Logan takes my hand under the table, caressing my knuckles. My psychic power reacts to his touch, flaring to life. Though I’ve never been able to see auras before, I watch my blue aura tangle with Logan’s red. A strange fuzziness fills my head, but when I shake it, the feeling disappears as quickly as it appeared.
“Without touching the planchette, tell me how you usually go about using the spirit board,” Logan says as his fingers tighten around mine.
I have to stifle a laugh at the grave expression in his narrowed eyes. He’s glaring at the board like it might leap from the table and attack. The angry red aura swirls around him in pulsating waves. Mrs. Anders stares at the board for several moments then her hand snakes out toward the planchette, stopping in mid-grasp. She makes a fist then places both hands in her lap.
“Okay, well, uh. Are there any spirits that wish to communicate?” she calls out in a theatrical voice.
“Stop,” Logan shouts making the stupid woman flinch. “What you just said should never be said.”
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Anders says, her eyebrows arching above her bangs.
“You just invited anyone around to invade your home,” Logan says, shaking his head. When she still looks confused, he sits back and stares. “Would you waltz into a prison and invite all the convicts to visit?”
“Of course not!” she replies as her cheeks turn red.
“What makes you think that all spirits are good?” I ask, meeting her shocked gaze. “People are good and bad, so it makes sense that spirits would be that way too.”
“Not only that, but there are some truly malicious entities out there just waiting for some poor, unsuspecting sap to invite them in,” Logan adds. He pulls his hand from mine and crosses his arms over his chest. “Now care to tell us what’s really going on here? I may not know you, but I’ve been doing investigations since I was five. Something isn’t right here.”
Mrs. Anders stares at the table, her mouth in a thin, grim line. Her husband rises from the table and darts from the room without a word.
Just what the hell is going on here?
Rising from the table, I wander from the ornate dining room back to the comfier living room. The ceilings are low as was the norm a century ago, but it feels stifling now that I’m used to the twelve foot ceilings in my house. As I pass the ugly floral sofa, a strange feeling flows through my entire body.
“Logan,” I call out in a hoarse whisper.
“What is it?” he asks when he arrives at my side. I turn my head to glance at him, and he gasps. “My God, you’re so pale! Are you okay?”
Unable to reply, I shake my head. Vertigo seizes me from the motion, and I shut my eyes in the hopes that the room will stop spinning. My heart hammers, each rapid beat echoing painfully in my ears. Logan helps me over to the sofa, and I collapse against the garish fabric. Within moments my stomach roils as my nose fills with more of the cloying perfume Mrs. Anders seems to love so much. The entire couch reeks of the stuff. My head reels. Coughs wrack my body, and I clutch at my stomach.
“The EMF is going crazy!” Carl shouts. “How can that be? There was no activity at all last week.”
“Logan, what’s wrong with her?” I hear Rebecca’s voice, yet it sounds so distant, like she’s speaking through a paper tube.
“I need to get her outside,” Logan says before picking me up in his arms.
He cradles me against his chest and races to the door. Once outside, he lays me down on the ground under the willow tree. I roll to my side, rubbing my fevered cheek against the cool grass. Now that the perfume is gone, I take deep cleansing breaths. Logan runs his fingers through my hair, the gentle strokes soothing.
“I think I know what’s going on now,” I murmur, my throat raw from coughing.
“It’s not paranormal,” Logan says, releasing a small growl of frustration. “Other than a raging headache, I didn’t sense anything paranormal.”
“I found the source of the EMF spike,” Carl yells, running from the house. “Mr. Anders was playing with all sorts of electronics and generating the spike.”
“Rebecca, call Mr. Kincaid,” I say, pushing myself to a sitting position. “That smell I thought was perfume, it made me sick. I think it’s some sort of incense she’s using to try to make us hallucinate. That and the lemonade. I drank more than the rest of you…”
“Crap,” Logan mutters, glancing toward the house. “She was so desperate for a paranormal business rating, she tried drugging us?”
