Haunting Me (An Angel Falls Book 3) Read online

  Grandma stares at Marcus sitting in the desk chair and says, “There is a heavy spirit in this room.”

  She doesn’t see Marcus the way Chris and I do, but she knows he’s there. Her soulful eyes are filled with powerful intention and determination.

  “Yes, Mrs. Crowson. It will not harm us, but I will ask it to leave.”

  I shrink back into the corner and wait with baited breath. Will Chris expose me? Grandma and Mom don’t know I see spirits as clearly as I see anyone else. They also don’t know who Marcus is, or why he’s here.

  “You are not welcome here. Leave this place,” Chris says to Marcus.

  I notice he doesn’t call him The Shadow of Creator. It’s the title he likes to use for Nathaniel. I have to think this is for Grandma and Mom’s benefit, but I don’t know for sure. Mothers never need to know death is coming for their child.

  I catch Chris’s knowing glance and look quickly over at my brother. He’s red-eyed and oozing misery, but he’s awake.

  Marcus rubs his nose with the back of his hand, flexing and stretching the skin as if the smoke in the room is irritating him. He says to me, “Harmony says you opened the portal. She removed the entities, but other damaged spirits can enter your home. She also recommends you be the one to close it.” He shifts his attention to Chris. “For the sake of fixing the gateway inside Jules’s bedroom, I’ll step on outside. I’ll be close to hand if you need me.”

  With a last twitch of his nose, Marcus disappears from the chair. I let out a relieved breath.

  “It is gone,” Chris says.

  “I felt the presence leave,” Grandma says.

  “He doesn’t like the smell in here,” I say.

  Grandma’s gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, turns to me.

  “Just a hunch,” I say with a shrug.

  She gives me an all-knowing-Grandma-look and says, “The smoke from these plants and the purity of the oils are too powerful. Spirits will be chased away.”

  “It didn’t leave until Chris asked it to,” I point out, trying to understand why the smudging works at all.

  “Different type of spirit,” Chris says.

  Mom’s shoulders scrunch up around her ears as if our conversation is making her try to shrink inside herself. “Whatever it is, I’m glad it left,” she says.

  Moving out of the corner, I place my hand on her back and rub little circles like she does when Jared or I get sick. Her shoulders lower and she looks over at me with a tired but appreciative smile.

  “Mrs. Diane,” Chris says to my mom. “Can you please start a fire in your fireplace?”

  “Of course,” she says.

  “Don’t forget to open the flue,” Jared mumbles.

  We rarely use the fireplace. Jared must be remembering the last time we wanted a real fire. No one thought to open up the flue and we just about smoked ourselves out of the house.

  Chris says, “An open flame will be the most effective for the clearing and closing.”

  “Mrs. Crowson, can you collect kindling wood from under the sacred tree at the back of the property.”

  He’s referring to the big ponderosa in the back yard that has been struck by lightning. The tree is still alive even though there is a slashing burn scar running down the length of the trunk.

  “Please leave an offering. Then start all the fires with the sacred wood.”

  Grandma rises from the bed. “Will blessed tobacco be an appropriate gift?”

  “It is,” Chris confirms.

  “Great. I brought some with me,” she says.

  Mom walks out and Grandma starts to follow, but she hesitates in front of me. She smiles, but it is not a smile I would call happy. It’s tender and somewhat distressing. She places her warm palm against my cheek and I look into her deep brown eyes. They’re the same color as Jared’s, and my dad’s.

  “Listen to Chris, Julie dear. He is good at what he does. He’ll keep us all safe.” She glances over at Jared and back to me. “I love you both with all my heart.” She leans in and kisses my cheek. “Oh, I nearly forgot.”

  She reaches into the pocket of her skirt and pulls out her medicine bag necklace and places it over my head. I lay my fingertips on the beaded pouch. It’s alive and humming against my shirt. No one would actually think it’s alive, but I feel my grandma in it, and I feel the warning it is projecting about the house around me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  She places her fingers over mine. “Every little bit helps.”

