“Hire me?” I repeated with a frown, turning to face Ryan who just shrugged.
“Well, of course,” Peter replied. “I didn’t expect you to do me this great service for free!” The laugh that emerged from him was a deep, hearty sound that seemed to vibrate his whole being. “Let me give you some advice, my dear. In general, when people offer you money for your services, don’t question them, just accept it!”
“Advice gratefully accepted,” I grumbled, but I couldn’t conceal my smile.
THREE
The very next day, I found myself sitting on a three-person sofa inside Peter MacGregor’s homey living room. Ryan was on my left side, and Lovie, the voodoo priestess who was kind enough to come to my aid yet again, sat on my right. Peter occupied the chair in front of me while Christopher, the warlock, stood awkwardly in the corner of the ornately wallpapered room, scowling at everyone, as was customary for the less-than-friendly man.
Although Christopher wasn’t much older than my thirty-one years, the way he dressed and carried himself made him seem almost ancient. At barely over six feet, he had white, pasty skin, which appeared all the more ghastly when paired with the contrasting black clothing he always insisted on wearing. I wasn’t sure if it was stress from dealing with the spirit world, but his hair was completely gray and now matched the same ashen hue as his wide but lifeless eyes.
Just like every other time I’d had the fortune (or misfortune, given his less than cheery personality) to encounter him, he was wearing a floor-length, black, satin cape. His signature black lipstick, black nail polish and heavy dark eyeliner were all in attendance as well. He looked like the ringleader for a nefarious, traveling circus.
For as dark as Christopher appeared, Lovie was quite the opposite, not only in personality but in her choice of clothing as well. Being on the smallish side, she stood barely five feet tall. Although slightly overweight, she was still beautiful and had the most flawless, chocolate skin I’d ever seen. Even though she didn’t really have very many wrinkles, judging from the scant crow’s-feet around her eyes, I guessed she was probably in her late forties or early fifties. Every time I saw her, she had on a colorful scarf, which she wrapped around her head like a turban. Today, the scarf was bright red. She also always wore a floor-length skirt accessorized by a sort of jingly, hippie belt. Today was no different.
I crossed my feet at the ankles, being careful not to shift the gris-gris sitting in my lap. Now, before you mistakenly think I was covered in grease, or something along the same lines, the “s” in gris-gris is silent (think gree-gree). And as to the definition? It’s a little fabric bag filled with various bits and bobs, designed to protect whoever wears or carries it from evil spirits. I’d already activated the little talisman by holding it up to my mouth and gently blowing into it, thereby imbuing it with life. That is, of course, according to voodoo lore.
“Do you feel Adele’s spirit yet, honey?” Lovie asked with a wide and patient smile.
Gris-gris or not, so far, I had yet to sense Adele’s presence, leaving me without much hope. I was fairly certain I should have picked up some kind of trace of her by now. Seeing as how I was able to interact with the spirit world, I could see and hear the spirits as if they were still corporeal. But I had yet to see or hear anything that might even hint to Adele’s presence. Maybe our little errand would wind up being much shorter than I’d previously imagined …
“Not yet,” I answered before glancing at Peter quickly. I was hoping he wouldn’t appear concerned or disappointed over that fact. If he were either, he didn’t show it. Instead, he seemed entirely uncomfortable, sitting straight as a board while observing us with an expression of puzzled bewilderment on his face. I figured all this voodoo business must have been alien to him. Of course, since he admitted knowing Guarda, maybe I was completely wrong?
“Hmm,” Lovie started with a frown as she studied me intently, holding her palms up to my face as if she were trying to touch my aura. “Maybe we need to put a little more work inta openin’ you up to the spirit world.” She placed one of her hands on my knee, offering me some encouragement.
“I’m game for whatever you think would help,” I replied as I nodded. I deeply inhaled another whiff of incense that Lovie ignited to clear the space of evil spirits. The incense included aloeswood, sandalwood, myrrh and dragon’s blood resin. She placed it on a piece of charcoal on the coffee table in order to fumigate the living room of anything that might do us harm. I couldn’t help wondering what might happen if we didn’t go through all the rigmarole of ensuring our spiritual safety, but concluded it was probably better not to find out.
