Page 11 of Mack's Horribly Hellacious Ghost Town
Mack turned to look and did an obvious double take. He quickly took in the situation, moving at a run. His eyes noted my hand still on the girl’s shoulder, then the teenager I had next to me. His expression was a classicwhat the hell? He shoved hair out of his face even as he hurried toward us, his pace so quick, he nearly tripped over a slab of concrete jutting upward.
When he got close, I said, “A ghost was pestering her, and I had to throw a little salt. Now, how about some proper introductions? I’m Brandon Havili, with the FBI Paranormal Activity Division.”
Her eyes rounded all over again and were in danger of falling out of her head entirely. “Holy shit, an FBI agent? Really?!”
Mack’s smile was full of pure charm. “I’m Special Agent Mackenzie Lafayette, his Medium. Enchanté.”
“Gwyn,” she answered. Then she sucked in a breath, as if she’d forgotten to breathe. She looked two seconds away from latching on to Mack and never, ever letting go. It was hope and desperation and need. She practically vibrated with it. “I’m Gwyneth Fairchild, but call me Gwyn. And please, please help me. FBI Medium, you said? You’ve got to be able to help me.”
4
I didn’t like the sound of this. Gwyn looked desperate, as only a child in trouble could, and my protective instincts engaged at full strength. For sure, I wouldn’t leave her in whatever situation she was in. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
Mack’s expression turned soft, but he shot me a worried look. “Of course, ma petite. You tell me what’s wrong. I’ll do all I can. First, you come with us, yeah? We were sitting down to breakfast. Sit with us and tell me all.”
Gwyn nodded immediately, the motion jerky.
I escorted them the little bit of distance, an arm around both their shoulders. I trusted Mediums to be distractible under the worst circumstances, and this town was more haunted than advertised, raising the odds of them getting run over because of a ghost. No, thanks.
Gwyn came quietly, her hands latched on to the backpack strap over her shoulder. It looked as if she’d been walking to school, but it was Saturday, so where was she heading? It was nearly eight in the morning now. She kept stealing glances up at me, expression hard to read, but she also seemed to lean against my side a little. I couldn’t quite figure out why.
In the restaurant, Mack settled in at a table near the door, and I maneuvered myself to the chair giving me the best view of the room. Gwyn let the backpack drop at her feet, then sat on the edge of the chair and looked around nervously.
“Anything comes, I’ll handle it,” Mack promised her, shooting her a wink. “Not much can get past me. Ma petite, you want a drink or anything?”
“A drink would be good,” she agreed in a soft voice. “Thanks.”
I caught the waitress’s eye and ordered Gwyn some orange juice. She looked nervous, but the relief hadn’t faded. I had a gut feeling whatever she was about to say, it was going to be a doozy. The air was weighted by her unspoken words.
Mack leaned over the table, looking her dead in the eye. “You tell me what’s ailing you.”
She sucked in a breath, then another, before lifting her chin. “I can see…I can see ghosts.”
“No doubt of that.” Mack didn’t even blink. “Your aura’s strong, child.”
I looked between them, eyebrows rising. Oh really? “How strong?”
“Strong as mine, thereabouts,” Mack said. He shrugged. “Who knows how powerful you’ll get by the time you’re out ofyour teens. Often, people grow into their ability properly in their twenties.”
Gwyn, I think, expected an argument. The way she stared at us, all befuddled, indicated she’d expected something other than ready agreement, at least. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she said “You can see that I can see?”
“Sure. Just as you can see what I am.” Mack indicated himself with a sweep of his hand. “The glowing aura surrounding my body. What did you think that was?”
“I didn’t know,” she admitted. “I thought maybe a trick of the light, but he doesn’t have it.”
I nodded, not bothered by this observation. “That’s true, I don’t.”
“A Medium or psychic has their own aura,” Mack explained. “We can see each other easily. Those without the Sight can’t see or feel it at all, so it’s always hard to explain to people. But don’t doubt your eyes. You can tell in a glance. Now, you said you see ghosts. Is that the issue?”
Gwyn’s face scrunched in like she was on the verge of tears and fighting it. “Yes. No one believes me, and I’m hounded by ghosts all the time. I’m getting hurt, and no one believes that, either. They just say I’m klutzy, that I need to pay more attention to where I’m going. They won’t hear it if I say a ghost pushed me. My parents aresuperreligious, so I can’t tell them half of what’s going on. They’ve threatened me with exorcisms before. They’ve talked recently about sending me away to some kind of religious camp. I think they’re afraid I’m possessed by a demon or dabbling in Satanic worship or something.”
Fuck. Luckily Mack’s mother hadn’t thought along those lines, but he’d shared how it had been a common belief for many of his relatives—part of the reason why he’d gone no contact with them.
Sadly, Gwyn wasn’t done. “I tried keeping salt on me, ’cause I read online that helps, but my mom’s been watching me like a hawk. She keeps taking it away and gets mad about it. She keeps yelling about ghosts not being real, though why she’ll believe in demons but not ghosts, I don’t understand. I think she’s also embarrassed. Small town like this, everyone gossips, everyone knows about me. They all whisper behind our backs. Mom tries so hard to pretend it’s just a phase, something I’ll grow out of, but the situation is getting worse. I need help. I can’t fight them off like this. About four months ago, I got into a fight with a ghost. He was harassing me, trying to trip me and grab my hair; he wouldn’t leave me alone and kept chasing me. I ended up falling down the ravine, and broke my arm and skinned up my legs, and—”
My heart broke as she started crying, tears trailing down her cheeks as sobs racked her frame. This poor kid. I knew Mack’s childhood had been rough, but at least he’d had a few people who’d believed him. It didn’t sound like she had any.
Mack was out of his chair in a trice, hugging her into his chest. Gwyn went, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her face into his shirt. He stroked her hair and promised her in a soft voice, “You’ll not be defenseless ever again, cher, I promise you. I’ll see to that.”