  She leaves Jared’s room and I feel better. I also get the distinct impression Grandma knows more about what is going on with Jared and I than I had realized. My heart squeezes a little, but I don’t have time to dwell on the feeling.

  Chris says, “Jared, please rise. Because you are ill, you may stay in the house during our protection ceremony. You may also come outside if you are able.”

  Jared pries himself up. His fever is down, but he hasn’t been able to keep any food in his stomach.

  “I think Jared should stay in bed if he can.”

  “I agree. If he recovers from this, he will need as much rest as possible.”

  I flinch at Chris’s words — if he recovers.

  Jared can barely focus on us, but manages to say, “I’ll be recording with the band by tomorrow.”

  “I am glad you are making plans,” Chris says. “But for right now, I need you to place your feet on the floor. You do not have to stand up for this, just turn around. I will cleanse your spirit and protect you so you will be unrecognizable to the evil ones as we complete the rituals outside.”

  Jared shifts on the bed. “I’m missing all the fun, aren’t I?” he says, making light of the situation.

  He sounds terrible, and I can tell it’s hard for him to speak because he’s so sick.

  “Your sister keeps things interesting around here,” Chris says as he waves his enormous feather over the smudge pot. The glowing embers flare with renewed vitality and the sacred smoke rises with a healthy drive to fill the room.

  I shake my head with disapproval at Chris’s choice of words.

  “Good timing, Jules. You could have at least waited so I could see the ghosts,” Jared says.

  “I will gladly trade you. I’ll take your flu and you can have demons, soul possession, and ghosts talking to you in the middle of the night. I’ll even take the Angel of Death following me around twenty-four seven.”

  “You got it,” Jared mumbles with a double click of the tongue and a wink.

  “Focus,” Chris says to us both.

  Chris directs the smoke to encircle Jared from head to toes and back up again. “Clear your mind and breathe it in,” he says.

  My mind flitters back to what I just said. Trading places with Jared. The thought lodges itself in the forefront of my mind. The book. I had written a short passage in my notebook about the Guardian’s back being turned. What did that mean? Surely Marcus is the guardian around here. Could Jared’s soul be replaced by someone else’s? Who would do it? Me? Would I really switch places with Jared if it were possible? Would I be able to evade Marcus? Jared has been doing it. I need to read over my notes.

  Chris breaks my chain of thought as he hands me the smudge pot.

  “Keep this burning.”

  He opens his medicine bundle and lays out five stones. He places the large feather over the top of the stones and begins praying again, always acknowledging the four directions, the spirit guides, and the ancestors. He turns back to Jared.

  “Open your mouth.”

  Chris sprinkles the same golden colored powder I watched him use outside into Jared’s mouth and on top of his head. He removes a small medicine bag from the pocket of his vest and places the leather cord around Jared’s head.

  “Lie back down.”

  Jared reclines back. His tired eyes meet mine, and he smiles slightly before he closes his eyes as if he’s at perfect peace. Chris takes the smudge pot from me and waves more smoke over Jared all the time repeating a pra
yer for protection. He stops at the foot of the bed and hands the pot back to me. Lastly, Chris leaves a tiny amount of the yellow powder on Jared’s feet.

  “You are protected, gifted son of Wes Crowson. Keep your mind easy until we are finished.”

  Jared’s eyelids flicker and open a crack. “You got it.”

  “Come outside, Juliana. It’s your turn.”

  Chris observes the sky. High clouds have moved in, shielding our view of the moon and blanketing the stars. The air tingles with a current that wasn’t here two hours earlier. I hear the first rumble of thunder from far off announcing the arrival of the Thunder Beings. Chris’s sky friends have apparently agreed to join us. He seems satisfied and stops looking up. Four small fires mark the corners of our property and smoke rises from the chimney, making it our fifth fire. Each of the corner fires is burning on top of what Chris buried in the yard earlier. There are five fires and five of us. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Nothing Chris does is by chance.

