Oakland Cemetery
Elise Hester Johnson had no idea that a trip to the cemetery would change her life forever. Her blocking spell kept the ghosts at bay while she and her sisters passed through the old section of Oakland Cemetery. But the spirits’ suffering still pierced her heart.
“Come on, Rona. I told y’all I can’t be here long.” Elise’s Southern accent had returned with a vengeance.
Rona Wainwright was a genius, and great at many things, but sensing ghosts and energy wasn’t one of them. In her defense, the profuse blooms covering the centuries-old graves were captivating. Reds, yellows, purples, and blues spilled from the low walls outlining the narrow lanes. She glanced up from the flowers.
“Sorry. I can’t help it.” Elise’s new-found sister peered over her spectacles with a bemused grin. “I had forgotten how beautiful it is here.” A Master Gardener, Rona could rattle off the name of every plant in the nearly 50-acre park. If they weren’t in a cemetery, Elise might be tempted to ask.
Instead, she peered nervously over Rona’s shoulder at a rogue wraith. It had followed them since they entered the gate. Elise thought she’d exorcised the damn thing, but there it was, clothing suggesting a more recent period than most buried here. Grabbing Rona’s hand, Elise dragged her away from the fragrant lavender.
By the time they caught up with Honey, Elise was grateful for the shade. She rested under the emerald canopy, fanning the front of her shirt, and wished she’d brought water. Atlanta’s heat and humidity were palpable. Of course, summer in Gloucestershire could be just as steamy.
Honey lifted the heavy blond hair from her neck and poked it beneath the wide-brimmed yellow hat. “I didn’t know famous people were buried here.” She had gone ahead at her hitchhiker’s urging. “Back there, I saw Margaret Mitchell, Kenny Rodgers, and the man Austell was named for.”
“This is the Druid section,” Alexis added through Honey’s lips. It was strange hearing her triplet’s voice coming from a thirty-something blonde bombshell, even though Elise had her own hitchhiker and knew exactly how it worked.
They gawked at the marble dragon atop the wall, then sauntered down the lane, side-by-side.
Stopping to squint at a marker faded by time and weather, Elise reminded them, “Hope said to look for the white Celtic cross. The plot should be planted with flowering quince.”
“More like overgrown with it.”
Alexis had swiveled Honey to the right, where a black, hip-high wrought iron fence barely contained woody quince shrubs. A pair of pink Georgia marble vaults peeked from beneath the bramble, and salmon-red blooms past their prime lent the deadly tangle a festive air.
A noisy Killdeer zoomed past Honey, screeching to her babies.
“Shit!” the blonde squealed, diving to the pavement. With a sheepish grin, she straightened then ducked again when the fledglings flit past.
Laughing at Honey’s antics, Rona and Elise joined her to stare at the impassable thicket below the imposing statue.
“Now what?” Alexis wondered. “Of course, we’re all bare-armed.”
“Yeah, didn’t think of that,” Elise sighed. “Hope said the gems were secreted in the false bottom of an urn. And the urn is beneath that cross.”
“Which is buried under all that,” Rona moaned. “How are we going to get to it? I know from experience quince thorns are gnarly. I don’t fancy being ripped to shreds.”
Honey had edged away and circled to the plot behind the cross. “Maybe we could reach it from here,” she called.
Hurrying to join her, the women tiptoed around a family of Nelsons whose descendants mowed the grass and kept the shrubs neatly trimmed. The ghost whooshed past Rona, who didn’t notice, and settled atop the Celtic cross, one knee over the other, eyes on Elise.
She looked away.
“This feels very wrong,” Rona muttered.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Elise agreed, ignoring the wraith. “But I don’t think we can reach it from here either.”
“Well, hell,” Alexis grumbled. “There has to be a way.” She walked Honey along the boundary, peering into the dense thicket. “I can just make out the back of the cross. At least, I think that’s what it is.” She squatted, then went down on her knees to poke an arm through the greenery.
“I can’t reach it.” Backing out, Honey brushed the smut from her pants. “Too bad we don’t have lopping shears.”
“Let me look.” Rona shouldered her aside.
