Taylor sits next to me on the bus, not even thinking that I might want to sit with Patrick. He’s got his headphones and sunglasses on, though, so it’s okay.
“I can’t believe I’m going to Paris,” my friend says. “I’ve wanted to visit Paris my entire life.”
I snicker. “You’re only seventeen.”
“I know, but still. The Seine, the Champs-Élysées, the Louvre, ahhhh…”
From the look in Taylor’s eyes, I see the distant love for a city and a culture she worships. I’m so glad she could come along this summer, even though it’s turned out to be a different experience than I’d expected.
We arrive at St. Pancras station in London just in time to board the train headed to Paris’s Gard du Nord. Or North Station as Taylor, Little Miss French, tells me.
Although I thought everything was good between Patrick and me, he still seems a little distant.
“Are we okay?” I ask.
Patrick plays with the train ticket in his hand. “Yeah, I suppose.”
I lay my hand on his arm, hoping to connect more with him. He stops and looks down at where I’m touching him. His usual warm smile that comes from our closeness isn’t there. Instead, I read so much pain, confusion, and worry on his handsome face. “Something’s bothering you.”
He flattens his mouth. “Understatement of the year, Kendall.”
I move my hand onto my hip. “Honestly, you’re not still miffed about Jason, are you? I told you that—”
Patrick waves me off like an annoying fly. “I don’t care about Tillson. Whatever. He’s harmless. I’m worried about him.” He points ahead at Christian, who’s signing an autograph for a lady who’s cooing all over him. “He’s brought a darkness to our group. I’m watching him like a hawk.”
“Are you going to sit with me on the train?” I’d hoped for a little cuddly-snuggle time during the blacked-out Chunnel portion of the trip, which takes us under the Strait of Dover over to France.
He rubs his eyes with the index finger and thumb on his non-sprained hand. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve got a lot on my mind, Kendall.”
Like he’s the only one. I’m tired of trying to spark the romance on this trip. “Fine. Be that way.” Stupid boy.
I spin away from him and catch up with Celia and Jason who are already boarding the train.
“Don’t be like that,” Patrick calls out. “Kendall!”
It’s too late. If he’s going to put distance between us, then let him. He’s not the only one concerned about Mr. Campbell. But I’m not going to let it ruin the most romantic city on planet earth. Patrick can pout and be pensive on the ride over. However, once we’re in France, he better man up on the passion part.
Inside the train, I find Jayne seated alone, staring out the window.
“May I sit with you?”
She bobs her head; a pout crosses her face.
“What’s wrong?
“Christian’s all but ignoring me. He’s got the press around him and he’s loving the attention. He’s forgotten about me.”
I stow my suitcase overhead and then rest my backpack on the seat next to me, facing my friend. “He’s a guy. They thrive on attention.”
“How am I supposed to learn things from him when he’s so busy fighting Dojo?”
“That’s what you’ve got me for,” I say with a wide smile.
Celia, Jason, and Taylor take the next compartment over, and I see that Patrick’s opted for a seat on his own. As the train lumbers away from England and out underneath the English Channel, I lay my head back and try to relax as the car rocks softly back and forth with a chugging rhythm.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep or whether I’m actually dreaming when I sit up and feel a chilling draft in the compartment. Jayne’s spread out on her seat, sound asleep, her glasses askew on her face. The air density in our area thickens and I find it a bit hard to intake a strong breath. My chest feels tight and heavy as though something is sitting on me.
Then, a misshaped figure much like a see-through black specter takes form and begins to hover over Jayne. Fingers of curiosity stretch out at her, and I feel like I’m trapped in a Harry Potter novel watching the Dementors begin to suck the life out of people.
“Leave her alone,” I shout.
The figure freezes and then zings out of the cabin. A chilling cold follows in its waking, bringing chill bumps dancing all up and down my arms as though I’ve gone outside in December without my coat on. Only, it’s the dead of summer.
“What the—”
Anona materializes next to me. Her beautiful face is drawn and concerned. “You have to protect her, Kendall.”
“I’m trying. It’s hard, though, when she has such hero-worship for Christian.”
“She’s young and confused. She looks up to you,” my spirit guide tells me.
“I know. I told her I’m here for her.” I grasp onto my train seat as the car rocks back and forth on the rails. It’s as though it’s trying to shake off the evil presence that’s traveling along with us from the British Isles over to France.
Anona, unaffected by the motion, says, “You must do more. There are dark forces at play, Kendall.”
I lean forward. “Like what?”
Her voice echoes out around me. “Everything is not as it appears.”
“You keep telling me that, Anona.” I want to pull my hair out of my head. “Why can’t you be more specific? I can’t fight something if I don’t know exactly what I’m up against.”
“I’ve done what I can, Kendall. Watch over Jayne. I can go no farther with you.”
“Anona, please! You can’t leave me.”
“You’re not alone. You’re never alone.”
She fades away, though. Gone, as quickly as she arrived. The details of her face melt away into a thin fog that quickly dissipates. The temperature of the compartment returns to normal, almost stifling now as I try to breath through the warning Anona tossed out at me. The car lists to the left as we’re, no doubt, going around a curve, and I hold on, letting Anona’s words sink in. Frustration courses through my veins as fast as this train zipping over the rails.
