Forbidden Highway (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 5)

by Catie Rhodes

  Rainey spent a lot of the afternoon on her phone jabbering about what we’d found. She must have had the same plan as Tubby—to draw Michael Gage out by making him think we had the treasure. I lay on the floor, the dog nestled against me, a haze of exhaustion cloaking her actions with a sheet of unreality.

  Whatever the shadow gave me sizzled in my stomach. Every once in a while, a burning, sour burp worked its way up my throat. I doubted I’d survive the week if I didn’t get it out of me. No matter. I wouldn’t let it stop me from saving Hannah.

  NIGHT CAME SOONER than I wanted. Rainey shook me out of a light doze and offered me a glass of water. She patted her dog while I drank. I checked my cellphone and found a text message from Mysti Whitebyrd.

  The shoot wrapped today, thank Goddess. I’ll be there in the morning unless you need me now.

  See you then, I tapped out on my cellphone and glanced around for Wade. We needed to get cracking. I had to get Priscilla to agree to bequeath me her mantle by morning.

  “Your hunk’s in the kitchen making a nasty mess out of some crap he found in the woods behind my house.” She jerked her thumb at the swinging white door separating the kitchen from the living room.

  Wade came out of the kitchen carrying a small white dish and held it out to me. “Eat it. I already took mine. Make you feel better.”

  The smell coming off the dark paste suggested it would do everything but make me feel better. Mysti Whitebyrd occasionally presented me with similar concoctions. They all tasted terrible and smelled worse. Sour spit filled my mouth, and another burning burp worked its way out of my stomach. I shook my head.

  Wade squatted in front of me and leaned so close I smelled the awful crap on his breath. “Do you want to have enough strength to survive another attack? This will ward off nasty stuff like that booger under the water. Make it less effective.”

  “I’m okay. Give it to Rainey.” I gestured at the other woman. She didn’t bother to acknowledge me.

  “There’s some for her too.” Wade pushed the plate closer to my face. “Do it. Now.”

  I turned my face away and got to my feet. Wade stood with me, crowding my personal space. Still he held the plate in my face.

  “Do you think I can’t force your mouth open and shovel this shit inside?” His gaze bored into mine.

  I stared at the familiar planes of his face. Gone was the hint of flirtation and the admiring glances at my body. A poison-tipped dart stabbed into my emotions. I pushed away the ache. This was stupid. I was being a baby. How could I miss something I never had anyway?

  Wade shoved the plate in my face again. He meant business. I took it, licked the awful crap off, and forced myself to swallow. I turned away from Wade so I didn’t have to face him anymore.

  The burn of poison ebbed and dulled. I still felt it buried deep inside me, doing damage I probably didn’t want to think about. My energy rebounded. It hummed in my head like a machine powering up. The black opal’s temperature elevated ever so slightly. It was enjoying Wade’s home remedy too.

  “This hasn’t yet killed Peri Jean, and she had a full dose of it. I don’t think I have anything to worry about.” Rainey turned her back to Wade and went to sit on her fancy white couch.

  “Good try.” Wade followed her. “Only reason it hasn’t killed Peri Jean is the curse was made with the blood of her ancestor. Otherwise, she’d have probably shriveled up and died on the spot.” He held the plate out to Rainey. She took it from him, her lips pulled into an ugly rictus, and licked off the goop.

  We prepared for our gruesome errand in silence and were walking through Piney Hill Cemetery less than an hour later.

  The Mace crypt loomed over me, white stone gleaming blue in the moonlight. I stopped at the wrought iron gate. A shiny new steel chain with a padlock dangling from it held it closed. Wade stepped around me and used the bolt cutters he’d quietly lugged across the cemetery. The chain fell to the manicured grass. I unlatched the wrought iron gate and swung it open. Its dry hinges let out a shriek.

  “Keep it down,” Rainey hissed. “We’re trespassing.”

  “Yeah, I meant to do that. You got the key?” I held out my hand. Rainey placed a tarnished brass key in it to work the padlock on the crypt’s door. “End of the road for y’all. I may need to be dragged out.” Images of my crumpled body lying lifeless in front of the crypt clambered for my attention, each one more gruesome than the last.