We listen as Rebecca relates our suspicions to Mr. Kincaid, her voice reaching a fever pitch before she’s through.
“He said to call an ambulance and the police,” Rebecca says as she dials her phone. “We don’t know what she may have drugged us with…”
She continues ranting at the dispatcher, but her voice becomes more and more distant. Black spots swim in my vision. A sharp pain lances through my skull, but when I try to grasp my head with my hands, I realize I can’t move my arms. My pulse races as panic sets in. I turn my head to look at Logan, and my vision narrows. Blackness takes over, and my frenzied mind is dragged into nothingness.
Chapter Fifteen
Nightmares
Everything hurts. My arms are wrenched behind my back, and I’m curled up in the fetal position on my side. When I try to move, to ease my screaming muscles, I realize my arms are tied together. Panic surges through me as I squirm against my bonds. Shivers race along my body from the frigid cold. A sharp pain bites into my cheek. As I shift my head, I realize a small rock is embedded in my cheek. My eyes open to inky darkness. Though I can hear shuffling and scraping, I can’t see anything. My heart races and I choke back a sob.
Where am I?
Light flares to life, burning my eyes and leaving me blind for several moments. When I can see again, I cringe at the ghastly vision. Several spirits surround me in vivid corporeal form. They appear as they did in death—bloody, mutilated, bright images of a horrible tragedy. I recognize the raven-haired girl. I’ve seen her broken body numerous times in my nightmares. She teeters on legs shattered beyond any hope of repair were she still alive.
Two spirits flank her, both boys around ten years old. Their forms are so solid, they appear alive, but the grievous injuries make it clear these boys couldn’t possibly be among the living. No one could survive such extensive injury. One boy’s head hangs to his shoulder, only attached by a band of sinew. His blond hair is soaked in blood where it brushes his chest. Bile rises in my throat. I wonder if I can vomit during a vision.
My eyes move to observe the other boy. It’s hard to tell anything about him because his face has been destroyed. The right side is concave and his nose is missing. Gulping down a breath of air, I hold it in, willing the overwhelming nausea away.
It’s just a vision. I repeat this over and over in my head until I can breathe again.
“Help us,” the girl rasps in a voice that sounds like she’s gargling gravel. “He won’t stop hurting us. You can save us. Please!”
“I’m so scared,” the boy with the dangling head whispers. “He’s getting worse. What will happen if he destroys our souls?”
“I-I don’t—” Before I can continue, an angry voice cuts me off.
“You left!” The accusation comes from the boy with the smashed face. His voice echoes all around me, loud, furious. “You were here and you left! You left us alone with the monster. How could you?”
“Where?” I ask in a hoarse whisper, flinching at the raw pain that sears through my throat. “Where are you?”
“Be quiet!” the girl orders in a whisper. “He’ll hear us.”
“Who will hear you?” I ask becoming desperate. “Where are you?”
“The manor,” the girl replies, her head darting around in frantic movements. “He’s coming!”
“What manor? Who’s coming?” I ask in an urgent whisper.
“Foxbl—” The girl disappears in a flash before she ca
n finish.
“Kassandra Ramsey,” a deep male voice says from the shadows. “How nice to see you here. You can’t help them, you know. Soon you will belong to me and my reign of terror on the mortal plane will begin.”
“Who are you?” I shout to be heard above the sinister cackling. Someone has been watching too many melodramatic old movie villains. “What do you want?”
“You, my dear,” the voice says in my ear.
I jump, trying to scramble away from the phantom’s breath against my face. With my arms tied behind my back I don’t get far. A hoarse scream leaves my throat, but it seems to make my tormentor laugh harder. Pain sears through my ankle, such horrible pressure. I can feel the outline of fingers ending in what feels like sharp claws.
“Soon, Kassandra, soon.” The dark voice is hollow in my ears as I slip into blessed unconsciousness.
