Once Haunted, Twice Shy (The Peyton Clark Series Book 2)

by H. P. Mallory

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Drake can and does talk to me about any and everything, so why can’t he just tell me what he knows about the spiritual world? I seem to be able to access all his other knowledge.”

  Lovie shook her head. “It isn’t the same thin’,” she said and then took a deep breath which she exhaled for a count of three. “Think o’ it like this . . . jist as Drake experiences the modern world through you, you have the ability ta experience the spiritual world through him, but you gotta open yerself to the possibility. It’s different than simply explainin’ his world ta you.”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding and finally understanding what she meant. “So, can I open that part of myself?”

  She nodded, but it wasn’t very convincing. “Yes, but it’ll take a bit of work on yer part.”

  “Work?” I repeated, frowning and shaking my head. We didn’t have time for work on my part. I needed to be able to interact with the otherworld, like, yesterday.

  “Nothing comes easily,” Christopher interjected in a scolding tone. “In order to indulge in the gifts of the universe, you must first prove yourself worthy.”

  “Okay, how do I do that?” I asked impatiently. I wished everyone understood that I was in over my head and had no idea what I was doing or how to do it. Last I checked, they didn’t teach “Ghost Encounters 101” in college.

  “Wait just a second,” Ryan interrupted, holding up his hands as if to say we were going about the whole thing way too fast. “Just what exactly is the outcome we’re hopin’ for here?” he asked, frowning at each of us in turn, before facing Lovie specifically. “What do you mean when you say Peyton could benefit from Drake’s knowledge of the otherworld? An’ by ‘otherworld,’ I’m assumin’ you mean where the ghosts hang out?”

  “Yes, the otherworld is the spiritual world that we cannot see with our eyes, but it exists all the same,” Lovie answered, flashing a quick and encouraging smile, as if she appreciated him asking the question. “To answer yer first question, as Drake is a spirit, he has the ability ta interact with the spiritual world in ways you an’ I cannot, since we are corporeal bein’s. We are limited an’ bound by our own bodies, an’ our own mortality.”

  “When you say interact,” I started, studying her quizzically, “do you mean Drake could find out what’s been going on around here lately? And, more importantly, if there is something bad heading down the pike, could he find out how to stop it?”

  Lovie glanced from Ryan back to me and smiled reassuringly. “Yes, he could, simply by interactin’ with the spirits an’ asking them. Remember: he would’ve been privy ta this information before he ever took up sanctuary in yer body, so, naturally, he should also be privy to it now, Peyton.” She took a breath and continued. “I imagine Drake’s ties ta the spiritual world might help us immensely, because those of us who are still bound by our bodies have lost contact with the spirits.”

  “Samuel?” I asked, just to make sure I was following along. Lovie nodded.

  “So, to make sure I understand,” Ryan continued, “if Peyton can bring her walls down an’ tap into this connection with the spiritual world through Drake, then could she find out just what in the hell has gotten into this friggin’ city lately?”

  “Not so elegantly worded, but yes,” Christopher answered, his expression pinched, like he just swallowed a mouthful of vinegar.

  “Okay, great,” I continued, trying to ignore my overwhelming irritation at Christopher. “So how do we go about helping me to drop my walls?”

  Lovie glanced at me again as she started drumming her fingers against the tabletop. I could tell by the blank look on her face that she was pondering the question. Finally, she stopped fidgeting and glanced over at Christopher, but doubt appeared in her eyes. “We can’t do this alone, Christopher. We need Guarda.”

  Christopher nodded and sighed, shaking his head, only to sigh again. Then he dropped his shoulders and grumbled something unintelligible to himself before sighing audibly once more. He reminded me of someone in drama class, trying to convey despondency or maybe impatience. Whatever it was, it was over the top, like all things Christopher did. He faced Lovie and, yes, sighed again. “Much though it pains me to admit it, I believe you’re correct, Lovie; we cannot rely on ourselves alone in this situation.”

  Lovie raised her brows and nodded, saying nothing for a few seconds. Then she cocked her head to the side and rubbed her eyes as if she was suddenly exhausted. “I would usually attempt it ourselves first, but in the interest o’ savin’ time . . .”

