Crossroads (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 7)

by Catie Rhodes

  “I don’t know.” Mysti glanced back toward where we’d parked the car. “Griff likes to be the one to question people. And he is better at it.”

  Brad slipped his arm over his sister’s shoulders. “We made it just fine before you decided your happiness hinged on him. What’d he do? Steal your brass?”

  Mysti stiffened. “Of course not. It’s just good to know your skills.”

  “Well, I want to get Tyler’s maps back. See if she’ll go out with me.” Brad took off walking without waiting for his sister’s consent, his expensive leather shoes tapping on the concrete sidewalk.

  Mysti and I trailed behind Brad, both of us quiet. For my part, I thought about how Brad would be lost without Mysti. From his fancy clothes down to his orthodontically straightened teeth—the man still wore a retainer at night—Mysti always let her baby brother have his way, even when it was foolish. I didn’t dare challenge her because she showed me the same unflinching loyalty. Maybe I was just jealous I didn’t have anybody to love me unconditionally anymore. The wind whipped down the canal, icy and unforgiving.

  Mysti picked up the pace. “We didn’t get a damn thing we came for.” She tightened her hand-crocheted shawl around her and raised her eyebrows. “Or did you hear something I didn’t?”

  “No. I’m trying to pound all these bits of information into something that makes sense.” I shoved my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket, silently berating myself for deciding the jacket and a tank top would be warm enough.

  “Spill it.” Mysti shivered.

  “When my cousin and his wife threw salt on the Coachman, his ghost broke into a bunch of pieces. I latched onto one of the pieces, and it seemed female, not like the entity of the Coachman at all.” I couldn’t get the image out of my head. “Now this map thief is involved, and there’s some connection I’m not making.”

  Mysti walked along beside me, face lined with concentration. “So this map thief has a rune with that symbol on it. You think he’s somehow providing the Coachman with power?”

  “Maybe. I’ve encountered all kinds of ghosts. The Coachman is by far the most powerful. I’ve never seen a ghost do what he does.” My stomach rolled into a hard ball as I thought about Zora. “I don’t see where a ghost could access that kind of energy and control by himself.”

  “But the Coachman had made himself into an immortal being. No telling what points that garnered him in the ghost world.” Mysti’s words might have refuted my point, but she wasn’t trying to shut me down. She never did that. This was her way of pushing the thought process further.

  We stopped under a bridge to watch the shadows of the water moving over a stunning fish mosaic. Footsteps scraped on the concrete. Mysti and I no longer had the pretty space to ourselves. Best to discuss this elsewhere. We turned to catch up with Brad.

  “You Peri Jean Mace?” The voice came from behind us and was not one I knew. Sometimes people recognized me as the girl who found the Mace Treasure. Great. Just what I need today. I gritted my teeth and turned.

  “Help you?” My gaze settled on the person who’d called my name, and I had to use all my self-control not to gasp.

  The man or woman—I couldn’t tell which—had a blanket covering head and shoulders. Overly bright eyes glowed out from the shadow the blanket cast. My heart rattled harder as panic seeped into my bloodstream. Fear squeezed my bladder.

  “I’ll bust your nose, you don’t tell me what you want,” I squeaked.

  Run. The whisper came from all around me. I recognized Priscilla Herrera’s voice. I grabbed Mysti’s hand and tensed my body to escape.

  The shrouded figure shot forward, closing the distance between us before I could move even a step. It brought a hand out of its pocket, opened it, and blew some kind of powder in my face. I gasped before I thought about it and sucked heaven only knows how much of the crud into my lungs. Some of the dust hit my face and burned like pinpoints of fire on my skin. I clapped my hands over my face. Mysti screamed and threw her arms around me.

  “Are you okay?” Panic raised Mysti’s voice several octaves. It echoed off the water and concrete and reverberated round my brain until it became so much nonsense.

  “What’s going on down there?” Brad’s shout echoed all around us.

  My attacker’s retreating footsteps slapped against the concrete sidewalk. Brad ran past us, already gasping like a locomotive. He wouldn’t last long. Didn’t matter, though. They’d already gotten me good. A metallic taste filled my mouth. My heart felt as though it was filling up, stretching, getting ready burst at any minute. I gasped for air, and my chest moved, but no oxygen went into my lungs.

