White Spirit

by Amy Ravenel

  His back slammed into the wall with a loud thump. Sticking to it like a fly in a spider’s web, he pushed against the unseen force holding him. He used every ounce of his strength, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  The White Lady turned back to her prey. Her glow brightened. She pulled her arm back and threw the man down the stairs. He was nothing more than a rag doll. He landed at the bottom with a sickening crack, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

  The ghost’s eyes changed back to green as her hair settled onto her shoulders. “They have to pay.” She vanished into thin air.

  Tristan slid down the wall, his body aching. He crawled to the fallen man. Dead brown eyes stared at him. Tristan’s stomach heaved. He knew him, had seen him a day ago. It was Paul Martin.

  “McKenna? Can you hear me?” A warm hand touched her forehead. “Mac?”

  McKenna’s eyelids fluttered open. Everything was fuzzy and a blob of color hovered above her. She blinked, and her eyes focused, little by little. Tabitha looked down at her, the lights giving her pink and blond hair a halo effect. McKenna held up a hand to block out the blaring glow. She groaned with the effort; her arm weighed a ton.

  “What happened?” Her voice sounded rough and raw to her own ears. She licked her dry lips. Her body begged for something to drink.

  “On camera, it looked like the ghost sucked the life out of you. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Tabitha helped McKenna sit up. “Are you okay?”

  McKenna sucked in a breath, her whole body aching. “I feel like a bus hit me.” She rubbed her burning chest. To her relief, her heart still beat underneath her hand.

  “Here. Drink this.” Tabitha pushed a glass of water into McKenna’s still trembling hands.

  McKenna gulped it down. The water was sweet and cold and answered her every prayer. She set the empty glass on the ground and tried to piece together her memories. The White Lady had come at her, dropping her like a stone. Then the ghost went through the door. What happened next? Drew! She heard the door open, heard him scream. Her eyes widened.

  “Drew!” She struggled to get off the floor.

  Tabitha held her still. “He’s fine.”

  “I heard him scream.”

  “He and The White Lady were out in the hall. She had him by the throat when Aaron and I got here. Aaron threw salt at her, and she dropped him. And then she disappeared.” Tabitha’s expression was grim.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “She got someone else. We heard him yell.”

  Fear gripped McKenna so hard that it was tough to breathe. “Who?” She tried to stand once more. “Oh, God.” She grabbed Tabitha’s arm. “I have to know.” What if Tristan had come back?

  McKenna struggled to her feet with Tabitha’s help. She gritted her teeth against her aching muscles. She leaned against Tabitha, and they made their way into the hall. Other people had come out of their apartments and crowded the staircase. They pushed through until they could see the bottom of the stairs.

  Tristan, Drew, and Aaron surrounded a body. Tristan stood still, his face white. Drew rubbed the back of his neck while Aaron paced and talked into a cell phone. McKenna let out the breath she had been holding. All three men were safe and whole. But her relief was short-lived. The White lady had killed again, and this time, she had used McKenna to do it.

  McKenna balanced against the banister, reaching out to feel the emotions around her. Maybe she could keep everyone calm. Her hand lost its grip. Tabitha caught her before she fell.

  “What? What is it?” Tabitha asked.

  “I can’t feel anyone.” All she could feel was her own fear.

  Tristan pressed his back against the wall, his hands shaking. Another death, and this time he saw it all. The events repeated in his mind. The White Lady’s eyes flashed red. Mr. Martin’s body flew as if it weighed nothing. His eyes stared at Tristan, open and empty.

  “Mr. Johnson? We need to stop meeting like this.” Detective Thompson narrowed his eyes. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Tristan’s heart sank. How was he going to explain what he saw?

  He cleared his throat and took Thompson through an edited version of events. He recalled how the detectives treated Kayla when she mentioned The White Lady. He told him how he saw Mr. Martin fall from the landing, how it happened so fast, how he rushed to the dead man’s side. Detective Thompson tapped the end of his pen on his notebook. “You’re telling me you saw him fall when you walked up the stairs, but you didn’t see anyone push him?” He pinned Tristan with a glare. “It’s not even that big a flight of stairs.”