  Christopher shook his head. “We cannot consider taking this upon ourselves, Lovie! It is foolhardy to even imagine we could.”

  “What is it that needs to be done?” I asked, frowning as I alternated my concerned gaze between the two of them.

  Lovie faced me again and cleared her throat. “Removin’ a psychic wall isn’t an easy feat, Peyton. It requires advanced knowledge o’ magic that neither Christopher nor mahself possess at this stage.” I was surprised. I actually thought Lovie was an unstoppable psychic force.

  “But Guarda does possess the abilities,” Christopher finished.

  “Who is Guarda?” Trina asked, sounding awed and perplexed at the same time. She’d been so quiet throughout the conversation, I’d nearly forgotten she was sitting next to me.

  “Guarda is a voodoo priestess who’s also schooled in witchcraft,” Lovie answered. “Magic runs through her veins; it is in her blood.” She paused for a second and then sighed. “She possesses more power than I have ever seen in any one person.”

  Christopher nodded as he faced me. “Guarda is a relative of Marie Laveau’s.”

  “Oh my goodness!” Trina commented as her eyes went wide. “She must be incredibly powerful if she’s related to Marie Laveau!”

  “Yes, Guarda is very powerful,” Lovie said, and sighed as if she was more than concerned. She glanced at Christopher and raised her brows.

  “Her power is what makes her dangerous,” Christopher interjected. Then he faced me and shook his head. “But I see no alternative.”

  “Well, if anyone can help me, someone sharing the Queen of Voodoo’s blood is probably the best bet,” I said, and exhaled as I shook my head and wondered what new adventures awaited me. I couldn’t help the shiver that ran up my spine.

  Not only was I concerned about meeting Guarda after hearing Lovie and Christopher’s less-than-glowing description of her, but it also didn’t help that she lived in Slidell, Louisiana, otherwise known as BFE.

  It took us the better part of forty-five minutes to get to Davis Landing Road, taking the Military Road exit off the 10 freeway. Slidell, on first impression, looked as if it was a sizable city, situated on the northeast shore of Lake Pontchartrain, but the particular area in which we were looked more like Hillbilly Central.

  Davis Landing Road was a single-lane street that wove through a forest of dense foliage, punctuated periodically by a few rusty trailers that looked like they’d seen much better days. Random furniture, lean-tos, and enough junk heaps to look like a metal-recycling lot were the only other objects that caught my attention.

  “Mess with me an’ you mess with the whole trailer park,” Trina whispered, and shook her head. She was sitting in the middle seat of the back row of Ryan’s truck, planted snugly between Lovie and Christopher. She glanced over at me and smiled as I laughed. “Funny, huh?” she asked. “I read that on a sign yesterday.”

  “Sounds like the sign was talking about this place,” I responded with a smile as we hit a pothole and Ryan’s truck bounced violently in seeming indignation. Yes, I was beyond amazed when Ryan had offered to drive the five of us to meet Guarda. We still had yet to discuss where our relationship stood, but I took it as a good sign that he cared enough to accompany us on this little trip. Of course, as soon as Ryan offered to drive, everyone scurried for the backseat, which left me sitting sho
tgun, next to him, albeit uncomfortably. He remained quiet for the entire trip, which I guessed didn’t bode well for us; but, again, I had to remind myself to focus exclusively on the task at hand. Our relationship, or what was left of it, would have to wait.

  We followed a bend in the road, and just on the other side, through a copse of bushes and trees, I made out the banks of a river.

  “Old Pearl River,” Lovie said as rain started to splatter Ryan’s windshield. He responded by turning on the window wipers at full speed. “Do you see that driveway up ahead?” Lovie asked as she leaned forward. She pointed to a dirt road, weaving between an old, green trailer and a slightly newer, white trailer with brown trim. Water-filled potholes perforated the dirt road and a chicken-wire fence ran down one side, while tree skeletons lined the other. The place was many things, but welcoming wasn’t one of them.

