Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey (14 page)

Taylor grins wide.  “Fromageries in Paris are known for their stinkiness.”

I want to laugh and gag all at the same time.  “I think I’ll stick to cheddar, thanks.”

Celia stares up at the name of where we’re going to stay.  “Grand Hotel Leveque.  Looks quaint.”

Taylor breaks into a stream of French that I don’t even try to interpret.  She’s in her element, flirting with a man who’s holding the hotel door open for us.

“How did you find this place?” I ask my aunt.

“I stayed here when I was in college and did my backpacking thing.  Back when their money was a franc instead of a euro.  It’s small, very European, but good for our purposes.”

I hug her to me.  “Thanks for making this happen.”

“You needed a break, sweetie.  I don’t need psychic powers to see that you kids were not only being upstaged, but minimalized.”

The lift—elevator—to the third floor barely holds two people.  Celia blushes as Jason hops in with her and wraps his arms around her so they’ll both fit.  I wait for the jealousy to kick in, but it’s not there.  I’m okay with the fact that I’m not with Jason.  And he’s being civil and keeping his distance, respecting that I’m with Patrick.

Aunt Andi’s and my room is at the front of the hotel with two small single beds.  The décor is orange and brown, and we have a tiny wrought iron balcony that looks over Rue Cler.  Celia and Taylor take the room next door and a third room across the hall is for the guys.

Jason pulls up short and looks at Patrick.  “So, we’re sharing?”

“Looks that way,” Patrick says.  “Don’t worry, I don’t snore that loudly.”

Jason dashes a glance at me.  “That’s going to be a bit awkward, don’t you think?”

“Why?” I chime in.

“Never mind,” he mumbles.

Celia steps between them.  “Get over it.  We’re only going to be sleeping and showering here.  You boys won’t have time to gossip about your love of Kendall.”

Whoa!
  Celia Nichols!  WTH!

Jason and Patrick back down from the argument and disappear into their room without another comment.  Oh, man, to be a fly on
that
wall.

“Celia!  Why did you say that?”

“
Elle est une lapalissade
,” Taylor says.

“Huh?  English, please.”

Taylor smirks at me.  “She’s being honest.”

“About what?”

“What?” Celia asks incredulously.  “Like we don’t all know what’s going on here, Kendall.”

Embarrassed beyond belief, I feel my face heat like a homecoming bonfire.  Celia flattens her lips and places her hands on her hips.  “Every guy on this trip is drooling over you, Kendall.  You’ve got Patrick, that’s true, but why do you think Jason is here, as well?”

“To protect Taylor.”

“That’s just an excuse,” Taylor says.  “He’s here to be near you.”

He did admit his feelings to me back in London, but I hadn’t shared that little tidbit with anyone.  I guess my friends are psychic, as well.

“Christian’s got his sights on you, as well.”  Celia rocks back and forth on her feet.  She’s been unusually reserved so far on the trip, but she has something to say.

I click my tongue.  “Christian’s a troublemaker.  And a real dick.”

Celia shrugs.  “Maybe.  Still….”

I sigh hard.  “Stop it!  I don’t want any of this.  I just want to be with Patrick.  He’s the only one.”

Celia hangs her head and then Taylor takes my hand gently in hers, very motherly, almost.  “Then you need to tell it to Jason straight up.  Once and for all.”

I swallow hard.  “Yeah, I guess I do.”

 *~*~*

A little while later, I find Jason out on Rue Cler in front of the flower shop.  Or Cler Fleurs, as it’s called in French.  He’s picking through pails of yellow daisies, white roses, and pink tulips that line the outside of the storefront stacked three deep.  The sweet aromas of the many blossoms reach out and tickle my nose as I approach closer.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask, surprising him.

“Hey, Kendall,” he says.  “I was just….”

“Getting me flowers,” I say, finishing his thought that I can clearly read.

“Yeah, well, you know.  I thought it would be a nice gesture and all.”

I walk about to his left and lightly pass my hand over a bundle of fresh lavender.  It’s almost a sweet, smoky smell, yet at the same time, it reminds me of a birthday cake my Grandma Ethel made for me when I was nine years old when she steeped dried lavender into a tea and used it in the icing.

“The stuff grows crazy in the south of France,” I say, not knowing where the information suddenly came from.  That’s my brain, though.  Flashes of knowledge spring up at me with little or no warning.