Carefully peeling the thorny branches apart, Rona inched into the thicket on her hands and knees. “Oh, ow, ow-y!” she yelped, then, “ooo, OWW, it bit me!”
“Something bit you?” Elise squatted, preparing to rescue her sister.
“Yeah. The quince.”
“Oh. Well, do you see the urn?”
“No, but the cross is here. Hold on.” Twigs snapped, and swear words filtered from the bushes, followed by a loud “OUCH!”
“What is it?” Elise called. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I found the urn. Hang on.” More twigs crackled.
A welcome breeze lifted Elise’s hair from her sweaty neck and rustled a nearby magnolia’s thick leaves. She closed her eyes to savor the brief symphony of one of the few tree species she remembered from druid school.
“Someone’s coming,” Honey hissed, and they stood still, heads down until the couple passed.
“Okay, they’re gone. You alright in there, Rona?”
When no answer came, Elise hissed, “Rona?” and was greeted by the sight of her dark crown emerging from the greenery.
“I found the urn and the fake bottom, but there’s nothing in it. Assuming that was the right urn.”
“Was there more than one?”
“Nope. Not that I could feel.” She extended arms covered in angry scratches. Drops of blood oozed from the deeper ones.
Elise tutted and handed her a tissue from her pocket.
“You try, Elise,” Alexis urged. “I bet you can sense something.”
“Yeah, no.” Elise had forgotten how bossy Alexis was. “I see dead people. Not missing gemstones.” But she could also be persuasive.
“Won’t you at least try?”
Not sure whether the plea had come from Alexis or Honey, it was so disarming, Elise couldn’t say no. Eyeing the welts on Rona’s arms, she sighed heavily. Then, glaring at Alexis, she crouched in front of the bushes. Rona squeezed her shoulder and grinned like she was having the time of her life.
“It’s to your left. I made a path for you.”
Smiling back, Elise wrinkled her nose at Alexis’s smirk. Then, gingerly pulling the tangle apart, she stuck her shoulders inside, clenched her teeth, and tried to remain stoic as thorns tore at her arms and cheek.
“Shit!” she shrieked, only a few feet in. “Why didn’t I wear long sleeves?”
“’Cause it’s hotter ’n Hades, goofy,” Honey snickered.
Spying the urn, Elise bit back the snide retort on the tip of her tongue and inched toward it. At the base of the cross, the brush was trampled where Rona had rested. Elise crept to it and carefully lowered her body, wincing when pain shot through her hip.
“Ouch!” Ham bawled, and Elise nearly jumped from her skin. “Get this damn thing fixed. You’re retired now, so no more excuses.”
“Where the hell have you been?” she growled at her hitchhiker. “I’ve been calling you.”
“In the Otherworld, scouting for news about Morgan. We promised Emily we’d find my killer, remember? What are you doing?” He swiveled her head to look around. “And in a cemetery, of all places?”
Her body shivered.
“Why, Ham, are you afraid of spirits?”
“Afraid? No. But you know I find them creepy. Especially the ghouls. Are you being spiteful because I ghosted you?”
She could feel his mirth at making a funny mingled with her own unsettled chills. “Don’t say that here.” She peered up at the top of the cross.
The wraith was still there, watching intently. Hamilton shivered again.
“You can see him, can’t you?”
“Yes, and I think he can see me too. I don’t like this, Elise. Get me out of here.”
She ran her fingers along the bottom of the urn. “I can’t yet. Don’t be a wuss.” Then, she called to Rona, “I don’t see or feel anything. Where is the opening?”
“On the back of the urn. Against the cross.”
Elise scooted closer, and a thorn jammed into her knee. She bit her lip, wiggled the thorn out, and pressed her thumb against the hole to stop the bleeding. Then, taking a centering breath, she ran her fingers around the urn with her other hand, and one edge wobbled. Pushing against it, she felt the bottom spring open.
“Bingo.”
“What?” It was Rona.
“I found it. And you’re right, there’s nothing in here.”
“Do you sense anything?” That was Alexis.
