Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey

by Marley Gibson

  The watching eye in London isn’t some slow, mechanical Ferris wheel; rather, it’s the polished teenager sitting behind me.

  I’m going to have to guard my every move.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  We have seriously arrived in the lap of London luxury. Or rather, the best hotel that Oliver Bates’s television reputation can buy. Which is quiet chic.

  Taylor drops her bags onto the bed in our penthouse—yes…penthouse!—apartment at the Park Plaza County Hall across the river . I guess I should call it a flat, though, to get into the vernacular of my surroundings.

  Maddie Puckett rushes over to push the curtains aside “Y’all! Check out the view!”

  I follow the other girls and gasp when I take in the awe-inspiring skyline of London, with the Eye staring back at us. I could spend a year exploring this hotel suite alone, with the kitchen, lounge, living area, and outside balcony, but I need to snag my sleeping space first. Since Jessica and I’ve shared a room before, the two of us pair up in one of the bedrooms with Taylor and Celia claiming the one in the large suite, and Jayne and Maddie agreeing to share the pull-out sofa bed.

  “Where’s your aunt staying?” Jess asks.

  “She has a room down the hall,” I tell her. “She’s here to chaperone and support and everything, but she doesn’t want to be in my way.”

  Jess nods. “She’s way cool. Things are looking up for you, Kendall, since our spring break.”

  I feel a slight blush, knowing she’s talking about Patrick. “Yeah, things are great with Patrick. We were really meant to be together.”

  She lifts a brow at me. “And the hottie with the blue eyes?”

  “The ex.”

  “That boy has a lot of red going for him,” she tells me. Jessica’s specialty is reading people’s auras. Apparently, we’re all surrounded on some ethereal level by a rainbow of color. Each meaning something different about our spirit…and our soul. “Lots of red. He’s got gusto. And he’s all about seizing opportunities.”

  I screw up my face. “Yeah, like worming his way onto this trip.”

  “Careful, Kendall. You’re still drawn to that red aura.”

  Laughter bubbles from me. “Get over it, Jess.”

  She plops onto the bed. “I’m just saying. Once you pick up someone’s red aura and they catch your attention, no matter who they are, that aggressive red aura will throw caution to the wind to pursue what they want. And that boy still wants you.”

  I toss my hands up. “And I’m not going there again.”

  Jessica grins at me. “You’ve got light blue shining off of you.”

  “Which means?”

  “Just that you’re spiritual, intuitive, metaphysical.”

  “Well, duh.” I start stacking my shorts and jeans together, looking at the dresser for which drawer to take. Then I wonder. “What are you seeing from that Christian kid?”

  Jessica closes her eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. “Oddly enough, he’s covered in a gray and black haze.”

  I pop up. “I thought black meant death!”

  “Not always,” she tells me. “It could mean an illness or a tragedy that’s befallen him. Or it could just be that he’s filled with hate.”

  I sigh, long and hard.

  Jess holds up her hand, though. “Mostly, he’s gray, like I said. Which concerns me even more because variants of the color gray really say a person is secretive and self-protective. It’s a wall around them saying they want to be left alone. The gray aura means they don’t want to be the center of attention and really just want to fade into the background.”

  “Hmm, that doesn’t exactly sound like a kid who’s out to be the next big thing in British TV since last season’s The X Factor winner.”

  “Right,” Jess agrees. “Usually a predominantly gray aura means the person is a loner, not so much because they want to be, but because they’re scared out of their mind. There’s a lot of hurt there in him. He’s looking for someone to cling to. Someone to help heal him.”

  I wonder if that person is Oliver? Or even Jayne? Or maybe…me?

  After unpacking and then freshening up in the bathroom, I venture out to the large gathering area where Patrick, Jason, and Christian are lounging about. All three of them are on their phones, not even caring about their amazing surroundings.

  “How’s your room?” I ask, dropping down next to Patrick on the couch.

  He gives me the boy shrug, not even taking his fingers off the phone screen where he’s making a baby dragon fly as far from its mother as possible.

