Crossroads (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 7)

by Catie Rhodes

  Griff’s head snapped back as though someone had slapped him. “You have to get back in him. There’s some secret you can use against him, and he knows it.”

  “But I don’t know how to get back in him.” Impatience bubbled like a pot of spaghetti sauce about to explode. “I don’t even know how to find him."

  Griff slowed the SUV and turned onto the road toward the RV park.

  Brad held one hand up. “Patience. Just have patience. We’ll figure it out.”

  I directed Griff through the RV park to Cecil’s motor home. Griff stopped in front and let out a long whistle.

  “How much you wanna bet old Cecil has the only nice rig in the bunch?” The nastiness I’d heard when Griff first mentioned Cecil the night before came back.

  Griff had told me the history between him and Cecil was none of my business. That was all fine and dandy before the Coachman took Zora. Now we all had to work together. “Tell me what happened between you and Cecil and if you’re going to be able to work together.”

  Griff jutted out his jaw and frowned.

  “Tell her or I will.” Mysti glared at Griff. “And while you tell it, let go of it enough so you can work with him.” He grunted. She leaned into his space. “I’m serious. Get to it.”

  Griff hung on to the SUV’s steering wheel for dear life. “My father had a taste for gambling. It got him into all kinds of trouble. Before I was born, he did some federal time. He met Cecil in prison.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows at me. “Every time Daddy ran out of money, Cecil would help him get loans from the wrong people. It just got him deeper in the hole.” He stopped speaking, and I thought he’d finished. He stared at the RV, eyes narrowed, then spoke again. “Mom and I would have no groceries in the house, and Daddy would be out rolling dice, like it was a paying living. He’d come home broke a few days later. Cecil’d call him up, offer him little illegal jobs to get him going again. When Daddy died—”

  Mysti interrupted. “Was beaten to death over a gambling debt.”

  Griff swallowed. “Cecil came by the house with one bag of groceries and a suit for me to wear to Daddy’s funeral. Told me I was the man of the house now.” His shoulders tightened, and he snorted.

  “How old were you?” Also not my business, but might as well put both feet in the pool of shit.

  “Twelve. Me and Mom were probably better off without Daddy. She remarried a real nice guy. Our lights never got turned off again, and we always had groceries after that.” Griff bit his lip, eyes dark in thought. “My path has crossed with Cecil’s a few times over the years. He always mentions that sack of food and that cheap fucking suit he brought over. He’s right proud of it.” Griff turned to me. “The part that stays with me, though? I think Cecil could have saved Daddy from those people and chose not to. He just cut his ties and let them kill him. I think that’s what Cecil does. So watch yourself.”

  My great-uncle picked that moment to come out of his motor home, Jadine right behind him.

  “Who is that?” Brad came to life in the backseat. “She is smoking hot.”

  “Jadine,” I said. “But she’s not looking for a slobbery hound dog like you. She’s out of your league. So don’t even try it.”

  “That’s the blonde from the picture. The one with no paper trail.” Griff stared at Jadine like she was a rare bird.

  “Cecil and his wife adopted her. She’s family.” My toes curled as the words left my mouth. I’d known this last night when Griff showed me her picture, and I’d chosen not to tell him. Now it was obvious I’d held back information.

  He turned to me, aghast. “You knew when you saw her picture and never said anything. Why?” I didn’t know, so I shrugged. Griff grabbed my arm. “Don’t you see how they’re pulling you in? Don’t you understand—”

  Mysti spoke up. “Griffin. No.”

  He let go of me, and I climbed out of the SUV. Griff scrambled out and practically ran around the vehicle. Mysti followed at a safe distance. Brad got out, grinning like a used car salesman. He made a beeline for Jadine.

  Cecil walked across his small yard, Jadine at his elbow. “Park’s owner doesn’t like people just coming in here, barreling through. You’re supposed to sign in at the front.” Cecil’s eyes were red-rimmed. Had he been crying for Zora? Worrying about her? I had even more bad news for him, for all of them.

  Griff stomped into Cecil’s space. “Anything to get me out of here, right? So you can turn on the charm, pretend to be a kind old uncle? Get my friend involved in your craziness?”