Doing her best to avoid the thorns, Elise hushed Ham’s attempt to say something, settled on her good hip, and peered into the opening. Then, closing her eyes, she felt out with her senses.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s auntie.”
“What? What is it?” Alexis hissed.
“Shhh.”
They weren’t there, but Elise could see the gems in her mind’s eye. She followed the magical thread as she had taught her goddaughter, Cybele, and surprise, surprise, it led to Morgan Foster, the former Head of Security for the Awen Order. Securing the hinged drawer, Elise turned around carefully and crawled out, sporting her own scratches.
Honey helped her stand.
“What did you find?” Alexis demanded through Honey’s somehow still-tinted lips.
“Nothing. Or, no gems. Morgan took them.”
Alexis stroked her hostess’s chin. “That makes sense. The emerald was set in Aóme. Or, was. Then, Emily and Mitch found the ruby and sapphire in a pendant and brooch. I bet the diamond is set in a piece of jewelry, too.”
“And, Morgan has it,” Rona huffed.
“Yep. She had a fit when Mitch pulled the brooch from his pocket. Then she completely lost it when he wouldn’t give it to her. That’s why she sent him to the frozen fields.”
A chill raced down Elise’s back. She looked around. The same ghost hovered nearby, half-hidden between the limbs of the sweeping magnolia.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Hopping from the low concrete wall, Elise bolted toward the east gate. The others jogged behind her and were huffing and schvitzing by the time they reached Memorial Drive. They'd obviously have to get into shape if they wanted to be private eyes.
Honey pointed to a restaurant across the street. “I need a drink. How ‘bout y’all?”
“Hell, yeah.” Maybe it would dispel the ick that clung to Elise. Plus, get rid of the haint.
The light changed, and they crossed to enter the boisterous establishment. Elise held the door and searched for the ghost. It hovered at the edge of the cemetery gazing in their direction. But it had not followed. Relieved, Elise hurried after her new sisters.
NO GHOSTS ALLOWED, a prominent sign declared.
“Hey, ‘Leesy!” Alexis crowed, hiking her thumb at it and pretend-swiping her brow.
“Phew, indeed!” Elise belly laughed, surprising herself. When was the last time she had done that?
Then, in the irritating way she’d had when they were little, Alexis snapped her fingers in front of Elise’s nose. “Earth to ‘Lees—WHOA!” Elise had instinctively reached for her sidearm, and Honey leapt backward, hands high in surrender.
Luckily, Elise came up empty. Her gun was locked in a safe at Wren’s Roost, where she and Ham were staying.
“How about here?” the hostess trilled just then.
“Perfect.” When Rona grinned and slid into the booth near the corner, Elise marveled. Despite having just found out her wealthy husband was screwing an intern and wanted a divorce, Rona sat there glowing and ordering drinks.
“We’re celebrating. Bring us a pitcher of margaritas with frosted glasses and salted rims.” It was a command, not a request. But a very respectful, well-mannered one. Elise grinned.
“Works for me.”
Regarding Rona with new appreciation, she slid in beside her and took the menu the hostess offered. Honey smirked and claimed the bench across from them, bouncing tattooed eyebrows up and down.
While the young girl recited the day’s specials, Elise and Rona struggled not to laugh at Honey’s silly facial expressions. But when the hostess finally left to turn in their drink order, all three grown-ass women dissolved into snickers, giggles, and snorts.
La Mañana Rosa
The ladies disappeared inside the restaurant Sean O’Leary was surveilling. He wrung useless ethereal hands and hovered above the fence, reluctant to enter the establishment. Not because La Mañana Rosa was a front for the Mexican cartel. But ghosts weren’t allowed. Sean, in particular.
And the manager on duty had the sight.
Sean had gotten himself killed over an investigation. Why? Because he refused to turn a blind eye after the muckety-mucks slammed the door on his case. Now, two years later, people were still disappearing off the street at an alarming rate.
Sean had recognized two of the women. They were druids, and one was his sort-of aunt. The one his Da had told him was a badass. Sean could tell from her behavior in the cemetery that she could see him. If he could talk her into helping him, they could finally bring the shitshow crashing down.
