by Eve Paludan
GHOST FIRE
The Ghost Files #3
by
Eve Paludan
Created by
J.R. Rain & Scott Nicholson
OTHER BOOKS BY EVE PALUDAN
STANDALONE NOVELS
Rekindling Claire
Chasing Broadway
Three Christmas Wishes
Finding Jesse
Glimmer (with J.R. Rain)
Santa’s Little Heist
Hearts of Hanukkah
THE WITCH DETECTIVES
Witchy Business (with Stuart Sharp)
Witch and Famous (with Stuart Sharp)
Witch Way Out (with Stuart Sharp)
Witch Bones
THE WEREWOLF DETECTIVES
with Suzanne Wilson
Werewolf Interrupted
Werewolf Rising
Werewolf Unleashed
THE ANGEL DETECTIVES
The Man Who Fell From the Sky
The Man who Came Up From the Deep
JACK LEE MYSTERIES
Bigfoot Island
BROTHERHOOD OF THE BLADE
Burning
Afterglow
Radiance
RANCH LOVERS ROMANCE
Taking Back Tara
Tara Takes Christmas
~~~~~
THE GHOST FILES
(Multiple Authors)
Ghost College
Ghost Soldier
Ghost Fire
Ghost Hall
Ghost Crypt
Ghost Town
Ghost Writer
Ghost Castle
Ghost Fire
Copyright © 2012 by Eve Paludan
Based on characters created by J.R. Rain and Scott Nicholson
Published by J.R. Rain and Scott Nicholson
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved by the authors.
Dedication
For the ones who believe in ghosts.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to J.R. Rain and Scott Nicholson for creating this amazing series and writing Ghost College, which I enjoyed immensely. As a reader fan, I never expected to end up as an author of one of the series books. Thank you to Evelyn Klebert, for writing Ghost Soldier, the second book in the series. It was a great honor to write the third book in this series, and you are a tough act to follow. Thank you to you three, for the opportunity to grow as a series writer. This was my first foray into writing a book on spec and it was quite a grand challenge.
David H. Doucot, thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me a bunch of tours of West Los Angeles, including Venice and Santa Monica. You know enough behind-the-scenes trivia about famous people and infamous places to fill a book.
Jason, you absolutely rock.
Ghost Fire
Ghost fire—the phenomenon of eerie lights that are sometimes seen in cemeteries or marshes when spontaneous combustion caused by phosphine releases from the decay of rotting organic matter, which then ignites in hot, dry weather. Also called will-o-the-wisp.
Santa Ana wind—extremely dry, powerful winds that are known to exacerbate brush fires in Southern California.
Chapter One
I blamed the overload of positive ions in the atmosphere for our next near-fatal misadventure.
The Santa Ana winds whipped wild and hot, and swept the dust and brushfire smoke of the chaparrals into a grayish-brown canvas that blanketed Los Angeles County. It even peppered Santa Monica and Venice with its signature dry grittiness that tasted of burnt hillsides and auto exhaust. Due to the wind speed and direction, it was not a good day to go to the beach for our stab at taking a vacation. But, as always, Ellen was undaunted by the forces of nature. It was the forces of the supernatural that daunted her. And yet, danced with her, too.
“Santa Monica isn’t very haunted, is it?” I asked my wife, just after we’d done an early check-in and unpacked at the swanky Viceroy Hotel. I stood at the sink, washing my hands and face, trying to rinse off the layer of Santa Ana grit that was making me anxious and itchy.
“Santa Monica not very haunted? Are you kidding? Even West L.A. has its share of ghosts. If I took a guess, I’d say that the beach cities of Southern California aren’t quite as haunted as, say, a cluster of antebellum plantations in the South, but spirits, are everywhere, sometimes where you least expect them. Then again, it just depends on your mindset when you get to where you’re going.”
“Yeah, like the South.” I shuddered. “That military base in New Orleans was pretty intense,” I said. “Any ghosts in our hotel?”
Ellen jockeyed for position with me in front of the mirror, brushing her hair over and over, her signal that she was ready to go out and was just waiting on me. She never said “hurry up.” She just groomed herself a lot. Her quirks were that endearing.
“So, you haven’t answered me yet. Any ghosts here?”
“Uh-huh. A few. But Monty? I thought we agreed that we’re not working on this trip. It’s a vacation, finally,” Ellen hedged.
“Oh, like that would happen, where we just enjoy a quiet, normal ghost-free life,” I teased. I dried my hands and face and hung up the towel. “Ellen? I have a little something for you before we head out for the day.”
“Again? Sweetheart, you’re terrific, but that’s already twice since the sun came up. You’re going to wear yourself out and it’s not even ten o’clock.”
I smiled. “Very funny. Sit down for a moment. In my pocket, I have a little present for you.”