  “Can the two of you not—” I didn’t even know what I wanted to ask them not to do. Didn’t matter. Both of them held out their hands to shut me up. It was between them. None of my business.

  Cecil stood his ground. “Griffin, never fear leaving my niece with me.” His smile had all the warmth of a snake’s eyes. “She’s my family. My blood. I always keep my family safe.”

  Understanding flashed through me, followed by an ugly guilt. Cecil had not protected Griff’s father because he hadn’t been family.

  Griff’s face darkened as Cecil’s meaning soaked in. He turned to me, mouth silently opening and closing. Finally he shook himself and said, “Watch yourself with these people. I’ll go sign in.”

  Griff walked stiffly back to the SUV, got inside, started it, and sat staring straight ahead. Mysti tugged on Brad’s arm. He tried to shake her off, but she gave him a harder yank than I’d ever seen. The two of them got back into the SUV, and Griff drove them away, leaving me there with Cecil and Jadine.

  Finn and Dillon came out of the RV, both with wet, bloodshot eyes. Dillon hiked Zander up on one hip. The little boy kicked to be let down, but she held him tight.

  “We gotta have a serious talk.” I spoke to Cecil, but Finn and Dillon were the ones who really needed to know what the Coachman wanted with Zora.

  Cecil took one look at my face and jerked as though he’d seen a booger or a haint. He had a lifetime reading people and must have seen the bad news on my face.

  “It’s about Zora, ain’t it?” Dillon's voice broke. Finn tried to take Zander from her. She slapped him away and turned her blue eyes on me, so terrified they’d gone cold and lifeless as stone. Her words came out guttural. “Tell me. Now.”

  So I did. I told her Griff’s theory about Zora being the one the Coachman planned to be reborn through and how he planned to use me and Lazarus Root to do it. I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell them what would happen to Zora, but I think they saw the horror on my face. It was enough.

  Dillon let out an animal howl, shoved Zander at Finn, and ran over to Cecil’s gas grill. She reared back and kicked the thing. The grill, mostly metal, fell over with a massive clatter. It had to hurt, but Dillon just reared back for another kick. Finn passed Zander, who’d started to whimper, to Jadine. The poor kid popped his thumb in his mouth and watched his mother’s tantrum with wide eyes.

  Finn pulled Dillon off the grill. She threw her head back and screamed, her whole body tensing with effort.

  A couple approached holding hands, and as they came closer, I saw it was Kenny and Anita. They stopped to watch Dillon's grief.

  Cecil stepped forward. “This is a family matter. Leave us alone.”

  “We got a right to observe.” Kenny planted his feet in a wide stance. “We’s a part of this community too.”

  Dillon let out another howl, and Cecil glanced between our unwelcome guests and his mourning kinfolk. I motioned at Cecil to go help Dillon and stood between our intruders and the awful scene.

  Anita let out an ugly snort that sounded like a baboon trying to pass a dry turd. “Oh, you Miss Badass now?”

  I stepped toward them, each step deliberate and slow. I gathered the mantle as I came. The energy coming off the trees seeped into me, and the wind picked up, ruffling my hair.

  I stopped a foot from Kenny and Anita. “Do you want to find out what I am?” I pulled hard on the mantle. Thunder grumbled in the sky, and lightning flashed.

 
Kenny and Anita backed away. They didn’t turn their backs until they were a good ten feet from me. I didn’t blame them. I scared me sometimes too. I had to wonder just what I was capable of if I ever integrated the mantle completely. The thought left goose bumps on my arms.

  Cecil turned away from Dillon long enough to give me a respectful nod.

  Dillon ran at me, tears rolling down her face one after the other. “You can’t fix it?”

  I backed away from her. Those fists looked like they’d hurt. “If the Coachman doesn’t get me, he can’t be reborn in Zora’s body.”

  “But why does he need you, specifically?” The question came from Jadine. I thought it was a damn good one. Other than the weird connect I felt every time I got around Zora, I saw no reason for the Coachman not to get another psychic medium to help him. I sure wasn’t the only one in the world and not even close to the most skilled one.

