I'm confused beyond reason. "What? Taylor, you're out of your mind."
She gathers up her laptop and camera bag, slamming and jerking things around. "No, honey. You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to spend one more minute of my time on this tomfoolery you've cooked up. Psychic? Yeah, right. I bet your dad didn't even get attacked. You probably destroyed that model yourself." She harrumphs and storms out of Celia's room.
"That's not how it is at all!" I say in her wake. Turning to Jason, I say, "Is she frickin' kidding me?"
He starts after her. "Taylor, wait!"
"Piss off, Jason!" she screams out, halting him midstride in the doorway.
I sit on Celia's bed with my head in my hands. How could this have gone so wrong so fast? Peeking through my fingers, I see that Celia won't even look at me. She thinks I only did this to get a guy. No! Not at all. I can read her thoughts easily. You used me and You betrayed me ring out so clearly that I'm surprised that Becca and Jason can't pick up on this too.
Speaking of Becca, she winks at me and then gathers her things. "Well, I guess that's that, huh? It was real. And it was fun. But it wasn't real fun." As she walks past me, she pats me on the shoulder and whispers, "Don't sweat it, K."
After she leaves the room, the silence is so palpable and electric, it would make our EMF meters blaze off the charts.
Celia stares ahead at her computer screen. "I'd really like it if you both left now."
"Celia..."
"Now, please." The emphasis in her tone leaves nothing to discuss.
Even Seamus growls at me—and drools a little—from his L. L. Bean monogrammed cushion next to Celia's desk. Okay, Nichols family. I get the message.
"Come on, Kendall." Jason grabs his jacket and then steers me by the elbow out of Celia's room and down the stairs. Outside, I stand stupefied over what just happened. Taylor's nowhere to be seen and Becca's on her way down the street. I wonder if Celia will ever speak to me again. And why was kissing Jason a betrayal of her? You'd think a psychic could read between the lines, but I'm at a loss.
"Can I drive you home?" Jason asks.
I point across the street. "I live right there."
"Hop in," he says. "We'll drive around and get some air, then I'll drop you off."
Defeated, I scuff my sneakers on the gravel path that leads to the Nicholses' driveway and Jason's Jeep. "Might as well. You can't hunt ghosts without ghost hunters."
School totally sucked major ass today. Celia avoided me like the cliched plague, and Taylor opted to not even come in at all. Jason texted me and said she was having "female problems." Yeah, I'm the female and, apparently, the problem.
At least he's still talking to (or texting) me.
Having nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon—and trying to not technically buck Mom's "don't go see Loreen" edict—I slip over to Central Perk and order a chai latte. I sweet-talked Kim, the daughter of the owner, Ruthanne, into going down to Divining Woman with a note for Loreen to come meet me here. If she seeks me out, then in theory, I'm not being disobedient. Ten minutes later, my psychic friend walks in with a worried look on her face.
She peels off a black sweater to reveal a blue and white T-shirt that reads "Don't Squeeze the Shaman." I almost snort chai latte out of my nose. It's the best feeling I've had all day.
"Loreen, where do you get these T-shirts of yours?"
She waves her hand about like she's swatting a fly. "Oh, you know. Here and there."
"Nowhere I've been," I say with a laugh when all I really want to do is cry.
Reaching across the small café table, Loreen takes my hand, turns it over, and looks at my palm. She trails her short fingernail across one of the lines and frowns. It totally tickles, so I pull my hand away and scratch it against my jeans.
"What's troubling you, Kendall? Something's not right."
I sip my chai. "You could put it that way."
Loreen places her hair behind her ears and squeezes her eyes shut. "I could put it several ways, considering all the chattering I'm hearing from you. So many thoughts and images. La-la-la-la ... I don't want to hear," she sings out.
I swat at her. "Okay, okay, everything sucks. That about sums it up."
Ruthanne places a cup of hot black coffee in front of Loreen and winks at us. Without adding sugar or cream, Loreen scoops up the steaming cup and takes a hearty gulp. "Talk."
