The Ghost Hunter (18 page)

Spirits that don’t want to go. Spirits like Rachel, Samuel and Bill. “Oh.” Ashley sank back into her chair, her mind and body growing oddly numb. “And why wouldn’t they want to go to Heaven?”

“Not Heaven, the other side. There’s a difference between the other side an’ heaven. Heaven is…well, Heaven. What ye’d imagine it tae be. While the other side, is…well, a sort of waiting room.”

So familiar. Everything she said was what Cristian had implied and what she’d deduced. Who would have known he was telling the truth? “And these Warriors, they force them there?”

She nodded, and flipped a page. With a gnarled finger, she pointed at a drawing. A Warrior stood, his wings flared wide and sword in hand as he fought a demon.

Wings. Sword.

Her mind spun. She stood so fast her chair tipped back and crashed to the floor.

Cristian and
Devon
were Warriors.

Dear God. Had she been wrong about them all along? Could they truly be guardians of good? Her stomach churned. The last few days spun through her mind like a video on fast forward.

“I’ve got the herbs,” Camile called out, her voice sounding hallow to her buzzing mind.

“Good, because we’re going tae need them tae close the portal. Ye,” she pointed at Ashley, her harsh voice snapping her back into the present.

“Yeah?” Ashley squeaked.

Rose pushed away from the table, standing. “Ye’ll be inside and ye’ll need help. Get that lad, the big, strong one.”

Ashley closed her eyes and resisted the urge to groan. “Cristian?”

“Aye, ye’ll need his help if ye want tae close the portal.”

“Fanfreakingtastic,” she muttered.

Cristian strolled around Ashley’s room, studying the place for portals. It was obvious she hadn’t the slightest desire to be stuck in this small space with him. She’d made sure to keep her distance. Too fucking bad for her. The woman had brought back to life the one man who wanted him dead, and in the process she’d opened a portal. A portal only he had the power to close. Betrayed by woman. Ironic that Devon would turn another female against him.

He knew Rose had told her the truth about who he was. He’d known the moment she’d meekly arrived, politely asking him for help. Even now she was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching him as if she expected him to sprout wings and a halo. He’d rather have her angry and annoyed. Where was the woman who mocked him? Who fought him? Who drove him mad?
 

He snapped the curtains together, blocking out rays from the quickly fading sun. Steeling himself, he faced her. It was odd being here in these tight quarters that held her scent. For some reason the chamber seemed smaller, or he seemed larger. Following Rose’s advice, he’d settled a few candles around the room to help harness their powers and concentration. He felt like he was trying to seduce the woman. All he needed were some bad eighties ballads and he’d be set.

“Rose is ready. They’ve surrounded the house with a protective spell and are holding it steady while we perform the ritual,” he said, more to cover the awkward silence than to impart information.

Ritual. He knew the word sounded creepy, like they were going to sacrifice a goat, or a virgin. Hopefully she was neither.

She stood and stuffed her hands into her back pockets, looking unsure and nervous. “So then, what now?”

“Now, we get to work.” He moved to the middle of the floor where a white candle burned brightly. “Sit,” he ordered with a nod.

She glared at him, apparently annoyed with his commanding tone, but settled on the throw carpet without comment. He was thrilled to see his
exalted
position hadn’t influenced her as much as he’d thought.

With the candle, a stone bowl full of herbs and Cristian’s sword between them, it felt like they were attending the last supper. “Give me yer hands.”

She swallowed hard and slipped her hands into his. Her smooth skin moved over his calloused palms. The contrast was damned near erotic. Shivers raised the fine hairs on his skin. He silently cursed his reaction. When the hell had he lost control over his own body?

“Let’s get started,” he snapped out like a military captain giving orders. His grip tightened on hers, making sure she was paying attention. “They’ll try to scare us, frighten us into giving up, we can’t.”

She shrugged, unease flickering in her hazel gaze. “All right.”

But he could tell she wasn’t taking this seriously, hadn’t a clue what could happen. She would soon enough. “Ready?” He didn’t wait for her response, but closed his eyes and started mumbling Latin.

Vaguely he was aware of the soft hiss as the candle flames sputtered and flickered, whether from the power he harnessed, or the soft evening breeze coming in from the open windows, he wasn’t sure.