  Cecil sat hunched over the table, shaking his head. “Peri Jean holds the center of our family’s power. She and Zora share blood.” His gaze snapped to mine, and for just a second, I could almost read his command for secrecy about the connection I felt to Zora. Strange. I never even discussed it with him. “She’s the perfect conduit for the Coachman to use to get into Zora.”

  “So all we have to do is keep Peri Jean away from the Coachman.” Finn led Dillon to a picnic table, forced her to sit down, and got Zander for her.

  “I don’t know that it’ll be so easy.” I told them the rest, about the effort to poison me and presented the idea the Coachman had people helping him.

  “He won’t quit.” Cecil went to sit at the picnic table with the others. Jadine followed and motioned me to join them.

  “So this whole thing’s a done deal?” Dillon's voice rose to a scream. “Bullshit!”

  “Maybe not.” I took out my cellphone and showed Cecil the picture of Samantha. “She knew more about the Coachman than she told you.” Still suspicious that Cecil had omitted part of the story, I watched him carefully.

  Cecil slumped. He dropped his head and heaved out a deep sigh. “We’re going to have to contact Samantha to find out what she knew.”

  His show of disappointment could have been an act or not. I didn’t have the skill to pick up anything other than disappointment and dread. I didn’t understand. Didn’t Cecil share the same connection to the dead? What was his problem? “Let’s do it. What are we waiting for? The way to kill the Coachman might be with her.”

  Cecil wagged his head. “After I had my big heart attack, I lost most of my ability to call spirits.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Besides that, Samantha’s never allowed contact before now. I’ve tried many times.”

  I bet she’d do it for me. A smile spread over my face, and a feeling I wasn’t too familiar with made me sit up a little straighter. “Let me show you what I can do, Papaw.” This was the first time I’d used the nickname Cecil had requested.

  His eyes widened, and he slung an arm over my shoulders. “Show me.”

  Griff’s SUV eased to a stop in front of the RV. He got out and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Mysti and Brad flanked him. Together they approached us.

  Before Griff could speak, I stood. “Papaw, I’d like you to meet my friends and roommates. This is Mysti Whitebyrd and Brad Whitebyrd. And you know Griffin Reed. They’ve saved my ass more times than I can count.” I hoped my meaning came through. These people meant something to me. They were my family, maybe not by blood but by chance and choice. I wanted them in my life. Griff shot me a grateful smile.

  Cecil stepped toward Mysti, smiling. “I know of Mysti Whitebyrd. Her reputation as a powerful witch precedes her.” He stuck out his hand. Mysti shook it, a flush darkening her cheekbones. Cecil let go of Mysti and frowned at the RV. “That’s not going to be big enough for all of us. Let’s go use the rec room.” He led the way across the park, Jadine on his arm.

  11

  A GLOOMY TWILIGHT, the kind where the dark deepened until the shadows swallowed any natural light, hung in the sky. Lights on tall creosote-coated poles blinked on and glowed weakly. The humid chill worked its way through my thin clothes. My toes felt like frozen fish sticks in my boots.

  Brad maneuvered his way through the group until he walked next to Jadine. He leaned close and spoke to her. She giggled.

  I glanced at Mysti. She watched the exchange with a vague smile on her face. No matter. I’d tell Brad to leave Jadine alone later. She didn’t need his bullshit. Brad considered himself a lady-killer. He went out with a lot of women, but I’d bet it was because he made such a nuisance of himself, they only agreed so he’d go away.

  “We don’t need to be at a séance, do we?” Dillon marched alongside me, Zander riding her hip. The kid looked at me and popped his thumb in his mouth. Dillon reached over and took it out without missing a beat. “The dead don’t communicate with us.”

  Cecil shook his head. “What did I tell you after we met Peri Jean? The day we met her for breakfast. What did I tell you that day?” Cecil’s voice took on the cadence of a parent speaking to a not particularly bright child. “Do you remember?”

  “That she’s the center of our family’s power.” Dillon recited the words, no meaning behind them. She was in good company. The term puzzled and sort of scared me.

  “Center of our family’s power.” I said the words slowly. “You’ve said that about me several times now, and all I know is that it’s Priscilla Herrera’s mantle. I have no idea why it’s so important. Why should it mean anything to Dillon?” The sound of my voice shocked me. I hadn’t intended to speak aloud, and I certainly hadn’t meant to say as much as I did.

