The Reason

by Marley Gibson

  Ghost Huntress the reason

  Book Three

  Marley Gibson

  * * *

  G R A P H I A

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  Boston New York 2010

  * * *

  Copyright © 2010 by Marley Gibson

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Graphia,

  an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book,

  write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  Graphia and the Graphia logo are registered trademarks of

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhbooks.com

  Text set in Bembo

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  is on file.

  ISBN 978-0-547-15095-6

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  DOM 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  4500220226

  * * *

  Acknowledgments

  To my publishing team: Deidre Knight, best agent on the planet, and her fabulous assistant, Elaine Spencer; Julia Richardson, best editor on the planet, and her awesome assistant, Julie Bartynski; Karen Walsh, Stephanie McLaughlin, Barbara Fisch, and Sarah Shealy, the best publicists on the planet; and Carol Chu, the best graphic designer on the planet. And huge thanks to Betsy Groban, the most supportive publisher on the planet.

  To my family for their love and unquestioning support, especially when I've needed it the most: Joe and Lizanne Harbuck; Jennifer, Dave, Sarah, Josh, and Stephanie Keller; and Jeff Harbuck. And just because you're listed last, Jeff, doesn't mean I appreciate you any less ... just going chronologically. LOL!

  To my paranormal family for their support and encouragement: Maureen Wood, Patrick Burns, Dave Schrader, Chris Fleming, Donn Shy (the real one), Kathryn Wilson, Fran Spencer, Delia Summerfield, Michael and Marti Parry, Bill Murphy, Andi LaFreniere, Bill Chappell, Mark and Debby Constantino, Stacey Jones, John Zaffis, Shannon and Jeff Sylvia, Marlo Scott, and Dawn Epright, who does an awesome Kendall Moorehead impression.

  To my legal team: Anna Osterberg and Kelly Reed. Thanks for helping me get through a very trying and challenging time in my life.

  To my critique partners: Wendy Toliver and Jenn Echols. Can't believe I didn't use your talents on this one, but thanks for having my back, chicas!

  To my Bunnies: Melly-Mel, Kristen, Louisa, Maria, Rocki, Kresley, Gena, Jill, and Pamela. Love you, ladies ... wish we all lived in the same area. And to the WACs, Jess and Char: can't say enough about what the two of you mean to me.

  Thanks to everyone who's reading the series—please keep it up and let me know what you think!

  * * *

  To William and Alec Burns, my summer travel buddies, and

  to their dad, Patrick, for his amazing love and support

  * * *

  All that we see or seem

  Is but a dream within a dream.

  —Edgar Allan Poe

  Chapter One

  IT'S NOT EVERY DAY YOU HAVE A PREMONITION of your own freakin' demise. But that's just what happened to me, Kendall Moorehead. It's been almost three months since my dream—or vision, or whatever you want to call it—of me, well, like, dying. I know. Skeeved me out too.

  I mean, since my whole psychic awakening thing after moving from Chicago to Radisson, Georgia, back in August, I've had a lot of strange dreams and seen a lot of apparitions and stuff. I even dreamed about my boyfriend before I met him in person. But to have this precognition thing where I saw myself bruised, unconscious, and bleeding to death ... not exactly your typical day in the life of a seventeen-year-old.

  Still, I can't shake the image. And I can't deny that it's rattled me more than a little bit.

  Other than the whole wacked dream thing, everything else is going pretty sweet in my life. I had my birthday back on December 22 (solstice baby, as my friend Loreen Woods likes to remind me), and my parents got me a combined birthday/Christmas present (like so many other Capricorns are cursed with) of a brand-new Honda Fit. It looks like a fat blue bullet. Well, the marketing materials from the dealership paint it as Blue Sensation Pearl, but I digress.

