Lost Souls (A Caitlyn O’Connell Novel) (7 page)

Add the fact he’d discovered things that she’d never even hinted at—the magical other world she traveled—and he wasn’t sure they were still a good fit. How could he hope to compete with or even understand the things she was capable of doing? And then there was Morin.

Morin Montague. Her teacher. Her first lover. Although Cait swore up and down that the night she’d gone to Morin to draw down the moon had been all about siphoning off the sorcerer’s power to battle a demon, she hadn’t hedged about the fact that siphoning called for the two of them to get naked and for Morin to draw an orgasm from her.

That was Sam’s sticking point. The magic, he might be able to handle. The fact she had to take things a step beyond what he considered staying faithful… well, he was still working on where that left him.

Confused? Hurt? Neither emotion was something he wanted to let her know about. Angry? Well, she’d seen hints of that. He supposed he’d just need time to work on his trust issues. Time and education. Google was key to the things he’d dredged up about mystical practices that he’d once considered pure fantasy.

“Want to talk to them together?”

Sam roused, giving Jason another glance.

Jason’s eyebrows were raised as he studied Sam’s expression.

Not knowing what his face might have revealed, Sam pasted on a frown. “Together would be fine. Let’s just get it over with.” He flipped to the next clean sheet in his small spiral pad and clicked the ballpoint pen he’d swiped from Cait’s kitchen.

Jason pushed away from the table and walked to the door. With a curl of his fingers, he gestured to the threesome sitting on folding chairs in the hallway outside.

As they shuffled into the room, Sam studied the crew. Before his introduction to the paranormal world, he would have dismissed them as slightly out-there pretenders at best, con artists at worst.

He glanced down at his printed list. “So who’s Clayton Dempsey?”

The chubby dude with the Fu Manchu lifted his hand. Then he turned to the tall man beside him whose face bore acne pockmarks and a scraggly beard. “This is Booger Dane, and she’s his girlfriend, Mina Tattersall. Our producer.”

“Producer?” Sam studied the girl, barely twenty. She was slender and small with black hair cut to her chin and purple cat’s-eye glasses.

“I handle the camera work too,” she said, her husky voice at odds with her pint-size appearance.

“You have a TV show?”

Clayton waved a hand. “We’re in the development stages of doing a show. Reality-TV stuff. Real ghost hunters.”

“And you’ve found ghosts?”

Clayton gave him a look that said he thought Sam wasn’t his intellectual equal. “We have reels of orb sightings. And tapes we’re still going through to clean out the white noise.”

So, not-so-real ghost hunters. Sam smiled. “Why are you at the Deluxe?”

Clayton leaned an elbow on the table and eased to the side. “A Facebook fan of ours turned us on to the hotel. Said he stayed here once and heard all kinds of unexplainable things. Noises in the walls. Odd smells.”

Although his interest piqued, Sam didn’t betray a tic. “Noises? Smells? Did he describe them?”

The large man pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for, and then he tapped the sheet. “He was on the third floor. Said the sounds were like something moving in the walls. Not thumps. Rustling. And he smelled sulfur.” Clayton raised his head and gave Sam a smirking smile. “A sure sign of demons.”

The scraggly bearded man nodded. “We were wondering if we could interview you.”

“About what?” Sam said, keeping his voice flat.

“About what happened up there. We think that space is a point of confluence.”

“A point of confluence?” Sam drawled.

“An intersection between this world and the next.”

“And what leads you to believe that?”

Booger Dane blinked. “The dead girl in the walls. The night clerk says the cops told him she was there for forty years, but then they asked to see his records of a woman who’d checked in last night. Said it was her body they found.” He nodded. “See, time has no meaning in the other realm.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam stifled a sigh, silently cursing the clerk for his big mouth.

“We think we could be helpful to your investigation,” Booger said, excitement tweaking his voice to a slightly higher pitch.

