The sun was shining as they turned off the highway, dancing on the remains of the gold and red leaves. Peak was already long gone in the mountains, but to Sapph, who had grown up more in the artificial jungles of New York City and Hollywood, it was gorgeous. Once again, she realized that moving up to New Hampshire had been a good thing. Odd to think that this is where I feel most at home, she mused, stroking Bear’s head as he napped in her lap. Then again, this is where my father grew up. Maybe it’s in my blood.
She hadn’t thought about her father in a long time. Probably because her grandfather had despised him, and had pretty much forbidden her mother to say much about him. He’d died when she was six. Most of her memories of him were hazy, wrapped in the golden glow of nostalgia. She hadn’t been old enough to see his warts yet, and so he loomed in her mind as a perfect father. All she really knew about him was that he, like her mother, had been in the movie business, although he’d been a writer, not an actor. Her parents had met on a movie set in New Hampshire, had fallen in love, and gotten married before her grandfather had found out how serious it was. Sapph sometimes wondered if that was why Thomas had ridden her so hard - perhaps he saw too much of her father in her, and her father had never marched to the Pendragon drum. He had loved her and her mother, but now she realized the antipathy probably went both ways between him and her grandfather. He’d been killed in a car accident coming home one night, and she’d barely heard his name mentioned again after that.
“Sapph?” Amari poked her in the side, and Sapph realized she’d been woolgathering.
“Sorry,” she said. “Just lost in my thoughts. What was the question?”
“How did you want us to handle the psychic bit?” Lance asked. “Did you want to go the route we went with on the Reynolds case, where we introduce Scottie as the medium and keep you in the background?”
She chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. “We could, but then that begs the question of what are they going to do when I disappear? We’re going to be running video as well as audio - it’s going to be hard to explain why I’m not on any of the footage, or why I’m not asking questions on the audio.”
“True,” Lance said. “So?”
Sapph shrugged. “So we be honest. If your friend is dealing with actors the caliber of Knox Hutton, then he’ll know how to keep his mouth shut.”
“Awesome.” To Sapph’s surprise, Lance grinned broadly at her. “That’s kind of what I was hoping you’d say. I can’t wait to see his face the first time you vanish.”
She chuckled. “Happy to be of service.” Truthfully, she was relieved to hear him say that. It humanized him.
The further they climbed into the mountains, the more the light faded. The brightly colored leaves gave way to dark conifers that held themselves back from the road, stiff matrons in deep green that turned their noses up at the humans who traveled the roads at their feet. Houses became more and more infrequent, and the road itself shrank down from two well defined lanes to a smaller width of pavement that had lost most of its stripes to weather long ago. Only the poles for the power lines kept pace with them as their Explorer drove deeper into the wilderness.
Finally, Lance slowed down, as another road branched off to the left. A large stone sign, mostly covered by the remains of ivy, crouched next to the opening, a malevolent gargoyle pointing further into the dark woods. It was hard to read, but after a moment, Sapph realized it said “Broadwell Asylum. Sanamus nos et infirmos.” Underneath that was a smaller sign that said “Road not maintained in winter.”
“We heal the sick and ourselves,” Amari said, and when Sapph blinked at her, she shrugged. “Six years of Latin in school.”
“It’s not a bad motto for a hospital,” Scottie said. “I wonder if they followed it.”
“At least at first, they must have,” Sapph said.
“Not at the end, obviously, since they got shut down for mismanagement.” Lance slowed down even more as the lane narrowed again. “I hope the pavement lasts up to the actual property.”
It did, actually, emerging from the forest to come down into a hollow that held the four buildings that made up Broadwell Asylum. The main bulk of the hospital loomed up from a large lawn that once might have been manicured but now was more meadow than anything else. To the right of the main building was a house with lights on. To the left was the remains of a parking lot.
“Woah.” Amari said, her voice cracking just a bit. “That’s an awfully big hospital.”
As they pulled up to the house, a short man with a buzz cut and a “Paranormal Possibilities” teeshirt came out of the front door and waved them over. “Park over here, around the side,” he said, when Lance rolled down the window. “Easier to unload through the side door.”
Lance parked, and then jumped out to give the man a bear hug. “You’re looking good, Pat!” he said, as the others climbed out. “LA is treating you well.”