Drake, are you still there? I asked in thought; he was unusually quiet.
Oui, ma minette, he answered immediately, and his deep voice in my head instantly brought me a sense of calm that wasn’t there before. I can sense your anxiety, which makes me feel quite anxious, also.
I’m sorry, I said, knowing there really wasn’t much I could do to slow the throbbing of my pulse, or reduce my escalated heartrate. When dealing with the spiritual world, I always got nervous. And for good reason; I’d nearly lost my life when I confronted the Axeman. Granted, this situation was far different from that one, but it still failed to inspire me with much confidence.
“Now it’s time for the Creole water,” Lovie announced. She reached inside her satchel from where it sat on the carpet, near her feet. She carried the fabric bag with her everywhere, along with various vials, tinctures, oils and candles for her voodoo spells. She pulled out a vial of what looked like water and popped off the cork before dipping her pinky finger into the liquid and anointing my face with it. She drew a wet line down the center of my forehead and then another down each of my cheeks. This ceremony wasn’t new to me. Lovie had often used Creole water on me in the past. It aided me in establishing my intentions to communicate with the spirit world.
“Keep on rubbin’ that amethyst, honey,” Lovie said in her singsong voice as she continued to baste my face in oil that smelled like wet earth.
I’d momentarily forgotten about the chunk of amethyst which I was holding in my palm for the last, oh, twenty minutes, since I first sat down. Lovie advised me that rubbing it would also ward away any lingering spirits who might harm us. Meanwhile, a white candle burned from the top of a side table just beside Lovie. In voodoo, white candles were used when contacting departed souls. They were also used to purify and cleanse any ritual. Beside the white candle was a candle in the shape of a skull, also supposedly helpful when consulting the deceased.
“Now close your eyes, honey,” Lovie said. Her voice sounded so soothing, I suddenly felt tired. I closed my eyes as she placed her hand on top of my head. I wasn’t sure if it was merely the feel of her hand, or the magic emanating from her, but I instantly felt less afraid. A refreshing splash of calmness washed over me and my heartrate even slowed down and began to regulate. Yep, Lovie was definitely a powerful priestess.
But unfortunately, nowhere near as powerful as Guarda! my internal voice suddenly piped up. At the thought of Guarda, my stomach dropped and a sense of dread overcame me.
“Now envision openin’ the door to the other side,” Lovie instructed. “Allow yourself to communicate with the spirits, Peyton,” she continued.
This was the second time I’d experienced this form of visualization, and this time, it was much easier to do. I immediately pictured a door in front of me, with no walls holding it in place. It was just floating. I imagined it opening wide and beckoning me toward a vast stretch of darkness and space. In my imagination, I gripped both sides of the doorjamb before stepping through it. I instantly was surrounded by cold air—and I could feel goose bumps rising all over my skin.
“Are you in the spirit world, babydoll?” Lovie asked. I just nodded, shivering in spite of my efforts to remain calm.
“Very good, Peyton,” she said, and I sensed the smile in her voice. “Welcome the spirits, and let them know you want to invite them closer. Tell them
you wish them no harm; an’, in turn, you will refuse to allow any deceitful spirits to contact you.”
I nodded and repeated her words to myself as I faced the black stretch of nothingness I saw beyond the open door in my mind.
“Once you’ve said all you need to, you may open your eyes,” Lovie finished.
I repeated the words in my head one more time, just in case some of the spirits might have missed them the first time around. Then I opened my eyes.
I instantly closed them and opened them again. I had to make sure the sight before me was really there and not just some odd fabrication of my mind. I was still in Peter’s house, but Peter and Christopher, who had been in front of me only seconds before, were now gone. They simply popped right out of existence. I glanced to my left, but didn’t see Ryan and, just as I began to suspect, Lovie was no longer sitting on my right side either.