He released her hands and pulled forward the bowl Rose had given him. An odd mixture of herbs and flowers added color to the gray stone. Wildflowers that a child might have picked for his mother. Hell, he’d probably picked the same species for his own Mum hundreds of years ago. Now those flowers represented so much more. Cristian picked up his sword, laying dormant at his side and grasped the hilt.

He lifted the weapon high, the blade gleaming under the candlelight. “The Lord is my shepherd…”

The flame hissed, turning brilliant blue. A common reaction. Certainly only the beginning, but that didn’t keep Ashley from sucking in a sharp breath of surprise. Was she finally starting to understand the direness of the situation?

“I shall not want…”

Cristian brought the sword low and rested the blade against his left palm, the metal cold on his skin.

“He maketh me tae lie down…”

Gritting his teeth, he jerked the blade across the palm of his hand.

“No!” Ashley shouted, reaching out as if she could stop him.

He ignored her sudden concern, forcing himself to remain focused. Even as he began to mutter in Latin, he couldn’t help but wonder if her concern was genuine. He swallowed hard and focused on the throbbing in his palm. The blood would help solve their problem and the pain would keep his mind focused.

He set the sword on the floor, and lifted his left hand over the bowl. Blood pooled in his palm, a dark red puddle, then dripped into the stone container. Purple and brown herbs mixed with red. The liquid turned brilliant blue…then shifted to green and suddenly flared back to red. Small bubbles popped, and the potion hissed, then just as suddenly, fell silent. So far, everything was right on track but he knew more was to come.
 

He waited, his heart thundering in his chest, waited to see what would happen next. One never quite knew. While he waited, his gaze flickered around the room, looking for signs of action. Nothing but stillness. He returned his attention to his palm, where blood still dripped a steady stream into the bowl.

Ashley swallowed hard, her wide gaze darting around the room. She was finally taking the situation seriously, although he found no vindication in her fear. Tucking her legs underneath her, she looked like she was ready to bolt. He couldn’t let her leave, not until he got what he needed from her.

“Shhh,” he hissed.

She frowned, glaring at him. “This is the whole craziness that goes along with closing a portal? I’ve seen more action on bingo night with Grandma.”

Cristian resisted the urge to smile. God, he admired her spirit. “You don’t have a grandmother.” Cristian’s gaze slowly traveled the room. “And tis never easy. There’ll be more.”

The minutes passed, and still nothing happened.

A soft sigh escaped her lips.

“Bloody hell, if ye can’t keep quiet, then leave,” he snapped.

She raised her brows, the stunned look on her face priceless. “Leave?”

Of course he knew she wouldn’t leave. She was too damn curious for her own good. Something rattled behind him, but Ashley didn’t seem to notice. She was too intent on telling him off.

“This is my pub. And if anyone should leave, it’s—”

Cristian grabbed her arm and jerked her forward.

“What the hell?” She pulled back, attempting to slip her hand free of his hold. A soft rush of air brushed by them.

Ashley froze. A second later a vase shattered against the wall, the pieces pattering to the ground.

Cristian smiled slow and sure. “The fun’s started. I’d take cover if I were ye.” He jumped to his feet, his sword in hand.

“Take cover?” She scrambled to her feet. “Where?”

“Anywhere.” He pushed her aside and with a growl, leapt forward. He felt it when her heart hitched. Felt her harsh breath as if she was standing beside him when she was across the room. He could ignore her as much as he could ignore himself. Damn it all, he’d need her help.

“Where is it?” he demanded, shifting his sword from hand to hand.

She held her arms wide, looking completely confused. “What?”

“The poltergeist. Where is it?” Hell, he could feel it, so close.

“Cristian, there isn’t….” Her voice trailed off as her gaze went to her bedroom windows. Her skin paled, her pupils dilated with surprise. There, in front of the windows, just barely visible, was the slightest wavering of the air. He couldn’t see the spirit, but he could imagine how it looked…long, stringy hair, white face, red eyes, ugly little bastards.

“Oh my God.” She stumbled back, hitting the wall.

“Where exactly!” he demanded.

“The…the windows!”

With a war cry, Cristian swiped his sword through the air. As the blade connected with the beast, the poltergeist became visible. Disgusting, but he’d seen worse. Still, the noxious odor could have made a lesser man puke his guts upon the floor. The demon exploded in a burst that sent Ashley stumbling back into the wall. She slid down the plaster, landing with a thud on her arse. Even though instinct told him she was fine, his heart still missed a beat.