  Boys.

  “So, you’re, like, rooming with Jason?”

  “Oliver has the other penthouse for us. I’ll take a couch or something. I’m not worried.” Then he pauses his game and looks up at me. “Don’t worry, Kendall. We won’t be swapping gossib about your or who treats you better.”

  I gulp down the knot of emotion in my throat. There’s a knock on the main penthouse door. Jayne bolts up to answer it, and I hear her squeal.

  “I can’t believe I’m meeting you!” she gets out in a high pitch.

  “Where are my guests?” I hear, and know that Oliver has arrived.

  Oliver Bates, the star of TV’s Ethereal Evidence, strides into the room, waving at us. He looks exactly like he does on my plasma and the same as when I spent my spring break in California with him.

  Jessica and Maddie both hug Oliver and the guys stand to shake hands with him. Oliver’s not very tall, quite thin, and has a thick head of black hair to match his bushy mustache. That `stash is the source of his psychic “powers,” meaning that whenever it begins to irritate, itch, or otherwise twitch, he’s in the presence of something paranormal. I notice that as soon as he enters our presence, his hand goes straight to the edge of his facial hair and he begins to stroke it.

  What is he picking up?

  He turns to Christian and shakes his hand. Something seems odd between the two of them, almost as though Oliver is in awe of this kid. I roll my eyes in spite of myself.

  “And there’s Kendall,” Oliver calls out. “Staying out of trouble?” He grins as he moves toward me, and I accept a hug from his outstretched arms.

  “Now what fun would that be?”

  Oliver rubs me on the head, totally messing up my freshly-brushed do. I introduce him to the rest of the gang from Radisson, all of whom seem a bit star-struck by him.

  Oliver places his hands together, pressing fingertips to fingertips. “Look, kids, this is going to be an amazing summer. As you see, we’ll have top-notch accommodations. I promise to feed you well, and you’ll get time to be tourists and see these fabulous European cities. However, we also have a lot of work to do. People who need our help. Spirits who are lost and causing trouble. You all know what at stake.”

  Everyone in the suite nods, even Jason.

  “I want you all to get comfortable, put your walking shoes on, and come with me to see London. Our bus is going to take us around the city, and then I’ve got us a lunch reservation. You have to try some incredible British cuisine.”

  “Fish and chips and hot beer?” Celia mutters.

  I knock her with my elbow and frown.

  Taylor whispers. “London is one of the upcoming cities for haute cuisine that infuses so many different cultures.”

  I giggle. “Thanks for that Food Network update, Paula Dean.”

  Taylor turns deep crimson and we all laugh together. I love that my girls are here with me. While I love Maddie and Jessica, they have abilities like me, which allow them to see the world differently. Having Taylor and Celia here, though, puts things into perspective, grounds me, and reminds me that, deep down, past the psychic abilities and ghost hunting, I’m still just…me..

  That’s me in a nutshell.

  *~*~*

  We spend the next couple of hours being out-and-out tourists in London. The double-decker charter bus came back to take us to all of the sites in the city. I stash away worries of Jason Tillson being on the tr
ip with his puppy dog, lovelorn looks he keeps tossing my way. And I nix any worries over the exact agenda of this Christian Campbell person. Instead, I’m just Kendall, American visitor enjoying my summer vacation. I sit on the top deck holding hands with Patrick as the historic sites whiz by us.

  We’ll have time later this week to actually visit some of these famed locations on our own, but for now, I marvel at everything I see. The streets are hustling and bustling, full of regular Londoners (Londiniums?) and visitors alike. The stores are packed tightly together, and each corner seems to have a pub with a lion or a crest on the sign. We pass by Trafalgar Square, then Churchill’s Cabinet War Rooms (where he ran World War II from an underground headquarters), again by Parliament and Big Ben and the London Eye. This city is alive with excitement, as well as history. I glance over at the seat next to me and see that Celia’s Mensa-level brain is about to explode from the overwhelming information overload. She’s as much a geeky history buff as I am, and there’s no better place to quench that thirst than here.