My eyes follow the motion of the coffee cup. "That is gross. How can you do that? Nas-tay."
Loreen snaps at me. "Kendall. Ignore the coffee. Focus. The 'everything sucks' part."
So, over our respective beverages, I tell her how everything has completely pooped the bed, from what happened at city hall to getting shoved, Jason catching me and us kissing like fools, to the review of the tapes at Celia's house and to my ghost-hunting team not talking to me anymore.
She thinks for a moment and then folds her hands together underneath her chin. "Let's put the teen drama aside for a moment and dwell on the paranormal aspect. You could be dealing with a residual haunting."
"Right." I nod. "Which means the haunting could be centered on moments of super-intense emotions that once occurred in city hall."
"Exactly. I'm especially curious about the timed photography your friend took that shows a man. Any clue to who he might be?"
I reach into my backpack, pull out my notebook, and tell her all that Becca and I found in the newspapers. "We have an educated guess. His name might be Charles Stogdon, the man who used to own the land that my dad and the city are developing. You know, the new Mega-Mart project?"
"Oh. I see." She looks off as she thinks about this.
"What?"
Loreen studies the newspaper clip. "This is fascinating! If this Stogdon man is indeed residing at city hall, then you're dealing more with an intelligent haunting."
"Which means?" I ask.
"Well, first and foremost," she starts, "it means the spirit has free will and is making conscious decisions, like pushing people down the stairs, unlike the ghost in your house, who seems more curious and less combative. I think you need to concentrate all of your efforts on searching records at city hall for more information on him and his connection to all of this. It's there, I just know it."
I jot down notes with her suggestions and then straighten up. "Will you help me out?"
She pats my hand. "Nah, this is your project, Kendall."
"But I can't do this by myself. I need people with me, protecting me, watching my back. I mean, I even went to the church and got some holy water from the priest, who wasn't too shabby to look at, let me tell you."
"Which church?" she asks with piqued interest.
"Christ the Redeemer Episcopal. You know Father Castellano?"
Loreen fingers her strawberry blond hair behind her ears. "I think I've seen him around town. What did he say to you? Did he discourage you, like your mother?"
"No," I say. "In fact, he told me my abilities are a gift from God, and only God knows what the intentions are."
"That's right, Kendall. What do you think His intentions are?"
I stop and think for a moment, my pulse popping under my skin for some reason. "I'm supposed to help these spirits on to wherever it is they need to go. For some reason, I can hear and see and feel and smell them. If I don't help, then what good am I?"
A wide grin spreads across Loreen's face. "That's my girl." She tosses a five on the table to cover our drinks and slips her sweater back on. "I think you need to stay the course. You can handle Charles Stogdon, as long as you're protected."
"Geez, I haven't exactly handled things very well up to this point." Not with my mother, not with Celia and the others, and especially not with Jason. We can't get involved until this case is solved. I'm a ghost hunter. That's what I do. Boys have to come second.
Loreen looks at me, assuring, "You know what you have to do, Kendall."
I drain the last of the chai latte and slam the paper cup on the table. "Yep. It's t
ime to go grovel to the rest of the ghost hunters and beg for forgiveness. We've got work to do."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SATURDAY MORNING, I'm greeted at the door of the Nicholses' mansion by their maid, Alice (how very Brady Bunch of them), and a snarling Seamus chewing on a rubber bone. I don't think the growl is necessarily for me, more like his annoyance at not being able to go outside and bury the toy unchaperoned.
"Hey, Alice. Is Celia home?"
The older lady frowns. "She's upstairs. Where else would she be? That girl never leaves her room. See if you can get her to go out and let the stink blow off of her."
I nod my head and smile. Seamus follows me up the staircase and then loses interest. He flops over in front of the antique secretary in the hallway and continues masticating the rubber treat. I plod down to Celia's room and knock softly.
"I said I didn't want any breakfast, Alice," she calls.
"It's not Alice," I say meekly as I open the door.