“Guys?” I asked in a small voice. I focused on the couch beneath the window in front of me. It hadn’t been there a few minutes ago … Glancing down, I found myself still sitting on a sofa; however, it wasn’t the same one I was originally sitting on. Instead, it was upholstered in a dark green, scratchy fabric with loud, bright, white flowers that looked like magnolias. The couch was rectangular, like something straight out of the 1950s. A square coffee table sandwiched between the two couches also reiterated the 1950s’ theme.
This is normal, Peyton, I thought to myself while attempting to calm my frantic heart. Remember the LaLaurie House? When you made contact with the spirits there, you seemed to go back in time; remember? Everything around you appeared the way it would have when the spirits were still alive. Do you remember that?
I nodded to myself.
Well, this is no different! My internal voice of reason and logic continued to explain everything I was currently experiencing. You must have made contact with the spirit world. Now, you’re in Peter’s house, somewhere during the late 1950s.
Okay, I replied hastily. I had to figure out what to do next. Taking a deep breath, I stood up. The only difference between this vision and the one I experienced at the LaLaurie House was the lack of any spirits to tell me what the hell was going on.
Glancing around myself to make sure I was, in fact, alone, I eventually decided I was probably as alone as I could be. I took a few steps forward, and my legs felt wobbly. Glancing down, I noticed I was still dressed in the same outfit I was wearing a few minutes ago, which was oddly reassuring. I assumed that meant I was definitely caught up in a vision. I really hoped I hadn’t managed to inadvertently send myself back in time. The only other time in which I’d time-traveled, I’d arrived wearing a fashionable outfit for the time. Since I was still dressed in the same clothing I had on previously, that had to mean I hadn’t traveled back in time … right?
It still didn’t help that there were no spirits to be seen anywhere. That meant I was nowhere near figuring out what had happened to Adele. And, from what I could tell, this vacant house wasn’t going to offer me many clues.
Hmm, maybe Adele’s spirit is a little shyer than the ones I experienced at the LaLaurie House? I thought to myself, hoping that was the case. Maybe I need to seek her out; rather than vice versa?
As soon as I realized the only voice I could hear in my head was mine, I started to worry. Drake? I thought. Are you still around? Are you seeing any of this?
Getting no response, I figured the answer was negative. That morsel of information left me with a sense of abject loneliness that I couldn’t shake. Even though Drake was just a voice in my head, having his companionship for these sorts of things made me more comfortable. I didn’t feel as if I were ever truly alone.
What sounded like a whimper came from the rear of the house. Almost instantly, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Part of me demanded I follow the sound and investigate. Yet, another part of me insisted I stay firmly rooted exactly where I was.
You have to find out what the sound was, Peyton, I scolded my cowardly self. That’s the whole reason you came here in the first place!
Despite the blatant truth in my words, I didn’t feel any more eager to get on with the task at hand. The idea of walking in on the scene of a murder was daunting, to say the least. But I managed to muster up some residual willpower, and after taking a long, deep, reinforcing breath, I forced myself to step forward into the hallway off the living room, with no idea what awaited me.
It felt like ages before I finally managed to cross the living room and reach the hallway. When I eventually got there, I leaned heavily against the wall and took a series of deep breaths, if only to calm my sporadic heartbeat. I felt light-headed and dizzy. Pressing my hand on my forehead, the beads of perspiration made my palms clammy.
You can do this, Pey, I encouraged my lesser self before standing straight up and starting down the hallway. I didn’t fail to notice, or feel somewhat concerned, when the whimpering sound didn’t repeat itself. Now, it was eerily quiet in the house, and only the crunching of my feet on the carpet announced anyone’s presence.
Why can I hear my feet on the carpet if I’m in a trance state? I suddenly wondered, becoming slightly alarmed. Of course, I didn’t have the answer. The last time I entered a visionary state, back in the LaLaurie House, I merely existed like a ghost, visiting a time long past. I couldn’t interact with the scenery, much like it couldn’t interact with me. It was more like a movie playing around me.
