

  “Let’s all welcome our newest guests, Hannah and Jessica Taylor!” announced Campbell, with what sounded very convincingly like true warmth in his voice. “And of course, their dear friend, Milo Chang.”

  Everyone turned to us, offering greetings. An elderly man several rows ahead of us actually got up and came over to shake our hands. Panicking in the sudden spotlight—and unable to think of a valid reason for using force against a little old man—I plastered on a smile and let him wring my hand enthusiastically.

  “I hope our proceedings this morning have gone a step further towards convincing you that you are in the right place,” Campbell said, looking at us expectantly.

  “Thank you,” I muttered in a tiny voice. Hannah, barely audible, echoed me.

  “I know you’ve come here after the terrible loss of your friend Milo. I’m so privileged to be the one to help cast off the veil of darkness in your lives!” And here Campbell walked to the nearest window and threw back the curtain with a flourish, causing the morning sunlight to stream into the room. “Your friend Milo has indeed joined us, and it seems he’s quite eager to speak with you!”

  Hannah snapped into action, gazing around as though she couldn’t see Milo next to me.

  “Milo? Your dear friends are eager for your message. What have you come to share with them today?” Campbell asked, staring at the place where Milo indeed was.

  Milo took a deep breath he didn’t actually need, and spoke his rehearsed words loudly and clearly, “I need Hannah to know something. I’m not mad at her, about the fight we had before I died. I know she feels guilty, but she shouldn’t. I loved her like a sister—and siblings always fight a little. It was just a stupid disagreement about a boy who really doesn’t matter. Can you tell her that? Please? She’s torturing herself. She really shouldn’t be doing that… she’ll make herself sick! Once I know she’s forgiven herself, I can move on.”

  Everyone waited in the silence as Campbell received Milo’s message through the mouthpiece of his angel.

  “Milo’s message is for you, Hannah,” Campbell said, extending his arms toward her as though he half-expected her to run into them. “He knows you’re feeling guilty about the argument you had before he died. He says that it wasn’t important—just a silly fight about a boy who doesn’t matter. He’s insisting that you stop torturing yourself before you make yourself sick.”

  Hannah covered her face with her hands to hide her utter lack of emotion; it would’ve been nice if she could’ve produced a few crocodile tears, but that sort of thing just wasn’t in her. I flung an arm around her shoulders and pretended to comfort her amid the crowd’s applause and “hallelujahs!”

  “You see the peace and joy this place can bring!” Campbell cried out. “I hope this means the Taylor girls will be with us for quite some time now! What a blessing to stay connected with those we love, even after they’ve left the living world!”

  “But Mr. Campbell,” Milo pleaded, “can you ask her if she’ll forgive herself? She needs to, for both of us to mo
ve on!” But Campbell, flushed and euphoric by his own success, had already moved on; he closed his eyes and swayed on the spot, waiting for his angel to find him another spirit.

  “Is… do you think he’s okay?” I whispered to Hannah, under the guise of continuing to comfort her. Campbell’s face was getting rosier by the minute. He was sweating profusely and his eyes, when he opened them, had taken on a glassy quality, like someone with a raging fever. “He looks sick.”

  “I don’t know, but if he doesn’t wrap this up soon, I’m going to be sick,” Hannah mumbled back to me. “I think my head might explode if we don’t get away from that angel thing soon. I can barely see.”

  “Yeah, me too. Just try to hang in a little longer.” We probably could’ve excused ourselves under the guise of emotional distress, but I didn’t want to miss any of this session; this could be our only chance to really watch Campbell in action.

  “Another message!” Campbell cried, raising a trembling finger and pointing toward the back of the room. Talia let out a soft cry of joy and looked expectantly around, but the name that Campbell called out next was not hers.

  “Moira and Tom Owens! Kyle is here with us today and is eager to speak with you!” Campbell cried. The rest of the guests—and the spirits—quieted down at once, eager to hear the next message.

  I was far more interested in Talia than I was in whatever message Campbell had for Moira and Tom Owens. I watched as Talia tore her face from her trembling hands, behind which she’d been sobbing silently, and attempted to pull herself together. I forced myself to turn back toward Campbell before Talia caught me staring again.

  As I turned to the front of the room, a sudden movement in the window behind Campbell caught my eye. There stood Grayson Allard, his face twisted in absolute agony, watching Talia. It was clear he wanted to go to her and comfort her, but he seemed unable to enter the room, as if he were somehow barred. Why didn’t he just come in? There were no Wards that I could see, and Warding against only one specific spirit was truly high-level Durupinen stuff—I honestly didn’t think Campbell could manage it without Fairhaven-type training. Then I saw Grayson look up at Campbell; his eyes flashed with such unmitigated rage that it actually took my breath away.

  “What’s wrong?” Hannah whispered to me under the continued applause.

  “It’s… I’ll tell you later,” I muttered, turning my focus back to the Owenses. Moira and Tom were a couple in their late forties; they were both pale and drawn, and were and clutching at each other’s hands. When their names had been called, they had both closed their eyes and started praying aloud, “Oh thank you, Lord! Thank you!”

  Kyle was the emo-teen who’d been shouting periodically at Campbell throughout this “Communing with the Lost” session. He was tall and thin, with a goth ensemble which rivaled my own usual attire. When Kyle had heard Campbell call his name, he’d flown forward, coming to rest about a foot in front of Campbell’s platform. The hostility radiating from his form was nearly as intense as what I’d just seen on Grayson Allard’s face. In fact, there was now so much spirit negativity around me that I was starting to feel it affecting my own mood; it was seeping into me like an infection.