Chapter Sixteen
Repercussions
Pain lances through my head. Sharp, shooting sensations. Darkness replaced by light, and yet…
Why can’t I see anything?
Voices, loud mumbling. I can’t understand the words. Shouting… so much yelling. Dad… I can hear him—his voice is soft, muted. But the deep grumbling male voice, the one that hurts so much… who is he and why won’t he shut up?
“Quiet,” I whisper in a raspy voice. “Hurts…” I want to tell them what hurts but the words won’t come out.
“She’s awake,” Dad says in an urgent whisper. “Call the nurse.”
Feet shuffle. More whispers, mumbled words I can’t hear. But at least they aren’t yelling anymore. A hand grips mine, so warm on my chilled skin. My throat burns when I swallow. Need water.
“Open your eyes, pumpkin,” Dad orders in that tone he uses when he expects to be obeyed.
“Water,” I croak out as I try to lift my heavy eyelids.
Something cold and wet touches my lips. A small ice chip slides past my lips to melt on my tongue. As the water drips down my parched throat, I almost cry in relief. Before I can ask for another, one brushes against my mouth.
I manage to crack my eyes open, and immediately wish I hadn’t. The light is so bright shining off the white walls and ceiling of the room. Hospital, my mind whispers. Blinking against the blinding glare, my eyes focus on the face hovering above mine. I expect to see my dad, but am surprised to see Logan instead. He holds another ice chip to my lips, and I suck it into my mouth.
“What h-happened?” I ask now that my throat no longer feels like sandpaper.
“Don’t answer that, Logan,” that annoying male voice says. I try to look around for the source, but my neck ignores my command to move. “We don’t want you influencing her version of events.”
“Look, Detective, you need to come back tomorrow,” Dad says in an angry tone. “She’s in no shape to answer any questions. She just woke up for Christ’s sake.”
Before I can ask what’s going on, a nurse shows up and tries in vain to shoo the hulking man away. He stands his ground, staring at her with a hard glare. Tall and thin, he’s dressed in a rumpled brown suit that I’m pretty sure he slept in. The nurse fusses with the IV while muttering under her breath about annoying detectives.
“Okay, quit your hovering,” the nurse orders. Dad and Logan don’t move an inch from my bedside. The nurse sighs and shakes her head. “She’ll be fine now that she’s awake. The doctor has been called and will be here in a few minutes.”
“Logan, you can’t stay here,” the detective says after clearing his throat a bit too loud. “If I can’t question her now, you can’t be around her unsupervised until I do.”
“He can and will stay here,” Dad bites back. “While his parents are away, I’m acting as his guardian in this mess.”
“Just ask your stupid questions,” I murmur with an exasperated sigh. “Get it over with.”
“Not until the doctor okays it,” Dad says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, Dad, I want to get it over now,” I reply, pleased that my voice is stronger. “I don’t remember much anyway.”
The detective wastes no time after Dad shrugs his shoulders in defeat. “From the time you returned to the bed & breakfast after meeting with Roger Kincaid, what do you remember?”
“I remember Mrs. Anders was acting creepy, like she was on edge,” I say, cringing at the pain shooting through my head. After taking a couple deep breaths I continue. “We went inside and there was this cloying smell, like perfume or incense…”
I trail off when Logan’s fingers tighten around mine. Glancing at him from the corner of my eye, I notice an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He doesn’t want me talking about the smell. I wonder why.
“We, uh, sat down in the dining room, and Mr. Anders brought in a pitcher of lemonade.” Logan’s grip loosens a bit, and he rubs his other hand along my forearm. “I was really thirsty and drank a glass immediately. Soon after I started feeling weird. Nauseous. My brain was so fuzzy I couldn’t concentrate. My head was spinning.”
“She collapsed on the sofa, and I carried her outside,” Logan says when I don’t continue.
“Why did you take her outside?” the detective asks. “Seems strange. Wouldn’t you just leave her on the couch and call 911?”
“Normally, yeah,” Logan says, his voice steady and sure.
