Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey (13 page)

“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.

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.

I’m tired of being a sidekick to this circus act.  I have my own money, and I don’t need to follow Oliver through this one-way trek.  I look over at my aunt, who must have morphed into a psychic herself because I can tell she’s reading my mind, or maybe she just sees my obvious exhaustion at the Christian Campbell dog and pony show. 

 “I’ll take care of everything,” Aunt Andi says, reaching for her cellphone.

I love that we understand each other on a much deeper level.

Christian clears his throat, and both he and Oliver look over at us.

“Something’s wrong,” Oliver states.

“Hello, Captain Obvious,” Jason quips.

I step forward to speak for our group.  “We’re going to take a little break, Oliver.  We need some time, umm, on our own.  You and Christian have your focus that doesn’t really include us, so we’re going to hang out together for a few days.”

Oliver crinkles his brow.  “Kendall, that’s not neces—”

“—yeah, it sort of is.”

“She’s right.”  Patrick places a hand on the small of my back.

Aunt Andi joins in.  “I’ll keep a watchful eye over them, Oliver.  They won’t be penniless, wandering the streets of Paris.  I have some connections here and I’ve already set a plan in motion.”

“If that’s what you want,” Oliver says.

“I think it’s what’s best,” I tell him.  Honestly, the guy is wicked psychic, yet he can’t see that putting all of his metaphysical eggs in one basket with Christian has literally run off everyone from his summer tour.  Maddie and Jessica wanting nothing to do with this and now we want to get away.  I don’t understand Oliver’s blind faith in this kid.

Then there’s Jayne.  My heart aches as I glance over at the disappointment on her face.  I’d promised Anona that I’d take care of the girl, yet here I am walking away from Christian’s shenanigans.

“You wanna come with us?” I ask her.  I mean, I know her nice Scottish parents set her off on a chaperoned trip with the world-famous Oliver Bates, but I wish I could break her away from this idolized view of Christian and how he can “mentor” her.

She’s thinking about it.  I can see the gears churning in her head.  But she pouts and shifts her eyes over to where Oliver is speaking with Christian.  “I’m supposed to be learning from him.”

“I understand.”  I don’t really.  “Do what you have to do.  I just wanted you to know you’re welcome to come with us.”  For me to protect you.

“I need to stay with Christian.”  Then Jayne adds with a bit of desperation in her voice, “You’re coming back, right?”

“We’re only going to be gone a couple of days,” I tell her.

Aunt Andi rounds us up and we wave goodbye to Oliver, Christian, and Jayne.  It’s the right thing to do.  We need a break.  I need a break.  I need time to think.  To focus.  To figure out what’s going on here.

Celia takes my arm in hers.  “Andi says this hotel has wi-fi, so I’m going to do some intense research on this kid and what he’s up to.”

I smile at my friend.  “When did
you
become psychic?”

“When this douchebag came into our lives,” she says with a laugh.

Jason and Patrick tend to all of our bags and load them into the cabs that we take over to the seventh arrondissment – whatever that means.  I wish I’d spent more time researching the culture and language.  I figured I’d be so busy with investigations and trying to help people with their own hauntings and such that I wouldn’t have time to be a tourist.  Christian’s antics have changed everything.

“Arrondissments are districts,” Taylor explains.  “The city is broken up into different sections.  The seventh is near the Eiffel Tower on the left bank of the Seine River.  Very chic address.  Prestigious area.”

Ahhh…the Eiffel Tower.  I can’t wait to see that.  That’s the ultimate symbol of the city… and of love.  I envision standing at the top with Patrick overlooking the Paris all lit up at night.  We’re hugged together and I feel at peace and so loved.  Is this a vision, a memory, or a glance into the future?

Our cab lets us off on Rue Cler, a market street hustling and bustling with people rushing about between the stores.  There’s a butcher shop with hanging slabs of beef and pork in the window.  Or is that horse meat?  Eww!  A patisserie, or bakery, has its doors wide open so that the sweet aroma of butter and chocolate tickle our noses.  Another sign reads “boulangerie” and sports baguettes, rounds of bread, and other baked goods.  Flowers in every color of the rainbow line the outside of another store, with a crepe vendor standing nearby, flipping over the thin pancakes for a hungry customer.  A cheese shop nearby smells of the pungent scent of its wares.  I cringe a bit at the sharp odor.