I slam my fist to the seat and pound the fabric a few times in utter frustration.
I watch Jayne sleeping, vulnerable and so naïve.
And I’ve never felt so alone in my whole life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I slip out of the train compartment and down the corridor to the washroom. I splash water on my face, letting the frigid liquid wake me out of my shockwave of disbelief. I slide my hands over my cheeks and try to shake off everything. Anona’s warning. The specter over Jayne. The mistrust of Christian. The confusion over the way this trip is turning out.
When I leave the washroom, I peak in on Patrick, hoping to tell him what happened. He’s spread out on his seat, asleep with his sunglasses in place and his headphones spilling out Dance music in a blaring tone. Instead of waking him, I bend down and kiss him on the cheek, smoothing a lock of his thick hair to the side.
My stomach growls out its discomfort, so I head off to find the food car to see what they have to offer. Holding on to the hallway railings as the train rocks from side to side, I queue up behind a French couple and then order a croissant and a Coke Light. (I love the European name for my beloved Diet Coke.) After I hand over a couple of euros, I make my way into the club car and see Christian sitting in a booth with his laptop open in front of him.
“Well, look who’s up,” I say, trying to steal a glance at his screen.
He quickly snaps the lid shut and places his hands on top of the computer. Even my intense psychic abilities can’t penetrate the casing of his machine to see what he’s up to. Probably doing an Excel spreadsheet for all of the bank he made in London.
“Miss Moorehead,” he says formally.
I smirk at him. “I’m not calling you Mr. Campbell, Christian.”
“I was merely being polite.” He motions across from him. “Plea
se, join me.”
Reluctantly, I slide into the seat and set my drink and food in front of me. I pinch off the end of the croissant and pop the buttery pastry into my mouth.
Christian leans forward, his gray eyes penetrating me. “I know all about you, Miss Moorehead.”
“Kendall,” I say after I swallow. “My name is Kendall. We’re like seventeen, not fifty, Christian.”
“As you please,” he says. His hands rest on the top of his computer and for the first time, I notice the rings he has on. One is a silver cross and the other appears to be some sort of onyx devil head. An odd choice for someone who claims to be a messenger of God.
Finally, he breaks the awkward silence. “You’re searching for answers.”
Yeah… solutions for what this kid is really up to. I lift my eyes to his, but don’t let on anything. “Aren’t we all?”
Christian waggles his index finger at me, gray eyes slanted as he’s obviously trying to read me. “Your father. He’s a wandering soul.”
I drop my gaze from his and pick at the croissant. “You don’t know that. My dad is a city planner back in Georgia. The only wandering he does is around the town.”
He shakes his head at me. “No, Kendall. Your father will know no peace until you complete your journey.”
Okay, I mostly think this kid is a top-shelf fake and a fraud, but how does he purport to know about my father. Unless he’s talking about… Andy?
Christian raises a brow. “Yes. Your birth father.”
“Stop it,” I say firmly. “You don’t impress me.”
He slicks his hand through his salon-perfect highlighted hair, making it stand on end even more. “Why not?”
I want to reach over and mess it up more than anything. Instead, I fix my stare at him and calmly say, “I’m not one of your fans.”
He levels his eyes at me again. “No, you’re not, are you?”
I want to shirk off his words, but inwardly, I’m shaking something fierce. For all I know, Patrick, Jason, or Aunt Andi—anyone—could have shared my backstory with Christian. It’s not exactly a secret that I’m adopted, after all. Anger seethes through me at the thought of this guy trying to manipulate me by touching on my weak point.
“Tread lightly with me, Christian,” I say in a bit of a laced warning.
“You know, Kendall,” Christian says. “We’re cut from the same cloth, you and me. We both have a purpose in life.”
After chewing another bite of my snack, I say, “Everyone has a purpose in life. That’s why we’re all here.”
Another shake of the head as Christian scoffs. “Our abilities are special. We can do things others can’t. We are prophets on this earth, sent to do God’s work. People will pay for our services to seek out answers, guidance, and solutions for their problems.”
I flatten my lips. “Last I checked, prophets don’t feel the need to make a profit.”
He gives me a boy shrug, dismissing my comment like it’s a pestering fly. “The things I’ve seen. The experiences I’ve had. Nothing will stop me on my mission.”
“What exactly is that?” I grab my soda and quench my parched throat.
“People have tried to keep me from what I a supposed to be doing. My mother. My Anglican priest. My girlfriends, particularly. Every one I’ve had a significant relationship with has tried to destroy me and keep me from my undertaking. They’re out to annihilate me by allowing Dojo to possess them. He’s trying to take my trust and ability to love away from me.”
“Dojo’s taking your love,” I repeat a bit sarcastically. See, I don’t exactly believe that this thing has been haunting him since he was a wee lad.
Christian’s eyes widen. “After I broke up with Mary McDonahue last month, she was met at the front stoop of my house by a handsome, dark man in an expensive suit. He curled his lip and said to her, ‘Good work,’ and then he just disappeared.”
