Right on schedule, Courtney enters the caf with Farah and Mina walking behind her, like birds flying in formation. Stephanie Crawford follows along a few paces back, as if she doesn't want to be with them. When she reaches our table, Courtney doubles over and grabs her heart.
"What is it?" Farah asks in a breathy voice.
"Oh, I'm sensing such heartache," Courtney says. "Like someone's in pain." She glances over at me, and it's all I can do not to laugh my ass off at this little performance. Someone should call Mrs. Rachupka, our drama teacher, right away and have her recast the fall play.
"Let her sit," Farah almost orders Celia.
"Take a load off," Celia says.
Courtney sits on the bench and continues to feign her psychic senses. I can see into her thoughts, and she's laughing and thinking what a genius she is, pulling this off like she's doing. Suddenly, she reaches her hand over and puts it on my arm, her face full of emotion.
What is this girl on?
"I'm so sorry to hear that Jason broke up with you."
Taylor slams her hands onto the table. Part of our gag. "He what? How dare he!"
Courtney closes her eyes and sways a bit. "My sensitivities are telling me that ... that ... he's coming back to me. That he thinks we're meant to be together."
Wow, she should try out for a soap opera.
She goes on a bit more about destiny and her spirit guide directing her, and I just can't hold it in any longer. Especially now that Becca's appeared at the table and looks like she wants to take out Courtney's kneecaps.
I can't help it, and I burst out laughing.
Courtney stares at me with disbelief. "What is so damn funny, Ghost Girl?"
Between gasps, I point and say, "You ... are!"
And before I can get control of my laughter, Jason sits down with his Mountain Dew and bag of Doritos. "Kendall, are you all right?"
"Jason?" Courtney asks, very confused.
Celia's own giggles harmonize with mine, and next thing I know, Taylor's laughing too. We're all losing it.
"What's going on here?Y'all get some funny brownies from the counter?" Jason asks. "Where's mine? Why wasn't I invited to this party?"
About to fall over, Celia gets out, "You didn't tell him? Oh my God!"
Jason's blue eyes dart from Celia to me, then over to Courtney. "Tell me what?"
"You did break up with her, didn't you, Jason?" Courtney asks quite loudly. "You're coming back to me, right?"
Jason looks horrified, like he sucked on a lemon for ten minutes. "Are you kidding me? What planet do you live on, Courtney?" He puts his arm around me. "I'm with Kendall, and you just need to get over it."
"But you broke up!"
He looks at me with a start. "We did? When?"
Becca jumps in. "Yeah? Where'd you hear that? Your psychic intuitions?"
Courtney cranes her neck over at her posse, which has conveniently disappeared. "Oooo, I'm going to get her," she mutters.
"Get who? Your spirit guide?" Celia asks.
"I'm sorry, Courtney," I say. I honestly feel bad for the girl, even if she brought all of this on herself. I still live by the golden rule and I'm not exactly sure we should have done this. I only meant to show her that she can't play these games and needs to grow up. "It was a setup."
"A what?"
"Look, Courtney, you and I both know that you're not psychic. You call me a fake and a crazy person, yet you start acting like you have the same gift I do. It's not something to be mocked or joked about. This is serious business. And you're nothing but a phony. Now, can we bury the friggin' hatchet once and for all?"
Courtney's face turns bright red, and I think her head is going to explode like a Warner Brothers cartoon character's.
A stream of vulgarities and colorful adjectives spew from Courtney, as if she's possessed by pure anger. She points a finger at me and Jason as we sit here.
"You will rue the day you ever crossed me, Ghost Girl. Mark my words."
And with that, she flies out of the cafeteria.
I look around the table and let out a sigh. "I don't know whether to laugh some more or be scared."
"With Courtney?" Jason says. "Be afraid. Be very afraid."
Great.
Chapter Eleven
Tonight is Stephanie Crawford's Halloween bash at her sick—in a good way—mansion. It might actually be bigger than Celia's Mega-Mart-sponsored palace.
I climb the steps leading up to the porch and press the doorbell, which rings out a breezy, chiming welcome. I half expect a butler to open the door and announce us.
"Come on in!" Miss Evelyn says, a big bowl of Lindt chocolates tucked under her arm. "Don't y'all look adorable?"