But that meant the erstwhile GBI agent had to suck it up and go inside. He bounced up and down above the iron fence, and growled so loud in frustration that the ghosts in the old section heard and took up the ululation.
With their ghoulish accompaniment, Sean crossed over traffic and squeezed through the door before it closed behind a group of girls too young to be drinking. Balking at the noise and gaggle of flesh, he carefully avoided Emilio to thread through the small dining rooms.
In one, he stopped cold. Making sure Emilio wasn’t near, he studied the man sitting at the bar nonchalantly nursing a longneck beer. Some called him The Bogeyman. But besides Sean, he had been the most vocal lawman to push for continuing the investigation. Sean soon figured out Bogey was casing the joint. And that meant he hadn’t given up either. Things were looking up already.
Continuing his tour through the restaurant a little more jauntily, he spied the gorgeous blonde with the triple-D honkers in the last room near the side entrance. Stationing himself behind a dusty banana palm, Sean settled in to wait.
☼☼☼
The manager of La Mañana Rosa berated the hostess in front of a line of people waiting for a table. The terrified girl, who looked younger even than the ones Sean had followed inside, kept her eyes on the floor. Sean clenched his insubstantial fists. If only there was something he could do for the girl.
Then, Emilio Maldanado turned on his heel and stormed in Sean’s direction. When the brute stopped and wheeled toward the palm at the last moment, Sean nearly shit his etheric pants. But the moronic manager had simply paused to scratch his hairy ass before stomping to the kitchen.
Gross.
A distinctive laugh drew Sean’s attention. The druids’ nonstop lunch banter had been lively, to say the least. More than once, he had blushed at their good-natured digs and racy conversation. Or would have, were he flesh and bone.
When their discussion took a turn toward serious, Sean could’ve sworn he recognized his father in Elise. But her expression changed, and he doubted again. His Da was dead.
Then he saw it—the flash in the eyes, the snarling lip he’d seen at the cemetery when they were poking around the bottom of that cross. Only this time, Sean was certain. His father’s spirit had survived.
Without thought, he flew to the table, gushing excitedly, “Da, it’s me. Your son, Sean.”
Elise shrank away. The other druid and the busty blonde across the table reacted, but Sean could tell they didn’t see him.
“What is it?” the blonde woman hissed protectively, half-standing. “Are you okay?”
“Better than okay,” Elise answered. But the voice was his Da’s.
Sean threw overjoyed arms around them, but sadness skewered him when they didn’t connect. The deep, gravelly voice of Emilio Maldonado broke the moment.
“What the hell?”
Sean jerked around to face the livid manager. His perpetually ruddy face blazed, and he closed the distance in two angry strides.
“I warned you, O’Leary.” He rounded on the ladies. “You three. Out. You’ve been disturbing my patrons since you got here.” He hiked a meaty thumb toward one of the NO GHOSTS signs. “Anyone who hangs out with ghouls ain’t welcome in this establishment.”
He signaled the server, who hovered in fright. She shakily held out the ladies’ check. He snatched it and thrust it at Elise.
“Pay your bill and get out.”
A shocked Sean marveled as electricity crackled from his diminutive aunt. She stared coldly at Emilio and drew to full height. Then, pointedly ignoring him, she lifted her drink and chugged its contents while he stood over her menacingly. Then, slamming the glass on the table, she reached into a pocket, retrieved a fistful of credits, and deposited them in the pocket of the server’s apron.
“For your trouble.” Then cutting her eyes to the sputtering Emilio, she added, “I’m sorry you have to work for this cave troll. Don’t stand for it. Find another job.” When she dramatically tore the ticket into pieces and let them flutter to the floor at Emilio’s feet, Sean’s ectoplasmic teeth nearly fell out.
Aunt Elise really was a badass. But she wasn’t done. She launched into a tirade.
“That sorry excuse of a meal is on you, asshole. The food was lousy, the drinks, weak, and,” she lifted her nose to sniff the air distastefully, “what is that smell?” Her head swiveled as if seeking the source, then a wicked gleam shone in her eyes.
“Well, well. It seems you have a rat’s nest. I’ll be sure to let the authorities know when I register my complaint about your abhorrent treatment of your employees.”
