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

by H. P. Mallory

  Sighing, I faced Lovie, who nodded at me before looking at Christopher. She motioned to the skull, which was sitting on the floor of my bedroom. I didn’t like the idea of putting it on my bed or my bedside table, so I relegated it to the floor and did my best not to look at it. Christopher reached for it and carried it between both of his palms with his arms extended out in front of him, looking odd, to say the least.

  “It needs to go in your lap,” he said, offering the skull to me.

  “I know,” I responded as I begrudgingly accepted it, placing it on my lap before I faced Lovie and sighed. “So this is the part where we send me back?” I asked, even though the question was a rhetorical one. Knowing we’d done everything we needed to do up to this point, I took a deep breath as I brought my eyes to Ryan only to find his eyes were already riveted on me.

  “Could we have a few minutes, please?” Ryan asked Lovie and Christopher. They both nodded and left the room as Ryan walked from the doorway to my bed and sat down beside me. He took my hand and closed my fingers into my palm as he covered my hand in his. “I’m not goin’ to pretend to understand what’s goin’ on here,” he started as I lost myself in the depths of his amber eyes. “But I am goin’ to tell you that I’ll stay right here with you the whole time, Pey.”

  “Thank you,” I said with a bittersweet smile as I felt the sting of tears burning my eyes. I blinked them back furiously, chiding myself that Ryan needed my strength right now, not my fear. Maybe, more truthfully, I needed my own strength.

  Ryan leaned into me and held my cheeks between his hands. “I know you can do this, Peyton,” he whispered. “I’ve got all the faith in the world in you.”

  I couldn’t say anything, so I just nodded and closed my eyes tightly once I felt them growing wet. I took a deep breath and forced all melancholy thoughts from my mind so I wouldn’t start crying.

  “I love you, Peyton,” Ryan said softly as I opened my eyes. He leaned into me and the feel of his lips on mine was pure bliss.

  “I love you too,” I said as I pulled away from him and shook my head, not liking the territory this conversation was headed into. I wasn’t prepared to say good-bye to him. I wouldn’t allow myself to even comprehend that possibility. “We aren’t saying good-bye,” I announced sternly. “This isn’t good-bye, Ryan.”

  “No, this isn’t good-bye,” he answered with a haunted smile as he nodded and sighed. “I will never say good-bye to you, Pey, not when we’ve only just found each other. No, this isn’t good-bye.”

  I smiled up at him and forced the tears back from my eyes because I was more than aware that this moment could very well be the last time I ever saw him. I wasn’t able to speak as I allowed my eyes to gaze on his masculine beauty, to outline the square angle of his jaw and the way his cheekbones were so pronounced when he smiled. His eyes were so warm and with the sad smile on his face, I wanted nothing more than to hold him and promise him that everything was going to be all right.

  But as wonderful as that fantasy was, I knew I couldn’t bring myself to say those words. Not when my future was cloudy at best.

  “This isn’t good-bye,” Ryan repeated again, bringing his index finger to my cheek as he traced the side of my face.

  “Then please tell Lovie and Christopher to come back in,” I said in a hollow voice as I closed my eyes and blinked back tears. I would not allow myself to cry. I was strong and capable and I intended to best the Axeman at his own game.

  I opened my eyes and found Ryan still gazing at me. He smiled and patted my thigh as he stood up and approached the hallway. As he walked away from me, I thought how incredibly strong and powerful he was. His body was so large, yet sculpted so beautifully with ropey, sinewy muscles. Ryan was a stunning example of a man. I smiled as I realized how absolutely lucky I was to have earned his love. Knowing he would be here, waiting for me, somehow gave me inner strength, and reinforced my resolve to get on with my mission.

  I watched Ryan walk through my bedroom door with Lovie and Christopher in tow. I turned to Lovie and nodded, suddenly feeling strangely invigorated and ready. “Let’s get this over and done with,” I said.

  Lovie placed the snake and devil candles on my table and lit both of them. Then she lit the incense sticks and faced me. “Now all ya gotta do is drink half o’ the tonic,” she said as she fished the tonic from her bag and handed it to me. “An’ keep in yer mind the date of October 25, 1919.”