  Marcus watches us closely from my next door neighbor’s porch swing. He’s giving Chris a noticeable amount of space. Which is just fine with me. As Marcus sways back and forth, I wonder if the neighbor will think it’s the sudden peculiar wind making the swing move.

  Grandma is stationed at the fire on one back corner and Mom has watch over the other. Chris and I keep the two at the front of the house from either burning out, or getting out of control. Mom had stoked the fire in the fireplace inside and said it would burn for a couple hours before needing another log.

  “You cannot let the fires burn out until I say so. I will be working right here,” he says standing in the center of my front yard facing the front door. His long spear is leaning against an aspen tree and his medicine bundle is on the ground next to it. The air smells of camp smoke and cool summer nights. I look up and down the street. The houses aren’t close together, but it’s still easy to see a fire in the yard. I can only hope no one calls the fire department on us.

  “Okay,” I agree, feeling uneasy about the next steps.

  “Most of what we need tonight is already done, Juliana. Now we call the ancestors to come and assist and wait for the Sky Beings. All your grandmother and mother must do is hold the back line and let nothing cross. If they keep the fires burning we should be good to go.”

  “Marcus said I should close the portal.”

  “I heard him,” Chris states. After a second of uncomfortable silence he says, “You are capable, Juliana, but I am going to do this the way I know how. If Spirit guides me to include you, I will.”

  “Whatever you say, chief.”

  My words elicit the classic Chris frown, but I think he secretly likes it when I call him chief.

  “We begin. I need space.”

  I take a few steps back and look to make sure my two fires are still burning safely. The last thing I need is to burn down the house. As if Chris has exact perfect timing, the last of the evening light disappears and leaves my neighborhood in darkness. A breeze picks up and I rush over to the fire on my right and stamp out a straying spark. I brush away even more of the pine needles and dead aspen leaves from around the circle of fire, even though I’ve already done it twice. Looking down the property line I see a shadow of Grandma standing next to her glowing orange flames. The sacred pine in the back yard looms over her like a protector. I’m glad it’s there. The tree has been something permanent and familiar throughout my nineteen and a half years.

  I turn my attention back to Chris and see him holding the spear, two handed, with the spear tip pointing down. One of his leather bags hangs on the end. He’s praying furiously, first in his native language, and then in English. As unobtrusively as possible I feed the fire a couple of small branches and walk over to the other fire I’m responsible for, all the while listening to Chris’s every word.

  “All of my ancestors! Come now to this dwelling place! Bearer of water, bringer of wind, Thunder Gods, come and show yourself! We ask for your protection!”

  Chris raises his spear and shakes it over his head. The night sky to the west answers with flashes of lightning deep within the clouds. I hold my breath and count the seconds until the thunder follows. Almost five seconds pass before I hear the rolling booms.

  I’m so fixed on the sky I miss part of what Chris says next. The crack of a pine log splitting as moisture meets the heat of the fire makes me jump. I stare at the wavering orange and yellow flames and shiver instead of feeling its warmth. A twist in the breeze sends the smoke into my face and I turn my head while stepping away, but the smoke follows me, surrounding me and making my eyes burn. I blink rapidly and grab my hair, gathering it in an attempt to keep it out of my face in the sudden erratic wind.

  “Guardians of the North, you are needed here. Guardians of the South, you are needed here. Guardians of the East, you are needed here. Guardians of the West, you are needed here.”

  As the smoke shifts directions again I see Chris’s helpers. They’re the same ones I saw when he exorcised me. Four shamans from another time, dressed in full regalia, and intimidating enough for me to slap a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming out in surprise. They stand in a half circle behind Chris watching him with their weathered and painted faces. I’m not really scared of these guys. I know they assist Chris with his work. It’s just I wasn’t expecting to see them so suddenly. I glance over at the other fire and gasp. The shamans aren’t the only ones who have shown up.

  An entire row of Native Americans form a line across the front of our property. They look like they’re from different periods of time. Some are dressed in buckskin clothing and others in more modern clothes.