  “That’s what I saw, Detective.” Tristan schooled his features to look as neutral as possible. He tried to appear as trustworthy as he could. It was clear Thompson didn’t believe a word of it.

  McKenna limped through the crowd and leaned into him, squeezing his hand. Her presence reassured him, but she looked like she had been through hell. He opened his mouth to ask her if she was all right. She gave a slight shake of her head.

  Thompson shifted his gaze to McKenna. “Which apartment do you live in?”

  “I don’t live here.” She sounded tired and strained. “My colleagues and I were conducting an investigation.”

  Thompson raised an eyebrow. “What kind of investigation?”

  “Paranormal research, sir.”

  Thompson’s mouth quirked at the corners. “Paranormal?”

  McKenna winced as she pulled herself up to her full height. “I’m sure you remember Kayla Collins. She asked us to investigate The White Lady legend.”

  “Oh yeah.” Thompson chuckled. “I remember her statement.” He leaned in closer to her. “Find anything?” Humor laced his tone.

  McKenna didn’t back down. “Possibly.”

  Thompson straightened. “Well, Mr. Johnson, I believe you still have my card.” He handed one to McKenna. “Let me know if you remember anything else. And stay in town. We may have more questions for you.” He moved on to interview the rest of the people in the hallway.

  McKenna let go of Tristan’s hand and pitched sideways. He caught her before she fell. “What’s wrong?” He lowered her to the ground. “What happened?”

  Her blue eyes bore into his, grateful for his help. “The White Lady.”

  Understanding dawned on him. “She used you?” He crouched next her, dreading her answer.

  “Yeah.” She took a deep breath. “She couldn’t find you.”

  The urge to hit something was strong. “I never thought she’d try to use someone else. I didn’t even think.”

  “Not your fault.” She sucked in a breath. “Did you feel like every part of your body was falling apart?”

  “I did.” He tapped his temple. “Can you sense anything?”

  Her eyes widened. “Not a thing. I feel like I’m blind.”

  “It comes back full force after you sleep for a while.”

  “We have to stop this.” McKenna set her jaw. “We can’t let anyone else die.”

  Aaron, Tabitha, and Drew joined them. Judging by their intense expressions, the police had questioned them as well.

  “How are you two doing?” Aaron asked when he reached them.

  McKenna waved and smiled.

  “We’re okay,” Tristan answered.

  Aaron set his mouth in a hard line. “The cops aren’t going to find a human killer with this one. We need to get our equipment and go. I want to see what we caught.”

  “We need to sleep first.” Tabitha crouched beside McKenna. “Or we’re no good to anybody.” She nodded to Tristan. “Can you help me get her up?”

  “I can walk.” McKenna climbed halfway up before sliding back down the wall.

  “No, you can’t.” Tristan hooked one arm under her legs, the other around her back, and lifted her. Her head rested against his chest. He took a deep breath. She was alive. Battered, bruised, and tired, but she was alive.

  “You can put her in my car,” Aaron said.

 
“No, you guys get the rest of the equipment. I’ll take her home.” He waited while Drew programmed McKenna’s address into his phone. He then carried her out to his truck.

  16

  A heavy weight rested on McKenna’s chest. It took more effort than usual to draw breath. Flashes of white danced across her eyelids. The cold stole her breath as a hand thrust into her chest. The image changed as the ghost reached for her head. Something soft and sharp poked her face. It grew more and more insistent until she realized it wasn’t the ghost. She opened her eyes to see Oscar peering at her with his intense green ones. He pawed at her mouth and cheek.

  “Oscar?”

  Satisfied his human was still alive and could, therefore, fill his empty bowl, the cat jumped off her chest. He landed with a thud and trotted out of the room.