I glance down at my getup. I'm wearing a pretty traditional fortuneteller outfit; you know, long, colorful flowy dress, lots of bracelets and rings, and thick makeup. Taylor did this crazy curling-iron job on my hair to give me ringlets all over. Jason winked his approval when he picked me up, so I must have passed the test. He's dressed like Batman, and let me tell you what: Christian Bale, eat your heart out. Hotness reigns with Jason Tillson. Taylor looks tres adorable dressed like a French maid, short skirt and all. Ryan may be misinterpreting her intentions with the attire, 'cause he's eyeing her like she's the star of an adult movie on a late-night cable channel. He's dressed like an ultimate fighter, complete with dried "blood" on his knuckles and chest and a makeup'd black eye. We're a motley crew.
Stephanie bounds down the grand staircase in a Catwoman costume that looks painted on her body. Holy crap! Nothing much left to the imagination there. Then again, being a cheerleader, she has the bod for it and wears it well. "Hey, y'all! You're, like, the first guests."
Ryan mutters to Taylor, "I told you. Totally lame to be the first"
She smacks him with her feather duster. "Kendall has to get set up."
Stephanie grabs both of my hands and spreads them wide. "You look like the real deal."
"It's because I am," I say with a wink.
"Right. You are." She drops my hands. "I'm really sorry about all the crap with Courtney. I'd like to say she's really a nice person deep down, but I can't. She's always been like this, and it's what everyone's gotten used to. Sort of a 'that's just Courtney' thing. You know, having to be the center of attention. She can't deal with someone swiping her spotlight."
I shake my head. "I don't want her spotlight."
"Well, you've got it," Stephanie says. "Keep being who you are. She'll get over herself sooner or later."
Sooner, I hope.
Miss Evelyn shows us to the mammoth party room. It must have been a ballroom or something back when the house was built, in the mid-1800s. The hardwood floors shine like they've been freshly buffed, and lining the perimeter there are tables covered with food and Halloween decorations. "Make yourself at home. The caterers have just finished putting out the food. You kids won't go hungry tonight."
"Apparently not," Jason says under his breath.
"A caterer?" I ask Stephanie. "You guys are big-time here."
"That's how we roll here in Radisson."
"Oh, Kendall," Miss Evelyn says. "I've got a table in the corner for you, with a drape around it for some privacy. Will that work?"
"Yes, ma'am." I pat my backpack. "I brought tarot cards, runes, and my pendulum."
"Excellent!"
Jason, Taylor, and Ryan check out the buffet—man, there's, like, a carved roast beef, veggies, rolls, all sorts of canapés and caviar (are you kidding me? for teenagers?)—and while they do that, I organize my reading area. Miss Evelyn comes over a few minutes later with something in her hand.
"I wanted to show you this before the other kids get here." She unfolds a deep purple velvety cloth from around an old book. "This is my family's Bible. It has birth and death records dating back to Ada Parry's time and before."
"Oh, right!" I exclaim. "Your great-great-grandmother that I connected with during your reading at Loreen's. This is really cool." I tak
e the family treasure from her and carefully turn the ancient pages. The book smells of mothballs with a hint of roses. A small pressed flower falls from the front section and flutters to the floor. "I'm so sorry."
Miss Evelyn picks it up and tucks it into the back of the Bible. "That's okay, dear. That flower has been in there for over twenty years."
"Whoa." As I touch the book, I can literally feel the sizzling energy that Ada Parry left behind. An image of her appears in my mind's eye. Tall, beautiful, and confident. "Ada was quite a modern woman for her time."
Nodding, Miss Evelyn says, "She was known to be headstrong."
"And feisty," I add. Something else too. An air of confusion and sorrow. It's like she fell in love with the wrong person? Not exactly sure what that means, so I keep this little tidbit to myself.
"I also have her diaries," Miss Evelyn says. "You'll have to come see me sometime, and I'll let you read through them. Quite fascinating. It's history preserved."
"That would be awesome," I say.
Stephanie interrupts, tugging me by the sleeve of my costume. "People are starting to show up. You should get ready. Do you want food first?"
"Maybe so."