Sam ignored the nudge Jason gave him below the table. Judging by the careful crimping of his lips, Cait’s partner was having a hard time holding in a smile. “How so?” Sam asked, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

“We have all the equipment. We could monitor the paranormal activity and find the point of conflux.”

Sam shook his head. “I think we can handle the investigation all on our own.”

“Forgive me for sounding a little condescending,” Clayton said, with a slight sneer, “but you need us. You need someone with experience who can navigate these waters. Messin’ with the dead is dangerous. More so with dark entities. Booger here is a qualified exorcist. Once we trap that demon, he can banish it from the hotel.”

Sam flipped his notepad closed and forced a smile. “I’ll take your offer under advisement.”

Clayton’s expression slipped to reveal a hint of anger tingeing his cheeks. “We’ve booked rooms for the next week. Here’s my card.”

Sam took the card, eyeing it doubtfully. A Casper-like ghost was to one side, a large magnifying glass to the right. Both looked as though they’d been hand sketched, most likely by Clayton himself. Sam slipped the card into his shirt pocket.

Jason cleared his throat. “Thanks for your time. Sorry about the wait.”

Booger shrugged congenially, looking like he hadn’t noticed his friend was pissed. “We don’t have anything else to do until it gets dark. We’ve been reviewing footage.”

“See anything we might find interesting?” Jason asked.

“Not yet. We’ll have to enhance the images.”

“Uh-huh.” This time, Sam didn’t disguise a snort.

Clayton’s brows lowered. “I know we sound kinda out there, but this stuff is real. So are we.”

Sam’s glance cut straight to Clayton. “Just make sure you stay clear of the third floor. The entire floor’s a crime scene now.”

After a two-second stare-down, Clayton offered a tight smile and stood. The others quickly followed.

Mina shoved her glasses up her nose and offered her hand. “If we find anything interesting, we’ll let you know.”

“If we find anything,” Clayton interjected, “we expect quid pro quo. And if you change your minds about doing an interview for this episode…”

“I’ll let you know,” Sam said, then stared pointedly toward the door.

When they trailed out of the room, Sam looked at Jason, whose lips were pressed into a straight line. “You think they have a clue?”

No way.
“I think they know enough to get in the way.”

“My thoughts too.”

“Still, photographic surveillance isn’t a bad idea.” Jason shrugged.

Sam let out a deep breath. “You think following
orbs
around might lead us to something?”

Jason grunted. “Most orbs are just dust particles blown up with the flash of a camera. But you never know. They might get lucky. If we can find that conflux—”

Sam let loose a chuckle. “The only thing they might find is trouble. Especially if they get in Cait’s way.”

“Yeah, what do we need with them when we have our own ghost girl?” Jason dismissed the group with a wave. “Speaking of which, any ideas where to start looking for her?”

“Yeah, one or two,” Sam said, grinding his jaws.

“I’ll head to the office to dig up what I can on the Internet about strange happenings and disappearances surrounding the hotel.”

Sam gave him a nod. “Regroup at O’Malley’s tonight?”

“Sure it’s safe for her to be there?”

Hoping the place was about the habit and not the substance, Sam lifted his shoulders. “Later.”

“Spirits who aided this seeker of past

Lead me to Morin by crows’ winged path.

If you should honor and grant my request—

I’ll follow your lead north, south, east, or west…”

Cait flung the ingredients she cupped inside her hands into the air, and then squatted on the pavement, waiting for the spell to take effect. But the world continued to move forward. Pedestrians strode briskly down the sidewalk. The sky above her remained a brilliant blue. No crows burst from a dark mixture to lead her to her destination. Grit blew into her eyes.

She rose and glanced over her shoulder at Celeste, who stood in front of her shop with her arms held akimbo,
tsk
ing her disapproval. “Is it because he mixed the last batch?”

Celeste pointed above her head. “Sign don’ say ‘W
ITCH
I
NSIDE
.’ How’m I s’posed ta know?” When Cait continued to glare, she lifted her shoulders. “Da locator spell didn’ work ’cause you only seek help when you in dire straits. When it’s convenient for you to forget how much you resent your powers.”

