Brown Eyed Ghoul: A Ghostly Paranormal Romance Series (The Peyton Clark Series Book 3)

by H. P. Mallory

  Lovie took the lead and knocked on the door, glancing at me while we waited in the relative silence of the truck’s engine behind us and the bottles clanking in the trees when the wind blew. She seemed to realize I sensed her anxiety because she gave me a reassuring smile. She hardly turned her attention back to the door again before it opened.

  Guarda didn’t waste any time. She barely glanced at us, then walked back into the darkness of her house.

  Ryan and I exchanged a look, but Lovie stepped over the threshold. I inhaled a deep breath, then followed her with Ryan at my heels and his hand on the small of my back.

  The hair on the nape of my neck stood on end as I entered the house, and the strange smell of it entered my brain and triggered an instinctive reaction of dread. Though the house harbored uneasy memories for me, I couldn’t find any real reason for my adverse reaction to the place.

  Drake murmured something calming to me, but I was too busy looking around to catch what he was saying. I was on high alert, taking stock of everything. Guarda’s house hadn’t changed much since the last time we were there, not that I could tell anyway. Glistening white skulls filled the shelves of one wall, and other shelves held tiny bottles filled with various ominous-looking mixtures. The naked baby dolls in the jars were still creepy as hell.

  “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice,” Lovie said, her warm voice providing some comfort.

  Guarda grunted her response as she smelled the contents of a jar, then capped it, and put it back on the shelf before she grabbed another. As I watched her movements, something about her reminded me of the young Guarda. The one who commanded Peter into doing her bidding. I recalled a chilling encounter I had with someone who looked exactly like the young Guarda. That was in the graveyard at Peter’s funeral, but it couldn’t have been Guarda.

  I continued watching how Guarda moved as she rummaged through her jars on the shelf, that familiar sense of uneasiness growing in the pit of my stomach. Something about the way she shifted from one foot to the other, the mannerisms. It was quicker, less jerky than the way I remembered her. She was moving with the spryness and agility of someone much younger.

  Or was I just imagining things?

  “We were wondering if you might be able to send Peyton back in time again,” Lovie inquired politely.

  Ryan shifted his weight uneasily, edging closer to me.

  We all stood in awkward silence while Guarda busied herself with whatever she was doing with her jars and continued to completely ignore us.

  “And we were wondering if it’s possible to send the spirit who is currently possessing her back with her as well,” Lovie added.

  Guarda stilled at hearing that, then finally turned to face us, her milky white eyes fixed on me. She shuffled toward me, stopping right in front of me, still staring.

  All three of us were tense, Ryan especially, as she continued to bore those ungodly eyes into mine. She reached for my chin, her bony fingers grasping it without taking her eyes off mine, as if she were looking past them and directly into my brain. Her mouth hung open slightly, revealing her toothless gums.

  I swallowed hard but didn’t look away. It wasn’t because I couldn’t look away, but I was strongly compelled to stare back, regardless of what my mind really wanted to do.

  Is she looking at me? Drake whispered, the tone in his voice suggesting he was again trying to lighten my anxiety. She is making me feel quite naked.

  Finally, her lips twitched back into a smirk, making me even more uncomfortable than when she was just blankly staring at me.

  “I sends them back,” she said. Her hand fell from my face and she turned away from me, returning to her shelves full of jars.

  “But…” I started, addressing Guarda and expecting her to turn back around. When she didn’t, I continued, “How is it even possible? Drake would have been alive at the same time so if his spirit takes up actual form, wouldn’t that stand to reason that there would be… two of him?” Guarda abruptly waved at me over her shoulder, indicating for me to stop talking. I blinked a couple of times, and sensed the odd idea that even if I wanted to talk, it would take too much effort to do so. There seemed to be a sudden disconnect between my mouth and my head.

  “Jes don’ let ‘em meet,” Guarda finally said.

