The Guidance (15 page)

Celia hands me her plate, reaches into the pocket of her coat, and withdraws an EMF meter. "I've been getting some extremely high readings here tonight."

I shake my head at my friend. "
Who
brings an EMF detector to a party?"

She's completely unfazed, as if to say,
Celia Nichols, that's who!

Even though we're supposed to be chilling out at a fab party, I'm with Celia on this. There's a buzzing in the air that's not emanating from the speakers. The whole house has a hum to it that I sense all the way down to my fingertips.

"Let's take a lap around the room," Celia suggests. We head over to where Clay and Jason are standing talking to a few other guys and excuse ourselves from our dates, saying we'll be right back.

"Are you getting anything, Kendall?" Celia asks once we're in the front parlor.

"I think so." This sensation I'm picking up can only be described as funky. "It's this extremely old feeling. Like I can smell the mustiness. The air is all weighted down around me. Very heavy and dense"

She scans her meter around, watching as the lights blink on and the needle begins registering electromagnetic activity: 2.2, 3.4, 5.5. "We're definitely getting paranormal activity," she confirms.

I lay my hand on a nearby bureau with a vase of fresh flowers on the top. The furniture nearly murmurs with place memory, flashing images of others who have come before me through this room and left their energetic mark. "Some serious shit went down in this house many years ago, but I can't quite put my finger on it yet."

"Should I get Taylor and Becca?" Celia asks.

"No." I stop her with my hand on her arm. "Let's not interrupt their fun."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see that guy who's dressed like a Union soldier. "There he is!"

"Who? Where?" Celia yells after me.

It's too late, though, because I take off down the hallway after him. Only, by the time I get down the corridor, there's no one there. I know for a fact that it's definitely a spirit who hasn't passed into the light. I know it in every fiber of my being.

"It was a soldier," I say to Celia.

"What did he look like?"

"Umm ... a soldier."

"Duh, I mean specifically. Age, rank, serial number."

"I didn't get a good peek at his face."

Celia points her meter down the hall, continuing to get readings. "If you can see him close up, then you can describe him to me later and I can try and sketch him out."

"Smart thinking," I say.

I follow the curve of the house, passing a large dining room that a lot of my fellow partygoers have overflowed into. The next room is a library area and a cut-through to the kitchen. I freeze in my tracks at the sudden intense pressure I'm feeling, like I've landed after a long flight and my ears haven't popped properly. My temples pound fiercely, and the noise inside my head is equivalent to being strapped under an Amtrak locomotive. There's churning and twisting, and then I feel myself being pushed. Not physically, but mentally. Someone is trying to get me out of the way. Or get my mind. My soul. What is going on?

Celia picks up that something is totally wrong. "Kendall! Kendall!"

I stare at her with what must be glassy eyes. I'm entranced by the force inside me that's telling me to make way. "Oh no, you don't!" I eke out.

"Those aren't your eyes, Kendall. Where have you gone? Talk to me!" Celia screams.

The music from the party plays loudly overhead, filling the entire house. No one can hear either of us as we battle this unknown entity. Hot tears sting the corners of my eyes, and I squeeze them shut, concentrating as hard as I can to stay grounded and in my body. It's as if my ribs are expanding from the pressure within. My lungs fill to capacity, making even the slightest breath seem like it takes an act of Congress to accomplish. Hot liquid rushes through my veins, searing me from the inside, as the impact of mentally fighting off this assault begins to take a toll on me. My muscles cramp and my bones crackle in a knuckle-popping-fest of the ages. Whatever this is, it's big and strong and thinks it can bully me.

"S-s-something is trying t-t-to get
inside
me."

Flicking the meter my way, Celia gasps as the needle flies off the charts. She grabs my hand and says, "You don't know how to channel a spirit, Kendall. Don't do it. You've got to do everything you can to kick this guy out."