“You do?” She said it like she wasn’t really surprised. It’s really hard to surprise a psychic on her wedding anniversary. Ellen sat down primly on the sumptuous duvet on the king bed of our luxury Empire suite and inhaled the ocean breeze—the bed faced the ocean and the glass door was open to the air that came directly from the ocean, with none of the Santa Ana wind smoke smell to it. I guess you had to be right on the ocean, or a block from it, to escape the blasting noxious wind. In the bathroom, a whirlpool tub and a flat-screen TV awaited our leisure. I had splurged on this trip for Ellen. She deserved it and we badly needed a romantic getaway to reconnect at certain points of our marriage. I’d planned some quality “us” time.
“Happy anniversary, honey,” I said. I got a cube-shaped velvet box out of my pants pocket. Her mouth shaped into a pleased expression as I placed it into her upturned hands.
“Thank you, Monty!” She held the box in her clasped hands and closed her eyes.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You can open it.”
“I’m visualizing what’s in the box by expanding my sensory perception through energy identification.” After a moment, she said, “Oh!” and faced me. She blinked. “I saw it. There’s a blue stone in here. Jewelry.”
“How did you know?” I asked as she opened the box.
She fondled the blue pendant on a silver chain. “Everything that is born on Earth has an energy and I can see that energy in my mind. I can see the color from the frequency’s wavelength.” She held it up to the light. “Monty! It’s beautiful.” She removed the necklace carefully from the box and examined the pendant. “It’s chalcedony, right?”
“Yes. Blue chalcedony. I did research and I wanted to get you something beautiful that would be practical, too.”
She smiled. “So, you got me a chalcedony pendant on a silver chain to protect me from ghosts, right?”
I could feel myself blushing that she zoomed right in on my agenda. “Ellen, I want you to stop walking around unprotected. What happened in New Orleans proved that you are a magnet for ghosts and spirits and they aren’t always nice t
o you. A few times, I was pretty scared for you on our last two cases. I thought I would give you a little more protection than my own mortal skin, to shield you—”
“—against all ghosts? Or just the bad ones?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea. As time goes on, your sensory powers seem to get stronger and I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I was assured that this will add a protective layer to your aura. Or something like that.”
She smiled. “This is a very thoughtful gift, Monty. Will you put it on for me?”
I took the necklace from her hands and fastened the delicate silver chain and gave her a kiss on the back of her graceful neck. She stood up and crossed to the mirror to see how she looked, as women do. The translucent blue stone floated almost invisibly on the silver chain and adorned her cleavage, right at this certain place that I liked most.
She put her hand over the pendant for a moment. Our eyes met in the mirror, her wide, blue ones captivating me, as always. A smile played on the corner of her mouth. “It has a powerful energy. A benevolent energy. Thank you, Monty.”
“When ghosts come a-calling, the dangerous ones, that should fix their wagons,” I said.
“We’ll see,” she said. “I mean, sometime we’ll see if it works. Not on our anniversary, hopefully.”
She paused. “I have something for you, too.” She rose from the bed and got something out of the front-zipper pocket of her suitcase. She handed a wrapped package to me. “Happy anniversary!”
I shook it gently and raised an eyebrow. She laughed. “Oh, like you could guess what it is!”
I held the package against my forehead as if I was Carnac the Magnificent, and I said, “It’s a ghost-sensing piece of equipment.” I could see by her face that I was correct.
“How did you know?” she asked, perplexed, while I tore off the wrapping.
“I’m not psychic. We use the same desktop computer at home, so it stands to reason that you’d know which gizmo I wanted. Except for you and chocolate pancakes, the only thing I wanted was a new piece of paranormal investigations equipment. You know me.”
She grinned. “I’m also guilty of stalking your internet history.” Suddenly, I could see her skin flushing. I thought it was embarrassment, or maybe lust, but then it didn’t look so much like a healthy glow.
“Wow,” I said. “You’re hot. I can see you getting all red. What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know. I am all ready to start our day and I suddenly I start sweating. What the heck?”
She wet a washcloth with cold water and squeezed the water out, then put it on the back of her neck for a few moments. She sighed. “That’s better.”
“Hot flashes?” I asked my wife.
“Not the kind you mean. As you know, I just had my yearly appointment and everything still runs like clockwork under the hood. I’m thinking that this hot flash is related to some sort of paranormal activity.”
“So, it’s not some hormone imbalance causing this?”
“Bite your tongue,” she said. “I’m still considered normal in that department. It feels more like a premonition or that I am about to encounter…something.”
“So, the hot flashes could be caused by what sort of paranormal entity?” I asked. “I never heard of that. We usually get cold readings when there’s a ghost nearby. Not hot.”
“I don’t know yet why it’s hot. I have a feeling we’re going to find out, though,” she replied, looking worried. There was something she wasn’t telling me. “The hot flashes are really fleeting. I had one earlier when we walked into the hotel and I went to stand by the pool while you checked us in. If the hot spells get constant, we’ll be in true proximity of something woo-woo. But not your average ghost.”
She paused, not telling me even more about the hot ghost. She changed the subject—classic Ellen—saying, “I hope you enjoy your present. I don’t know what your new gadget does, but you bookmarked the page online about twenty times. I took the hint.”
“Obvious Man, that’s me.” I opened the box for my MEL-SDD Shadow Detection Device and began to read the directions. “I love it! Now I’ll be able to detect light changes and shadow variations. It’s perfect!” I kissed Ellen and said thank you.
