“Once again, if I had a face, you’d see confusion written all over it. What the hell are you talking about?” the ghost asked. “And can you stop interrupting my story, please?”
So Frank had stopped interrupting.
The witches weren’t calling ghosts over one by one. They’d tapped into where the ghosts actually lived beyond the Veil—and yes, it was a singular place, which was why Frank had never seen any before.
“There are two types of ghosts,” Al had explained. “There are the sane ones, and the insane ones. The vast majority of us are in the Underworld where Hades rules. I’m sure you know of him, right?”
Frank nodded.
“Right on,” the ghost continued. “Now, Hades keeps order to things. The sane ones—like moi—keep the other kind at bay. Them Griffins think they’re the protectors, but they’ve got no idea how much help they get from us. If we just stopped working in the Underworld, it’d be mayhem above. It’d be exactly like it is here, because all of these ghosts are being summoned from the Underworld beyond the Veil.”
Frank didn’t have to be a genius to figure the rest out. What the witches had done was use spells to call the ghosts over, not caring whether they were sane or insane. So, they had spirits like Al who didn’t mind a little theft, and then they had spirits who set people on fire while they were just having a nice time at the beach.
“Are you real?” Frank had asked.
“As real as you are, I suppose.”
Al had been pulled over, ended up on the beach, and not known what to do. Frank had come to learn that on the other side of the Veil, ghosts were actually a pretty orderly bunch—though once they’d been brought over here, things deteriorated quickly.
“At home, we have ways of keeping the insane ones from getting out. Here?” The linen shirt’s shoulders had shrugged. “There’s nothing. So, I did what anyone would do. Got some grub and beer.”
Eventually, Frank had helped get Al out of the pit, and the ghost even agreed to show him where he’d been brought over.
Now it was well past midnight, and the two of them stood on a side street on the outskirts of downtown Miami.
“You ever had to fight a witch?” Frank asked the ghost, still peering up at the building.
“Yeah, on the other side,” Al answered, his voice lower than usual, a very light breeze running over Frank. “They sometimes try to encroach on our turf, wanting more power. Witches are greedy by nature. But, I’ll tell you, I wouldn’t face one by myself. I won’t even face one with a leppy at my side. That building is where I crossed over. Now go tell whoever you need to tell, but I wouldn’t go up there if I were you.”
Frank considered the advice. He could tell Remington and Lance what he’d found out, but what if it was wrong? He needed to know for sure. He needed to see it with his own eyes. If not, everyone would be wasting time that they simply didn’t have. “No. I’m going to go up there and check the place out. They’re probably not there anyway. Lights are completely out.”
Al shrugged from his side. “Your funeral. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, Betty.” The ghost extended an arm, clearly wanting to shake hands.
Frank looked down and saw only the street below him. He smiled. “This will be kind of hard.” He stretched his own hand out, and sure enough, he felt solid fingers grasping his own. “Ye ain’t so bad for a spirit, although don’t think ye’ll ever beat me in a fight again.”
“You’re not the worst leppy I’ve ever met, either.” Al pumped his invisible arm in a handshake. “Good luck up there.”
Frank wasn’t worried about getting into the building. He was strong enough to break through any locks he found, and he could always teleport if need be. Yet, he found the first door that he came to unlocked.
“Now that I don’t like,” he whispered, pulling the door open anyway.
Frank had seen some horror movies since he’d been pulled over.
Well, they always start with someone doing something dumb. Something like this, he thought as he walked into the warehouse.
There were stairs to his left and a door to his right. Al had said he crossed over from the top floor, so the door wouldn’t be useful.
Frank started up the stairs. He walked slowly, his senses on high alert for anything out of the ordinary. The building was only five stories high, so it wasn’t a long hike, although after today’s nearly endless digging, Frank should have been exhausted.
He wasn’t, though.
Something didn’t feel right about this place, and it was more than just the unlocked door.
There’s an energy to it, he thought. An energy that’s not on the right side of things.
Frank reached the top floor, and another door stood in front of him.
Duck in, find some pentagrams, or spell books, or whatever the hell they use, then get back out, he thought.
“It’s not like you’re some weakling,” he told himself. Frank reached forward and twisted the doorknob. It turned easily beneath his hand.
He pulled on the door and stepped inside.
“Welcome.”
The door slammed shut behind Frank without any motion from him. The room was dark, with candles lining the walls and sitting on the floor. Other than the candles, the room was empty except for a large chalk-drawn circle and a massive book inside it.
That and the two women on either side of the circle.
“Your name is…Frank, yes?” the one on the left said.
Both of them were pretty, bordering on gorgeous—and totally insane. Frank immediately saw it in their eyes. Greed? Is that what Al had called it? These two were beyond greed. Whatever they wanted, it didn’t matter, because they were insatiable.
“We’ve been expecting you,” the witch on the right side of the circle said. “You’re a little later than we thought, but I guess you had a fun time talking with one of the ghosts we brought over?”
Frank wished he had the Impaler he’d used on the vampires. He could fight with fists, but being able to stab the witches would have been easier.