“Are ye well?” he demanded, a little more loudly than he’d intended. Shite, his heart was racing, his worry palpable.
 

She blinked rapidly. “Yeah.” She was dazed, but still with him. Gripping the fireplace mantel, she managed to regain her feet. “Is it dead? Gone?”

The urge to go to her overwhelmed him, but he refused to lose focus. He had a job to do; he would not let his human feelings get in the way. Sword still held firmly in hand, he slowly scanned the room, looking for that telltale shimmer in the air. The poltergeist might be gone, but this was far from over.

Ashley jerked the hem of her t-shirt down, straightening the garment with flustered movements. “Okay, then how about you tell me what the hell that sword is…how…how the hell it can kill ghosts.”

But he didn’t answer, he didn’t have time to chat. Cristian paced the room, looking, watching, waiting, for he knew it would appear soon. A sudden chill crawled over his skin like the black spider making its way across the floorboards.

“Wait a minute,” Ashley whispered. “You…you’re still waiting for something else to happen, aren’t you?”

He shifted his sword from his right to his left hand, focusing on the air in the room. Had the temperature dropped? “Coome on ye bloody bastards. I know yer har.”

His accent had grown thicker, as it usually did with the excitement of a kill. Bloody hell, he could feel the very air shimmering. More than one was coming. How many could he handle at once? He spun around to face Ashley. “Where is it? I feel anoother.”

Looking rather annoyed, she started to shrug, then froze. He could see the shift wash over her, those otherworldly powers coming into play. She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t need to. Slowly, she turned her head. There, just barely visible next to her, a slight shift in the atmosphere. Hell, they were coming through faster than he could kill them.

With a war cry, Cristian sprang forward and swiped his sword over Ashley’s head. She screeched and dropped to her knees. A gust of air burst through the room, rustling the curtains and bedspread.

“Christ!” She stumbled back and fell to the ground. “You could have killed me!”

He barely bothered to glance at her. “If I wanted ye dead, ye would be by now.”

She narrowed her eyes, and glared up at him. “Okay, so
now
is it done?”

He glanced at her in disbelief. Was she joking, or was she really that ignorant? “Doone? We still havenae closed the portal.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Well, what was all this?”
 

Cristian rubbed his hand over his weary face. She hadn’t a bloody clue. “That was merely a few rogue poltergeists.”

She stared up at him with those wide, guileless eyes that made him feel guilty as hell. Fate be damned, he didn’t want to drag her into this mess. But he knew it wasn’t up to him. He could only make it right; even the playing field. He settled on the floor, his sword beside him.

“Come closer,” he demanded.

Apparently, she was too stunned to disobey and she quickly came to his side. “Sit.”

“What?”

“Now!”

Swallowing hard, she settled across from him. He was determined to ignore her. Determined to ignore the overwhelming urge to protect her from what would come. Determined to ignore the very heat he felt by merely sitting close to her. Cristian closed his eyes. “In the name of Christ, I ask ye tae be gone.”

The house trembled, the window panes rattling. “What was that?” Ashley whispered.

Cristian opened his eyes, focusing on a distant point behind her. “The lord is my shepherd…”

From the corner of his eye he noticed the chair near the fireplace tip forward, then fall back with a thud that shook the room. He didn’t even flinch. He knew there’d be more.

“Umm, Cristian, I think the chair’s moving.”

But he didn’t stop his religious chant, didn’t bother to look at her. He needed to concentrate. In most circumstances, closing a portal should have been easy, but he wasn’t merely closing a portal. She didn’t know his true intentions and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her. Females tended to overreact when blood was involved.
 

The chair flipped forward, this time landing on its side with a crash that sent the arms splintering like toothpicks across the room. Ashley sucked in her yelp. Above, the tinkle of crystal rang out. She tilted her head back. The chandelier shook, rattling.

“Uh, Cristian,” she said softly. “We should really, really move.”

“Give me yer hand.”

She held out her hand, still watching the light waver above. Completely unconcerned with his motives, which was good as he had a feeling she’d object. He lifted the sword, then hesitated for the slightest moment. What was that cringe of guilt he felt? Shite. He pushed the nauseating feeling aside. He was doing this for her own damn good. Lowering the sword, he slid the blade across her pale palm. He felt her pain sharp and intense as if he’d been cut himself.