I muster up my mental strength, seeing myself as a Herculean woman of some sort, a Greek goddess come down from Olympus to defeat the bad guy; Wonder Woman in her stars and stripes and bulletproof bracelets and lasso of truth (man, what I wouldn't give for one of those). I'm all of these things, and yet I'm just me trying to stave off this aggression. I begin to say the Lord's Prayer, nearly begging the Holy Father for assistance against this spirit, whose intentions are quite clear. He tells me everything. He wants to be seen and heard and "make her pay." I don't know who "her" is, but I won't let him use me as a weapon against anyone. Red flashes before my eyes. Gold sparks tinge the air, like Fourth ofJuly sparklers. Except there's no celebration here. Just my will to survive and stake a claim to what is rightfully mine. There's nothing but ill will and malice attached to him, and I'll be damned—literally—if I'm going to let such a ghost inside of me. I scream bloody murder in my brain, hoping to jar this bastard loose.

And finally I lose it. All the fire and rage I've pent up comes spilling out over my lips. "Piss off, ghost! I'm not a Holiday Inn!"

Unexpectedly, a warming sensation coats me with comfort and clarity; it's a near peacefulness so serene that I almost think this menace
has
pushed me out of my body and I've gone to that happy place in the sky.

But no...

I'm with you, Kendall. I won't let him hurt you
...

Emily! Help me!

Focus on your breathing,
Emily whispers.

It's like her arms are wrapped around me, loving and protecting me. A vortex of wind spirals around me. The roots of my hair stand at attention, and there's a relief of sorts that washes over me. Almost as quickly as it started—which was probably about five minutes ago in real time—my struggle for control of my body, soul, and sanity is over, and I break free with a
whooooosh
of energy that nearly lightning-bolts out the top of my head.

In desperate relief, I fall to the floor in a heap.

"Holy crap, Kendall! Are you okay?" Celia asks as she helps me up.

"Yeah. I'm gonna be fine." I try to catch my breath. "That was nasty! I-I-I've never felt anything like that ever before. Where did he come from?"

"No clue," she says. "Too bad we didn't have any camera equipment with us."

I rub my head. "Not exactly the time to bring the ghost bag along, you know?" I swallow against the aridness of my throat, choking on my memories of what just happened. "I need something to drink."

"Let's go back and find the guys," she suggests.

I grab her arm. "Don't tell Jason what we were up to. You know, we're supposed to be having fun and not investigating. He'll feel slighted, like it's not enough for me to just be with him."

"Clay kinda feels that way too."

We link pinkies and then break loose, silently swearing allegiance and loyalty to each other—how fifth grade of us.

As we walk back into the crowded ballroom and find our Batman and Watson, I hear Emily in my head whispering a warning.

Beware of tomfoolery ...

"By whom?"

"What?" Celia asks.

"Sorry, Emily was talking to me." I have no earthly clue what that's supposed to mean. I'll file it away in the back of my mind.

"Where have y'all been?" Clay asks, reaching for Celia's hand.

Celia covers. "Oh, you know. Bathroom. Girl chat."

"Are you sure you weren't ghost hunting?" Jason asks, flattening his lips.

Something he doesn't really understand is that investigating hauntings is sort of like being a doctor: you're on call all the time. Ghosts don't take vacations or sick days. But even though there's a creepy-ass spirit here who just tried to set up shop inside of me, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy dancing with my boyfriend. As long as I keep my eyes wide open for when that spirit decides to show himself again.

Jason pulls me onto the dance floor to slow groove to some Mariah Carey number. That's when I hear it. Plain as day. That same sinister laugh that I heard mocking me at Mrs. Lockhart's house. I'd never forget
that
sound.

It's the ghost from Mrs. Lockhart's carriage house.

And this time, he's here to play.

"I'm not limboing" Jason says firmly.

I tug him into the middle of the ballroom, urging him to get into the horrible limbo rock Stephanie and Roachie have going using a Swiffer Sweeper as the bar. "Come on!"

Jason resists. "Do I look like I limbo?"

I do my best batting of the eyelashes—which I can do since I've got these fake ones on—and then ask, "Not even for me?"

"I run track, Kendall."

"Fine. Be that way," I say with a laugh. I'm really trying to get back in the spirit (no pun intended) of the party and not let that Union ghost get to me. I join in the limbo line behind Taylor (who needs to be careful about how low she goes in that French maid's costume), but I can't help but think about that baleful laugh that still reverbs in my head.