  The bus stops outside of Number Ten Downing.

  “What’s happening?” Taylor asks.

  Christian rolls his eyes and puts his sunglasses back in place, obviously bored with our expedition. But Jayne is nearly hanging off the side of the bus in anticipation. She points down.

  “Look! There’s a motorcade!”

  We all swarm to the right of the bus and glance down. Sure enough, a few Bobbies (the London cops) have traffic stopped so a black sedan can pull out.

  The tour bus driver tells us, “As you can see at Number Ten Downing, our prime minister’s motorcade is exiting the location. More than likely, he’s off to an important political meeting.”

  We see an older man step out of the residence and slip into the waiting car. Yep, that’s the Prime Minister! Wicked.

  Patrick snickers. “I could read him from here. He’s headed to view a soccer match.”

  Sometimes, being psychic is literally too much information.

  In any case, it’s still cool. We wave and clap as the car pulls out and on its way. How many kids can say they’ve seen a British PM? Well… this girl.

  I retake my seat, a bit breathless from the experience, but it’s nothing compared to what’s in store for us next. The bus twists and turns through the traffic to arrive at the looming Gothic figure of Westminster Abbey. I gasp hard at all the monarchs and rulers from London’s storied past that are buried and memorialized here. But most of all, to me, it’s a place where fairy tales come true. Where Prince William and Princess Kate were recently married. And where one of my favorite people of all time, Princess Diana, had her funeral. I tear up at the memory of how the world lost such an amazing figure. Of how two boys lost their mother in a vicious car wreck. Just like how mother, Emily. A car wreck that I was involved in, as well, since Emily was still pregnant with me. For some reason, I’ve always felt a connection to the British princess who not only touched a nation, but touched the world. As we pass by the amazing structure, it’s as though I’ve been transported to another time, sucked into the tall, gray columns that nearly reach to the sky with their authority, making me feel insignificant in their wake.

  “It is breathtaking, isn’t it?” I say out loud.

  Patrick snaps pictures on his cell phone, and I hear nearly everyone else on the bus doing the same. The tour guide prattles on about Edward the Confessor and the Romanesque style, but I’m locked in place, breathless as I gaze at the side portal opening with cracked colors of stain glass just above it.

  For standing right there waving at me with her straw colored hair swept back from her face is Princess Diana.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I’m telling you what I saw,” I tell Patrick sternly after we get off the bus. We’ve been dropped off at the location of our first case here in London’s Notting Hill neighborhood. Talk about hitting the ground running.

  But I’m still reeling from my ghostly encounter.

  Patrick places his sunglasses on top of his head. “Kendall, I believe you think you saw Princess Di.”

  I stab my fists to my hips. “What do you mean ‘think you saw Princess Di’? I know what I was looking at, Patrick. She was in a blue suit and she waved at me.”

  Celia’s feet hit the ground with a splat. “You saw Princess Di’s ghost?”

  Taylor’s right behind her. “I don’t believe you!”

  “Yeah, well neither does my boyfriend.”

  Patrick shakes his head. “We always see the same apparitions, Kendall. Always. I didn’t pick it up. All I caught in the opening of the Abbey was a fat German guy’s butt crack when he bent to pick up his map of London. No deceased royalty.”

  I flatten my mouth. “So, just because you didn’t see it, now I’m crazy.”

  “No, I didn’t say that.” The vein in Patrick’s neck protrudes, indicating his annoyance at me. “I know how much of a fan you were, and I think it was probably just residual energy— not the actual Princess.”

  “Oh, you think that, do you?” I don’t know why I’m so irritated at him.

  Jason steps in. “You know, I didn’t always believe Kendall back in the beginning, but she’s really good at this stuff. I say we take her word for it.”

  Celia’s eyes widen and Taylor gasps. Jessica and Maddie know better than to stick their noses in because they can read the auras and attitudes of these two guys.

  Patrick bows up and advances on Jason. It has nothing to do with my allegedly seeing Princess Di, and everything to do with these two guys scratching their rooster claws in the dirt over me.