“In Marseilles,” Jason says, shrugging.  “I heard Taylor talking about it.  It’s supposed to help you sleep or something like that.”

I haven’t actually had a good night’s rest since the whole Dojo Disturbance started.  Maybe a sprig or two of this stuff would do me some good.

I reach to pluck a bundle and my fingers bump into Jason’s, going for the same bunch.  I try to pull back, but he snags my hand in his.  His beautiful blue eyes darken slightly as he begs me with them, urging me to take him back.

“I can’t, Jason,” I say, barely above a whisper.

A passing bicyclists whizzes to close to us and I jump a bit.  Jason instinctively wraps his arm around me.  I enjoy the protection, though only momentarily.  I’ve moved past needing him to be my savior, guardian, and knight in shining armor.  Nowadays, I save myself.

“Kendall….”

I shake my head and step away from his touch.  “I’ll always care about you, Jason.  Always.  You’ll be my first love, like, for the rest of my life.  No one can take that away from us.  But things happened.  You left.  I changed.  You withdrew.  I found someone else.  I never meant to hurt you or lead you to believe we still had a chance.”  I take in a deep, deep breath for courage.  “I’m in love with Patrick.  Like, totally and completely.”

“I know,” he says.

“You’re a great guy, Jason.  You won’t have trouble finding someone else.”

He snickers at me.  “You’re a tough act to follow.”

I scrunch up my face.  “Isn’t that a line from
Superman 2?
”

Jason tosses his head back and laughs.  “I can’t get anything past you.”

“I don’t know why you’d try.”

He gathers me to him again for a bear hug.  This time, there’s nothing romantic or wanting about it at all.  Instead, it’s an embrace between friends.  Two people who’ll always be there for each other.

Jason digs into his pocket and pulls out a few euro coins.  He goes over and pays the shop lady and then takes a small bunch of the lavender and hands it over to me.

“You didn’t have to….”

“I wanted to,” he says.  “You need your sleep, Kendall.  We’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of us with this piece of work, Christian Campbell.  We’re going to need you in tip top shape.”

I take the flowers and press them to my nose.  “Thanks, Jase.”

He’s right.  The battle has yet to begin.

Remarkably, I have one of the best nights of sleep that I’ve had in a long time.  Aunt Andi and I steeped some of the fragrant lavender in a tea for me that I drank with a little sugar.  Then, I placed some of the stems under my pillow and did some deep breathing to try and relax and try to wipe my obsessive thoughts of Christian Campbell out of my mind.  Next thing I knew, the alarm was going off and the sun was peeking through the sheer curtains of our room.

I stretch my arms over my head and wiggle my feet underneath the covers.  Slowly, I withdraw from the sheets and pad over to the window.  I swing open the shutters and take in the dewy freshness of the early morning.  A French flag flaps in the breeze just above my balcony, reminding me of where I am—so far away from home.  Pigeons flap around on the adjacent roof tops and the market street below begins to come alive with merchants opening up for another day of business.

And today, I’m not a psychic kid or part of Christian Campbell’s entourage.  Today, I’m just…
moi.

“How are you feeling?” Aunt Andi asks from underneath the mound of pillows on her bed.

“I’m… great,” I say with confidence.  “Nothing like a fourteen-hour low grade coma.”

She laughs.  “You missed out on a fun evening, but rest was the most important thing for you.”

I plop down on the end of her bed and tuck my feet up underneath me.  “What did you guys do?”

“We took a bateaux down the Seine.”

“A bateaux?  What’s that?”

“One of those long, glass boats that float down the river,” my aunt explains.  “We started at the Eiffel Tower and cruised all the way down to Notre Dame.  It was breathtaking.”

I bite my lip at bit at missing out on the touristy stuff.

“Taylor couldn’t stop taking pictures of everything we saw along the way.  That girl has an amazing eye,” Andi says.  “Some of her shots last night were gorgeous.  I could do a whole display in my gallery based on her talent.”

“That would be cool.”

Andi pulls herself up out of bed.  “In fact, I have a meeting with a gallery today to try and get one of their exhibits over to St. Louis.  Everyone was talking about doing the tourist thing today if you’re up to it.”

Exhilaration races through my body.  “Oh, hell yeah!”  I’m in Paris and I want to see
everything
.  No regrets.  No looking back in ten years wishing I’d done this, that, or the other thing.

