Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle)

by Wheaton, Kimber Leigh

  “Is it nice having parents who not only understand but believe your powers are real?” I ask, recalling the pain I suffered for so long. He turns the radio down low.

  “Yes, it is,” he says, placing his hand on my leg. “It can be very disconcerting, to say the least, when medium powers start to come online. I can’t imagine what you experienced going through it all alone.”

  His hand caresses my thigh through my jeans, soothing nerves frayed from the direction of the conversation. My heart leaps from his touch, sending tingles throughout my entire body.

  “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” I mutter the tired cliché under my breath.

  “Hmm,” he murmurs. “It is annoying to have a mother who seems to always know when I’m lying, sometimes before I even do it.” I can’t help but laugh. He glances at me again with a sheepish grin. “I got into so much trouble for things I never did when I was younger.”

  The image of a mischievous little Logan being thwarted in every attempt at mayhem has me giggling almost uncontrollably.

  “It really isn’t that funny, especially when on the receiving end. Just wait until you meet her.”

  My laughter abruptly stops. He already plans for me to meet his mother? I don’t know whether to be overjoyed or nervous. I settle for both. He pulls off the freeway and heads to an office building rather than a public parking lot.

  “Mom works here. Free parking after five,” he explains as he flashes a card over the electronic reader.

  The parking garage is small and cramped. Colorful paint plasters the walls at every turn from cars cutting the corner too close.

  “How can you stand to drive through here?” I ask, feeling claustrophobia setting in.

  He chuckles a bit. “Would you believe I drive it with my eyes closed?” he asks as he pulls into a parking space on the third floor. When he turns to look at me, I shake my head. “Well my mom can drive through here in her giant Escalade so I refuse to admit it bugs the hell outta me.”

  “How many of the marks on the walls are from her SUV?”

  “None,” he says, opening his door. “I think her psychic abilities must help with driving somehow.”

  Grabbing my bag, I scramble out of the car and follow him over to a stairwell in the corner. After descending three flights of stairs we end up in the dim light of an outdoor courtyard.

  “Careful, the stone walkway is a bit uneven,” he says, taking my hand. “It’s easy to navigate during the day, but without light…” he trails off as we walk farther from the lights of the building.

  The path ends, and we hike across a grassy expanse leading to the River Walk. Light from the nearby building filters through the leaves above us creating a speckled pattern on the shadowed grass. Roots from the large oak trees have broken through the ground, almost impossible to see in the darkness. When I trip over one my face flushes, and I mutter a curse at my clumsiness. Logan chuckles before righting me so we can continue. Within seconds he trips over another root from the same tree. We both stumble a few steps then break out in laughter.

  “You don’t think the tree is out to get us do you?” he asks as he glares up at it.

  I giggle when he kicks the root with his hiking boot. He moves closer until he’s inches from my face, close enough that I can see his eyes in the faint light under the tree.

  “We’re almost to the retaining wall. I didn’t consider homicidal tree roots when I chose to walk this way. Sorry.”

  “I love the trees,” I comment. He takes my hand leading me through the old tree’s maze of roots. “I’m glad these businesses didn’t just tear down the old oak trees. How old do you think this one is?” I ask, running my hand along the rough trunk.

  “No idea,” he says, stopping to gaze up at the tree. “I bet it’s been witness to a lot through the years.”

  As we continue the hike to the river, he puts his arm around my shoulders, and I snuggle against his side. At the bottom of the grassy hill a four foot retaining wall keeps the earth from slipping onto the path running along the river. Logan jumps down then holds his arms up to me, grabbing me around the waist to help me down the wall. My arms fly around his neck as I jump down, and I end up in his arms pressed against his firm chest. As he lowers my feet to the ground, I breathe in the scent of his leather jacket and spicy aftershave. Once I’m back on the ground, I expect him to release me, but his arms stay wrapped around my body holding me against him.