Emilio stared at her in horror, mouth opening and closing.
“Oh. And that ghost? Sean O’Leary? He might be dead, but he’s a thousand times the man you think you are.”
At that, Emilio lunged, but Elise was faster, delivering a karate chop to his Adam’s apple. Then, the blonde charged, connecting a surprisingly strong jab to his scruffy chin. The manager’s head slammed backward with a satisfying snap, and he slumped to the floor, gurgling.
Every patron within eye or earshot burst into catcalls and applause.
Glaring down her nose at the sniveling manager, Elise sniffed, “We’re outta here,” then herded the other two to the door.
“You!” Emilio snarled, scrambling up to lunge at Sean. “Get out and don’t even think about coming back.”
“Or what?” Sean floated midair. “You’ll kill me again?”
Emilio planted his thick body between Sean and the door.
“Worse, you fucking Mick,” he rasped through gritted teeth so that only Sean could hear. “I will kill everyone and everything you hold dear, including those goddamned women out there.”
A red haze blurred Sean’s vision, then his fingers were around the brute’s neck, and he was squeezing the life from him. A waitress rushed to the sputtering manager who thrashed on the floor, and someone squealed, “Call 911.”
Shocked, Sean blinked and let go.
He slipped effortlessly through the closed door then stopped beneath the awning. Pedestrians rushed past on the sidewalk, and thunder rumbled long and low. Sean stared at his hands in wonder. Never as a ghost had he been able to interact physically. With anything, much less the living. How had he managed it this time?
Another peal of thunder rolled overhead, and the rain began. Sean stepped from the shelter into the storm, and heavy drops penetrated his ethereal form. Most days, this would make him uncomfortable. But all Sean could think about was the satisfying feel of his hands around his killer’s throat.
A New Case
The silent druids jogged across the intersection, hoping to reach the car before the bottom fell out. Elise craned her neck, searching for Sean’s ghost, but Rona tugged her elbow, pulling her along.
A bright flash sizzled overhead, and a terrifying pop stopped them in their tracks when the lightning bolt struck a transformer. Squealing, they galloped for the parking lot as sparks showered down. A clap of thunder brought drenching rain, and the sisters were half-soaked by the time they jackknifed into the low-slung Porsche.
Honey revved the engine and ogled Elise in the rearview mirror, while Alexis growled, “What the hell was that?”
But Elise’s attention was elsewhere. Ham’s son stood outside the restaurant, staring at his hands. An intense yearning seized Elise, then morphed into a sinking feeling. Something fishy was going on.
Sean needed help. Their help.
Honey popped the clutch, pulled out between two cars, then slammed the brakes. The traffic lights were no longer working due to the fried electrical box, and the cars were backing up. Resigned, Elise slumped against the seat.
Seconds later, she clung to the strap and vowed never to ride with Honey again when the blonde cut in front of an oncoming vehicle and took a turn on two wheels.
“That, Alexis, is our next case.” Elise finally said.
Rona’s head appeared over the headrest. “You mean after we find the missing stones and bring Morgan to justice, right? We promised Emily.”
Elise sighed heavily. What was she getting herself into?
“Yeah. After that.”
☼☼☼
A figure materialized from the shadows, and Jed held his breath beneath the blanket of trash. The failing light told him he had slept several hours. The day was almost spent.
The dark form hesitated, sniffed the air, then slowly, almost imperceptibly, glided towards Jed’s hiding place.
His muscles contracted instinctively.
The shadow inched closer.
Jed fingered the stiletto and swallowed the lump of fear, readying himself to dart from his safe zone, home for the last couple of weeks. But still he hesitated, holding his breath, hand wrapped around the thin hilt. Should he stay hidden or run?
Deciding on the latter, he traded the blade for the rusty bolt he kept in his pocket and lobbed it across the dim alley.
The apparition wavered.
When it changed course and melted back into the shadows, Jed seized his chance. Garbage scattered as he fled his hidey hole, and, arms pumping, he rounded the corner at top speed.