I follow her around the ballroom, which is decorated to the hilt with black, white, and orange balloons and streamers and all things Halloweeny, like skeletons, pumpkins, and ghosts. We pile a plate with fresh-cut fruit and some veggie sticks, enough to keep me going. "I can't get over how ginormous this place is."
"I know," Stephanie says, snagging a tuna tartare canapé from the nearby tray. "It's been in Mom's family for forever. Dad hated living here, said he always felt unwelcome. Like he was squatting on someone else's property." Her gaze drifts to the distance for a moment, then she snaps back to our convo. "So our relatives used to have all of these exotic balls and events here. I try to keep up the family tradition with my Halloween party. I've been having it since seventh grade. My mom even had her debutante coming-out party here, when she was a teenager. I've fortunately avoided that so far."
I sort of feel like my psychic awakening is my coming-out.
I sit down at my designated spot and hope I won't be like a big loser all night, over here in the corner with no one wanting a reading. Stephanie's so superpsyched to have a real psychic; however, I'm a little wigged out and nervous about doing tarot readings on my own for the first time—without Loreen nearby, that is.
I'm with you, Kendall, Emily reassures me.
Good ol' Em.
Knowing I can reach out to her for backup warms me; my confidence buds.
Soon the room is jumping. It's like the entire student body of RHS has turned out for this party. And no, I'm not a loser sitting in the corner. I have a ton of people lined up for quick tarot readings. Celia and Clay have arrived—decked out as Sherlock Holmes and Watson—and are hanging out with Jason. Celia waves over at me and gives me a thumbs-up. Becca and Dragon are here as well, but they're dressed in their own Goth attire and leather. Gotta give it to them, not giving a shit what people think.
After about an hour and a half of readings, I seriously need a break. Almost on cue, Jason's there and swoops me into his Batman arms. He pulls me out to the middle of the room to the dance floor and we sway to a Kaskade remix.
"I've missed you," he whispers.
"I missed you too."
I love disappearing into Jason's strong embrace. It makes me feel almost ... normal. When I'm with him, he's the only thing I'm concentrating on. There are seldom voices or other people's thoughts swirling around, and I'm not seeing—
"Hey, wait a second." I stiffen in Jason's arms and stop moving.
Why would a kid in Georgia dress up like a Union soldier? You know, the whole dirty-Yankees thing and all. Unless ... is that a genuine Union soldier over in the corner? The outfit is quite realistic, and I don't think the guy is a fellow student; he's got a weathered face, a scraggly close-clipped beard, and he looks older than the rest of us.
"What's wrong, Kendall?" Jason asks with concern in his blue eyes.
"Do you see a kid dressed like a Civil War soldier standing over by the salmon mousse?"
"The salmon what?" he asks.
"Over there. At the table on the end. Some dude dressed as a Union soldier. Don't you see him?"
Jason cranes his neck. "I only see Carmickle over there porking out on the mini-quiches. Which are awesome, by the way."
I swallow the lump in my throat, knowing in my heart of hearts that if Jason can't see the guy, it means only one thing. He's a ghost. And I think I've seen him before.
Over at the refreshment table, which is laden with a veritable smorgasbord, Celia is piling her plate high with goodies.
She crams a dip-covered carrot stick into her mouth and chomps down on it. "The Crawfords really know how to put out a spread."
I touch her arm and get her attention away from the plate of food. "We have company."
"What do you mean?"
"By the back table. A soldier in blue. He's watching me, and I can hear his laughter in my head."
I've definitely heard that laugh before. We've done so many investigations recently that they're all starting to run together, but there's something distinct about this guy ... and the laughter. I have to get to the bottom of this.
Celia hands me her plate, reaches into the pocket of her coat, and withdraws an EMF meter. "I've been getting some extremely high readings here tonight."
I shake my head at my friend. " Who brings an EMF detector to a party?"
She's completely unfazed, as if to say, Celia Nichols, that's who!
Even though we're supposed to be chilling out at a fab party, I'm with Celia on this. There's a buzzing in the air that's not emanating from the speakers. The whole house has a hum to it that I sense all the way down to my fingertips.