  On October 26, 1919, Mike Pepitone had been attacked by the Axeman. He was the last known victim to die from the blows of the Axeman’s axe. I figured by going a day before the attack was destined to happen, I could find Drake and persuade him that I knew the Axeman was going to attack again. My hope was that we could take the Axeman into custody together, at which time I could perform the exorcism on him, and release him from the demon’s possession.

  I wasn’t sure how good of a plan it was, but it was the only one I had, so I intended to go with it. I accepted the tonic, but made no motion to pull the top off the vial. “What’s the worst that can happen to me if this doesn’t go as planned?” I inquired.

  Lovie glanced over at Christopher, who shrugged. Then she faced me again. “Well . . .” she started.

  “Give it to me straight, Lovie,” I demanded.

  She cleared her throat. “Put it this way, it cain’t be any worse than what’s already waitin’ fer us on Tuesday.”

  I nodded, agreeing with her; she had a good point. I removed the cork from the vial of tonic and felt like my stomach was rising up into my throat. The opaque liquid smelled of earth somehow—not an offensive smell, but it didn’t exactly make me want to drink it.

  I held the vial up to my lips and gripped the handles of Lovie’s bag full of exorcism implements. I looked at Ryan, who watched me with doleful eyes. I smiled at him as best as I could, loving him with all my being. Then, I opened my mouth and downed half of the tonic.

  I was swimming in darkness, but it felt balmy and warm. There was a bitter taste deep in the back of my throat that somehow reminded me of what I supposed soil would taste like. Heady and raw, I could only describe the flavor as rainwater after it drips off the branches of pine trees and soaks into the ground below.

  Suddenly, the darkness was broken by the smallest speck of white dust. As I gazed at the speck, it grew larger, becoming an amorphous shape. Continuing its expansion, the former speck transformed into a torso with legs, arms, and a head. It began to increasingly resemble a man. The more I studied the strange entity, the more delineated he grew until I could recognize him. “I know you,” I said, but my voice sounded foreign and very odd, almost like I was talking underwater.

  “’Course you do, baby!” the man replied as his skeletal face contorted into a smile. He was dressed in a black top hat and a matching tuxedo. The circles of his dark glasses kept rotating around and around. Staring at them, I nearly succumbed to the hypnotic cycling.

  “Who are you again?” I asked when it became clear that I couldn’t remember his name.

  The man laughed, but I couldn’t understand how that was possible because his mouth never moved. His mouth must have been good for something, however, because he was smoking a fat cigar, which his barely-there lips clamped tightly. The cotton plugs sticking out of his nostrils completely threw me. “I’m the Loa o’ the dead,” the man said. “An’ you, mah pretty little creature, was ’sposed ta visit me in the land o’ the dead. We had us a deal or did ya already fergit it?”

  “We had a deal?” I repeated, utterly lost. The man drew on his stubby cigar and the smoke poured out from behind his glasses, surrounding me in a smoky hug. I breathed in deeply, and relished the taste of the smoke as it filled me up with its warmth. Suddenly, I had an undeniable yearning and urge to touch the Loa, to know him. But before I had the chance, he began to fade right before my eyes, along with the smoke that emptied from behind his glasses. In fact, it looked as i
f the smoke itself was erasing him as it wafted and circled over him. The visual of a graveyard, with aboveground tombs reminiscent of Lafayette Cemetery, flashed into my mind.

  “Ya needed mah protection, sweet baby,” the Loa’s voice continued even though he was nowhere to be seen anymore. “An’ if’n ya needs mah protection, ya gots ta pay tribute in mah own land.”

  “The graveyard?” I inquired as his words began to make a little sense to me. “I know! You’re Baron Samedi,” I announced when it eventually dawned on me.

  “An’ she hits it right on the nose!” he said with another laugh before unexpectedly blinking back into sight. He dropped his chin and looked at me over his dark lenses, and his eyes glowed white when he took another puff of his cigar.

  “I would have come to visit you,” I started, shaking my head, “but Guarda made me forget everything you and I talked about.”

  The all-knowing Loa of the dead nodded and appeared somewhat pensive for a moment or two. “You be careful wif that one, mon chaton,” he said, his voice suddenly adopting Drake’s accent and tone. It vanished as instantly as it appeared. “An’ you come an’ visit me real soon, ya hear? I don’t like gittin’ lonely.”