  “Who?” I asked for clarification although I was fairly sure she was talking about Drake but with Guarda, it was always better to double check.

  She looked at me like I was a blithering idiot. “The spirit that lives past death, an’ the one that has yet to travel through death.”

  I opened my mouth to ask more, but she stifled my words with just a look.

  “There’s something else,” Lovie started.

  Guarda appeared to ignore her as she shuffled past us to the skulls on the wall.

  “Last time, Peyton was supposed to take back some physical items with her, but they didn’t make it through,” Lovie explained.

  “This time, there are things she must have with her…” Ryan added.

  “Mmm,” Guarda said, but it seemed she was only responding to Ryan’s voice. She made no indication that she was pondering his or Lovie’s words. Judging by her reaction to him, she seemed more like she was savoring the familiarity of her lover’s voice.

  It made me gnash my teeth and I fought against the surge of possessiveness toward Ryan that overcame me. The next second, an overwhelming urge to protect him swelled inside me. Strangely, Guarda seemed to pick up on what I was feeling, even though her back was turned toward me. She chuckled, as if she found my childish emotions humorous.

  Ryan was clueless.

  Shall I define her as a ‘whack job’? Did I use that term correctly, mon chaton? Drake asked, trying to distract me from the simmering anger that bubbled inside me. I wondered if he were also trying to pretend he couldn’t feel the strange effect Guarda had over me.

  We all waited while Guarda picked over the skulls, her slender fingers caressing each one in a lavish gesture that did not suggest anything remotely close to affection. When she finally selected one, she turned back around to face us.

  “This one was pregnant,” she said as she carried the skull back to the shelves that held the jars. “Two spirits, travelin’ across the divide together.” She mumbled to herself, as if she were completely alone in the room.

  I looked at Ryan, who was staring at the skull in absolute horror, while Drake whispered something in French and sounded disgusted. Lovie, apparently better equipped to handle the thought of death and birth being so closely intertwined, spoke up again.

  “Can we send physical items back with Peyton?”

  Guarda halted as she turned to Lovie. “If ya do it right this time, o’ course.” She paused just long enough to give Lovie an offended stare down.

  Lovie closed her mouth and politely smiled.

  Guarda went back to what she was doing, gathering potions and other items I didn’t really care to know the origins of. I looked at Ryan who was still tense, but stood his ground with his hands on his hips. Lovie watched every move Guarda made, silently taking stock of what she was doing. I patiently waited, wondering about the things Guarda was putting together that she would use to weave her magic through me, and separate my spirit from my body.

  We will be okay, mon chaton, Drake said softly. I kept the demon away from you. She is just an old woman.

  If Guarda reacted to Drake’s words, I couldn’t see or hear any sign of it, but for some reason, I possessed the firm understanding that she must have heard them. I also knew from watching her movements and the way they too-perfectly resembled the young Guarda in the dark moments I’d previously witnessed, that Drake was wrong, and in more ways than one.

  Guarda suddenly looked right up at me and stared me right in the eyes for three seconds flat. “I’m not interested in the spirit you think I am,” she said flatly.

  I had to wonder if she was talking about Dorothy…

  SEVEN

  I looked at the
Google map of New York City on my phone, eyeing the little, yellow stars that marked each place Dorothy Arnold was spotted on her walk. The star at the end of Fifth Avenue seemed to stare back at me; the final place she was seen. A printed version of the map was tucked into an antique purse that I would (hopefully) be taking with me back to New York City in 1910, if all went according to plan.

  “Are you nervous?” Ryan asked as he smiled down at me.

  “No,” I lied before returning the smile.

  Where are the flying automotives? Drake asked, his voice shrill with excitement. I thought you said they were large. Shouldn’t we have seen them by now if they’re so large?

  When I didn’t answer, he added, Put your phone away, mon chaton, I am getting nauseated from your carsickness.