  My face is still buried in his shoulder, and I lift my chin to glance at him. He grins at me, a cute half-smile, while his eyes sparkle in the golden light from a nearby lantern. I focus on his lips as he closes the distance between us.

  His lips meet mine—soft and warm, the kiss achingly tender. My eyes flutter closed and my hand moves up to those curls I’ve been dying to touch. He releases a soft sigh as my fingers caress the nape of his neck and tips his head to deepen the kiss. My lips part under the gentle pressure of his tongue, granting him entrance.

  His hand moves from my back to my neck, and he buries his fingers in my hair. I let out a breathy moan, completely lost to the sensations. He uses my hair to tip my head back then trails searing kisses down my chin to my neck.

  When he pulls his lips away from my neck, he continues to hold me in his arms for several moments while gazing into my eyes. My lips tingle, and I cling to his arms, feeling a bit lightheaded. After a few silent moments, he takes my hand, and we stroll along the river. I feel like I’m floating while my mind replays our first kiss over and over. No matter how I look at it, the kiss was perfect in every way.

  Dinner was wonderful, the conversation about everything but our upcoming assignment. Things were going so well that I decided to not bring up the werewolves again even though the desire to know more was boiling like an inferno in my brain.

  I mean someone tells me werewolves are real and I have to ignore it?

  I’ll have to corner Rebecca first thing Monday morning for some more info. Hopefully the subject won’t bother her as much as it seems to bug Logan.

  We split nachos, and by some miracle I managed to avoid getting them plastered down the front of my shirt. To think I was worried about eating the messy food. I kept hearing Celia’s voice in my head telling me to be ladylike. The first time I licked some cheese from my finger Logan stared at my mouth riveted, and I could almost feel the temperature rise. I spent the rest of the meal teasing him off and on, enjoying every minute of it.

  The walk back to the car along the river is quiet, especially when compared to the raucous restaurant we just left. This section of the River Walk passes by businesses and lacks the bars and restaurants farther down. Imitation gas lamps lighting the walk are far apart, the light not reaching the bridges we pass under.

  As we walk hand in hand, I notice the sparse crowds are gone and we’re alone. We pass under another bridge, and Logan pulls me into the shadows. My back rests against the cold stone of the bridge, the damp chill seeping through my thin jacket. His arms surround me chasing away the iciness as I’m enveloped in his warmth. My arms wind around his back beneath his jacket. I press up against his chest and gaze up at him.

  Even in the darkness I can see the smile light his face. He leans down to capture my lips with his. I gasp as his fingers entwine in my hair holding me captive against him. This kiss is fiery and passionate—quite different from his tender kiss earlier. My head reels from the riot of sensations coursing through my body.

  With a guttural chuckle he nips at my lower lip, pulling it gently with his teeth. He kisses up my jawline, and I clutch at his back, desperately trying to keep my feet beneath me. When he reaches my ear he runs his tongue up the outer shell in a light caress before nibbling on my earlobe.

  “That’s for the constant teasing at dinner, little nymph,” he purrs in my ear.

  He pulls back to look down at me, his eyes darkened with passion. My head falls to his shoulder, my breath coming in shallow pants as I wait for m
y equilibrium to return. His arms tighten around me holding me against his body, his head resting on top of mine. When I finally feel like the world has stopped spinning, I pull away from him.

  “Do nymphs exist?”

  “I’m looking at one,” he says chuckling softly.

  “You know what I mean,” I say, slapping at his chest.

  “I have no idea.” He takes my hand and leads me over to the retaining wall. “I’ll boost you up. Ready?”

  Lacing his fingers together, he holds his hands down for me to step on. When I do, he lifts me up the wall like I weigh nothing. I scramble onto the wall thankful for the hiking boots and jeans. He climbs up the wall with ease, displaying some impressive upper body strength. As he pulls me from the ground, I giggle a bit under my breath.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “What would you have done if I’d worn a miniskirt?” I ask, plastering an innocent look on my face.

  “Had one hell of a view!” he answers, snickering as I chase him through the perilous tree-root-ridden grass.