Pat laughed. “Hardly. This is due to having a three year old and a five year old who don’t know the meaning of the word walk.” He looked with interest at the others. “So, this is your team?”
“Yeah, let me introduce you.” Lance turned to them, pointing them out in turn. “Amari, our case manager; Scottie, who’s one of our psychics;, and Sapph, the boss.” He paused a beat and then said, “Our other psychic.”
“Two psychics on your team?” Pat’s eyes widened. “You have changed.”
“Let’s just say I’ve had my horizons broadened,” Lance said. “Once we get inside and settled, you’ll see what I mean.”
“Sure! I can help.” Pat shook himself and followed him to the back of the Explorer.
Sapph had turned to look back at the dark bulk of the hospital, frowning. There’s something not right about this…
No chill, Scottie said silently.
He was right. The air felt cool, but that was just autumn in New England. There was none of the bone-numbing cold of the Ghostwind that she normally associated with haunted places, and Bear was still half-asleep in her arms. Even the Reynolds house was colder than this, she realized. Which means this place is either a bust…or we’re in way over our heads. I’m not sure which would be worse.
She followed the rest of them into the house, still puzzling over the lack of the Ghostwind. Scottie had grabbed her suitcase and brought it upstairs for her, so she was free to chew over what she wasn’t feeling as she stood in the hall. And then the smell of rich beef stew captured her attention, beckoning her into a bright kitchen, where a tall man with flowing blond curls was ladling stew into bowls. Another man, with his hair more smoothed back and simple, was piling hot biscuits into a basket.
“I’m in love,” she said, tightening her hold on Bear, who had woken up as soon as the smell of beef had wafted past his nose. “Can I move in?”
Both men laughed, and then Knox Hutton turned around, a puzzled look on his face. “I know you,” he said. “Your voice is familiar. But from where?”
“My mother introduced us,” Sapph said. “Marlene Pendragon.”
“Of course!” His eyes (which were deep blue, she noted) lit up. “Sapph, right? You came to the opening night for that dreadful murder mystery we both had the misfortune to be in.”
“Right.” She grinned at his confusion. “Wasn’t expecting a poor little rich girl to show up, were you?”
“No,” Knox said honestly. “I thought you worked for your grandfather.”
“I did. I quit.” She peered down into the crock pot. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Not much call for it in my day job, although Vincent makes a mean scone that is always welcome on set, so I take what chances to cook I can,” Knox said, nodding to the other man.
Vincent smiled at her. “So you’re interested in ghost hunting, Sapph? Maybe it’s a media thing?”
“A bit, but my only connection to the media is Mom, honestly,” she said, and pulled Bear back out of reach of the bowls. “Can I help with anything?”
“Not really.” Knox set the last bowl on the rolling cart next to him, and Vincent set the basket on it as well. “How’s your mother doing?”
“She’s well. Last I heard, she’d gone to Italy to get away from my grandfather.” Sapph followed them into the next room, which turned out to be the dining room. Seated at the table was a tall woman with flaming red hair caught in a messy ponytail. She turned around as the door opened, and Sapph saw she came by the hair honestly: her pale skin was liberally sprinkled with freckles, her eyes were that brilliant emerald that was so rarely natural, but sparkled when it was.
“Thank the gods,” the woman said, inhaling deeply. “I was planning how to assault the kitchen and liberate a bowl.”
“Stew takes patience, Gwen, you know that,” Knox said, and then he nodded to the pile of folders in front of her. “Besides, you need to clear that before you can have any. We don’t need gravy and beef juice on evidence.”
“Let me help.” Sapph moved to the table, shifting Bear to under one of her arms, and picked up several of the folders. “Are these from the hospital?”
“Yeah, we went digging after breakfast in the Records Room,” Gwen said. “Wanted to get some idea of what was going on here.” She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m—”
“Gwen?” Lance’s voice cut through the woman’s remarks, shock and delighted surprise evident in his tone. “What are you doing here?”
“Working,” she said, grinning. “You didn’t expect me to NOT come, did you?”
“Are you working for Paranormal Possibilities too?” he asked, pushing past Sapph to enfold Gwen in a solid hug. “I thought you settled down and got married!”
“I did,” Gwen said, hugging him back. “But Win is supportive of my little hobby, and she all but threw me out of the house when Pat called. Didn’t he tell you I was here?”