“Tante…”
Okay, so that sounded a little like whining, even to her ears. What was she, ten? “I don’t have time for this not to work. Lives may be at stake.”

Lowering her voice, Celeste bent at the waist to lean closer. “You don’ get nekkid wit’ a sorcerer, drain him of power, den go on your merry way like he didn’ give you somet’in’ precious.”

Cait’s fists clenched. “Is this his fault? Is he punishing me?”

“Morin’s not recovered his full strength. Some of what you took he’ll never get back. His gift ta you for your battle against dat monster was given freely. But Da Powers Dat Be,” she said, pointing her finger upward, “dey watch, gal. You made a bargain you have yet ta keep.”

A bargain? Her feet shifted. She remembered asking for intervention from the Goddess and the swift influx of power she’d received that had allowed her to demolish the wraith whistling through Celeste’s shop. “I wasn’t ignoring them. I just needed time to recoup.”

“You been practicin’ any spells? Givin’ offerings?”

Cait scowled. “We don’t sacrifice goats anymore.”

“But you s’pposed ta pray,” Celeste whispered harshly. “Ta give t’anks for your gifts,
ma petite
.” Celeste shook her head. “You’re ungrateful. Dat what dey see.”

“But I’m not—” Cait clamped her lips shut before she told another lie. The last thing she felt was gratitude. Most
of the time, she wished she’d been born into a normal family, not descended from a long line of practicing witches. Her shoulders drooped. “What am I supposed to do? I have questions only he can answer.”

“Perhaps a cleansin’ of your spirit…”

I’ve already showered,
she almost quipped but thought better of being flippant. Ingratitude and bad manners had gotten her into this mess. “I know a ritual. All I need is a smudge stick.”

Celeste shook her head, again. Her dark eyes hardened. “Always lookin’ for a quick fix.”

Cait blew out an exasperated breath. “Sprinkle me with peppermint tea?”

“Dat be no ritual,” Celeste said, disapproval stiffening her shoulders.

Cait threw back her head and closed her eyes. “All right. Take me to the circle.” When she glanced toward Celeste, she spotted her curvy figure halfway through the door of her tiny store.

“Hurry it up, gal,” she threw over her shoulder. “Time’s a-wastin’.”

“Finally, she gets it,” Cait muttered as she released her fists.

“I heard dat.”

Cait almost smiled. Celeste appeared fully recovered from her injuries following the wraith attack. Today, she was dressed as always in a long, red-and-gold print caftan that rippled around her pretty form. Cait followed her through her shop, past the shelves crammed with new-age and voodoo kitsch, past her counter with its display of crystals and wands.

Behind the counter, Celeste brushed aside strands of purple beads, entering the “reading room” where she read palms and tarot cards for paying customers.

A black cloth decorated with large pink cabbage roses covered the table. Celeste’s clear crystal ball sat in the center. Cait looked around quickly for the box that held her mother’s rose quartz ball but didn’t see it. Not that she had any intentions of using it herself. Not now. Maybe never again.

Celeste pulled back the chairs and gripped one side of the round table.

Cait grabbed the opposite side, and together they moved the table against one wall, exposing a circle painted in black on the planked floor. A crude pentagram sat at its center, dark oily stains inside each point.

“Begin takin’ off your clothes,” Celeste said as she strode to her cupboard.

“What if you get a customer?” Cait looked over her shoulder.

“I hear da bell. You hide. No more excuses.”

Cait opened her belt and unzipped her jeans. “Why does magic always require someone gettin’ naked?”

“Not always. Sometimes, da spirits like a little pomp. Den you wear a witch’s robes. But right now, gal, you have ta humble yourself.”

“I’m plenty humble.”

“You’re plenty mouthy. Strip! You da one wit’ da favor ta ask.”