  Ryan simply nodded as he slowed the truck down and took a right onto the road. The truck bounced irregularly as he navigated around the potholes. Up ahead, I spotted a shanty that looked as if it had been painted sky blue a long time ago. Now, the paint was peeling in some areas and so dirty in others, it was dark brown. A blue tarp covered what looked like a stack of firewood on the side of the house.

  “You can park alongside the tarp,” Lovie said, and Ryan obeyed her. When he killed the engine, none of us said anything for a few seconds before Lovie broke the silence. “It’s probably best if we don’t make this a field trip.” Then she tapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s you an’ I go in, Peyton. Guarda doesn’t do too well with strangers.”

  I didn’t say anything, but nodded as I glanced over at Ryan and smiled. “Thanks for driving,” I said, but he didn’t respond. Unwilling to stress myself about it, I opened the passenger door and jumped down, breathing in the wet air as I wondered what awaited me in Guarda’s lean-to.

  “Do you want me to accompany you, Lovie?” Christopher asked, leaning forward in his seat. He was still buckled in.

  “No, Christopher, I think that would be a bad idea,” Lovie answered with a little laugh. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one Christopher rubbed the wrong way. Somehow, that information cheered me slightly.

  The light rain began to grow heavier as Lovie and I hurried for the cover of a makeshift porch in front of Guarda’s blue shanty. Once we reached the shelter of the porch, the rain continued to pelt down, seeping through large cracks and gaps in the rotten wood overhead. A cold wind whipped around us, causing some nearby bottles, which were hanging from a dead tree beside Guarda’s house, to clank together noisily.

  “Those are spirit bottles,” Lovie explained when she caught me looking at the bottles, probably with a vacant expression on my face.

  “Spirit bottles?” I repeated.

  Lovie nodded and we watched the bottles clank against one another in the wind before she responded. “As part o’ N’awlins voodoo hoodoo, spirit bottles are meant ta capture good an’ evil spirits an’ ta protect the home. Some believe she who imprisons the spirit in the bottle can force the spirit ta do her biddin’.” A chill crept up my back. “Some say if you listen real close, you can hear the spirits talkin’ an’ sometimes even singin’ in the bottle.”

  “I believe you should avoid the bottles all together, ma minette,” Drake suddenly piped up. “I must admit, I do not feel comfortable here in the least.”

  I concurred. “We have no choice, Drake. Apparently, Guarda is the only one who can help us,” I responded.

  For some reason, my instincts were on high alert and I had an undeniable feeling that it was in our best interest to head straight back to Ryan’s truck. “What is voodoo hoodoo?” I asked, trying to change the subject. I wasn’t even really sure I understood what voodoo was entirely, let alone hoodoo.

  “That requires a very long answer, but fer the sake o’ time, I will tell you that it is our Creole voodoo, unique ta N’awlins. Unlike other voodoo an’ hoodoo elsewhere in this wide world, ours blends spiritualism, African roots, Native American traditions, Catholicism, an’ Pentecostalism.”

  “Oh,” I answered, making a mental note to follow up on it later. I had to admit that Trina’s dabbling in voodoo had piqued my curiosity.

  Lovie pulled open the rusted metal screen door and knocked stridently on the wooden door beneath it. It seemed like a mere two seconds went by before the door flew open and a woman who appeared to be in her late seventies or early eighties faced us. She wore a blue bandanna wrapped around her head. It was pulled down tightly around her ears so I couldn’t see any of her hair underneath it. Her style of dress was very similar to Lovie’s: a loose blouse and a long skirt that dusted the ground when she walked. As far as presentation went, though, they were worlds apart. Where Lovie’s outfits were always colorful and clean, the hem of Guarda’s skirt was ripped and smeared with mud, apparently from dragging along the ground in the rain.

  Guarda’s face was narrow and lean, making her rather obvious cheekbones a prominent feature. Her skin was dark and ashy with age, and somewhat slack in its looseness. Her face was covered in lines and raised age spots, particularly beneath her eyes. But her eyes were in a word . . . captivating. At one time, I believe they would have been considered beautiful—high, open eyelids that appeared very round—but now, advanced cataracts had made them cloudy and opaque. I didn’t know why, but an unnerving thought suddenly crossed my mind that they could be the eyes of death itself.