  Rainey backed away from the crypt without a second’s hesitation. “I’ll keep watch.”

  I didn’t blame her. The Mace crypt felt creepier than ever with the blood of a new death soaked into the ground around it. I wanted to walk away from this but didn’t see any other way to take the next step other than to face this place.

  Wade stayed at my side. I stared up at him. “Go. Stay out with Rainey. Be ready to drag me out if it’s necessary.”

  He shook his head.

  “Who’s going to get me out if things go wrong? You won’t be able to protect me.” I measured my next words, considered not saying them and then did anyway. “What if being in there kills you? It’s happened before. Then you won’t be here to help me afterward.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, lips already pursing with his argument.

  The black opal emanated power on my chest, ready for me to bring it out to play. The power coming out of it was stronger than anything it had shown me so far. What was in that gunk Wade made me eat? I put my hand on his chest and let the power flow into him. He gasped with the force of it.

  “Let me try alone.” The things I didn’t say swooped back and forth in my mind, wanting out into the world. I strained against saying them. The truth—that I didn’t want to risk him—would only insult him.

  My friend stood still, watching my face, maybe trying to read my mind. On impulse, I grabbed his hand and squeezed. He leaned down and kissed my cheek. Behind him, Rainey let out a sarcastic groan.

  Formalities complete, I passed through the gate and felt the air change. Each step down the stone path echoed as though someone walked right behind me. It was just the sound of my footsteps echoing off the crypt. I hoped. The night sounds buzzed in my head, impossibly loud, maddeningly close. I stuck the key in the modern padlock, gave it a twist, and it popped open.

  A putrid odor wafted out. I forced down my gorge and stepped inside. The beam of my flashlight played over the walls. Black mildew streaked down in thick fingers, the sour odor of it viable over the stench of rot. A small entry chamber opened into the main part of the crypt. On each side of it were stained glass windows, dark this time of day.

  Three stone enclosures, about the size of coffins, lined the short, narrow walkway. The back wall had a long shelf with a candelabra on each end. The iridescent threads in the marble glittered when the light from my flashlight hit them.

  I read the names on the burial enclosures, unfamiliar with all but Reginald Mace and his son William. I stared at William’s marker the longest. The Mace Treasure, hidden by Reginald, was intended for his son, William. But William never came back from the Alaskan Gold Rush to claim it.

  I stared at the inscription, struck with the feeling something was wrong but not quite able to put my finger on it.

  William Tullos Mace. 1868-1973

  I should have known what was wrong, but fear crowded out most of my thought processes. The crypt had an echo from hell. Each breath I took thundered around me, repeated several times as though an army occupied the room and not just me.

  I forced myself to concentrate on William Tullos Mace’s inscription, trying to figure out what was off. It hit me.

  The fate of William Mace was one of Hannah’s favorite topics. She claimed she intended to find out and use it for her Mace display in the museum. William Mace left for Alaska in 1897 and never returned. No record of his remains being returned to Gaslight City existed. They certainly weren’t brought back in 1973. Nobody’d been in here since my grandfather, George Mace, died here in the late nineteen-sixties. />
  “So what’s in here then?” My voice rang in the crypt, finally dying out. I thought I heard a soft sigh and a scrape on the stone floor. I wheeled around, pointing my flashlight but saw nothing. Gotta concentrate, Peri Jean. Get out as quick as you can.

  I pushed at the flat stone covering the side of the sarcophagus. It rattled a little at my touch. The flashlight’s beam didn’t reveal any way it was held in place. I got out my pocketknife, opened the blade, and got to work. The humid room played hell on my frayed nerves. Soon I smelled my own sweat. Deep in concentration, the rest of the world shut out, I didn’t hear the sound for no telling how long.

  Then it was suddenly there. The patter of little footsteps running around the room. The sound traveled to the back of the room where the candelabras were, then up to the entry chamber, passing through the room where the dead rested each time. The hair on the back of my neck bristled and stood up. I turned slowly, as though that would make a damn bit of difference, and faced the outer room.