  I nodded and Baron Samedi beamed another frightening smile at me before vanishing as if he’d never been there at all. I was left in the void and darkness once again. As I grew more accustomed to the pitch-blackness, it felt like I was starting to sink, dropping through the vast emptiness that had previously engulfed me. My heart rate increased as fear began to flow through me and my breathing quickened. My body began to feel heavier and more substantial, no longer buoyant. I fought hard to stay aloft and to avoid being sucked into the darkness, but no matter how I struggled against it and tried to resist its force, I could feel myself slipping helplessly. I was falling fast.

  When I felt my butt hit something hard, I sat up, pulling my legs into my stomach. Blinking against a blackness that wasn’t quite so black now, I tried to open my eyes all the way so they could adjust to the brighter atmosphere. I dropped my hands to the ground below me and realized I was sitting on a hardwood floor. I could barely make out the rays of moonlight as they streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows and illuminated the gold accents of the most magnificent grand piano I’d ever seen.

  On wobbly legs, it took me a second to stand up. Once I felt like I could manage, I righted myself, using the piano to lean on. Looking down, I discovered I was wearing a tubular-shaped, very unfitted dress in an array of pleats, the hem of which ended just below my knees. The material was a champagne-colored silk, so far as I could see in the moonlight. My feet wore delicate shoes that quite resembled ballet slippers and matched the hue of my dress.

  Taking a cleansing breath, I glanced up and noticed an ornate, Louis XIV gold gilt mirror, which hung on the wall beside the piano and reflected the elegance of the piano’s three gold legs. I started to take a few steps toward the mirror, but felt uneasy and light-headed as I made my way. When I reached it and saw my reflection, I recognized my own face looking back at me, except my hair was pulled tightly behind my ears and a close-fitting, round hat hugged my head.

  “I’m actually here!” I whispered to myself as the revelation dawned on me. “I did it!” My shocked voice could not contain all the wonder and awe that was pumping through me. Fear, anticipation, excitement, and triumph all took turns pounding through me as I realized I’d just accomplished the impossible. I turned on my toes so fast I had to brace myself against the wall before I lost my balance. Once I caught my breath, I took in every detail of Drake’s music room as it appeared in 1919. My heart pounding through my chest, I realized the room looked exactly as it did in my dream visit with Drake only a week or so earlier.

  I gulped when my eyes settled on the twin leather club chairs that were the color of milk chocolate. Between them, I saw the same table with the same tray holding the same decanter of whiskey, but now, only one glass was present. Still feeling light-headed and slightly nauseous, I took a few strides forward and tried to decide what to do next. Hopefully Drake was home—I figured that would be my first task at hand, to discover where “Frenchy” was.

  I closed my eyes as I inhaled deeply and prayed I wouldn’t pass out. I just couldn’t seem to shake the vertigo that kept returning. I opened my eyes again once I felt better, and took another step, but suddenly my toe bounced off something cold and hard.

  “Shitballs!” I said under my breath as I heard the shattering of glass. Looking down at the ground, I realized I had just kicked the other glass of whiskey, which was now all over the floor in an intoxicating puddle of glass shards and alcohol. Why someone would so stupidly put a glass on the floor in the first place was anyone’s guess.

  My heartbeat started pounding through my head, and I looked around, trying to find something to clean up the mess. But finding nothing, I remembered my hat. Yanking it off, I leaned down and used it to mop up the whiskey while delicately sweeping up the broken glass. “Double shitballs,” I said as I winced at the sharp pain on the end of my pinky finger, which told me a stray shard of glass had just found its way into my flesh. I dropped the hat and brought my finger up to eye level, trying to inspect it, just as I saw shadows suddenly move across the walls. It felt like my heart leapt into my throat, and I swallowed it down and forced myself to focus on the shadows. Choking on my own fear wouldn’t do me any good. Tracing the shadows to their source, I realized they were coming from a tall, oil-burning floor lamp, which stood in the corner of the room. And standing next to that was Drake, with a pistol aimed at me. Any relief I felt upon recognizing Drake instantly fled, replaced with concern once I focused on the barrel of his gun.