I already know the answer. It was the incense. He was trying to get me away from it. But that seems to be a taboo subject.
“But after our hosts acted so strange, I didn’t want to stay in the house,” he says shrugging his shoulders. “At least outside we’d be in the public eye. The Queen Anne District is full of tourists that time of night on the weekend, including a ghost tour just down the street. I needed to get my team to safety, and at the time, outside seemed safer than inside.”
“You have good instincts,” the detective says as he snaps his notepad closed.
“Well, I think you have all you need, detective,” a female voice says from the doorway. “Kacie will contact you if she remembers anything else.”
My eyes widen when the detective nods his head and exits the room without another word. Dad stares at the new arrival like she’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. She is quite beautiful. Long blonde hair flows past her shoulders in a mass of large waves. Tiny crinkles frame her blue eyes when she smiles at me. A stethoscope hangs around her neck. The white coat tells me she’s a doctor. This is confirmed when she steps closer. Her name badge says Tammy Hayes, M.D. Northern Central Hospital.
Logan leans over and whispers in my ear. “She has the power of persuasion.” I suck in a surprised breath. Does he mean literally, like a magic power?
“Ah, Mr. Ramsey, it’s so good to see you again,” Dr. Hayes says in a sing-song voice. The cadence is odd—musical and mesmerizing. “You should head to the cafeteria and get some decent coffee. That machine sludge isn’t drinkable.”
“I should go get some coffee,” Dad says in a dull monotone. Before I can say a word, he’s out the door.
“That’s amazing!” I exclaim. “What a great power.”
“Not so much, actually,” she replies in a normal voice. “Before I learned to control it, I never knew if it was me or my power people liked.”
“Dr. Hayes is a member of the Orion Circle,” Logan says while his thumb brushes over the back of my hand. The motion seems nervous. Maybe he’s afraid of what she might make him do against his will. “Dr. Hayes, this is our newest member, Kacie.”
“It’s nice to see you awake, Kacie,” she says, glancing up from my chart. “How does your head feel? Still fuzzy or hazy?”
“It hurts, but no, it’s not fuzzy anymore,” I say, rubbing my temples the moment I’m reminded of the pain.
“Good. Look here, follow the light.” My eyes blink against the bright light. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” I follow the light, and she clicks it off several long moments later. “Your pupils are responding normally. That’s
good news.” The scratching of her pen on the chart echoes in the room. “Your hearing and light sensitivity may be a touch more acute for a day or so. It’s a side effect of the witch’s bane incense she used.” At my blank look, she adds, “It’s a mixture of herbs and flowers that are especially effective on females of certain talents.”
“Why only women?” I ask.
“Something to do with the smell receptors in the brain of males versus females. What bothers me most is that she not only knew how to make it, but she had the audacity to use it.” Dr. Hayes snaps the chart closed and hangs it on the end of the bed. “The Circle will investigate this. Though the police aren’t aware of the incense due to the supernatural nature, she and her husband spiked the lemonade with flunitrazepam, also known as one of the date rape drugs. You got a large dose. Between that and the incense, you’re lucky to be awake. Both can cause coma and death in an overdose.”
“Why would she do that?” I ask in a hoarse whisper. It’s horrifying to think what might have happened if I drank that second glass of juice.
“They both cause hallucinations in small doses,” Dr. Hayes says. She pauses, glancing toward the open door. In a lower voice she adds, “Logan thinks she was desperate enough for the haunted inn rating that she drugged you to get it. He said you figured it out before you passed out.”
My jaw drops. “So she wanted me to hallucinate a ghost?” I ask, unable to get my mind around it. What kind of person would drug someone for something so asinine?
“All of us,” Logan reminds me. “My head is still killing me, and I only had half a glass. Fortunately Carl didn’t drink any and Rebecca only had a few sips. They’re both fine.”
“I don’t remember anything other than that awful incense,” I murmur, rubbing my temples with my fingertips. “Whenever I try, it hurts too much.”
Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle) Page 12