  McKenna inhaled, her lungs filling with air, and rubbed her eyes. How had she gotten home? The last thing she remembered was the Hidden Forest stairwell and Mr. Martin’s dead body. Sitting up, she shook out her hair. She wore the same long-sleeved shirt and jeans from the night before. No wonder she was uncomfortable.

  She sucked in a breath as a ton of emotions hit her at once. Happiness’s flutter, worry’s pitch, and excitement’s burst of energy rolled together in a nauseating ball. Black anger joined the chaos. She growled at the clock on her nightstand, but she fought the urge to throw it out of the window. It wasn’t even going off. She pulled back the covers and her throat closed. Tears threatened at the corner of her eyes. Her stomach twisted in knots.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, her whole body shaking. Tristan was right; her empathy had come back at full force. McKenna fought against all the conflicting emotions and focused on her shields. Imaginary iron closed around her, locking all of the feelings out. She concentrated on breathing while visualizing her wall. Bit by bit, the emotions filtered out and lessened.

  When her breathing was normal again, she climbed out of the bed, changed into pajama pants and a loose t-shirt, and padded down the stairs. She paused halfway to the kitchen. Tristan lay on her couch, curls in every direction and his mouth hanging open. He had cocooned himself in the red afghan Grandma Ellison had made for her that hung on the back of the couch.

  “Well, this keeps getting weirder.” She shook his shoulder. “Tristan.” He mumbled and rolled over. She shook harder. “Tristan.”

  He jerked awake. “What?” His bleary green eyes landed on McKenna. “Oh, hi.” He smiled and stretched.

  She settled next to his legs. “You want some coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” He wiped his mouth. “As strong as you can make it.”

  McKenna walked into the kitchen. She watched him through the window in the wall that separated the kitchen and the living room. “Want to tell me why you slept on my couch?”

  Tristan shook out his curls. “I drove you home.”

  “And you had to stay?”

  He blinked at her. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  She bit her bottom lip. Part of her was still mad at him, but her heart swelled at the thought. “You did?” She turned on the coffee maker. “Thank you.” The machine bubbled to life as drops of coffee plinked into the empty pot. McKenna returned to the living room. “I thought you didn’t want me around.”

  Tristan lowered his shoulders. “Maybe I jumped the gun a little bit.”

  She softened. “I did, too. I shouldn’t have pushed.” McKenna took the other end of the couch and pulled the end of the afghan to her chin.

  Tristan shifted closer. “I thought it would be easy, running away again. But when I saw you struggling to stand and then pass out like that, I couldn’t.” His thumb traced her cheek, light and delicate. “I should’ve been there. She was supposed to come after me. I didn’t mean to put you in danger.”

  McKenna caressed the hand on her cheek. “She looked for you, but I’m glad she didn’t find you.” Her face inched closer to his. Butterflies danced in her stomach.

  “I could’ve protected you.”

  “You don’t have…” His mouth touched hers and the sentence flew out of her head. Heat rushed over her body as her lips parted. Her pulse quickened. His hands cradled her face, his kiss hesitant. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. He took her waist and trailed light kisses down her neck. She sighed. On instinct, she reached out for his emotions, and found her own want reflected back to her. The coffeemaker buzzed, breaking the moment.

  He pulled away, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “No.” She smiled. “That was perfect.” A little worry crept in. “I didn’t…influence you, did I?”

  “No. It was all me.”

  “Good.” The rich, warm scent of coffee wafted through the room. “I better get that before it gets cold.” She didn’t move.

  “Yeah. It smells great.” He didn’t let her go.

  With a protesting meow, Oscar jumped between them and stared at Tristan. McKenna took that as her cue to stand.

  The moment gone, she poured coffee into two cups. When she looked up, she saw Tristan petting Oscar’s head. Content, the cat curled in next to him.

  “Cream? Milk? Sugar?” she asked.

  “Just black.”

  She handed Tristan his cup and took a sip of her own. The hot liquid sent a jolt to her already awake system. Glancing at the clock above her television, her happy feeling evaporated. “One o’clock?” She set the cup down and started for her bedroom. “I’m late. Aaron will kill me.”