  “I do not know if the worry I sense is yours or mine, ma minette,” Drake said. “But I do not have a good feeling about this woman in the least.”

  I couldn’t answer him, however, because the very presence of Guarda made my skin crawl. I decided not to reply and just watched as Guarda stepped back and silently granted us entrance into her home. Lovie didn’t say anything either. She simply nodded before stepping into the dark house. I looked down at Guarda, who stood as tall as my chin, and she bowed to me as well, allowing me to enter.

  Stepping into her house, I was immediately struck by the odor. It wasn’t a bad smell necessarily, but it reminded me of earth mixed with something spicy, like incense, maybe. The air was stale and surprisingly warm, considering it was raining and the air outside was decidedly cold. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the darkness inside, but when they did, I instantly wished they hadn’t. What little light there was came from various candles that were placed around the room. They illuminated rows of human skulls mounted to the wall directly across from me. Some were missing their jaws.

  “Ma minette, we need to leave this place immediately,” Drake continued, his tone of voice more than concerned. “This place gives me a terrible feeling. I do not want you in here for another second!”

  “I trust Lovie,” I answered, although I could only hope my trust wasn’t blind and, worse, stupid. “If this is the only way for us to move forward, then we have to stay, Drake. We have to find out if there is a way to stop whatever is coming.”

  “There is just something about Guarda,” he continued.

  “I know. She’s creepy.”

  “Oui, ma minette, très creepy.”

  I continued scanning the perimeter of the room, noticing all the windows were covered, either in cardboard or dark fabric. To my right stood what I imagined was an altar—a small table covered with white material. On the top of the table sat a human skull with a mound of fruit off to one side, while various bottles filled with God-only-knew-what occupied the other side. A gold cross stood out in the middle of the altar, catching the candlelight on either side and reflecting it garishly.

  On the opposite wall was another table covered in red fabric. Sitting atop was a huge cow’s skull, candles, and four jars stuffed with naked baby dolls. As frightening as the human skulls mounted on the wall were, I found the dolls stuffed inside the jars infinitely more disturbing. When I looked at them, I had the uncanny feeling that they were looking back at me.

  I forced my attent
ion to the center of the room where I noticed there wasn’t any furniture at all, just a badly stained carpet. I couldn’t discern anything beyond the living room because the rest of the house was so dark.

  “Guarda,” Lovie said at last in a voice that seemed to echo the emptiness of the room. “Thank you fer seein’ us.”

  Guarda didn’t say anything as she closed the front door and hobbled into the living room. Her walk was peculiar—she was slightly bent over, presumably from old age, but the way she limped looked as if she’d broken an ankle sometime in the past, or maybe her knees were bad.

  “We’ve come—” Lovie started.

  “I know why you’ve come,” Guarda interrupted. Her voice was deep and gritty, but she spoke in such a whisper, she was difficult to understand.

  “Of course,” Lovie said, smiling apologetically. “Then you believe you can remove her block?”

  Guarda hobbled up to me and narrowed her cloudy eyes as she studied me. Given how milky her eyes appeared, I half wondered if she could even see me. Reaching down, she grabbed my hand, and I felt myself gasp as soon as she made contact with me. It was as if every nerve in my body suddenly sprang to life.

  “Yesss, I can,” she announced, her tongue visible through the gaps of her missing teeth as she spoke. She reminded me of a snake, using its tongue to detect the scent of prey.

  Hobbling past Lovie and me, she disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen, but it was too dark to tell. I could hear the sounds of rustling and glass hitting glass. It reminded me of the spirit bottles colliding in the wind . . .

  “Mah wormwood oughtta fix her up real good,” Guarda announced when she returned and handed Lovie a bottle of clear green liquid, followed with a smaller vial of what looked like water. “She gotta drink the neutralizer first,” she said and motioned to the vial with the water-like substance in it. “Wait a hour an’ then she drink mah wormwood an’ then ya return within the hour. You can come wit’ her, but I don’t want none o’ them others. Ya know how I feels ’bout strangers.”