Someone waiting on the seemingly deserted street caught hold of Jed’s arm with an iron grip and jerked him backward, then thrust a scratchy bag over his head. The world went dark. Jed kicked and clawed, fighting to get away from the snatcher and the stink of rotted potatoes.
But two arms tightened around Jed like steel bands.
He fought like a wild thing, landing a few blows. But the snatcher tautened his iron grip and dragged Jed bodily, then slammed him against something metallic. Frisking him roughly, the brute confiscated his knife and the sharpened screwdriver Jed kept in his sock.
Finally, the snatcher lifted Jed off the ground and shoved him hard. He went airborne for a scary moment, then landed chin-first on a lumpy pile.
“Oww!” a girl screeched and scrambled out from beneath him.
The loud clatter and clank of a utility door sliding shut were punctuated by the unmistakable scrape of a lock engaging.
High Alert*
*The following was separated from Chapter 3, A New Case, and is now Chapter 4, but I’m leaving it here. For now.
Elise wriggled out of the leather backseat of Honey’s Porsche, leaned in, and sniped, “I’m driving next time.” Then, hand supporting her lower back, she straightened slowly and waved.
Honey snorted, popped the clutch, and spun a circle in the front drive of Wren’s Roost, then hung out the window to sass in a drawl as thick as meringue before it stiffens, “Well, I might just let’cha.”
Rona waved from the passenger seat, fingers waggling cheerily though her face was pale. She was probably suffering from that wild ride, like Elise.
But as the Porsche barreled down the wooded driveway, something else came to mind. Maybe Rona dreaded going home to her newly empty house.
When tires squealed onto Wren’s Way, Elise chuckled. The quirky Honey squeezed every ounce of fun she could from life—something that had long been missing in Elise’s. She wondered for a moment just how long, then sighed loudly, head wagging.
“God only knows.”
Dismissing those thoughts, Elise turned to eye Wren’s Roost’s imposing brick staircase.
“Note to self. Have future drivers drop me out back.”
Gripping the varnished handrail, Elise drew a long breath, set her mind to the task, and started climbing. With every step, the pinch in her hip deepened, growing more and more exquisite. At the top, Elise waited for the pain to subside, then rang the bell, feeling a tad sheepish.
Mary had given her a key. But this was the first time Elise had used the front door, and she didn’t feel like fishing the key from her purse.
The blue eyes of the housekeeper danced as the massive door swung wide, and the bronzed folds of her face wrapped around a warm, welcoming smile.
“You’re home. Come inside.”
Elise gimped across the threshold.
Mary’s eagle eyes followed. “Oh, dear, are you okay?”
From her tone, it was obvious the housekeeper had watched her laborious climb. Elise’s cheeks pinked.
“I’ve been better.” She gingerly crossed the wide foyer, intent upon reaching her room. “I just need to get off my feet for a bit.” Her anxious gaze raked the polished stairs.
“I see that,” Mary tutted and took her elbow. “There, there, dear. I have something to show you.” The shrewd eyes narrowed to search Elise’s. “I’m surprised Hamilton didn’t mention it.”
“Ham is AWOL.”
“Hunting for Morgan, I warrant.”
A world of knowing permeated the hall. Mary Cobb had been around since before Hamilton was born, and was as perceptive as they came. He claimed he could never keep a secret from the Iroquois wise woman. Or from her husband.
But, Ham could just as easily have returned to the cemetery to look for Sean. Or, more likely, La Mañana Rosa.
In an alcove Elise had no memory of, stood an ancient service elevator, door ajar. Mary waved her hand at it, and Elise’s spirits lifted.
“Your chariot awaits, dear Elij.”
Her name, Elise, was derived from ‘Elij’, a Druid name for the hind, a small deer of the European woodlands. Squashing the uncharacteristic urge to sob like a baby at the unexpected endearment, Elise threw her arms around the spindly, though surprisingly substantial, caretaker of Wren’s Roost.
“Oh, Miz Mare!” she murmured in her ear. “Until this moment, I didn’t realize how much I’d missed you. And Wren’s Roost. It’s good to be home.” Elise knuckled a tear that nearly escaped. “Now, how do we know this thing still works?”