  My awesome boyfriend, Jason Tillson, bought me this really cool hematite bracelet for my birthday to match the one I had given him for Christmas—we sort of coordinated the whole thing and special-ordered it since my b-day is the twenty-second. Now we're bracelet buddies (LOL!) and have a forever symbol of our connection, love, and dedication to each other. See, hematite absorbs any negativity and bad energy that's out to get you. Not that Jason totally believes in all of this, but he knows how important it is to me to be protected at all times from the spirits who knock on my door on a daily basis. I haven't exactly told him about this visionary dream thing of my death. He'd totally lose his shit if I did. He's protective enough about his twin sister, Taylor; Lord knows how he'd be if he thought I was in some sort of imminent danger. Still, if something in the universe is gunning for my life, I need all the protection I can get from hematite, the holy water Father Massimo blessed for me, and Jason as my bodyguard. I suppose I'll have to tell him about the dream ... eventually.

  I'd rather not think about it, though.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. There. That helps.

  So, between hanging with Jason, doing the whole ghost-hunting thing with Celia, Taylor, and Becca, and keeping up with all of my classes—don't even get me going on how stupid calculus is—not to mention the Radisson High School spring formal, I'm one busy chick.

  I don't have time to dwell on, dissect, or otherwise occupy my time with a fleeting night vision of something that may or may not happen to me.

  I have to focus on the present. After all, it's the only thing I can control. Besides, it's a nice Saturday and I've got a lot going on today.

  I'm walking through Radisson—which is starting to grow on me, although I still miss my Chicagoland—on my way to Divining Woman. That's Loreen's store, where she sells all sorts of metaphysical stuff and where she's let me hang out a shingle, so to speak, to do psychic readings and such. I look around me at the bare-limbed trees just starting to show tiny green buds as we come out of winter this February. I've got two people coming in for tarot readings at the store and I'm also going to finish up this online training for energy healing and attunement studies. No, I'm not turning into some kind of freak of nature. It really works.

  A cool breeze rustles around me, causing me to pull the zipper of my black hoodie up under my chin. Most of my fellow townspeople are still wearing fleece, wool, or down coats, like they're at some ski resort in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Not me, the hardy Midwesterner and survivor of many lake-effect storms. It takes a lot more than a stiff breeze to make me dive for the gloves and scarves. A mere chilly day like this is nothing. I suppose at some point I'll grow accustomed to the warmer southern climate. At least I'm starting to be accepted here for the most part, making a lot of friends at school and throughout the town.

  Like the person waving at me now.

  "Hi there, Kendall," a tiny woman calls out from the garden area in front of the antebellum mansion to my left.

  "Hi, Mayor Shy," I say with a wave. "Are you coming into the store for another treatment?"

  Donn Shy, a petite woman with long, straight golden blond hair, stands and brushes her hands off on the thighs of her designer jeans. She's one of my newest clients at Divining Woman; she started with a psychic reading, then worked up to tarot, and now, finally, she's taking a whack at my attunement healing.

  I learned with my psychic intuition that her name was once Donna Cheyenne,
but she changed it to Donn Shy in the early seventies when she was the lead singer of a go-go type band in California. How she ended up in Radisson is still beyond my abilities to understand, as there's sort of a curtain surrounding most info on her. Still, she's standing there with a pair of hedge clippers in her fist and a bag of potting soil next to her. Imagine that, the mayor of the town is outside doing her own yard work and not paying a bunch of minions to do it. Right, like the mayor of Chicago would do that! Not! What a difference between large and small towns.

  She adjusts her stylish wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of her nose. "I'd like to come in and see you if you have the time, Kendall. I'm still having those back pains, so I'll definitely need more energy healing. It seemed to work the last time you did it."

  With a nod, I say, "Just lemme know and we'll get it taken care of." It's not every day that the mayor of your town comes to you for help. But then again, Radisson's not your normal city. It's relatively small, an hour east of Atlanta, and it's rich with Civil War history, full of gorgeous old houses from a time long past and a plethora of ghosts and spirits to keep me and my fellow ghost huntresses busy every weekend. Mayor Shy's house is the second-largest and second-oldest house in Radisson, with long, tall columns in the front of the mansion and a wraparound porch complete with white rockers. Of course, my best friend and neighbor, Celia Nichols, has the biggest house in town, since her dad is rolling in dough from owning the Mega-Mart conglomerate.