  “You two need help?” asked a deep voice. I smelled his sweat, sour and reeking of last night’s beer. “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know.” Mysti sobbed, her voice hitching between the words.

  “Let’s get her some air.” Sweaty hands gripped my arms and lifted me. I dragged my eyes open and stared into the face of the runner I’d seen earlier. His features stretched and undulated like a funhouse mirror come to life. He pulled me from under the bridge and dumped me on the lawn of a fancy hotel. I whooped deep breaths, my lungs still screaming for oxygen.

  The runty trees undulated, more sensuous than any exotic dancer. Their clattering branches drummed together, and the wind crashed their evergreen leaves like cymbals. The dim sun burned like a muted ball of molten lava behind the clouds.

  Mysti squatted next to me and said words I couldn’t hear, tears rolling down her face. I held out my hand to her. She took it and lowered her head. Her shoulders hitched, jerky in my fragmented vision.

  My consciousness quivered as something pulled at it. I drunkenly called on the power of the black opal to ground myself, using all the strength I had to keep my focus, to keep control of the situation. My mind, my magic, all of me began to roll, and I drifted away like a leaf caught in the wind.

  Something inside me pulled away and rose above my body and hovered over myself. Horror raced through my mind. I lay on my back, one foot tucked behind my knee. A thin line of drool snaked out of my mouth. Another raw wind blew through, sending leaves to tangle in my hair. My eyes stared straight ahead, blank and empty.

  Am I dead? The thought sent a current of fear through whatever I was, so intense my vision turned bright yellow and green. I stared hard at my chest and finally saw the slight rise and fall of my breathing.

  “She didn’t take anything,” Mysti yelled at the runner. “This person blew something in her face.”

  “Powder?” The guy held open my eyes. “White powder? Brown powder?”

  Mysti shook her head and put her face in her hands. People surrounded us. A few assholes took out their phones and began recording the spectacle.

  The tugging on my consciousness came again, pulling me higher into the sky, where I could no longer see the people huddled around me. Brad sat hunched on a bench, sides heaving, head between his knees. The person who’d blown the powder into my face stood right around the next bend from him, across the canal from where my body lay, watching. The brown blanket hung over one arm. She took out her cellphone, punched a few buttons, and spoke into it. Then she turned away and walked down the sidewalk as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

  From my vantage point, I watched the crowd surrounding my body. I needed to get back inside myself so I could tell Mysti what I’d seen. Instead, something drew me farther away into the cloudy sky. The air rippled as something big parted it and rushed toward me. The Coachman’s face appeared, mouth fixed in a mean grin.

  I didn’t know how to fight him, if there was even a way, so I tried to dart away. He flew at me and hit me hard. He found my weaknesses and parted them, rending and tearing as he went. My bad memories opened and spewed hurt everywhere. They settled over my awareness like a dark veil between the present moment and me.

  I WAS BACK in that dingy, roach-infested apartment with my ex-husband, him screaming about me stealing his money. His fist hurtled t
oward me and slammed into my lips. Pain flashed bright, and salty blood filled my mouth. He slammed another fist into my ribs. “Give me the money, you stupid bitch.” I hit the floor chin first and bit my tongue. He kicked me in the stomach once, twice, three times, and I felt something inside me let go.

  Terror exploded in my chest. I brought my knees up to protect myself from his blows, trying to remember how this went. Then it hit me. This wasn’t real. It had once been real, but it wasn’t anymore. It was a piece of scar tissue, of armor, that my mind created to protect me. And now it was preventing me from using my gifts to protect myself.

  I rolled over just as my ex-husband reared one Doc Marten boot back to give me another kick.

  “Stop it,” I yelled at the memory.

  He let the kick fly. Air burst from my lungs. Sobs crawled up my throat and twisted my mouth. My throbbing chest hitched once, twice. I cried, trying to ignore the sticky wetness between my legs, trying not to think what it meant.