  When I jump at his back, he pulls me up giving me a piggy back ride. Throwing my head back, I let out a sound somewhere between a shriek and a laugh. I haven’t had this much fun in ages.

  Chapter Twelve

  King’s Ransom Inn

  As we pull up to park in front of the inn, I take some time to study the building. Rebecca said it had been completely torn down and rebuilt in the same footprint to mirror the turn of the century house that stood before. The original manor was built in 1865 and fell into disrepair in the 1920s. It was restored in 1967 only to burn down in 2005.

  The exterior is gorgeous in vibrant shades of blue apparent even in the dim light of the imitation gas lanterns lining the walkway. Every window on the second floor is made of exquisite stained glass in multiple floral patterns. I wish it was still daylight so I could see the designs better. Two massive willow trees flank the long walkway in the front yard. The trees appear very old, must have survived the fire somehow.

  A colorful wooden sign hangs near the street: King’s Ransom Inn – A Haunted Good Time. As we wander up the slate path, I open the part of my mind that can sense the dead. This area is alive with residual energy from lives long gone. The wind blows, rustling the leaves of the willow, and I can hear the laughter of long forgotten children as they run and play around the tree trunks. Several spectral forms move down the sidewalk in front of the manor, their energy locked in a never-ending repeat of a previous moment in history.

  “There’s lots of residual energy,” Logan whispers. “Intriguing really. I wonder if it’s because everything still appears as it did back in the 1800s.”

  “Interesting hypothesis,” I murmur, watching two ghost horses pull a phantom carriage down the street. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. You think we’re looking at a residual haunting here?”

  “No,” Logan says, his gaze meeting mine. “The team would have picked up something if it was residual energy. My guess is that whatever energy was here faded with the fire and the reconstruction.”

  “Makes sense.”

  For some reason, I feel the need to whisper. As we near the wrap-around front porch, the door flies opens and a couple appears to greet us. The woman is short and thin with shoulder-length brown hair flipped up at the ends. She’s wearing baggy, dark blue jeans and an embroidered Halloween sweater featuring bats, ghosts, and pumpkins.

  Mr. Anders looks every bit the literature professor described in the brief dossier we received. He’s even wearing a tweed jacket with suede patches on the elbows. His glasses are slightly askew on his thin face as if he’s too immersed in his thoughts to notice. Really all he needs is a pipe to complete the stereotypical picture of the absent-minded professor.

  “You must be Logan and Kacie,” Mrs. Anders chirps as she rushes down the three porch steps. “Welcome, welcome. We’re both so glad you could make it.”

  She attempts to usher us forward, and my gaze flies to meet Logan’s. Is this behavior of hers genuine? I’ve always been rather bad at reading people—too wrapped up in ignoring the spirit world to waste my energy. He shrugs his shoulder at my confused expression. Her behavior seems odd to him as well.

  Mr. Anders is silent as he watches his wife flit around us cooing about how adorable we are. When she tries to push us inside Logan finally speaks up. He has to throw his hand out to catch the doorjamb to keep from being shoved inside. This goes way beyond simple courtesy. Why does she want us in there so badly?

  “Mrs. Anders, Kacie and I haven’t finished our walk out here,” he says with a brilliant smile.

  My heart flutters a bit at the roguish expression on his face, and I’m sure many girls have fallen prey to that look. Yet all I see in Mrs. Anders’ face is hard eyes and a scary, toothy grin. Now I know what a smiling crocodile looks like…

  “We need a while to soak up the information around the outside of the inn. We’ll come inside when we’re finished,” Logan adds when she continues to glare at him.

  “Oh, silly me,” she says, pushing her husband back inside.

  Her attitude is even stranger now. It’s as if no longer being in control has shaken her.

  “We’ll be waiting inside. Hurry up now,” she says, sounding a bit panicked. “Don’t want to keep the spirits waiting.” The strange woman rushes back through the door, slamming it shut hard enough to rattle my teeth.