  The sound came again. Tap-tap-tap-tap all the way down the length of the crypt. Now that I was paying attention, I identified the slap of bare feet against the stone floor. I glanced at the door leading back outside. Only thirty steps, twenty if I ran. But I couldn’t move. My muscles clenched tight, unwilling to take any commands. Even my lungs constricted. My breaths came in hard, labored draws.

  Something bumped against my back. I leapt away from William Mace’s supposed final resting place. The stone rattled in its frame and inched outward. It hovered on the edge and toppled over and somersaulted to the floor where it broke into a thousand pieces. The running footsteps stopped at the sound.

  I crept to the open tomb and peered inside, shining my flashlight. A flat piece of wood lay inside it. That’s it? My grandfather died looking for this flat piece of wood? Reginald Mace either had a great sense of humor or tended toward theatrics.

  I picked it up, and the now familiar black smoke rolled out with it.

  “No, please, no.” I backed away from the smoke.

  It spread and filled the room, blocking my way to the exit. The shape of broad shoulders formed. I backed away and ran into something short and solid. Reedy arms closed around my legs and tightened. I glanced down and a chalk-faced, coal-eyed creature stared up at me.

  “Gotcha.” The thin whisper of its voice clawed away my control in one razor-fingered swipe.

  I threw back my head and screamed. Tears steamed from my eyes, blurring the room and my attackers, but I couldn’t stop bawling. I just wanted someone to take me away from this. Nobody came.

  The sound of someone, probably Wade, pounding on the crypt door and screaming sounded worlds away. The door jittered with each blow he made to it but stayed closed. A rattling sound began in the entry chamber. Probably Wade messing with the windows. Please get it open soon. Because I’m losing my grip.

  I turned my attention back to the horror hugging my legs. It grinned, showing a mouthful of dark, jagged teeth. The black opal flashed power on my chest. I directed its power at the snark-toothed monstrosity touching me. The power flowed through me, creating dots of light in my vision, but the leg hugger stayed where it was. The shadow advanced on me and wrapped steel arms around me.

  A circle of pain blossomed on my thigh. I knew without looking the leg hugger had bitten me. It ground down, jaws working, trying to puncture skin. Its sharp teeth cut through my pants and pierced my skin. Its bite burned and ached at the same time. The pain from Palmore Pond came roaring back, wrapping me in paralyzing bands. A deep ache spread through my body. Each thud of my heart pushed the poison deeper. Its burn circulated through me, destroying as it went.

  They were killing me the same way they killed my grandfather. The black opal pulsed impotently on my chest. I couldn’t summon the energy to do anything with it. Through half-lidded eyes I stared at the walls of the crypt. They seemed to writhe like snakes, changing form with each breath I took.

  A crash came from the entryway of the crypt. I glanced in its direction, barely interested. Dying did a better job of capturing my attention. Wade came in hands first and fell to the stone floor. His gaze fixed on me, eyes widening and mouth falling open. He threw his head back and screamed.

  The dry noise of flapping wings filled the crypt. The hoarse caws of the ravens hurt my eardrums. The black opal pulsed again, reminding me it was ready to go. I willed its power into the birds. Watching through sick, half-aware eyes, I saw ravens with missing patches of feathers, ravens mostly made of bone. All of them had the red eyes of death.

  The black opal’s power hit them hard. Their feathers filled in and glowed with health. Their cries grew louder, more real. Those red eyes, though, they stayed the same. They surrounded me and my tormenters. The noise they raised pushed out all the pain and fear. It took over my brain in a chaos of feathers shimmering with magic and fiery, angry eyes.

  The half-pint biter went first, turning first to smoke and rising to the ceiling. One raven broke off from the pack and swooped toward the smoke, taking it into its body like good food. The brutish shadow monster holding me in place tightened its grip. The ravens attached themselves to it. Pieces of it broke away and swirled to the ceiling. The ache of the poison surging through me eased. I sagged to the ground.

  Wade’s huge hand curled around my wrist and pulled, but the ravens got to me first, biting at me, sinking their talons into me. Some of them flew into Wade’s face. He let go of me to protect himself. I rolled onto my back. One raven landed on my chest. It stood still for several seconds, flashing in and of existence with my beating heart. Its red eyes fixed on mine and flashed to black. The bird solidified.