Celia's hair is a holy mess, looking like a bird's nest on top of her head. She peers over at me for one second through the chaotic strands of black bangs that hang in her eyes. Then she turns her gaze back to the computer screen.
"We need to talk, Celia."
I notice she's deeply engrossed in an online sudoku tournament; she's doing quite well. Her denim-colored henley shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and the sleeves are rolled up to her elbows. Her legs are folded up underneath her, giving her extra height to see the engrossing game before her—like she's not already a giant.
I watch as she fills in a 2, a 9, and a 4 in the middle box to complete the puzzle. Expert level, of course. The girl's a friggin' genius. And a good friend. The best one I have here. Anywhere, for that matter, since Marjorie kicked me to the curb in favor of Gretchen Lind and people who actually still live in Chicago and who don't see dead people. I need to mend the fence with Celia. ASAP.
"Cel—"
She clicks "Bring on the next puzzle!" and keeps inserting numbers into the appropriate squares, ignoring my presence. Breathing deeply, I focus on her and the pain that's now a barrier to our friendship. My eyes close and I envision her sitting in class drawing in her notebook. That silly sketch I've teased her about extensively. Then the clouded image in my head clears, and I vividly see just exactly who she's drawing. Now I know I really need to apologize.
"Cel, I'm so sorry. About everything. About Jason." I hold my breath to see if she looks my way. Not really, but she puts her game on pause. Continuing, I say, "I had no idea you had a crush on him. I swear, I didn't!"
She shoots up and runs a hand through her unruly hair. "How—? Who—? Oh, that's right. The whole psychic-abilities thing. Shit."
"Yeah. I promise you, Celia, I had no idea you had feelings for him until just this moment when I figured out it was Jason you were sketching that day in class. You've got to believe me. I don't have a vicious bone in my body."
Instead of answering, she trudges over to her messenger bag that's slung over the ladder-back chair in the corner. She pulls out her calculus notebook and comes to sit next to me on the bed. Celia turns to the end and thumbs a few pages until she reaches her doodles. There, in a beautifully sketched pencil drawing, is a perfect likeness of Jason Tillman. Down to the mole on his cheek and the dimple near his mouth. Wow, you've really gotta like someone a whole hell of a lot to get those details down pat.
"All this time, I thought you were drawing Clay Price," I say.
"Yeah, well. Now you know, okay?"
I take the notebook and admire her handiwork. "You're really good, Celia. You should do something with your art."
She toys with a wayward curl of hers that's fallen into her face. "There's not really a need for it in the scientific community."
Turning to face her, I say, "Oh, but there is! If I see a spirit and we can't capture it on film, then I can describe it to you and you can sketch it out. You know, like a police artist. Only, you'll be a spirit artist. Just another layer to our ghost hunting."
I see that familiar sparkle in her eyes over our joint project. However, it's quickly squelched when her gaze returns to the image of Jason. "Yeah, well, it would have been."
"Celia, please." I take her hand and squeeze. "I had no clue that you were interested in Jason. That kiss you saw just happened. I was scared shitless and had almost done a swan dive off the banister. He was there, and, well, it is what it is. I never planned it or intended for it—or him—to come between our friendship. Or Taylor's. You guys mean the world to me."
Tears fill my bottom lids, making Celia appear to be a bit wavy.
"Seriously?"
I blink and a salty drop falls. "Totally. I can't believe I didn't pick up on your feelings for him. Some psychic I am, huh?"
She half smiles and it appears she might cry too. God, we're such girls! "Don't apologize. I've had a crush on him since, like, forever. He'd never like a geek like me."
"You're not a geek, Celia."
She raises a brow at me and lifts a smile. "Just a tad?"
"Okay, a bit quirky and original, but definitely not a geek," I assure her. "If you quit hiding behind your bangs and your baggy boy clothes, guys would notice what a knockout you are."
She blushes. "Thanks, Kendall. I'm sorry I lost my shit over this the other day. God! I'm sure Jason figured out that I liked him too. How embarrassing!"