She smiled. “I know we’re supposed to be relaxing, not working, but why don’t you bring the ghost gear with us today? I know you want to play with your new toy. And it won’t fit in the room safe.”
“Will do.” I added it to the stuffed messenger bag by the room’s door. “When we were in New Orleans, I figured out you are a real magnet for any type of paranormal activity. So, ever since that trip, I’m arming myself with all of our tools of the trade, everywhere we go. And now, I have one more item to add to the bag.”
She tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow. “I see that. By the way, is that a man purse, Monty?”
“The strap broke on my old gear bag so I bought this one on the spur of the moment last week. I hope that it’s not too metrosexual for me to carry a messenger bag. But sometimes, I am so jealous of your purse collection. I finally just got one of my own to carry my stuff. So, no making fun of it. I love it and I’m going to give up my man card and just use the heck out of it.”
She laughed and it was a musical sound that warmed my heart. I hoped Ellen would relax and rejuvenate from her emotional fatigue from communing with spirits or even battling them. I planned to spoil her rotten on this trip. I wanted to make it up to Ellen for our New Orleans vacation that had been cut short by malevolent ghosts haunting a military base. She turned around and we caught each other’s lips in a grand kiss. Her mouth was hot and soft. Her face was flushed again, but not in the way that means that adult fun is on the way.
“Got ghost sign?” I asked, kissing her flushed cheek. She was overly warm.
“It’s more like a premonition of a ghost. Not a nice one.”
“Hmm,” I said, which is what I said when things could go either way.
My cell phone suddenly blooped with a text message. I looked at it and texted back. “Our driver is here. Let’s hit it.”
“So fancy! Why didn’t we just rent a car at the airport?”
“First, it’s more relaxing to leave the driving to someone else and I didn’t feel like fighting traffic. Second, overnight parking at this hotel is something like thirty bucks a night.”
“Thirty?” she replied. “That’s insanity.”
“No lie. And third, I wanted this vacation to be all about us,” I said meaningfully. “I miss your most special smile. I’m working on getting a look at it as much as I can on this vacation.”
“You’ll see it later,” she promised in that sexy voice that I know and love. “When we get back to the hotel. Tonight.”
“Tonight,” I echoed her promise. Even though we were middle aged and sometimes our knees popped and we had our occasional twinges, I felt like Ellen and I were in our prime, not the prime of our age, but the prime of our marriage. We were so in synch that she had never been more beautiful and captivating to me than she was today. I was feeling damn skippy myself. I wondered if she could tell what I was thinking.
“Stop staring at me with your bedroom eyes, Lover Boy,” she quipped, bringing me out of my reverie. “We’ve got places to go that are not clothing-optional.”
I chuckled. We grabbed our things and headed downstairs and out the lobby door to meet our cab driver, Sandy, whom I had hired for the duration of our vacation for private chauffeuring. Her white and green van for the Santa Monica Cab Company was big enough to carry paintings or sculptures, which we would need because Ellen planned to buy some. Sandy had said that she knew West L.A. like the back of her hand—she was also a psychic, according to her Craigslist ad; in it, Sandy had called herself “The Psychic Cab Driver.” I supposed we’d see about that. After the danger that Ellen had been through on our last case, I wasn’t taking any chances with her personal safety.
I mentally lined up our psychic armor. Blue
chalcedony pendant? Check! Psychic medium cab driver with a map in her head? Check. Ghost-hunting paraphernalia? Check.
With those safety protocols in place for Ellen, and credit cards in our wallets, we were off.
Chapter Two
I had two big goals for the week off from our usual paranormal investigations.
The first was to repeatedly make love to my wife on those high-threadcount Egyptian cotton sheets back at the Viceroy. The second goal was to find the best chocolate pancakes in West Los Angeles. Ellen had her own agendas. Besides relaxing with me, she was on a mission to buy stuff to redecorate our house and also get what she insisted was a much-needed personal makeover. I couldn’t see that she needed a makeover, but she wanted it and whatever Ellen wanted, well, I liked seeing her happy.
While Ellen got on the task of making herself even more girlie than she already was, I began my tour of Santa Monica’s gastronomical delights. So, we parted ways for a couple of hours to go chase our goals of the morning.
When Sandy texted me a little while later, I hitched up my pants a bit and made my way out of the crepe shop to the parking lot, where my ride was waiting.
“You have perfect timing, Mr. Drew,” said our cab driver. “Mrs. D. just finished blitzing Sephora and is waiting for us to come and get her.” Sandy looked at my take-out containers from the hole-in-the-wall dessert crepe shop in a strip mall, where she had let me off before she took my wife to indulge herself in a massage, somewhere on the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica and then to a popular makeup store. I’d been in that makeup store before this and had no desire to repeat the experience.
I had also asked for a reprieve from the spa waiting room to get chocolate pancakes while my Ellie got her plan under way for getting “full-on pretty,” as she called it. Sandy had indulged my food fantasy quest by recommending that I discover if chocolate crepes were better than chocolate pancakes.