  Kyle hovered confrontationally in front of Campbell. “Yeah, you want a message from the other side, bro?” he screeched, then shot across the room so that he was mere inches from his father’s face. “You see these tears dripping down their faces? You see this remorse? It’s all bullshit, you understand me? Total bullshit! They didn’t love me! Every single day of my life, all they did was tell me just how much of a disappointment I was.” Kyle’s was so upset that he was vibrating, with his edges blurring out of focus, as he flung his accusations at his oblivious parents.

  “I was never smart enough, never athletic enough! My friends weren’t good enough. Nothing I did was ever good enough! It was their fault I got in that car! It was their fucking fault—I was too angry to think straight! If they would’ve laid off me just that once—listened to a single goddamned word I had to say—I wouldn’t be stuck here, missing out on the rest of my life! I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD YET!”

  As Kyle ranted, Campbell, nodding slowly, was listening to his angel. Then he turned to Kyle’s parents, his face transfigured into solemnness. “Kyle says he knows he was going too fast in that car. He says he was too upset and wasn’t thinking clearly. He regrets it deeply, no longer being here to experience life with you.”

  Moira and Tom were sobbing, and babbling to the son they couldn’t see. The other audience members began applauding wildly again. My ears were absolutely ringing with anger at the way Campbell had twisted Kyle’s message. Poor Kyle, whose words fell on deaf ears even after death, was now cursing at the top of his lungs; he’d become a blur of red hot rage. Hannah and I looked at each other.

  “Jess, something’s happening… brace yourself,” Hannah whispered under her breath.

  But I didn’t need telling. We’d both felt it before. The building up of spirit energy, like steam in a kettle, like too much hot air in a balloon. I felt it concentrating behind me; I turned just in time to see two figures barreling into the room. The first was Grayson Allard, who flew right at Talia, knocking her from her seat. With my heart in my mouth, I realized the second figure was Finn—and he was running right at us.

  16

  Behind the Mask

  THE BACK WINDOWS EXPLODED IN A HAILSTORM OF GLASS, which sliced through the thick curtains as if they weren’t even there. Needling shards flew everywhere. Finn had leapt on top of us just in time, pulling us both to the ground and shielding us from the debris. All around us, people had dropped to the floor with their arms over their heads; a few were still screaming. Lying on my stomach, I arched my neck just enough to see Campbell on his knees beneath his grand piano, cowering as though a bomb had gone off.

  Well, a bomb had gone off. An enraged, disembodied spirit-bomb.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Finn’s face was pressed to my hair, with his lips against my ear. A shudder ran through my entire body that had nothing to do with the stress of the explosion and everything to do with his unbearable closeness. For one wild instant, I forgot everything except his mouth’s being a fraction of an inch away from the curve of my neck. His panting breaths raised goose bumps all over my body. “Please,” I thought, “Please just turn me around and kiss me right now.”

  Then I remembered where I was and mentally dope-slapped myself back into reality.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine. Get off us!” I gasped.

  Finn jumped nimbly up and extended a hand to both Hannah and me, pulling us both to our feet simultaneously.

  “How did you know the explosion was coming?” I asked him, avoiding his gaze as I rubbed the goose bumps from my forearms. “You were halfway across the room before it even happened.”

  “I felt it building up. Didn’t you?” Finn answered, still panting a little.

  “We knew something was going to happen, yeah,” Hannah said.

  All around us, frightened guests were helping each other up and brushing bits of glass off of their clothes. I scanned the spirit population for any sign of Kyle, but he had vanished. And so had Grayson Allard.

  Talia crouched on the floor alone, looking wildly around for the person who’d shielded her from the blast. Not a single shard of glass lay within a foot of her; it was as though Grayson had created a protective bubble around her with his energy.

  Burly men in Whispering Seraph staff shirts came running from all directions, calling out instructions to each other and shouting for Campbell.

  “I’m here, I’m here,” Campbell called in a shaky voice as he crawled out from beneath the piano. Two of the security staff ran to him and tried to help him to his feet, but he batted their hands away. “Leave me alone. I’m fine, perfectly fine! Help the guests! Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?”

  Miraculously, it didn’t seem as if anybody was injured. There was no blood on any of the frightened faces in the crowd. Camp
bell dropped his gaze a moment, muttering under his breath, and then realized his angel had taken flight. He took a long breath, then looked around the drawing room before letting out a deep, confident laugh. The sound was so unexpected that several people began staring at him as though they thought he, too, might explode.

  “Well, that wasn’t very polite, now was it?” Campbell said, still laughing.

  The crowd, agog, was clearly bewildered as to what Campbell found so very humorous in this moment.

  “I really must apologize. I didn’t foresee that kind of enthusiasm in one of my communication sessions, but I suppose that’s what I get for opening our doors so wide. Please, before y’all start packing your bags, let me explain what’s happened here.”

  All around us, expressions began to calm at the soothing, self-assured tone of Campbell’s voice. As the crowd relaxed a measure, he continued, “It seems we had so many eager spirits here—so many waiting for their turn—that we experienced a short-circuit. Just too much of a good thing! We blew a spirit fuse!”

  Campbell laughed again—and this time, a few of the guests laughed along with him. I couldn’t force myself to join in. Neither, it seemed, could Talia, whose own security had arrived and was now towering over her as she settled back into her seat. Her eyes were still darting around the room, and she was vigorously rubbing at a spot on her upper arm; it was the spot, no doubt, where Grayson’s spirit form had made contact with her.