"No, don't worry," I say. "He's a guy. They don't notice anything."
A chuckle bubbles out of her. "Funny thing is, y'all make a lot more sense than he and I ever would have. Besides, I'm too tall for him." She stops and bites her bottom lip. "You like him, don't you?"
Deep sigh. "I didn't think I did. He was such a jackass to me at first. But he really grew on me. And he's interested in our ghost hunting. Okay, yeah, I really like him. Is that okay?"
Celia swipes at a tear that never fell and wipes her hand on her pajama pants. "Of course it's okay. Besides, I've got Clay, right?" She bursts out laughing and I can't help but fling myself on her in a big bear hug. She hugs me back and we laugh and cry like the silly females we are.
"Clay Price is a hottie," I say. "And he's definitely interested in you. We need to use that credit card of yours to get you some new clothes and do a fashion makeover. Then you need to give him a second look and the time of day."
"Whatever." She sits back and tosses her notebook across the room. "Although I think I will take you up on the makeover."
"Thatta girl. And we'll get Taylor to help. She's so glamorous."
Celia laughs hard. "Not Becca, though. I don't think her particular pierced-and-tattooed style would go over well with the parentals."
Then we fall silent for a moment. I know she's thinking about our eclectic group.
"It really sucks that our ghost-hunting team fell apart," she says quietly. "We were starting to make some kick-ass progress."
"We still can," I say, wide-eyed and hopeful. I pull Dad's set of office keys out of my pocket. "Wanna come down to city hall with me to do some research?"
"Give me ten minutes to change!"
And we're back in the game.
"Bingo!" Celia raises her arms to signal touchdown. She's been sitting in front of the microfiche machine in the basement of city hall for the last two hours while I've been poring over the county record books.
I'm covered in dust and muck from this old room. "Pay dirt?"
She swivels in her chair and goes to the printer that's spitting out page after page. "It's all right here. Everything we need to fight this spirit. I know exactly what happened to Mr. Charles Stogdon. I know why he's here, why he's razzed off at your dad, and why all of this is happening."
She hands the stack of papers to me. I clutch them as I read the information as fast as I can. Moments later, I'm nearly winded from the facts, figures, and data. Thank goodness the City of Radisson has kept such awesome records. We totally have a break here in our investigation, and I can't wait to dish the 411 to everyone.
&nb
sp; "We've got to reassemble the team," I say.
"Easier said than done."
I pout. "True." I wave the papers. "But this changes everything. You get in touch with Becca and I'll text Jason for him and Taylor to be here at six p.m. sharp."
"Time to go dark?" she asks.
"Tonight, we ghost hunt."
There's an unobtrusive thumping on my bedroom door. For a moment, I think it's Emily trying to make contact again. It's not her, but it is a near ghostly face.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
She purses her lips together and toys with a Kleenex she's clutching. Has she been crying? Am I the cause? Crap on a crutch.
"May I come in, Kendall?"
I don't exactly have a choice, since she's walking in and closing the door behind her. Not that I mind having her in here, but I sense great fear, angst, and concern from her. There's a small purple and white flyer in her hand, and I'm concerned that the nurse of the house is about to suggest some sort of intensive medication for her troubled teen.
"Mom, before you say anything, just let me say that I'm fine."
"You're not fine, sweetie."
I strongly inhale. "I know you're weirded out by all of this. How do you think I feel?"
Mom hasn't exactly had much time to adjust to the fact that her older child is a psychic who sees, hears, and talks to spirits. I suppose I'll be grappling with it for the rest of my life as well. However, there's nothing either of us can do about it. It's a calling, just like Father Castellano and Loreen said.
Mom steps toward me. "Your safety and well-being is my chief concern, Kendall. You speak of ghosts and spirits like they're neighbors come in for a glass of iced tea. Telling me you hear voices in machines and can use odd equipment to detect dead people ... well, what am I supposed to think?"
The Awakening Page 20