The Awakening (16 page)

I echo my previous words. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." She hugs me and kisses the top of my head. "I love you, Kendall. I'll protect you against anything in this world."

Yeah, but what about the
other
world? Can she protect me from spirits? Can she shelter any of us from what I've seen and heard? Can she shield Dad from the harm that's possibly going to come to him?

The ghost huntress in me knows she can't.

"Thank you for the pizza, Mrs. Moorehead," Taylor says. She's as perky and vivacious at eight thirty at night as she is during the school day. My mom's eating it up, though. And there's been absolutely no reference to this morning's family discussion. It's like it never happened.

Mom beams at my friend. "Glad you enjoyed it, Taylor. Since I lived in Chicago so long, making deep-dish pizza is second nature for me."

"It was really awesome," Celia chimes in.

I get up off the floor and move to escort my mother out of my room. "Thanks, Mom. Really. We're all set."

"I'm baking chocolate chip cookies," she calls out. Who is she, all of a sudden? Some genetically engineered combination of June Cleaver and Betty Crocker?

"Mooooooom," I moan, like Kaitlin.

She smiles warmly. "I'm going." Then she lowers her head and whispers, "Isn't this much more fun, Kendall? Hanging with normal girls and making new friends?"

"Right, Mom." Little does she know about our shared interest.

It's like these are Mom's first friends, too, and she doesn't want to leave. I have to remember, she lost her close friends—

like I lost Marjorie—when we moved here. "What are you going to do? Watch TV, listen to music?" she asks.

"Talk about boys," I say, knowing it's the perfect teenage answer she's expecting.

"How fun! Enjoy!"

I close the door as Giggly McGiggleton—a.k.a. Sarah Moorehead—goes down the stairs to tend to her baked goods. Love the woman, but she seriously needs to give me some space.

"Your mom is
trop adorable pour des mots,
"Taylor says with a heavy French accent.

Sorry, I only know a few German and Spanish curse words. "She's what?"

Taylor's eyes shine. "Too cute for words."

Celia wipes her mouth with a napkin. "Can we get down to business, ladies?"

"Oh, come on, Celia. It's a slumber party. We
should
talk about boys first," Taylor says. She reaches into her purse and reapplies her shiny lip-gloss that had been eaten off with her pizza.

Celia opens her laptop and starts it up. "I don't want to talk about guys. We've got to start focusing on our ghost hunting and what our plan is."

I wouldn't mind talking about guys if we talk about one in particular. I'm sure Taylor could give me all the scoop on her brother. However, I don't want her to think I'm just friends with her because her brother is a mad-hot cutie any more than I want her to think we're only friends because she's the school's best photographer. And Celia's certainly not interested in the opposite sex these days, even though she was doodling some guy in her notebook. So I decide not to push the guy issue right now.

"We'll dish dirt later," I say. "First, let's get all of our equipment set up and then start thinking of places we can investigate after we rid my house of this floaty woman."

An hour later, we've got all three laptops juiced up, the sound equipment recording, and the infrared cameras strategically placed around the room. Funny, Mom was so exuberant about bringing us her homemade chocolate chip and pecan cookies, she didn't even notice that we weren't painting our nails, doing each other's hair, or gabbing about guys, but instead were all peering at the screens of our respective computers.

As Celia is demonstrating the EMF meter to Taylor, I suddenly experience a swirling of energy coming into the room like a fine mist. I don't see anything, but that familiar heavy chest pain is back.

I reach over and touch Celia's arm. "I'm feeling something."

Expeditiously, she turns the EMF toward me, and the meter starts flashing red. "This means there's a strong electromagnetic energy present," Celia explains. "Can you reel it in, Kendall?"

Taylor's mouth forms a perfect, round O. "Reel
what
in?"

The tingling sensation in my fingers sparks out all the way to the tips. We're totally not alone here. I just know it. Taking a deep sip of breath to steady myself, I say, "We have company."

Celia moves the meter around me, concentrating on the readings it's giving off. "Direct me to where it is, if you can."

I sit still on the floor and breathe as regularly as possible so I can withstand the ache in my chest. It's as if my heart isn't right. If I had to explain it to a TV reporter or something, I'd say it's like someone has a fist around it and is squeezing the shit out of it.

