Chapter 12
The meeting has already started by the time I get to the coffee shop, and I hang back for a moment, looking around for Josh. He’s not here, and I’m half tempted to leave now. I’m sure half of these people have never seen a real ghost, though we do share a common interest in the paranormal.
The man who’s standing at the front of the pushed-together tables sees me and gives me a friendly smile.
Not wanting to be rude, I take a seat in the back, squeezing in between the wall and an older woman wearing a black T-shirt with Penn Ghost Hunting Club written across the chest in hot pink letters.
The meeting gets started with details of a hunt the club went on last week, and I’m surprised to hear the leader approach everything with skepticism. He tries to debunk everything that seemed ghostly, and only concludes it was paranormal activity when no other explanation can be found.
I sit back quietly and watch everyone, not offering to share when the group opens up about their own personal experiences.
I’m sure most of these stories are fabricated, exaggerated at best, but I find them and the people recanting their tales interesting.
When the meeting ends, I get up and get a coffee, figuring I could use it for the ride home.
The guys are waking up now and will find my note explaining where I am shortly. I’m anxious to get back to them.
“First meeting?” someone asks when I step to the side of the counter and wait for my coffee. I turn and see the leader of the group a few feet from me.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t remember seeing you before. We’re pretty small, so it’s obvious when new members join.”
I force a smile and shift my weight. I don’t like awkward small talk.
“You were quiet,” he goes on. “Which makes me wonder why you really came.”
“I’m curious about ghosts,” I admit, which is both the truth and a lie at the same time. I was here hoping to talk to Josh so I could know for certain if the ghost that attacked him was the same one I think I let out of the spirit world.
So yeah, I’m curious about ghosts. I guess it’s not that much of a lie after all.
“You’ve had a ghost experience. I can tell.”
I shrug. “Haven’t we all?”
He laughs. “Some have, but most here haven’t.
They want to have a ghost experience. And then they’re eager to share.
I’ve had a few others like you show up before, but you’re not quite like the others.
You’ve had an experience, but you don’t want to talk about it.
Don’t want to show off or brag about whatever abilities you think you might have. You just want answers.”
Maybe this guy isn’t bullshit after all.
“And what if I do want answers?”
He smiles. “You won’t get them unless you ask a question.”
The barista calls my name and I step up to grab my coffee. “My questions aren’t…” I trail off and shake my head. “Thanks, but never mind.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You came here for a reason. What’s the worst that can happen?”
The worst that can happen is the ghost I think I let out via a rift in the fucking universe gets angry and does more than beat up someone next time.
“Okay. Let’s talk.”
He waves his hand at an empty table, and I slide into the booth. He takes his jacket off, revealing the name Mike stitched into his official ghost hunter shirt.
“Let me start by giving you a brief history of how the club came about.” Mike leans back in the bench across from me.
“I teach biology at a college outside of Philly. I got to work early one day to grade papers. The building wasn’t full of staff and students yet, but it wasn’t empty either.
The air got cold, and when I looked up, there was a former student standing in front of me.
I blinked and he was gone. After some digging, I found out he had died earlier in the week.
I hadn’t seen or thought about him in years, and I still don’t know why he’d haunt the biology department of a community college.
I was sure there was a logical explanation for what happened. When I couldn’t find one…”
“You knew it was a ghost.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s why you’re so skeptical.”
“Yes, and I’ve found that a lot of things people are eager to call paranormal activity do have a rational reasoning behind them. And I try to find that reason. When I’ve exhausted all options, then I’m led to believe we might be working with a real haunting.”
“I agree, and for the record, I don’t think you’re full of shit. Anymore,” I add with a smile.
He laughs. “Something tells me you’re a skeptic too. Are you in the science field as well?”
“Forensic science, I suppose. I’m a homicide detective.”
His gray eyes widen. “I can see why you’d be interested in ghosts.”
“I’m not here about a victim,” I assure him, and my mind jumps to my mother. Casting my eyes down, I twist the paper holder around my coffee cup.
“Why are you here?”
“Can ghosts touch you?” I raise my gaze back to his.
“Yes. I’ve felt them run fingers over me and even left locations with scratches.”