  It still amused me how he said “carsickness.” The term sounded so foreign coming from him. Sometimes, he simply invented words, like “flying automotives,” usually because he was too awe-struck to remember the correct term.

  I tucked my phone into my purse, a smirk appearing on my face. We should see the planes soon. Just as we drove under the signs directing traffic toward outbound flight terminals, Drake shrieked in my head, and the sound made me cringe.

  Is that one? Is that it? he asked.

  A plane was flying lower over the road, making its landing approach. It was so close, I could see all the little nicks and imperfections in the wings.

  Yes, I answered flatly, although I was still amused at his jovial surprise. That’s the kind we’ll be on.

  Unbelievable, he gasped. Explain to me again how it works, ma minette. You said the shape of the wings combines with the power from the engine…?

  I tried to recall the brief tutorial Drake and I read together on Google. Although this was the first time he’d ever seen a plane up close, I’d pointed out plenty of them to him in the sky. Yes, the top part of the wing is shaped differently from the bottom part, and the way the air moves over the wing decreases the air pressure above the wing…

  Impossible. It’s simply impossible that something so large and heavy and metal and filled with people and cargo could become airborne…

  It doesn’t seem possible, I agreed, but he was too fascinated by what he was seeing to hear the rest of my explanation for how planes flew. He probably didn’t even hear the beginning of it.

  Next came baggage check, security, and finding our boarding gate, which led to so many questions from Drake that I almost had to shut him out to keep my sanity. But we pushed onward, and waited until they called our flight. Not long afterwards, we were shuffling down a small hallway to board the plane.

  As soon as the small door came into view and the interior of the plane was visible, Drake’s excited chatter trailed off. I was so caught up in all the things I had to do to get us on board (dragging my luggage, keeping track of my boarding pass, staying in line, etc.), that I didn’t realize Drake went completely silent until the flight crew welcomed us onboard.

  My brow furrowed, and Ryan who was in front of me, turned to catch my expression.

  “Something wrong?”

  I wiped the mild concern from my face and smiled. “Nope.”

  Ryan’s gaze lingered on me, and although he smiled back at me, the worry didn’t quite leave his eyes.

  We slowly found our seats, getting stuck behind the slo-mo, ambling passengers who stopped in the aisle to stow their carry-ons up in the overhead bins. Drake was still silent, but I was too worn out from waking up so early and getting ready for the trip to inquire after him.

  We finally sat down: Ryan, Lovie, and me in the window seat on one side of the plane, and Christopher on the other side of the aisle where he pointedly ignored all the curious looks of the other people on board. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, reading a newspaper that he brought from home (Who’s Who in Voodoo Weekly), and keeping all three seats to himself. I smiled, wondering what poor soul would draw the unlucky ticket that relegated them to sitting next to Christopher. As long as it wasn’t me, I didn’t care.

  Mon chaton?

  Yes?

  Do these machines ever crash?

  I looked out the window, growing excited for takeoff. I loved flying. Yup.

  What?! What happens if we crash?

  One of the flight attendants, an overly cheerful man with an impeccably groomed mustache, took the phone off the hook at the front of the plane and announced, “Good mornin’ New Orleans!” with a big smile.

  Let’s hope neither of us finds out, I answered.

  The man pointed out the emergency exits and proceeded with the rest of the safety speech. Drake didn’t utter a single word until he heard that the passengers seated at the emergency exits had to be strong enough to lift the doors off.

  How far are we from those exits? Oh, good God! There’s an old woman seated next to the one closest to us! There’s no way she could possibly…

  The flight attendant asked the woman who wasn’t much past fifty if she could open the emergency door and she smiled and said yes. Satisfied with her reply, he went to ask another person further back in the plane.

  Is he really moving on? He’s just accepting her answer without any proof? He should have forced her to attempt to open the door instead of taken her silly word! We are doomed! We must switch seats at once!