"Let's take a lap around the room," Celia suggests. We head over to where Clay and Jason are standing talking to a few other guys and excuse ourselves from our dates, saying we'll be right back.
"Are you getting anything, Kendall?" Celia asks once we're in the front parlor.
"I think so." This sensation I'm picking up can only be described as funky. "It's this extremely old feeling. Like I can smell the mustiness. The air is all weighted down around me. Very heavy and dense"
She scans her meter around, watching as the lights blink on and the needle begins registering electromagnetic activity: 2.2, 3.4, 5.5. "We're definitely getting paranormal activity," she confirms.
I lay my hand on a nearby bureau with a vase of fresh flowers on the top. The furniture nearly murmurs with place memory, flashing images of others who have come before me through this room and left their energetic mark. "Some serious shit went down in this house many years ago, but I can't quite put my finger on it yet."
"Should I get Taylor and Becca?" Celia asks.
"No." I stop her with my hand on her arm. "Let's not interrupt their fun."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see that guy who's dressed like a Union soldier. "There he is!"
"Who? Where?" Celia yells after me.
It's too late, though, because I take off down the hallway after him. Only, by the time I get down the corridor, there's no one there. I know for a fact that it's definitely a spirit who hasn't passed into the light. I know it in every fiber of my being.
"It was a soldier," I say to Celia.
"What did he look like?"
"Umm ... a soldier."
"Duh, I mean specifically. Age, rank, serial number."
"I didn't get a good peek at his face."
Celia points her meter down the hall, continuing to get readings. "If you can see him close up, then you can describe him to me later and I can try and sketch him out."
"Smart thinking," I say.
I follow the curve of the house, passing a large dining room that a lot of my fellow partygoers have overflowed into. The next room is a library area and a cut-through to the kitchen. I freeze in my tracks at the sudden intense pressur
e I'm feeling, like I've landed after a long flight and my ears haven't popped properly. My temples pound fiercely, and the noise inside my head is equivalent to being strapped under an Amtrak locomotive. There's churning and twisting, and then I feel myself being pushed. Not physically, but mentally. Someone is trying to get me out of the way. Or get my mind. My soul. What is going on?
Celia picks up that something is totally wrong. "Kendall! Kendall!"
I stare at her with what must be glassy eyes. I'm entranced by the force inside me that's telling me to make way. "Oh no, you don't!" I eke out.
"Those aren't your eyes, Kendall. Where have you gone? Talk to me!" Celia screams.
The music from the party plays loudly overhead, filling the entire house. No one can hear either of us as we battle this unknown entity. Hot tears sting the corners of my eyes, and I squeeze them shut, concentrating as hard as I can to stay grounded and in my body. It's as if my ribs are expanding from the pressure within. My lungs fill to capacity, making even the slightest breath seem like it takes an act of Congress to accomplish. Hot liquid rushes through my veins, searing me from the inside, as the impact of mentally fighting off this assault begins to take a toll on me. My muscles cramp and my bones crackle in a knuckle-popping-fest of the ages. Whatever this is, it's big and strong and thinks it can bully me.
"S-s-something is trying t-t-to get inside me."
Flicking the meter my way, Celia gasps as the needle flies off the charts. She grabs my hand and says, "You don't know how to channel a spirit, Kendall. Don't do it. You've got to do everything you can to kick this guy out."
I muster up my mental strength, seeing myself as a Herculean woman of some sort, a Greek goddess come down from Olympus to defeat the bad guy; Wonder Woman in her stars and stripes and bulletproof bracelets and lasso of truth (man, what I wouldn't give for one of those). I'm all of these things, and yet I'm just me trying to stave off this aggression. I begin to say the Lord's Prayer, nearly begging the Holy Father for assistance against this spirit, whose intentions are quite clear. He tells me everything. He wants to be seen and heard and "make her pay." I don't know who "her" is, but I won't let him use me as a weapon against anyone. Red flashes before my eyes. Gold sparks tinge the air, like Fourth ofJuly sparklers. Except there's no celebration here. Just my will to survive and stake a claim to what is rightfully mine. There's nothing but ill will and malice attached to him, and I'll be damned—literally—if I'm going to let such a ghost inside of me. I scream bloody murder in my brain, hoping to jar this bastard loose.
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