  Tristan took her hand. “He said you didn’t have to come in today.”

  “But the footage? Mr. Martin’s death?”

  He pulled her down to the couch and rubbed her upper arms. “It can wait. Let’s have some coffee, and then see how you’re doing.”

  McKenna narrowed her eyes. “I’m fine. My empathy came back this morning. I’m good.” She took another sip. “Besides, don’t you have a funeral to go to?”

  “I do. At three. My apartment isn’t far from here. We don’t have to rush.” Tristan sank into the couch and patted the seat next to him. Sighing, McKenna scooted over to him. “It takes a little while to recover.”

  She itched to get to the office. “I don’t have the time.”

  “You’ve got to make the time.” Tristan sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re no good to your team if you pass out again.”

  “You’ve got a point.” She fell back against the cushions. “How long did it take you to get back on your feet?”

  “About a day, but it might be different for you.” He lowered his voice, his tone turning serious. “How are you doing?”

  McKenna twisted to face him. “I told you. I’m good.”

  “I mean about the ghost using you to kill Mr. Martin?”

  She let the words sink in as a black feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. “I hadn’t thought about it.” She nuzzled into his chest. “I know he’s dead, and I know the ghost took energy from me, but it feels like it happened to someone else.” She gasped as the realization dawned on her. “Is this how Jason felt?” Her hands flew to her face. “He never told me. I never thought. Oh, God.”

  McKenna’s impartiality fell apart the more she dwelled on it. When Zack had died, she had seen it as just another case, a way to find out what had happened to her brother. Even after she spoke to Justin and found out the ghost had been using Jason’s psychic energy, it hadn’t dawned on her. He thought he had helped kill two people, like Tristan felt he was responsible for Zack’s death. Like the responsibility she now felt.

  “I know.” Tristan’s deep voice pushed through her thoughts. His arm curled around her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why couldn’t we stop her? Why was she so much stronger than all of us?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She raised her mug. “After this, I need to get to the office.” She paused. “Is my car still at your building?”

  “Yeah. We can pick it up on our way.”

>   McKenna lifted a brow. She didn’t miss the pronoun. “We?”

  “I want to help.”

  She took a moment before she asked, “Help how?”

  “We still need to find out who The White Lady is. We made a pretty good research team before. I think we can do it again. And I want to talk to my dad about this psychic energy draining business. See if he knows anything about it. Maybe how to stop it.” Tristan clutched the handle on his mug. “I feel like I have to do something.” He drank.

  “Do you want to try to see something?” McKenna kept her voice gentle. “I can probably help with the control.”

  Tristan paused, his eyes flashing. “Not this again.”

  McKenna sat up and placed her mug on the coffee table. She whirled around to face him. “I can handle you.” Maybe, she thought. She recalled the wild look in his eyes as he had switched from vision to vision and person to person. She didn’t want to see that again, but she recalled The White Lady calling him strong. Tristan’s gift was strong, and if controlled enough, he might be able to find answers. “Your fear is the only thing stopping you.”

  The corners of his mouth quirked upward. “Fear, huh?” He pounded his chest. “I eat fear for breakfast.”

  McKenna rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you do.”

  Tristan tugged her to him. She rested in the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder. “I have a lot to be afraid of, especially when someone precious to me is in the same room.”

  McKenna’s heart skipped a beat. “Precious?”

  “You didn’t influence that kiss. It was all me, my own feelings.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “I won’t let you get hurt. Ever.”

  “What about the next man The White Lady sets her sights on? If she’s still following the pattern, she has one more guy to kill. The last guy who hurt her. Jason fed her energy, and he was the last one she killed. You fed her energy this time. She might be planning to kill you next.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “We do.” McKenna lifted her head. “A woman in white seeks revenge, and in her mind, three men deserve to die.” She ticked items off on her fingers. “Each man represents someone, remember? Jason was blond. Zack was blond. Keith had darker blond hair, but Cory had dark brown hair.”