  With a hand on the small of her back, the mayor winces. "I'd best come round tomorrow, if that's okay."

  I nod. "Sure thing. We'll work on the specific areas you're having trouble with."

  "It's so odd," she says. "I have no idea what I did to cause this."

  "Maybe the yard work?" I suggest.

  She waves me off with her hand. "I do this all the time. This is more of a pressure, like someone's pressing on my nerves."

  I'm certainly no medical doctor and won't pretend to give a diagnosis. I do know that Mayor Shy went to see Dr. Murphy, who my mom works for as a staff nurse, and he couldn't find anything wrong with the mayor. Nothing on the X-rays to show a strain or tear. A follow-up visit to a chiropractor in Atlanta turned up nothing more. That's why Donn Shy called Loreen, who referred her to me. It would be wicked cool if I solved something with attunement activation that the medical community couldn't.

  As Mayor Shy continues to tell me about her excruciating back pain, my eye is drawn away from her and up to the top of the mansion. I swear I think I see a woman standing at the small attic window, gazing down at me. I blink hard into the morning sun and lift my hand over my eyes to get a better look. There's no woman there now. However, the curtain moves back into place as if someone had been there. Must be one of the mayor's maids or something. Although I don't think it was. In my world and considering what I see with my gift, when I spot someone I don't always know if I'm dealing with the living or the dead.

  "You all right, Kendall?" the mayor asks.

  "Yes, ma'am. I just thought I saw someone in your attic."

  Mayor Shy harrumphs. "There's no telling what it is. Everyone says this place is haunted. Just like every other building in Radisson. You should know that."

  It's no secret that my friends and I have gotten phenomenal evidence of the paranormal in this town as well as helped several lost spirits on to their final resting place in the light. It amazes me how pretty much everyone just accepts that thereare ghosts and spirits here. Like the trees are around us. Like the pavement that cuts through town.

  "Maybe my team and I should come investigate the property?"

  Mayor Shy flips her long hair behind her ears and then places her hands on her hips. "Anytime you can work me into your schedule, I'd appreciate it. Maybe you can contact Mayer and find out where the hell he left the key to the safety-deposit box before he cashed out on me." Her soft laugh makes me smile.

  Her husband, Mayer Holt, was the mayor of the town before my family and I moved here. Yeah, Mayor Mayer. How funny is that? Not very, 'cause he, like, keeled over from a heart attack last summer. The deputy mayor moved his family to Ocala, Florida, so the city council asked the widow to step in. That's how Donn became mayor of Radisson. Not exactly a position she'd sought, but she seems to be handling it quite well.

  The hairs on the back of my neck are raised and prickly—which is hard for them to do, since my hair is so long. Nonetheless, something's giving me the willies. I don't know if it's the woman I saw in the window or the general sense of unease on this property. It's like there's something... off ... inside the mansion. Restless souls displeased with the current occupancy. Or perhaps still troubled with their own problems that they haven't given up to the light. I'm definitely getting a sense of a stirring within and anxiety for those that live here. Maybe that explains the mayor's current physical ailment. Although I can't be sure until I get my group here to investigate.

  I swallow hard at the uneasiness clogging my throat. "I'll talk to the team and see when we can set up something." Celia is so good at fielding requests from people, answering our website e-mails, and booking our investigations. Plus, she's been salivating to get into the mayor's mansion ever since we were walking back from Stephanie Crawford's New Year's Eve party last month and Celia's EMF detector started going off like mad. Yeah, I love Celia, but she is a geek to the core. I mean, taking ghost-hunting equipment to social events? Seriously?

  I had mild curiosity at the time when Celia noted the readings, but I've got much more now. With one more sideways glance at the top of the mansion, I see the flimsy white curtain move again. Someone is most certainly up there watching me converse with the mayor.