  Why not? asked a querulous inner voice. They’re talking about me. If they’re mad because I ask, they can kick me out. Get Zora back themselves. The force behind the force startled me. It sounded like Memaw on those days nobody messed with her.

  Cecil slowed to walk beside me. “Well, I only know what Aunt Fern said when I asked her why she was willing to teach you witchcraft. She said you hold the power to bring us together…”

  Something heavy crashed to the ground. A woman screamed, loud and long. The sound of metal rending drowned her out. The crashes came closer and closer, shaking the ground.

  “What is that?” My voice trembled right along with the rest of my body.

  “I—I don’t know.” Cecil’s voice trembled too. “Finn, get your family into the rec room. Lock the door and stay there.” He gave Jadine a light push. “Go with them.” Cecil hurried in the direction of the noise.

  Something groaned. A loud snap cut the night, and the lights fluttered and went dark. Cecil disappeared into the darkness.

  “Wait,” I hissed. I hurried along behind him until I clipped my thigh on a picnic table. “Damn it all to hell.” I changed course and ran over a lawn chair. I sprawled on the ground, hitting my elbow on a patch of concrete.

  “Peri Jean?” Griff called from nearby.

  “Griff?” I yelled. “Where are you?” He’d know what to do.

  “Just stay where you are.” He had to shout to be heard over the din. “We’re coming.”

  A stiff, icy wind picked up. Aluminum cans and other light items rattled as they took flight.

  “What is happening?” a woman cried.

  Another crash came out of the darkness. I stumbled toward the noise. A hard, familiar hand gripped my arm, and a huge hand covered my mouth.

  “Stay still,” Wade Hill whispered in my ear. He yanked me against his chest and clamped an unyielding arm over my middle. I relaxed into his bulk, and he took his hand off my mouth.

  “How did you find me?” His ability to locate me, no matter where I was both unnerved and flattered me.

  “Same way I always do.” His chest rose and fell against my back. “I’d have been here last night, but King was unhappy about me cutting out of town. Then, once I got down here, my signals got all crossed. I went to Griff and Mysti’s, and nobody was home.”

  “How’d
you find their house?” Talking to Wade made it easier to ignore the chaos around me. People ran past crying and screaming. Wade backed us up until he leaned against a tree.

  “You sent me directions in one of your emails.” I heard the smile in his voice.

  “Which you never answered.” I wiggled in Wade’s arms, wanting to face him, and he locked his arm where I couldn’t move.

  “You need to move on. Emailing me isn’t going to help.” The finality hung heavy in Wade’s voice. Arguing the point would only piss him off. He didn’t want me. That was that. It was foolish for me to keep hanging on.

  “Cecil Paul Gregson, son of Iris, grandson of Samantha.” A gravelly voice echoed through the camp. “Come speak to me at the campfire.”

  I tried to pull away from Wade to go help Cecil. He might not be perfect, but I thought he needed me.

  “Cecil Paul Gregson,” the voice grated again, ringing through the trees and around the RVs like it was on a loudspeaker system, making me jump. “Come talk to me, or I’ll kill everyone here.”

  Several screams met the demand.

  “It’s the Coachman.” I struggled with Wade.

  “That the booger you got yourself in trouble with?” His arm felt heavy as concrete over me.

  I pulled at it. “I want to hear what it says to him. I need to.”

  He heaved a sigh but put one arm around me and walked me in the same direction everyone seemed to be going. We passed a pickup truck bent neatly in half and a golf cart torn to pieces. The roof had been ripped off one of the pavilions, the aluminum siding curled like the lid of a sardine can.

  We ended up at the fire pit where the ghostly carriage took Zora. The fire roared again, flames licking so high they seemed to go into the heavens. Wade held me back at the edge of the clearing.

  “Watch from here,” he whispered.

  Cecil stepped into the clearing, the flickering light of the fire creating shadows on his face, giving it a skeletal, spectral appearance. He glanced around and said, “I’m Cecil Paul Gregson, leader of Sanctuary. To whom am I speaking?”