  Fortunately, Oliver steps off the bus and right between the two of them. “Now, now…we’re here to help a client. Not fight over a girl.” He smiles and nods his head. “To your respective corners.”

  Patrick backs off first and returns to my side. He reaches for my hands and squeezes it possessively.

  What the hell is this all about?

  I don’t know. I don’t know, Kendall.

  Is something wrong with you?

  Yeah, I’m not feeling myself. Something’s not right. Anger is in my blood.

  So, it’s not about my Princess Di vision?

  Patrick takes his free hand and rubs at his eyes roughly. I don’t care about that, Kendall. It’s more. It’s something trying to pull you away from me. I don’t know if it’s disguised or what.

  Out loud, I say, “You didn’t get enough sleep on the plane.”

  He lowers his head to me. “I’m serious. We have to keep our guards up. We’re not just tourists on a vacation. We’re open. Spirits see us. They reach out to us. They fool us. They deceive. They manipulate. We’ve seen it firsthand. I swear, Kendall, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.”

  I lift up on my tip toes and place a kiss on his cheek.

  I catch Jason watching us and then shift my eyes to see Christian watching, as well. Maybe Patrick’s right. Perhaps things aren’t as they appear. I just have to be careful and take care of myself.

  Oliver claps his hands together. “All right, then. Now that that’s done. We are here at the home of Mrs. Helen Flanders. She is the widow of a Royal Air Force pilot and she and her thirteen-year-old daughter have been experiencing strange occurrences in their house of late.

  “Like what?” Celia asks.

  “Well, let’s go in and interview her, shall we?” Oliver flashes a smile.

  We file up the cobblestone walkway to a lovely stone house. Mini-mansion, more like. The grass is immaculately trimmed and the hedges don’t have a leaf out of place. Red, yellow, and white tulips line the flowerbeds in front of the expansive porch. A lace curtain moves back into place over the window, and I sense that Mrs. Flanders has been eagerly awaiting our arrival.

  “I’m sensing something really dark in there,” Maddie says to Jess and me.

  I haven’t picked anything up yet, but I’m still reeling from what I thought was Princess Diana waving at me. First it was the soldier in the airport and the
n my idol. Aunt Andi said I had to protect myself and maybe she’s right. Maybe Patrick’s right. I am still new to this whole psychic thing, and perhaps not-so-friendly entities on the other side—ones I’ve had experiences with already—are up to no good. So, I follow the group into the front foyer of Mrs. Flanders’s house in an “approach with caution” manner.

  The woman is very small with bright red hair and a gap in her front teeth. But her smile is genuine and almost of a relieved nature. “Oliver Bates, what a pleasure. Please do come in,” she says. Then she looks at Christian and her mouth drops open. “Mr. Campbell, it’s a real honor to meet you. I was at your gallery reading in Edinburgh last month.”

  Christian stretches his hand and takes Mrs. Flanders’ in his own. “It was kind of you to invite me to your home.”

  Well, isn’t he a little pretentious? What are the rest of us? Your fans?

  Now, now…let’s see how this pans out, I hear my boyfriend say inside my thoughts.

  Patrick leads me into the house, squeezing my hand for reassurance.

  Once inside the stately manor, we take seats throughout her living room area. The furniture is old and smells slightly of lemon Pledge or whatever the British equivalent is. She offers us a plate of cookies—or biscuits, rather—that she calls Jammy Dodgers. Jason and Patrick, of course, begin to scarf them down, but my appetite is non-existent.

  Mrs. Flanders turns to Christian. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re here. It’s been unbearable here since I connected with Alfred at your gallery reading. I do believe the old chap followed us home and isn’t quite happy on the other side.”

  Oliver sits close to our host. “Helen, dear, please fill the rest of our team in on the recent occurrences.”

  Yeah, Helen, I think. Please do. I had no inkling that the cases we’d be working on would have involved Christian’s past performances—err, readings with people. After all, his website states that what he does is for “entertainment purposes only.” How is it that we are somehow here to clean up a psychic mess he conjured?