“I mean like really touch.” I shake my head, realizing how bad that sounds. “Like give you a hug or beat you up?”
He chuckles. “Those are two very different things, and while I’ve never come across it personally, I suppose so.
I’ve found that in order for a spirit to manifest, it needs a great deal of electromagnetic energy.
So in theory, if they were charged up—so to speak—then yes, I don’t see why they couldn’t hug you or throw in a punch or two. ”
I nod, feeling relief instead of dread. Yeah, Miss Pink Dress can definitely do damage, but that also means the hug my mother gave me could have been real.
“Have you ever had a seance?” I ask.
“No, and I don’t intend to. Those can be dangerous.”
“I’ve been told,” I mumble. “Have you heard of anyone having one, contacting who they wanted to, and then having it turn out to be something different?”
He puts his hands on the table, leaning in. “By different, do you mean something bad?”
“Yes.”
His face pales just a little and he leans back against the booth again. “Yes. I’ve heard of it, never witnessed it firsthand, mind you. Why do you ask…has this happened to you?”
I don’t want to tell him the truth, but I don’t see the point in making up a story and having to stick with it. I’m getting some of the answers I desperately seek. “Yes. It looked like her, talked like her, knew things only she would know…”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“A few days ago.”
“And nothing bad has happened since?”
“Well…kind of. But not as bad as I’d think if a demon was posing as my mother, ya know?” I force a smile, feeling awkward.
“What kind of bad things?”
Fuck. I can’t get into this. He believes in ghosts, but I can’t tell him I’m a witch living with four half-man, half-gargoyles who were cursed by my great, great, great, great, great—whatever—grandfather.
“Nightmares.”
“About the person you thought you contacted?”
“No.”
“What makes you think this person might not be who you thought they were?”
“Honestly.” I bring my hands to my lap, pressing my sweaty palms on my legs. “Nothing. She seemed like her, down to the last detail. But…”
“It seemed too good to be true.”
“Yes.”
He takes in a breath and thinks for a minute. “There’s someone you should talk to. He’s…he’s in tune with things. He might be able to help.”
“Do you mean a psychic?”
“More like a medium.”
“He’s, uh, for real?”
“From what I’ve seen, yes. He’s not one to show off his skills and hasn’t gone trying to get his own show or anything,” he adds with a chuckle.
“Let me give him a call.” He’s already pulling out his phone and sending a text before I can say anything.
“Henry lives in Philly, so you’d have to drive into the city. ”
“I’m from the city, so…”
“So it’s on your way home.”
If I thought the ghost club meeting was a sign, then this has to be too. I pick up my coffee and take a sip, wincing from how hot it still is.
“Oh, he’s texting back already,” Mike says as he looks at his phone. I watch him read the text, heart speeding up just a bit. It’s stupid to put any hope into this mysterious guy, but dammit, I want answers.
I want them bad enough I opened a fucking rift.
Mike looks up from the phone. “He says he can meet with you tonight.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jac asks.
I just got home and filled the guys in on everything.
I talked to Henry, the medium, on my way home, and while I can’t make a judgment from just talking on the phone, I didn’t get the feeling the guy was a fraud.
He doesn’t want attention, and even made a point to ask me not to post about anything that happens on social media because he doesn’t want word getting out about him and his abilities.
“The worst thing is the guy’s full of shit and nothing comes out of it,” I tell him, raking my fingers through my hair. I drove home with the windows open, enjoying the warm June air. Now my long locks are a tangled mess. “And I won’t go alone.”
“I’ll go,” Thomas offers with a smile.
“We’ll be fine,” I assure Jac. “The guy lives in a nice part of town that I’m familiar with. And don’t forget I’m a cop. I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” Jacques sighs.
I rip a tangle out of my hair and decide it’s good enough. “We should head out,” I tell Thomas. “You need a shirt and shoes.”
“On it.” He disappears upstairs and comes down a minute later wearing a white T-shirt and carrying his shoes. He put the concealment charm around his neck and his wings have disappeared.
Gil tips his head, looking at his twin. “I almost forgot how good I look without wings.”
“You’re looking at me, dumbass,” Thomas quips.
“I know. And I’m the better looking one. So as good as you look without them, I look even better.”