“Simple. I use it every day.” Mary stepped into the timeworn box.
Elise poked her head inside to give the elevator the once-over, and the sweetness of rose oil caught her off guard. Mary’s signature scent evoked pictures buried in Elise’s subconscious—of playing with her sisters and Hamilton. In this elevator.
Realizing Mary was watching her with infinite patience, Elise shook off memories that seemed too surreal to be true and inspected the car. Except for the inlaid marble floor and the Celtic scrollwork, it looked like any other elevator from the early 20th century. Many of those were still in service today.
This did not reassure Elise.
“Come,” Mary coaxed. “Let me take you up.”
Elise still hesitated.
“It’s this or one of the staircases.”
Elise gulped down her reservations. With a shudder, she joined the housekeeper, who smiled reassuringly. Then, Mary reached down to slide the door shut and cranked the big bronze handle to the left. The box rose slowly and surprisingly smoothly, making little sound for such an old machine.
On the second floor, Elise thanked Mary and hobbled toward her room as the car descended. But at Hamilton’s quarters, her feet took an unanticipated detour, tweaking her hip and drawing a yelp.
“Ouch, that hurt,” she hissed at her returned hitchhiker.
“Gotta grab my phone.” Hamilton snatched it from the cradle on the manly chest of drawers, located a contact, and held the phone to Elise’s ear.
She resisted, then relented with an annoyed sigh when he insisted.
“Dr. Gray’s office, how may I help you?”
“Hi, this is Elise Hester Johnson,” Ham said in Elise’s voice. “I’m a good friend and cousin of Hamilton Hester. Is Gwendolyn in?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Could I have a quick word with her.”
“Please hold for a minute.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Elise hissed.
“Getting your hip fixed. It hurts like a mo-fo, and it could be something simple. You need muscle relaxers. Or a pain blocker. Something. I knew you were a tough broad, but daaamn, Elise.”
“Ms. Johnson, hello. This is Gwen Wray. I was sorry to hear about Hamilton. He was a dear friend. How can I help you?”
Ham ceded control with a warning to be nice.
“Thank you, doc. Please call me Elise. My right hip hurts like the dickens, and it’s making me limp. Could you help me with that?”
“Of course, Elise. If you can come in tomorrow morning, I can squeeze you in before my first patient.”
Elise hesitated, and Hamilton spoke. “That’s perfect. What time?”
They set the appointment for 7:45, and Elise hobbled to her suite.
In the bathroom, she exchanged damp clothes for a short cotton nightgown. Then, inspecting the angry scratches from the cemetery, Elise swabbed them with antiseptic and limped to the bedroom. She shoved the curtains aside to peer at the forest cocooning Wren’s Roost, and felt her body uncoil a little.
She had been on high alert since Ham boarded the flight to Cheltenham. His arrival with her godson, Brian, had turned Elise’s regimented life upside down. And though they had helped Emily and Awen save the world, Elise had been forced to retire from her lifelong career.
A pang of sadness was quickly replaced by anxiety. It tightened her throat muscles and threaded through her gut. The forced retirement haunted Elise. Maybe more than their frenzied fight to save Earth. Now, she needed a long, long, looong vacation. But she wouldn’t get one.
Elise chuckled and mumbled, “You would think retirement meant free time. But, noooo, uh-uh. Not for me. I have to jump into another huge challenge.” She thought a moment, and groaned, “What the hell is wrong with me?”
She opened the window with a heavy sigh and leaned on the sill. The humidity had temporarily dissipated, leaving a refreshing breeze, a welcome byproduct of the summer storm.
At least the drama she and the others had endured had ended in the druids’ favor. It could easily have gone the other way. With the help of the dragons and the Atlantean gods, Humanity had survived. At least for now.
But another whole can of worms had been opened in the process.
Shoving that nightmare aside, Elise inhaled deeply. Then, leaving the window wide, she climbed in bed, acutely aware of her hip. It took a while to find a position that relieved the pain, and Elise was just falling asleep, when the image of Sean O’Leary choking the manager came to her.
What was Sean after? And why was he so angry?