  “This is just creepy,” Logan whispers as a shudder wracks his body. “She’s watching us through the window, hiding behind the curtain no less.”

  “Maybe curiosity?” I ask, though frankly I doubt that’s the case.

  “Something strange is going on here,” he murmurs. We walk under one of the massive willow trees, the hanging boughs hiding us from view. “I think we need to get Rebecca out here.” He pulls out his phone. “Call Rebecca,” he orders the phone. His thumb caresses the back of my hand while he waits for her to answer. “Hey, I think Kacie and I are out of our element here.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders pulling me close enough that I can hear Rebecca. “Mrs. Anders is acting very strange, and I mean creepy with a capital C.”

  “Well she is overly excited about the whole ghost thing,” Rebecca answers. “Are you sure you’re not just reading something into it that isn’t there?”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Logan admits. “I guess we could just be overreacting, but she’s acting crazy enough that I have a strong urge to jump in the car and bail.”

  “Saccharin,” I whisper. “It was all fake, an act. She desperately wanted us inside. I mean Logan had to grab the door frame to keep her from pushing him inside.”

  “Did you catch that?” Logan asks Rebecca.

  “Yeah,” she replies. “Look I’m free tonight—the investigation I had planned fell through. I was planning to stop by anyway, set up the equipment again. I’ll pick up Carl and be there in about forty-five minutes. Hold out until then.”

  She hangs up without waiting for a response. Logan shoves the phone into his pocket and glances at me from the corner of his eye.

  “I have an idea,” I murmur as I take his hand and pull him back toward the front door. “Play along.”

  He nods once. We stroll up the stairs to the front porch with slow steps. The door opens and Mrs. Anders appears before we reach the final step. Her brown eyes are wide and glistening in excitement. She almost appears rabid.

  “We need to walk around the area,” I blurt out before she can open her mouth. “Queen Anne’s District is so rich in history. It will help us understand the inn and the spirits within. It should only take about an hour or so.”

  “Oh, of course, dears,” Mrs. Anders says, crinkling her nose in what appears to be confusion. “No rush, we’ll be here,” she adds in her strange syrupy voice before closing the door.

  Logan pulls me down the walkway toward the car at a brisk jog.

  “Did you see that?” he asks as we reach the
car. “The odd glint in her eyes? Something weird is going on here.” He leans against the Mustang and crosses his arms over his chest. “What should we do? There’s no way I’m stepping foot in there with that crazy woman ‘til Rebecca and Carl get here.”

  “Let’s do what I told her we’re going to do,” I suggest, hoping to ease his worried mind. “Maybe we can get some information based on the residual energies.”

  Nodding he takes my hand and we stroll down the sidewalk admiring the stately manors lining the street. As we turn the corner, I’m surprised to see another bed and breakfast. I guess this is a popular tourist area. It’s rather close to downtown and the ambience is old elegance. Unlike our neighborhood there are no Halloween decorations gracing the lush lawns or hanging from the ancient trees. I wonder if they are frowned on in this area, or perhaps there are no children to revel in the holiday.

  “I’m getting a whole lot of nothing,” Logan murmurs. He wraps his arm around my back. “Everything seems very normal for an area this old. If I didn’t open my senses, I wouldn’t even notice anything at all.”

  “Yeah, I agree. We should head back and concentrate on the inn itself,” I murmur, watching a ghost couple pass us in Victorian era clothing.

  A gust of wind blows by, and Logan pulls me closer to his body. My face flushes a bit as I wrap my arm around his waist beneath his leather jacket. Even with the ghosts and a creepy innkeeper, I think this is the best night of my life.

  We stroll down the street watching the residual activity all around us. They flicker and flash in silver ghost-like images. These aren’t ghosts, but echoes of prior energy somehow stored in the fabric of the universe. I’m enjoying our walk so much that I release a heavy sigh when we round the corner to return to the inn. It looms before us, looking much eerier than it did when we first arrived.