"It's ... everywhere," I say. "I just feel the energy around me and in the room."

"You should take some pictures, Taylor."

She jumps to her feet. "Oh, right! That's what I'm here for. I'm the photographer. Should I use infrared or digital?"

"Digital right now," Celia instructs. I watch a smile break out on her face. "This is pretty cool."

I nod in return, not wanting to break my concentration.

The sound of Taylor's digital camera clicks and beeps around me. She's got one of those models with all the bells and whistles, literally. Maybe she should put it on the museum setting and not scare away the floaty woman.

"I'm going to kill the lights," Celia says. "You know, to, like, encourage the spirit."

"Ooo, I've got goose pimples!" Taylor stretches out her arm to show the tiny mounds all over. I know exactly what she means, as I've also got chill bumps dancing all over my skin.

"Let's try to make contact," I say.

"Excellent," Celia exclaims, then shushes herself. We certainly don't want the Happy Homemaker busting in on us and totally wigging out. It would be the final nail in my custom-built parental coffin. Something like this would put Sarah and David over the edge and have me sent off to a convent or, worse, a mental institution.

I reach in my pocket for my pendulum and remember it's not there. "Shit!"

Taylor's eyebrow arches when she pulls the camera away from her face. "What is it? You're not possessed or anything, are you?"

"No, Mom took my pendulum."

"Double shit," Celia adds. The EMF meter is raring red for all to see. "Something big is here and it wants to make contact."

Think fast.

I look over at Taylor and take note of her silver heart pendant hanging from a chain. "Hand me your necklace, Taylor. I can use it as a pendulum."

Her hand moves to her neck and she balks. "It's Elsa Peretti."

"Will she mind?" I ask.

Taylor giggles. "
Mon dieu, au contraire.
Elsa Peretti. She designs for Tiffany and Company."

"Oh. I don't care. It'll swing, won't it?"

Celia interrupts and points to my dresser. "Do you have anything in your jewelry box?"

Yeah, Taylor's not budging on her designer necklace. I don't blame her. If I had something name brand and expensive like that, I'd tell people to piss off too.

But wait, I sort of do have something that nice. Well, sentimental, at least. Following Celia's suggestion, I rummage through my jewelry box and pull out a very personal black velvet bag.

"What's in there?" Celia asks.

Taylor snaps a few pictures, nearly blinding me with the megaflash she's got on that thing. "Sorry, I should warn y'all next time." She slants toward me. "Oh, Kendall! That's gorgeous!
Très magnifique!
"

"Shhh! I don't want my mom to hear and come in. I already told you guys I'm in big trouble."

I slowly draw the family heirloom from its protective place. It's a long silver chain with a pristine crystal teardrop on the end of it. Grandma Ethel left it to me in her will because I used to always want to look at it whenever I visited her house. She told me it was made from angels' tears.

"This'll work perfectly."

The three of us return to the middle of my room, and I take a seat on the floor. Taylor scurries around snapping pictures—and saying "Flash!" beforehand—and Celia monitors the computer. There are spikes on the sound equipment that make me think she's picking something up on the recording. I try and tune in to my subconscious to see what, if any, messages I'm getting. I'm not exactly thrilled with this, but Loreen told me that I've got to conquer my fear because the spirits will feed off it. Sort of like that thing about dogs knowing when you're afraid of them and charging you. That happened to me in sixth grade when Marjorie and I were walking home from getting frozen yogurt. A neighbor's Doberman pinscher got loose from his chain and damn near chased me up a tree because I screamed and ran when I saw him. Stupid dog was just after my chocolate-vanilla swirl, but he sensed my terror.

I can't let the floaty woman—or any other spirit—key in to that, so I stuff my emotions deep down into the pit of my stomach, to be digested along with the pizza and cookies. My job as a psychic intuitive is to make contact at all costs.

I hold the necklace like I would my pink quartz pendulum. The quivering of the chain tickles at my fingers and I'm ready.

"What does that do?" Taylor asks. I give her a quick
Dowsing for Dummies
explanation and continue with my questions.

"Are there any spirits with us?"

The crystal drop moves slowly at first, clockwise.