  The skin underneath its feet stung as though pierced. The raven began to sink into my chest. My breastbone ached. My ribcage strained. I drew in a breath to scream my horror and pain, but couldn’t get enough air to do it. The raven’s head disappeared into me. The bird moved around inside me, too big to fit comfortably. The bird, or the bird’s wraith, stilled and sank deeper, parting the organs and muscles as it went. They throbbed in protest but yielded. Then it stilled. I let out a moan of relief.

  The remaining ravens flashed out of existence, leaving Wade with his hands up to protect his face. He dropped his hands and scuttled to me. I lay still, the pressure of the raven inside my chest a time bomb I was afraid to disturb.

  “Did you see?” My breath wheezed in and out of me. “That raven went inside me.” I pointed to my chest.

  “It’s okay. I’ll fix it.” He put his hand on my chest and closed his eyes. He opened them again without going into his routine. “What’d they do to you? I can’t fix that.”

  The crypt’s door slammed open and Rainey Bruce charged in, wild eyed.

  “I can’t heal her.” Wade spoke to Rainey as though this was something they’d already discussed, maybe argued about. “You didn’t see—” Wade cut it off swiveled his head to stare saucer eyed at the crypt’s back wall.

  “I can.” Priscilla Herrera came out of the crypt’s back wall and came toward us as though it was Sunday afternoon in the park.

  Rainey’s face went slack, and she clapped one hand to her mouth. She scuttled backward until her back touched the wall. One side of Priscilla’s lips quirked up. Otherwise the ghost floated toward me, the empty space between her feet and the floor visible and terrifying.

  Wade stayed next to me, arm locked around me. He faced Priscilla with his mouth set in a grim line. She leaned over him and put one hand to his cheek. He flinched at her touch but stayed his ground.

  “So brave. Are you really sure she’s not worth it?” Priscilla got even closer to his face, staring into his eyes. Finally, a moan of fear escaped him. Her laugh echoed in the room. Finished with Wade, she turned to me. “Risky letting yourself get filled with the poison of my curse. Your lover here will have to continue healing you to prevent death, but it will eventually kill you anyway unless you take on my gift. Haste, my darling, haste.” She touched one hand to my throbbing, overf
ull chest, and moved her head in a satisfied nod.

  “Why did the raven go into me like that?” I could barely breathe around the pressure in my chest.

  “Because you’re ready now. Reba Skanes has what you need to finish this transformation. She’s expecting your visit.” She pressed on my chest and whispered a word. The bird settled deeper into me, easing the pressure. I wasn’t sure if I should feel relief or horror.

  She turned to Rainey and nodded. Rainey took one jittering hand away from her mouth, stood straight and nodded back.

  “Don’t forget your clue, dunderpates.” Priscilla pointed to William Mace’s tomb and faded from view.

  “Wait a minute,” Rainey yelled after her. “What clue?”

  “I know where it is.” I hauled myself to my feet.

  “No, don’t go back in there.” Wade rolled to his feet much faster than I had.

  I ignored him and shuffled across the floor, still weak from my ordeal. I pulled the piece of wood out of William Mace’s tomb and handed it to Wade. Rainey reached between us and snatched it.

  She held her keychain light to the piece of wood and read, “My good friend Luther Palmore is a lover of literature. Treasure Island captures his fancy, but his whole library is grand.” She dropped the piece of wood on the floor. “Those damn books again. There’s nothing else in here? After whatever just happened? That mean old biddy didn’t do a damn thing to help.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” Wade picked up the block of wood off the floor. “We fiddle around too much longer, and somebody’s gonna come.”

  We walked across the cemetery much more slowly than we came and finally reached Rainey’s extra car—an older economy sedan. A gift-wrapped box sat on the car’s hood. It had a tag hanging off it. Rainey reached for it.

  “Don’t.” Wade tried to push her hand away.

  Rainey narrowed her eyes at Wade and plucked the tag off the gift. When she read the words, her voice shook. “Greetings from Michael Gage.”