  “You are not welcome here!” Chris yells, causing me to turn back around. His spear is raised over his head. The leather bag tied onto the spear shaft dangles above his head. He’s facing my house, not the line of Natives behind him.

  “We are more powerful than you! You do not belong in this place!”

  Lightning scatters across the sky in mad flashes. One of my fires seems too low. I rush over to it, ignoring the line of spirits at the edge of my yard. In the last few seconds, they seem to have doubled in number. I grab a stick of wood and add it to the coals, but I may have waited a little too long. I blow into the embers and wait for the new split of pine to catch. A tiny yellow flame ignites and reaches toward the sky.

  “You must leave this dwelling now!” Chris roars.

  With his ferocity, I look over in time to see him drive the spear two-handed deep into the earth.

  Holy frijoles! The ground shakes beneath my feet and I almost fall into the fire. The four spirit shamans float away from Chris in four different directions. Each one moves toward a different fire. I scoot out of the way as one of the men comes close to me. Chris’s head hangs down to his chest and he’s perfectly still as he holds the spear shaft.

  “Juliana, come here.”

  Ripples of trepidation scurry down my spine, but I make my body respond.

  “Place your hands over mine,” he says.

  Chris’s voice is low and eerily calm. I feel the blood inside my body drain to my feet. It takes every ounce of my willpower to do as he says.

  His hands are surprisingly warm. Too warm. As soon as I have both of my hands over his, it feels like a fire flashing through my veins. Our combined power moves through us, down the shaft of the spear, and into the ground.

  In my mind, I see the energy moving through the earth toward my house. When it hits the foundation, it spreads like an electrical flash. The flames in the fireplace surge skyward bursting blue and crimson like the fire has become an outlet for our power. The energy races up to my bedroom and attacks the open portal in the ceiling of my closet.

  An unexpected disruption happens behind me. It feels like someone tapping the top of my shoulder. I look because I’m unable to dismiss it. Standing slightly forward from the spirits protecting the property line is my dad. He’s half-hidden in shadows from the trees and only lit by the flickering glow o
f the campfires, but it’s definitely him. He looks exactly like the last time I saw him alive. Blue jeans and a flannel shirt. His eyes are wide, dark, and knowing just like Grandma’s. He’s so intent on me and me on him, that I start to let go of Chris’s hands.

  Dad shakes his head at the exact same time Chris says, “You must focus now. Drive it out, Juliana, and close the portal.”

  Startled, I grip the spear below Chris’s hands, hanging on like my life depends on it. The images of my room come back immediately. The swirling gateway is closing, but it’s lowering like a funnel cloud into my bedroom. I force my will to strengthen and the funnel of black mass recedes, sucking into itself and disappearing. I lean into the spear and feel Chris shift with me as we deepen our focus.

  Holy cow, holy crap, holy moly! My mind chants.

  “We’re almost there. Force it to shut, Juliana,” Chris growls, low and measured next to my ear.

  Clearing my mind, I drive all of my energy toward the house and mentally say what Chris had said. Leave my dwelling now! And for extra protection I add, the spirit world is not allowed to enter here! I repeat the command over and over until I feel and hear the shift through the earth, the house, the sky, and inside my bones. The chimney seems to quake. A loud crack makes me look up at the roof. Sparks are shooting out of the chimney. I think I see the black funnel from my bedroom fly out of the chimney with the shower of embers and disappear into the clouds. The sparks suddenly change to flames and I shriek, let go of the spear, and back away from Chris to stare at the roof in stunned disbelief. It dawns on me the chimney is on fire. Chris hangs onto his spear as if he’s in a trance and doesn’t even notice the sparks or the flames.

  The dry lightning is closer now and a bolt appears to come down somewhere in the woods directly behind my house. As the concussion of thunder hits, my heart decides it doesn’t want to reside inside my body any longer. I try to breathe through the shock, but I can’t catch my breath. The next bolt hits even closer. The explosion lights everything and I see all the spirits guarding my house with perfect clarity, their faces flickering in the brilliant white light of the strike. That’s two, my brain tells me. Anything that has any significance at all comes in threes.