  I shut Drake out to save both of our sanities, fully expecting the hell he’d give me when I turned the lights back on for him, but I was too exhausted to care at the moment. I let my head fall back against the seat and shut my eyes. Ryan picked up my hand and began to rub my palm with his fingers.

  “Tired?” he asked me gently.

  It brought a small smile to my lips. “Yes,” I murmured without opening my eyes. I was afraid I’d shatter the unusually peaceful lull if I even twitched the wrong way.

  Things had been tense between us all week. After seeing Guarda, and collecting what we needed from her to successfully travel back to 1910, or so we hoped, we had to wait until the following weekend to catch a flight to New York. Ryan couldn’t get away until then and there was no way I would go without him. He was already upset about everything that was happening.

  In the meantime, Drake and I did our best to prep for the trip back in time. By far, the most troubling obstacle to overcome was obtaining money from that time period. Drake mentioned some distant relatives in New York that we could borrow the money from, but neither of us really liked that idea. We wanted money in our pockets as soon as we landed in 1910. For a while, bumming money from Drake’s family seemed to be our only option, until we managed to find someone online who worked in the entertainment business making historic props. He supplied us with realistic money from that era.

  Through our connection with that guy, we also got clothing for me: a blouse and long skirt, a coat, a purse, shoes, the works. It was dusty and well-worn, but hopefully, no one would notice. And Drake said we had more than enough money to buy a new outfit if it came to that. We also did all of the research: plotting Dorothy’s path on the last day she was seen on a map of Manhattan. We had to locate a hotel from 1910 that was still standing so we could have a point of reference. Hopefully, no one in 1910 got hold of my starched, white sheet of color-printed Google map directions! That would have certainly been a difficult anachronism to explain.

  With everything we had to accomplish, the week flew by. But it was stressful, and I felt exhausted, like I hardly slept at all. To make matters worse, Ryan was stretched thin trying to finish everything he had to do in time to take the weekend off. What little time we shared together was spent trying to catch up on a few precious hours of lost sleep. Ryan managed to get some, while I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. At least I had Drake to keep me company. I even shut my eyes several times to visit him in my mind so we could discuss the upcoming trip in person.

  A soft jolt made me open my eyes, and the plane began to roll backwards. Ryan was reading a book, but holding my hand. It felt like we should have been more focused on each o
ther, spending more time together before this risky “foray” as Ryan called it. But I didn’t know what to say and even though we were on an even keel, the stress of the week was still looming, creating distance I didn’t know how to bridge. I looked out the window as I watched the runway and felt lonely. The gloomy weather only exacerbated my mood. Small raindrops pattered on my window, and I vaguely wondered if it’d be a rough flight. I sighed gently and inwardly chanted the words to let Drake back in.

  I fully expected a severe scolding, but instead, he was silent.

  Drake?

  I am not speaking to you right now.

  He sounded legitimately pissed, which made me feel bad. I’m sorry, Drake. I just needed a break. When he didn’t reply, I added in a soft voice, We’re about to take off. Still nothing. That’s the best part.

  I looked out the window, my head still uncharacteristically silent. Too tired to prod Drake any further, I resorted to inward reflection, remembering the last time I was on a plane. I was leaving California, and more importantly, my ex-husband, Jonathon behind. It was strange, and not that long ago. I tried to imagine what Jonathon would say about my life now. I couldn’t, really. My head just couldn’t wrap around seeing Lovie and Jonathon in the same room. He was a stuck-up attorney who only viewed the world in black and white. Asking him to go see Guarda with me? I practically laughed out loud at the absurd notion.

  The engines in the plane began to roar to life beneath us as we taxied to the runway. The pilot said something incoherent over the speaker, but I managed to piece together that we’d been cleared for takeoff.

  Is this it? This is it, isn’t it? Drake asked, his tone resuming the near freak-out level from before, when I previously had to shut him out.

  I took a deep breath, hoping it would help him relax. It’ll be great. You’ll see. There’s nothing like flying through the tops of the clouds for the first time.