  The front door to the rat hole I’d rented on my dollar store salary banged open. My daddy slammed into the room, grabbed my ex-husband by his shoulders, and spun him around.

  Tim’s face slackened with surprise. My father’s fist pistoned into Tim’s face over and over again, until the other man crumpled to the floor, hands out to ward off more blows. Daddy grabbed him by one arm and hauled him out the door. The sound of him falling down the metal stairs shook the apartment.

  Daddy came back into the apartment and helped me stand. I held my stomach. It felt like I was about to shit out all my insides. He wrapped his arms around me and held me.

  The door to my bedroom opened, and Priscilla Herrera stepped out. Sometimes she appeared as a young woman. Not today. Today she was a frumpy woman sliding out of late middle age, the way she’d been the day she died.

  My throat tightened. Things never got more fun when she came on the scene. I turned to my daddy for reassurance. Priscilla waved one hand at Paul, and he evaporated.

  I gasped. “Daddy?”

  “He was never here. Your mind conjured him to help you. It knew no other way to save you.” She sat down on the tattered couch and motioned me to sit with her. I limped toward her. She held up one hand for me to stop. “Look at yourself. You’re not injured.”

  I glanced down to see my modern-day body, even raised my shirt to see if bruises were forming on my chest. She was right. I wasn’t hurt. Not physically anyway.

  “Don’t let these memories trick you into living in the past. It won’t serve you.” Her brisk, iron-plated voice hit the deepest, rawest nerve in me.

  “You think you could do better?” My body went cold. I didn’t fear her as I once had, but she was a formidable woman, even dead.

  “It doesn’t matter. This is your affliction, not mine.” She gripped my arm, her hand hard and strong, and pulled me to face her.

  I gaped at her.

  “You’ll get no sympathy from me.” She raised her eyebrows, daring me to get angry. “This Coachman of yours is an old creature, as old as me, and powerful. He knows the perfect way to exploit others. You were too easy.”

  Her chiding sunk deep and settled with all the other hurts. I hung my head.

  She grabbed my hair and yanked my head back up. I yowled and struggled against her. “Right now, he’s out there eating my gift to you.” She let go of me and made a disgusted face. “Disgraceful.”

  “But I don’t know how to…” I heard the whine in my voice. If it pissed me off, and it did, it would infuriate Priscilla.

  Sure enough her lips ground together, and her dark eyes blazed sparks of fury. “Then you figure it out.” She spoke through clenched teeth. Then her face softened. “He’s eating my gift to you. Take a bite of him. Turn his power on him.” Her arm tightened around me, holding me in place. “Then go back to Tyler. Ask to look at all her pictures. You’ll know the right one when you see it. Take it to Cecil. He’ll know what needs to be done.” A hole opened up in the threadbare and stained apartment-grade carpet. Priscilla shoved me off the couch and into it.

  I rocketed along through the blackness, suffering the worst case of rollercoaster stomach I’d ever had. Images flashed as I flew past. The greatest hits of my worst memories.

  Felicia and another girl shoved my head into an open toilet. My body flailed while filthy water splashed out of the commode. Time jumped forward. Wade rejected me, telling me we’d never be together because of a future he feared. Time flashed backward. Memaw’s funeral. I sat between Rainey and Hannah, the three of us holding hands and bawling. Time tripped backward even further. I knelt next to Eddie Kennedy, the only man who’d been a father to me after mine died, and watched his life slip away. Somewhere in there, my sanity slipped, and I began to wail.

  I dropped to the surface of a rocky plane covered in white mist, shivering and gasping, pardoned from the worst hell imaginable.

  The Coachman knelt, sucking up as much of the white mist as he could through his nostrils and mouth. Priscilla was right. He was eating up my power. The mist around the Coachman thinned and swirled toward me like a dog coming to its owner.

  Get him out. Priscilla Herrera’s voice came from somewhere near, but I couldn’t see her. Get him out now.

  The power she’d given me, that of the mantle, crawled up my spine and cloaked my shoulders, hot and electric. I took several running steps and leapt onto the Coachman’s back. Priscilla said to bite him, and so I did.