  I say goodbye to Mayor Shy and turn in the direction of Divining Woman, but I lift my eyes to the window a final time. Clearly, I see the face of a woman looking down with a steely glare.

  Her emotions rush at me, knocking me a little with the extent of her displeasure.

  Just then, my spirit guide, Emily, appears before me, translucent and frowning terribly. Her lips are parted and her brow is furrowed.

  Stay away from her, Emily says inside my head.

  "Why?" I ask out loud.

  Stay away.

  Emily's another one who's overprotective of me. Between my mom and dad, Loreen, Father Mass, Jason, of course, and Emily, I have all protection bases covered. Still ... Emily's never seemed so distraught or insistent.

  Don't ignore me, Kendall.

  The woman in the window drops the curtain one more time and disappears. As does Emily. God, isn't anything easy for me? Nope. Not when you're psychic. Just part of the circus that is my life.

  Emily's warning. The spirit's stare. I know she and I are destined to come head to head.

  With a long sigh, I mutter, "Here we go again."

  Chapter Two

  "SARAH, YOU'VE OUTDONE YOURSELF," my dad exclaims after dinner that night.

  "Yeah, Mom," my little sister, Kaitlin, echoes, waving her napkin in the air. "That fried chicken was better than KFC."

  Mom laughs, but I roll my eyes.

  "Gack, Kaitlin. How can you compare Mom's afternoon of slaving over the stove to make us good old homemade fried chicken with pulling up to a window and paying four ninety-nine for processed potatoes and various parts?"

  Dad snickers. "Tell us what you really think, sweetie."

  I laugh too, trying so hard to grow out of my slightly spoiled Chicago snobbery I've had most of my life. I'm sorry, but nothing compares to a home-cooked meal like this. This really has nothing to do with manufactured chicken products at all, though. My energy has been completely out of whack today, and I know it. Loreen commented on my auras shifting like a rainbow of color. The psychic reading I did for Fran Spencer from the drugstore went completely haywire because I kept being interrupted by my own personal premonitions instead of staying focused on helping Ms. Spencer locate her lost cockatoo. My total unease continues to revolve around this impending sense of doom I feel. I keep trying to
ask Emily about it—about the dream and how she says it's my future—but she's being so ambiguous that it's sincerely pissing me off. Of course, Celia would tell me that the mere existence of and connection with ghosts and spirits is vague, so I shouldn't be surprised when Emily is so standoffish. Still ... I just don't feel like myself. And a little niggle inside tells me it also has something to do with the lingering presence I sensed at Mayor Shy's house this morning.

  I sigh deeply and long. The chicken battle is ovah!

  Mom picks up on my unease and reaches over to take my hand. "Is everything okay at school, Kendall?"

  I wipe my mouth with my napkin and try not to fiddle with the edges of it. "Everything's cool. I've just ... um, got a lot of assignments d0, especially in calculus, and Celia and I are working on some extra credit for computer class. Things are cruising along just fine."

  Furrowing her brow, Mom isn't having any of it. "Look, sweetie, you've been quieter than usual these last few weeks. And especially since you got home today. You walk around the house like you're tiptoeing on eggshells, and you seem skittish whenever Kaitlin's playing her video games or I make loud sounds in the kitchen. Is something going on with your ... you know ... your abilities?"

  I glance over at Dad and see him raise an eyebrow in my mother's direction. He's as shocked as I am that she's actually accepted my psychicness finally. (Only took a few months; several visits to the Episcopal priest; and a battery of blood, physical, and psych tests in Atlanta.)

  I look into her soft eyes, warm with concern for her older child. Should I tell her about the vision? Should I warn her about what possibly looms in my future? If I do, I'll surely be locked inside my room until I'm thirty-five—rightly so! I want to be honest, though. Hiding secrets from the ones you love isn't the way to go in life. I've certainly learned that through my awakening and all the probs Mom and I have worked through together.