“Ah, yes, you’re not one to run from a fight, are you?” the one on the left said, her eyes widening in anticipation. “I can see it rising in you, the will to fight. Let me ask you, Frank, do leprechauns hit women? Is that something you’re okay with?”
“Ye two are as much women as I am,” Frank ground out. Adrenaline was surging through his body, and he was planning out his moves quickly in his head. If he could kill them now, he could end all of this.
The witch on the right sighed. “Chivalry is dead.”
“Not as dead ye’re going to be.” Frank launched himself, his small legs pushing him into the air. He jetted across the room like a steroid-induced monkey, faster than any human could possibly move.
Just when it looked like he was going to smash into the witch on the left, he teleported—a bright light filling the room—and came down on the right-sided witch.
He crashed onto the floor. No one was there.
The witches cackled from behind him.
Frank’s head whipped around, and he saw them both standing inside the chalk circle.
“We have the Sight, leprechaun. You can’t move without us knowing it. You can hardly think without us knowing it.”
Frank was on one knee, his small hands balled into fists and anger coursing through him. These crones think they’re going to mock me. He rose to his feet and turned to face them. His eyes darted to the chalk circle. Does this protect them? he wondered.
Frank didn’t know a thing about witches or spells, especially not the ones on this side of the Veil. Were they different than the ones he’d met at home? Obviously so in some ways, because these two were far prettier than any he’d ever seen.
Frank flashed out of existence, intent on teleporting behind the witches again. Instead of moving to the space he wanted, he slammed into an invisible barrier. Light flashed as his body came back to the room. Pain lit up across his body from whatever barrier was sending electrical shocks through h
im. He fell onto his ass and found himself staring up at the smiling witches.
“Frank, you shouldn’t have come here,” the one on the left commented. “You and your FBI buddies, you should have just left with the doll and realized this isn’t a place for you anymore.”
Frank blinked, the electrical jolts were subsiding, but his mind was dazed.
Get it together. Ye’ve got to kill them and end this. He forced himself to his feet again, knowing that he couldn’t break through the barrier, at least not by his normal fashions. “Why don’t ye two lasses come outside of ye little circle, and we’ll see what’s what. Hiding behind sorcery doesn’t really seem like ye own anything, especially not this place.”
The witch on the right gave a soft, sad smile. “So much bravery and so few brains.”
“So many brains and so little bravery,” Frank shot back, his hands in fists.
“Leave, Frank. Now. And never come back,” the smiling witch whispered. “Otherwise, you’re not going to like what happens.”
“I give ye the same opportunity, lass. Leave. And never come back. Otherwise, yer asses are mine.” Frank matched her grin with his own.
The witch shrugged. “So be it, green one.”
The two women didn’t look at each other, although both stepped out on opposite sides of the circle, closer to Frank this time.
Good, he thought. Let’s see what your Sight tells ye now.
Frank looked to his left, cleared his throat loudly, and hocked a huge wad of spit at the woman’s face. “Didn’t see that coming, did ye, bitch?”
There was no smile as she reached up to wipe away the fluid. “Go on,” she said to her friend. “Finish this. I’m tired of toying with the creature.”
Frank’s eyes flashed to his right. The woman’s face had gone slack and her lips were moving so quickly that she didn’t appear to be saying words. Frank couldn’t hear anything coming from her either.
To hell with this, he thought. He leapt forward, intent on ripping the witch’s head off her body. As he moved through the air, he felt certain she was done for. No amount of whispering was going to stop him.
A black cloud—hole, his mind frantically provided—appeared in front of him, blacking out the woman completely. Frank’s body was moving too fast for him to change direction.
Teleport! Now!
He tried, but it was too late.
Frank fell into the black hole, and then he saw nothing.
Chapter Fourteen
“We have to go down there to look for him. I don’t want to hear anything else. No other words. Just that we’re going down there to find him. Anything else is unacceptable.” Claire’s hands were clenched into fists. She knew what she looked like, how angry she looked—and she didn’t care.
Her, the FBI agents, and Dean Pritcham stood in a sterile room in the bowels of the university. It would have to be sterilized again when they left but had been built for possibilities of bio-terror attacks. Items could be studied here without fear of contaminating the rest of the grounds.
When the package had arrived, they weren’t sure how to deal with it, or what it might contain.
Now they knew, though—and it wasn’t bioterrorism weapons in front of them.
The package had been a cardboard box taped shut. What they found inside frightened Claire more than anthrax would have. Dean Pritcham had sent for her, calling her—and her alone—out of class.
A bowl of four-leaf clovers sat on the glass table. It was filled to the rim with green leaves, none of them dead or even wilting. A note sat on top of them, written on white paper in beautiful cursive.
There isn’t any gold at the end of his rainbow. Miami is ours. Do not come back.
The message was clear, and the moment Claire read it, she’d wanted heads to roll.
“Why am I hearing nothing right now?” she demanded as she glanced at the other three. “Why are you all just standing here looking at me like I’m insane?”