"That's a
yes,
isn't it?" Celia asks.

I nod. Taylor takes a picture.

Suddenly, I'm ice-cold, like I've been sitting in a deep freeze.

"Y'all, it's way cold in here," Taylor whispers.

Celia agrees. "Cold air just rushed around my feet." She takes a small black meter from her pocket and points it at the floor. "Fifty-eight degrees."

"In here?" Taylor questions.

"Right here," Celia says. Then she points the temperature gauge over by my bed. "Seventy-two."

"That's quite a change," I say with a tinge of excitement in my voice. Sure, I want this creepy ghost out of my house and away from my family. However, it doesn't mean that I can't get a thrill that it actually exists and we can track it.

"I don't understand," Taylor says. "I know I'm here for my photographic abilities, but I'd love to know what's going on."

Celia pushes her hair out of her face. "It's generally thought in the paranormal community that when you have extreme temperature drops, there's an entity around."

"Oh. My. God." Taylor's about to go whack. "Like, seriously?"

"That's why you're taking pictures," Celia explains. "Anytime we report a cold spot or if Kendall tells us where she's feeling something, snap as many pictures as you can."

Taylor executes a perfect military salute and gets back to work. I think she must be on Prozac or Ritalin to be that cheerful and at ease all the time. Even when she seems frightened, she has a rosy outlook. Too bad some of those happy genes didn't rub off on Jason.

All right. No thoughts of him tonight. I have a spirit to chat with.

I return to my dowsing. "Celia, you ask the questions and I'll give you the answers and anything else I'm feeling. Taylor, take as many pictures as you want."

Wetting her lips, Celia asks, "Are you a male?"

"No."

"Are you a female?"

I look up at her. "Like ... duh. If it's not a male."

Celia screws up her mouth. "Just see what it says, Kendall."

"Yes."

"See?"

Taylor fusses. "Y'all!"

For a second, I thought my mother had walked in and caught us. Holy crap! But no. She's downstairs with Dad watching one of the medical dramas they love so.

After a series of questions, I ask Celia to read back the notes she's been taking.

"We know the ghost is female, she's sixteen to twenty-one years of age, she's not at rest, she's not happy, but she knows where she is." Celia taps the pen on her notepad. "After going through the first four letters of the alphabet, we know that her name starts with an E."

I close my eyes and think hard on the letter E. A
Sesame Street
—like flip-flash of the alphabet whizzes through my mind as I try to find the remaining letters of her name.
E-E-E,
concentrate on E. The vision in my head shifts to that of a book. An old book. Oh, wait, this book is on my shelf. Just then, it's as if a tremendous amount of energy surges from my chest, propelling me outward and upward. I feel like I'm being pulled up by the wings of an eagle that's asking me to soar with it.
Come with me...
But I can't. I've got work to do. Remembering how Loreen talked about grounding myself, I lift my lethargic hands to touch the floor next to me, and suddenly, I'm released. My eyes fly open and I scoot over to the corner of the room.

"What's wrong, Kendall?" Celia asks. She points her EMF meter in my wake.

"I know her name."

Taylor's flash illuminates the shelf, filled to capacity with my mom's books from our old den in Chicago. There was nowhere else to unpack them, so she put them in here since I've got this awesome bookcase built into the wall. I reach for a crimson-bound hardback and slide it out.

"
Letters of Emily Dickinson,
" Celia reads over my shoulder. "So, our ghost is educated."

"No, don't you get it? That's her name. Emily."

"Damn, Kendall, you're good," Celia exclaims and then hugs me.

"Y'all better come over here and look at this," Taylor says, her face lit by the video display on her digital camera. "While y'all were doing that, I thought I'd scroll through the pictures I've taken to see if I got anything."

"And?" Celia prompts. I can tell she's trying hard to be professional when she really wants to do round-off back handsprings across my room.

"And, look—"

Taylor turns the camera so we can see the display. In the first shot, there's a very large, textured orb over my left shoulder. I shudder a bit, thinking something was that close to me. I can't be afraid though. I must be strong. Nothing will hurt me. I am surrounded by a bubble of white light, and God and his angels will protect me. At least, that's what Loreen told me to chant in my head.