I shower, dress, and head downstairs to the restaurant where my friends are.  Taylor is sipping a café and studying a Paris Metro map.  Celia and Jason have their heads bent together talking about a new piece of ghost hunting equipment she ordered from DigitalDowsing.com.  I don’t want to talk shop right now.  I want to be immersed in everything that Paris has to offer.

A warm hand slides across my waist and I jump a bit at the contact.

“Hey, babe,” Patrick says to me softly.  Ahh, good.  He’s not still mad at me.  “I missed you last night.”

“Sorry,” I say.  “I had to have a major system shut down.  I’m good now, though.”

His smile is heartwarming as it spreads across his face.  “Taylor and I planned out the whole day.  All you need is a Metro pass.”

I return his excitement with a grin of my own.  “Then what are we waiting for?”

 *~*~*

I’ve ridden the L in Chicago, the Tube in London, and MARTA in Atlanta, but they’re not anything like the Paris Metro.  Each station is unique and a work of art in and of itself.  Street performers entertain in the tunnels and entrances, playing beautiful music to entertain passersby.  I sense a lot of transient souls surrounding us in the underground; however, I shut my eyes to them.  Now’s not the time to try and help the spirits of Paris.  I’m just an American teenager with her friends, enjoying all that the city has to offer.

We leave our Metro station, Ecole Militaire, and enjoy pretty much every highlight of Paris.  We spend several hours in the Louvre—I could stay there a year alone—marveling at the massive portraits, statues, and centuries old artwork.  I’ll admit the wait in line to see the Mona Lisa was a bit disappointing.  She’s not as big as I’d hoped.  The Venus de Milo… wow!  That’s a different story.  I gave into the eyes of the statue, nearly feeling the life of the artist as he carved her out.  In my mind’s eye, I see a time when she actually had arms: her right one across her torso and her left one holding up the modest cloth in front of her.

As we exit the famed museum, Patrick takes my hand and leads me on a leisurely walk through the Jardin de Tulieres.  There, the flowers bloom in sweet array around us, providing a bouquet of color for our jaunt.  A mime dressed as Charlie Chaplin stands nearby entertaining visitors.  I laugh when Celia and Jason join him by mimicking the famous silent star’s Little Tramp walk.  Those two!  Nice to see Jason enjoying himself and not being so pensive.

The rest of our morning consists of a climb to the top of the Arc de Triumph.  I totally block out the residual memories of Hitler and the German army standing under the arc, proclaiming victory in Paris.  Squeezing my eyes shut, I don’t actually believe I see the tiny dictator.  Rather, it’s just recorded memories of the event that are engrained in the fabric of the city.  During this, I can’t help but feel like I’m being watched… monitored, almost.  I flip my head around, looking for Anona.  Then again, she told me she couldn’t come this far with me.  Who knew ghosts had barriers?

My mind wanders to Princess Di.  Has she followed me over the English Channel?  I can’t sense her near like I did when I was in London.  What I can pick up, though, is that Oliver, Christian, and Jayne are across the river at a private gallery reading.  Clearly, I can visualize Christian and his Ouija board sitting in front of a crowd of wide-eyed French people who’ve paid to see if the psychic can connect with their lost relatives.  There’s Jayne, still glued to Christian’s side.  And Oliver’s beaming pride in the front row as the audience claps along with Christian’s revelations.

A tender hand on my shoulder knocks me back to where I am with my group.  Celia’s eyes gentle toward mine.  “You okay, Kendall?  I asked if you wanted to go over to Notre Dame and you didn’t answer.”

“Sorry, I was having a vision.”

She winces.  “Hmm, I don’t need to have your powers to know that Christian’s still up to his same old crap.  Only a new audiences.”

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here,” I state.

Celia’s mouth falls open and she cracks up.  “Oh, not you did’unt!  Girlfriend just threw down
The Tempest
gauntlet!  Touché, my friend, touché.”

I love tweaking Celia with Shakespeare and it works to lighten the mood.

“So, whattaya say we go view Paris from a higher vantage point,” she says.

Minus a few euros later and a long wait in line, we make the climb to the top of Notre Dame for an up-close and personal visit with the ancient gargoyles that hang from the building, as well as the bell tower made famous in
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
.  After that, we head over to the village of Montmartre and check out La Basilique du Sacre Coeur.  I giggle at myself walking through these streets, imagining that I’m Satine from the
Moulin Rouge
walking along with Patrick, the guy I love, hand in hand—only without the whole dying of consumption and bursting into song thing.