  “Quelle surprise!” he said in a tone that sounded more amused than angry. “Either you are an ill-timed birthday present, or quite an inept thief,” he finished, with his signature engaging grin.

  “Drake!” I exclaimed in astonishment. Seeing him now, in the flesh, was an incredible experience. He looked just as he did whenever I saw him in my mind’s eye, but there was something slightly different about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, though. He was just as handsome as always with his clean-shaven face, square jaw, high cheekbones, and penetrating, dark eyes. But now there was something more youthful about him, a certain adolescence I never noticed in my dream visits with him.

  “And how do you know my name, mon amour?” Drake demanded. Although his tone remained playful, there was something in his eyes that told me he was anything but.

  Impulsively, I took a step forward only to hear the crunching of glass underfoot, before I felt a sharp piercing as a shard of glass penetrated the bottom of my shoe and deposited itself into the ball of my foot. “Fuck!” I yelled out as I hopped over to the piano to stabilize myself. I attempted to remove my shoe and assess the damage.

  “I must say, my mysterious guest possesses quite the potty mouth!” he remarked with a devilish smirk. “Have we already met, mon amour?” he asked as he lowered the pistol to his side and walked toward me. He was wearing only a pair of white, cotton pajama bottoms, and even though my foot and my hand ached like mad, I still noticed Drake’s delectable physique. Ahem, a very delectable physique.

  “Have we met?” I repeated in an irritated tone. I momentarily forgot that to him, we had not met because back in 1919, I was not yet even a twinkle in my great-grandparents’ eyes. “Yes,” I answered, “we have met.” I was still wincing from the pain that radiated from my foot and my little finger. “I promise to explain everything as soon as you put that gun away and help me. Please?” He didn’t make any motion to put the gun away or to help me. Instead, he just stood there, as though he were admiring me, albeit amusedly. “And, despite what it looks like, I’m not a thief,” I added quickly.

  “Oui, I can see that much for myself,” he said with a smile as he placed the gun on a side table beside the door. “But my question of what you are doing here still r
emains unanswered, and more importantly, how did you manage to get in? I generally keep all of my windows and doors locked at all times.”

  With a frown, I raised my eyebrows at him. “And is it customary to allow a young woman to bleed to death in your music room without offering her any help or assistance at all?”

  “Perhaps, when said femme resorts to breaking and entering? And into a peace officer’s home, nonetheless . . .” he replied. Seeing that damned flirtatious smile of his, I assumed he no longer deemed me a threat. He approached me.

  “I told you,” I started, concentrating on removing the offending piece of glass, which turned out to be quite a small one. “We’ll get to introductions in just a second. As you can see, I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.” Remembering Guarda’s instructions, that I only needed to touch Drake for him to remember me, I figured our introductions would be a relatively quick and easy process.

  “And no apology for breaking one of my best drinking glasses?” Drake said as he shook his head and clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth in mock disappointment. Coming to stand right next to me, he reached down for my foot. As soon as he touched me, I felt a jolt of energy shoot straight up my foot and into my legs, which dispersed once it reached the center of my body. It was so unexpected, I gasped. “You have very little pain tolerance, don’t you?” he asked with a grin, apparently still unaware of my identity. I would’ve thought his expression might change after learning who I was, at the very least. “This flesh wound of yours is nothing more than a mere abrasion of the skin,” he continued, inspecting my foot curiously.

  “Don’t you recognize me now?” I asked, wondering why he didn’t seem to.

  “Now that I’ve held your foot?” he scoffed with a chuckle. Then he shook his head as he sighed. “Quelle honte, what a shame.”

  “What’s a shame?” I demanded.

  “That you are so stunning,” he said as his attention moved from my head to my chest. “With lovely, large, round breasts,” he continued, unwilling to conceal his obvious appreciation for my feminine assets. “I do so abhor these modern female fashions which favor a prepubescent, almost boyish figure,” he said as an aside, still shaking his head. He smiled when his eyes found mine again and it became painfully obvious why Drake was always so popular with the ladies. More than just a lady-killer, he had charm, grace, and an endearing sense of humor. “But here you are, your body just begging for me to pleasure it, and yet I fear you have completely lost your sanity,” he finished. I frowned at him and wondered if I could get a refund from Guarda.