Ignoring my thoughts, since they didn’t have any bearing on my current situation, I aimed for the end of the hallway, heading to where it T-boned into a bedroom, the door of which was closed. I fully intended to open the door, get the information I needed regarding Adele’s murder, and then break free of the trance. Easy-peasy. In and out.
When I got to the end of the hallway, I reached for the doorknob, but paused once I wrapped my palm around it. I recoiled at the icy coldness of the metal. I took that as another sign I was somehow interacting with my dream state, another uneasy omen.
Just turn the knob, Peyton, I ordered myself briskly.
But I remained frozen in place, my undeniable fear restraining me, holding me hopelessly captive.
FOUR
Open the door, Peyton! I frantically yelled at myself, my attention riveted on the doorknob which I still clutched in my palm. Maybe my internal voice was more forceful this time, or maybe my body suddenly got the program. Either way, I began rotating the doorknob before pushing the door open.
It felt like time stood still as I watched the door swinging slowly inward, revealing part of a bedroom. From where I was standing, I could make out the mint-green striped wallpaper, which matched the green carpeting and, somehow, coordinated with the peach ceiling. My vantage point did not allow me to see the entire room, only a yellow, square bedside table with thick, rectangular legs. There was a white and pink lamp atop it and a fake fichus tree on the side closest to me. To the right of the table was a queen-sized bed. I could only see the edge of the bed, but managed to detect a pink, green and yellow floral coverlet. The print matched the enormous bed skirt, which appeared to start from underneath the mattress before it cascaded in an array of ruffles all the way to the floor.
Remember what you’re here for, I curtly reminded myself as I instinctively began searching for blood splatters on the walls or any other clue that might hint to a murder most foul. Aside from the awful wallpaper, I didn’t see anything on the walls to indicate a struggle took place. I turned my gaze to the floor, where I imagined finding a pool of blood, ultimately leading to a lifeless body. But, nothing. Of course, from my current position, I couldn’t see the whole room, which meant it was quite possible that whatever I was looking for was still waiting to be found.
You have to walk into the room, Peyton! I yelled mentally at myself, growing angry that I was stalling so long. I was only making my job much harder. It was a far better plan to just get in and get out.
So get on with it! I gulped down my fear, suddenly wishing I had Drake’s calming voice i
nside my head to help me face my fears. Realizing I had no one to rely on but myself, I forced myself onward, beyond the entryway leading into the bedroom and straight into the room itself.
That was when I saw them.
There were two people on the bed, a man and a woman. Both of them were naked, and fully engaged in a serious session of lovemaking. My mouth dropped open in shock because it wasn’t every day that I casually strolled onto a scene of two people obviously engaged in what appeared to be a very fulfilling sexual tryst. The man was on top of the woman, and his stark white derriere greeted me as I faced them. The whiteness of his skin was made all the more evident by the darkness of the woman’s.
Suffice to say, I had a sneaking suspicion that whatever happened to Adele must have had something to do with jealousy and hurt feelings over what I imagined was an affair. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if this naked man could be Peter?
I wasn’t really sure what to do, so I just continued to stand there, awkwardly gaping at the vision. Now, the woman’s arms and legs were wrapped around the man’s middle. I felt completely embarrassed for standing here and watching something so private. I tried reminding myself that I was just a spectator in this situation and no one could see me. Nope. Still awkward. Something has to happen soon, I consoled myself as I wondered what exactly I was waiting for. And that being the case, it was simply a matter of waiting for that crucial moment to arrive. Then I could go back to Peter and explain what happened to his first wife. But speaking of Adele, I had no clue where she was. And then it dawned on me … maybe the woman on the bed was Adele? I wasn’t sure why, but I always assumed Adele was a white woman. I had no clue why I expected that, maybe because Peter was white, and from what I could remember, the fifties weren’t exactly as forward-thinking or as tolerant as the world currently was.
Brown Eyed Ghoul: A Ghostly Paranormal Romance Series (The Peyton Clark Series Book 3) Page 3