The DJ's playing Flo Rida's "Shawty Got Low" for everyone to limbo along with. I don't have on any Apple Bottoms jeans or boots with the fur, but I do feel like the whole room is looking at me. I'm too ungraceful to be attempting this. Just as I'm about to bend backwards to try to get under the two-foot-high Swiffer, Celia rushes up to me, waving her Sherlock Holmes pipe in the air.

"Kendall! You've got to come with me."

Relieved that I don't have to go through with getting "low, low, low, low, low, low, low," I let Celia pull me aside.

"She's at it again."

"Who?"

"Courtney."

Taylor rushes up. "Where is she? I haven't seen her all night."

"Well, she's here," Celia says. "And this time, she's not effing around with stupid ploys like a spirit guide in her Bluetooth. This time, she's crossing the line. Majorly."

Is this the tomfoolery Emily warned me about? A long sigh escapes from my lungs, and I feel the air scorching on its way out.

"Courtney's in the library with a bunch of people." When Celia pauses, I'm afraid of what will come next. Her mouth flattens. "She's getting ready to conduct a séance."

Immediately, Emily appears before me, full-bodied, holding her hands up and waving them. They're raised in a warning, and she's telling me telepathically that the séance can't take place. Something beyond horrible is going to happen. Emily knows it. I know it.

Shoving between Celia and Taylor, I scream, "I've got to stop her!"

***

Celia and Taylor must have grabbed Becca from somewhere, because it's all four of us who burst unceremoniously into the darkened library. There, Courtney sits on the floor in her princess costume—how appropriate—surrounded by her usual flock of followers as well as a lot of kids that I don't know. Probably a dozen of them. Twelve idiots who don't know what the hell they're getting themselves into. Courtney sits at the top of the circle, and a plethora of candles surrounds the group, casting an eerie golden haze over the room. Her eyes are closed and she's humming while everyone around her holds hands ... and watches.

"She's certainly got a flair for the dramatic," Celia whispers to me.

I'm in too much shock and awe to say anything. My tongue seems to be the size of a Kaminsky Park kielbasa, and there's nothing I can do to voice my concern. It's like something's holding me back, controlling my ability to speak.

Courtney stops humming and opens her eyes. "If there are any spirits in this room or in this house, I invite you to please step into this circle and communicate through me."

Next to Courtney, Mina holds her hand tightly, looking scared shitless. Sean Carmickle sits on Courtney's other side, riveted by her every word, like this is some sort of special-edition game on Wii and he's going to score big.

A chilling breeze spins tornado-like through the room, causing an ache deep down to my bones. Are others experiencing this? I don't think so. There are entities present here that I can't identify. None that I can see, but I can sense them all around me. Spirits of the deceased. Visitors from the past. Dark shadows waiting in the wings to step forward and make their presence known, playing with the living, almost for their own entertainment. More street ghosts who've bebopped in to get some attention from this stupid, stupid girl who is opening the floodgates to something she knows nothing about. I've read about things like this, calling to the spirits without knowing what conjuring them up will be like. Spirits are lonely and want attention—very much like Courtney—but you never know if they will want to punish the living for bringing them through. That's why if you don't know what the hell you're doing, you never mess with Ouija boards or séances that open up portals to the other side. I mean,
I
would never attempt a séance without Loreen's guidance.

You must stop her, Kendall
, Emily pleads.

I'm trying!

I tug Celia by her sleeve and nudge her forward. "Come on."

She, along with Becca and Taylor, follow me as I step over the circle of joined hands and stand in the middle. We're definitely busting up these shenanigans.

"Courtney, you have no idea what you're doing. You've got to stop at once." I know I'm begging, but I don't care. "Stop pretending before someone—particularly
you
—gets hurt!"

Courtney closes her eyes again, and a menacing cackle emerges from her. "Kendall Moorehead is jealous of my new powers and the fact that she's not the only one in school anymore who can contact the other side."

All eyes shift to me as if echoing Courtney's sentiment. This isn't about me though! It's about seriously doing what my mother has accused me of—dabbling in the dark arts.