“Because, Claire,” Dean Pritcham replied softly, “you’ve said yourself that you’re not ready to go down there. This doesn’t change that. In three days' time, have you learned all you need to know to defeat ghosts and witches?”
The steel in Claire’s back was strong, and it wasn’t going to melt, no matter what these people said.
She gritted her teeth, her jaw flexing. “I don’t care what I told you before he left. Something has changed, and it’s that they have Frank. The message can’t be any clearer. So if they have him, then we’re going down there to get him.”
“What if he’s dead?” Lance asked from her left. He spoke matter-of-factly as if her friend wasn’t in the clutches of witch psychopaths. “Seriously, you need to consider that. If he’s dead, and you go down there right now, what then? We don’t just lose Frank, we lose the three of you as well. That can’t be allowed to happen.”
Claire wanted to explode at him. To scream in his face. This was Frank. She didn’t care about his logic or reasoning. She only wanted her friend back.
When she spoke, the rage simmered beneath her voice, but she didn’t yell. “If he’s dead, then so be it. But we don’t know that, and we won’t know it until we go down there. So, we’re going. And we’re going to get him back. Got it?”
If looks could kill, FBI Agent Lance would have already been six feet beneath the ground.
“Claire,” Dean Pritcham spoke quietly. “We’re not going to authorize the three of you to go. Not until we have permission from all of your professors. Then we’ll be sending you. For now, the best thing you can do to help Frank is to buckle down on your studies and physical training. We’re working with Mitchen, and hopefully, we’ll be ready soon.”
Remington spoke next. “We’re not leaving Frank on the battlefield. We’re just not going to get him yet. I promise we’re taking this just as seriously as you. We want him back just as badly as you do.”
Claire shook her head, tears filling her eyes. She was irate—beyond irate. She couldn’t even describe how she felt, truth be told. Too much pain and anger to describe. “I can promise you all, none of you are taking this as seriously as I am. None of you want him back as badly as I do.”
Claire turned from the group and walked out of the room, tears blurring her vision as she went.
“This isn’t good,” Dean Pritcham said as the door to the cleanroom slammed closed.
“We knew she would act like that,” Remington responded. He brushed his hand through his hair, clearly upset about the whole endeavor. “She’s still a teenager. They’re all moody at this age.”
Dean Pritcham laughed with shock. “This isn’t about her being a teenager, Remington. Her best friend just got kidnapped and might be dead.”
The FBI agent sighed. “I know. I know. I don’t like any of this either, but what else can we do?” He looked over at her. “We discussed it before, and this isn’t just our best course of action. It’s our only course of action. We can’t lose her and the other two.”
Dean Pritcham looked at the ground. When she’d taken this job, she’d known it would be different than any other teaching job—but she didn’t know it would be this different. This hard. She hadn’t truly considered the possibility that someone might die until the vampires. Now, she had to consider the possibility that someone had died.
“Listen,” Lance sounded the least disturbed of everyone in the room—which was probably a good thing. Someone had to keep their head on right now. “The same advice we gave her is the same advice we need to take. We all need to focus on our tasks. Remington and I are going to use assets to try to figure out what happened to Frank. You make sure these kids are ready at the same time those weapons are. Other than that, the only thing we can do is pray, if you’re religious.”
Dean Pritcham nodded, although she didn’t like the instructions. There wasn’t anything else they could do.
Not yet, anyway.
Claire didn’t go back to class, and she didn’t go to her room. She was far too
angry for either, and she didn’t want to be around anyone at the moment. Right now, she needed to think, because that was the only thing she hadn’t been able to do since she got the news.
She left the room, moving past guards that she hadn’t even known existed until today. She didn’t look at them, just got the hell away and started moving up to higher levels of the mansion. She wasn’t even considering how big this place was, or how many other levels might exist that she didn’t know about.
All she could think of was Frank.
Because he’d gone down there for her, whether or not he’d told anyone that. Everything he did in this endeavor was for her.
Claire went outside, where the sun beat oppressively overhead. She didn’t pay any attention to where she was walking, she just knew that she had to walk until the tears in her eyes were dry. She wouldn’t let her team see those, and she had to have some semblance of a plan together when she told them what had happened.
She walked a long time, and without knowing she was even heading there, and ended up in front of Dr. Kilgore’s funhouse. It didn’t look like anyone was there, just a long building sitting on an open field.
Claire went closer, although she wouldn’t try to go in. It would be locked anyway.
That damned thing was keeping her from going to get Frank. She knew her knowledge of ghosts was fine, but her ability to get past them in order to kill the witches? No, they had all nearly died in that building.
The door to the right side of the funhouse opened. Dr. Kilgore walked out. He smiled at her, clearly having known she was outside. He dusted his hands off in front of him, speaking as he did. “Claire. Good day. What brings you here?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t sure I was coming here. I just kinda ended up here. I should get back.”
Dr. Kilgore stepped out of the building, closing the door behind him. He walked across the field with his head down. His shoulders bulged beneath his shirt, revealing the power the gentle giant had but did not use—at least not in anger. He looked up as he reached her. “Feels like that, does it not?”
Paranormal University- Second Semester Page 14