“Nope,” Pat said from the other side of the table. While Sapph had been watching Lance and Gwen, the rest of the group had come into the dining room and sat down. She took the seat next to Scottie as Pat continued, “I wanted to see your face when you saw her. Just like old times. The old gang back together.” He turned to the others. “Lance, Gwen, and I did a lot of urban exploring looking for ghosts in high school. Got some neat evidence, and had some amazing experiences. We didn’t even have much - just my dad’s camcorder and a few tape recorders.”
“That’s how the best start, I hear,” Amari said, as Lance and Gwen sat down as well.
Once the stew bowls had been distributed and the introductions had been made, the talk turned to what they would be facing with the old asylum as they ate. To Sapph’s surprise, Knox took the lead, not Pat.
“So we’ve been here since yesterday,” he said, dipping a biscuit into his stew bowl. “We’ve only had the chance to scout out a few hot spots the clients gave us, but really, nothing’s happened yet. I’ve been disappointed so far, to be honest. Given the reports that we got from the Broadwells had led me to believe that there was blood coming from every wall.”
“Maybe they watched too much TV,” Scottie said, shooting a sly glance at Sapph, who stuck her tongue out at him.
“I watch those for amusement, not evidence,” she told him.
Knox laughed. “I think we all do. Vincent won’t let me have food when I watch them - I end up throwing things at the TV yelling, ‘That’s DUST, you idiot!’”
They all joined in his laughter, and Sapph admitted, “Yeah, popcorn is about all I’m allowed, by the handful.”
“Lance, you said you were bringing a psychic,” Pat said after the laughter died down. “What kind?”
Lance made a big show of finishing his mouthful before he spoke. “I actually brought two, like I said. A clairvoyant/clairaudient.” He nodded at Scottie.
“And the other?” Gwen prompted.
He drew out the moment, clearly savoring their interest, and Sapph sighed, shaking her head.
“I’m the other psychic,” she said, cutting his moment off. “I’m a psychomorph.”
“Spoilsport,” Lance muttered.
Gwen, Knox, and Pat stared at her, mouths open. Vincent frowned. “I’ve never heard of that before,” he admitted. “What is a psychomorph?”
“A ghost walker,” Gwen said slowly, her face getting even paler. “Lord and Lady, they do exist.”
“A what? That doesn’t give me any more clue,” Vincent said.
“It’s a very rare psychic talent,” Sapph told him. “How familiar are you with the current theories on what happens when you die?”
“Not very,” he admitted.
“Okay, then I’ll start from the beginning.” She took a deep breath. “When something dies, it crosses over from our material world into a sort of half-way zone, called the Ghostlands. Most who die go straight through to whatever afterlife is waiting for them. The current theory is that ghosts are souls who got caught in the Ghostlands. They can’t come back to our world without a lot of energy, and they can’t move on. Make sense so far?”
Vincent nodded.
“Good. What I do is walk through the barrier between this world and the Ghostlands. I can’t stay there long, but I can interact with ghosts that wander in the Ghostlands.” She looked over at Lance. “I’d only done it under controlled circumstances until recently, when I helped Lance and Amari solve a haunted house case. After that, I realized that I can do more good working with families with ghost problems than I ever could at Pendragon Shipping. So I handed in my notice and started my own company.”
“Sounds like you’re doing the same thing we are,” Knox said. “Just on the East Coast.”
“Best to have both coasts covered. We can meet in the middle,” Sapph said, grinning.
He raised his soda can in a toast. “It’s a deal!”
“So, wait, I’m still confused,” Vincent said, breaking in. “You said only souls can pass through this barrier to the Ghostlands. But you aren’t just a soul. How do you…?” He trailed off, not sure what to finish with.
“I can turn myself into a ghost,” Sapph said. “I have no idea how I do it, but I do. It’s like there is a switch inside me and I can flip it, and then I’m there.” She ate another spoonful of stew. “It will be intriguing to see what is in the Ghostlands here, if anything.”
“Why do you say that?” Pat asked her.
“There’s this thing that is normally around haunted locations,” she said. “Lance’s uncle Malcolm calls it the Ghostwind. You know how temperature seems to drop in haunted places, or when spirit activity increases?”
Comments (0)
See all