  His power flowed into me, stronger but with a scattered feeling, as though one good kick could break it apart. I heard chanting somewhere. Beyond that, I heard a child crying. Not just crying, screaming in terror and pain.

  Zora. I have to go get her. Now. I pushed myself into the Coachman, the same way he’d done to me. I’d get into his mind. Find where he hid Zora. Something slammed into my chest, paralyzing me.

  Get out, girl, get out! The howl of fury came from inside my head, inside my body, shaking my whole world.

  Some force larger and greater than I ever would be slung me from the vision and threw me across the floor of my consciousness. I rolled to my feet, ready to fight the Coachman, but he’d already gone.

  The frantic desire for oxygen beat in my lungs like a bird trapped.

  “Breathe, Peri Jean,” Mysti’s voice screamed.

  I had to go back. It was time.

  10

  I SUCKED IN ONE BREATH, then another. My eyes flew open. Mysti and the runner leaned over me, desperation pinching their faces. A sea of curious faces hovered behind them. The runner had his hands clasped on my chest. Had he been giving me compressions? I didn’t want another one, so I grabbed his wrist. He let out a thin scream and leapt away from me.

  Mysti rose and put her cellphone to her ear. She said the name of the hotel we were in front of to whoever was on the other end. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. Had she called emergency services? I wanted to ride in an ambulance and be tended by paramedics almost as much as I wanted a do-over with Dean Turgeau.

  “Let me up.” My words ground out of my throat, clotted and strained.

  Mysti shoved the cellphone in her fringed bag. She and Brad pulled me to my feet. I staggered against her, and she slipped one arm around my waist and held me upright.

  “I don’t want the hospital,” I muttered. Brad pulled my other arm over his shoulders.

  “I know. Hurry.” She hurried toward a set of steps next to the bridge where we’d been attacked. She and Brad yanked me along much faster than I could walk.

  “Wait a minute,” the runner yelled from behind us.

  Mysti waved him off with one hand and spoke to Brad. “Where the hell were you when we needed you?”

  Brad let out an exasperated grunt. “I got there just in time to see what happened. I ran after the poisoner.”

  Mysti let out an angry hiss but said no more. The two of them hoisted me up a steep set of concrete stairs, yelling at people, “Emergency! Get out of the way.”

  We reached the street le
vel, and a familiar SUV swung to the curb. Griff leaned over and popped open the door. “Get in. The ambulance is right behind me.” He reached for me, and I took his hand and crawled into the passenger seat. Mysti climbed into the backseat. We slammed our doors, and Griff peeled away from the curb.

  “Let’s go home now. We can pick up my car later.” Mysti’s seatbelt clicked. Griff sped into traffic.

  I sat in a daze. Whatever drug I’d been dosed with still clouded my head, leaving pockets of dizziness. It mixed with the mantle and lent an edge of unreality to my vision. Normal things took on a life I never wanted to see.

  A human-ish face stared out of a tree, eyes following the SUV as we passed. On the curb stood an elderly man dressed in a suit. He raised his head as we passed, sensing us, and another face moved behind his, distorting it for just a second. A black dog as large as a pony trotted down the sidewalk. Shivers ripped through my body. I fought for clarity. There was no time for this nonsense.

  Priscilla said to get Tyler’s research. Though she wasn’t nice to me, she always helped. I needed to do what she said.

  “Griff, I need to talk to Tyler again.” I slapped at his arm. He took his foot off the accelerator.

  Mysti leaned between the seats and looked me over. She shook her head. “No. You need home and rest, plus something to cleanse the toxins from your body.” Her voice took on the determined edge that reminded me she was technically my boss.

  “Priscilla Herrera talked to me while I was out of my body.” I turned in the seat to face her and almost enjoyed the way her face got waxy with shock. Mysti feared Priscilla Herrera just as much as I did. “She said we need to see all of Tyler’s pictures. There’s one we need to take to Cecil.”

  “I’ll go to the library parking lot.” Griff eased the SUV into the line for the next turnaround. He glanced at Mysti in the rearview mirror. “It’s not like the sheriff’s deputies will be doing a car to car search. And we can pick up your car. I don’t like leaving it.”