Too bad I can’t text this Mary McDonahue to get her own version of this encounter. Something tells me it would be quite different.
Instead, I say, “You assume this handsome dark man was Dojo.”
“I do not assume,” he snaps. “He seeks my obliteration.”
And here I thought I had boy problems. My love triangle is nothing compared to Christian’s messed-up view of relationships. He’s either completely full of shit and just upping his game to get a television show and more people at his psychic galleries, or he’s so narcissistic that he wouldn’t be able to see reality if it sat in his lap. I slurp at my soda and shake my head at the creative fiction Christian Campbell is weaving before me.
“You know what? You need to lighten up,” I say. “You’re way too intense and need to just chillax and be a teenager. Get a girlfriend. Go to the movies. Read a book. Get obsessed with Farmville or something.”
Christian actually softens and chuckles at me. Then he reaches out and grabs my hand. He tightens his grip while his thumb starts getting all caress-y on me. Sure, the guy is model gorgeous and most girls might swoon and fall into a gooey puddle at his feet, but I’m not most girls. He’s getting too familiar with me, and that creeps me the hell out.
“I like you, Kendall,” Christian says with a soft voice, almost attempting to hypnotize. “You might be the one to save me and help me believe in love again.”
The intensity in his eyes has me pinned in place. Only momentarily, though. Compliments aside, I don’t trust this guy.
Just as I’m about to pull my hand from his, I look up to find Patrick standing in the doorway of the club car with a soda in his hand. His mouth hangs open and his eyes speak of deep, layered disappointment.
His lips don’t move as he talks to me in my head.
First Tillson and now this tool?
It’s not what you think, Patrick!
It’s exactly what I think. He’s holding your hand and professing his love to you.
No, he’s not! Gross!
How am I supposed to keep trusting you, Kendall?
This guy is a lying snake!
And you’re holding his hand.
Patrick spins on his heels and heads out of the car.
“Dammit!”
I jerk my hand away from Christian and rise to go after Patrick.
But not before I see the satisfied smirk on Christian’s face.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I should be off my rocker with excitement as our train pulls into Gard du Nord in Paris. Ahh… the City of Love. However, I’ve spent the last hour trying to reassure Patrick that I’m crazy about him and not Jason Tillson. And certainly not that pompous narcissistic ass-hat, Christian Campbell.
“Look, Kendall,” Patrick says as he hitches his backpack onto his shoulder. “Something’s trying to wedge itself between us. It’s trying to pull us apart.”
“Then we can’t let it.”
His eyes intensify. “I can’t fight something when I don’t know what it is. A feeling? A premonition? A person? A demon? Campbell? Tillson’s feelings for you? Is it something dark swirling around us? I don’t know!”
“You think it’s Dojo, don’t you?”
Exasperated, Patrick throws his good hand up to his side. “I’m not convinced that Dojo actually exists.”
I guess if we did think this demon was real, we wouldn’t keep acknowledging it by saying the name out loud.
I grasp Patrick’s hand and lace my fingers through his. I concentrate on spreading as much love from deep inside me to flow from my hands to his. Saying the words right now might be trite or desperate, but I do love him. So much. We’re the same person. Meant to be together.
We’re meant to be together.
He must hear me because he leans his forehead to meet up with mine. We stand like this for a moment—for an eternity—until Patrick pulls back. But not away. He lowers his head and gently places his lips on mine for a sweet, sweet kiss. One that touches my toes and my soul at the same time. One that promises more. One that speaks of understanding and forgiveness.
> I kiss him back, moving my lips against his in a heated sensation that makes me wish the rest of the world would disappear, and Patrick and I could fade into the beauty and background of this treasured city. For just a moment.
He does pull back this time, but a smile crosses his handsome face. “I’m sorry I’ve been so quick to judge you and everything that’s going on.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that sucks, but then again, you’re just a guy. What am I going to do with you?”
We laugh together and he shakes his head at me like “there Kendall goes again.” Then he gets serious. We’re going to make time for us,” he says. “Patrick and Kendall time. Away from Christian and his sideshow and Oliver’s plans for us.”
I let out a sigh of relief knowing that things are going to be okay with us, despite Christian’s manipulative attempt to come between us.
Speaking of the devil, Christian steps off the train and glares at me before sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. Jayne is by his side, trying desperately to regain his attention.
Oliver walks up and smiles brightly at us. “Well, I’ve massaged the phone lines and my contacts here in Paris and I’m thrilled to say I have a gallery reading set up for Christian at none other than the Ritz Carlton.” Oliver twists the end of his mustache, quite pleased with himself.
Celia slips behind me. “Great,” she whispers, “now he can scam the French out of their hard-earned money.”
“I’m bored with this whole scene,” Jason says. “We’re in Paris, dude. Let’s ditch this.”
Celia smirks at him. “I have my AmEx.”
“I have my PayPal savings,” he says to her.
Taylor pouts and I feel her disappointment. She’s in the place she’s dreamed of and I intend to make sure my friend has the time of her life. Besides, Becca’s counting on us to come to her DJ contest. It’s time we break out on our own.
“I say we put the ‘vacate’ in ‘vacation.”
My friends agree and smile at me.
Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey Page 10