Of Ash and Spirit_Piper Lancaster Series Page 12

  “In here is fine,” I said. Going back to his office wouldn’t make this conversation less weird. I figured we might as well dive right in.

  “Let’s have a seat,” Reverend Owen said, gesturing toward the pews.

  He sat down on a pew and turned sideways to face us when Rhys and I took the seat behind him.

  “So,” he said, resting his hands on the back of the pew. “You’re interested in stained glass windows, but you also have questions about the Episcopal faith?”

  Rhys sat on the edge of her seat. “Specifically as relates to demons and exorcisms.”

  His warm expression faded.

  Might as well try to get some answers before he kicked us out. “How does one protect oneself from demons?” I asked.

  “Uh . . .” He stumbled. “Prayer and living a good life.”

  Rhys leaned into my ear. “You’re screwed.”

  I jabbed an elbow into her side.

  “Surely there’s something,” I said. “I know that Jesus cast demons from people, but do regular people have that power?”

  He looked troubled as he said, “You’re talking about exorcism, and that’s nothing to play with.”

  “And if a demon appeared in front of you—not possessing someone—what would be the best way to deal with that?” I asked, then quickly added, “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  His eyes lit up with blue fire. “Who put you up to this?”

  “What?” It was my turn to be pissed. “No one put me up to this.”

  He stood and searched the back of the church. “Did Shaw put you up to this?”

  “No one put us up to this. Please, Reverend Owen. I need your help.”

  “It’s Father,” Rhys whispered loudly.

  I whipped my head around to face her. “What?”

  “He’s a priest. Sure, he called himself Reverend, but we’re supposed to call him Father.”

  I stared at Jack Owen. There was no way I was going to call him Father. He was too young and good-looking. I was going to need all kinds of therapy for thinking a priest was hot without adding the title Father to the mix.

  “You can call me Jack,” he said. “No title necessary, especially since I wasn’t assigned to this church as the parish priest.” He paused. “I’m here on a sabbatical of sorts. I agreed to meet with you to help Father O’Brien with his workload. But that brings me back to my original point.” He rested both hands on the wood ledge in front of him again and lowered his voice. “How did you know?”

  “Know what?” I asked.

  “That I’ve . . .” He shook his head, still looking rattled. “Never mind. Now tell me why you’re asking about demons.”

  What had he been about to tell us? But Rhys jabbed my side again, making it clear she thought I should get to the point.

  “Do Episcopalians have confession like Catholics?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “So no confidentiality?” I asked, trying to hide my disappointment.

  He hesitated. “I need to amend my statement. While confession is not required, it is an option, and we do offer confidentiality.”

  “That,” I said. “I want that.”

  “You want to give your confession?”

  “Yes. How do I start the confidentiality part?”

  “Uh . . .” He rubbed his chin. “We can start now.” He shot a glance to Rhys. “Would you prefer to go somewhere more private?”

  “No. Rhys knows everything.”

  “We can still go to my office, although I must warn you that it’s pretty small.”

  “No. Here’s fine.” I felt safer here, surrounded by holy objects. “This is going to sound crazy”—I pushed past the lump of fear in my throat—“but I’ll swear on anything you want that it’s true. Rhys here can back a good part of it up.”

  “Okay . . .”

  I told him everything, from my medium business, and how it had started out as a semi scam, to everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours—getting hauled to the police station, seeing the ghost in the Waffle House parking lot, and then finding the man’s truck. I even told him about my parents’ murders and the codicil, but for some reason, I kept everything about Mr. Abel to myself. If Rhys noticed, she didn’t say anything.

  Jack sat still and took it all in, never letting on how he felt about any of it. When I finished, he sat there for several long seconds before he said, “I understand all your questions about the swords now.”

  “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  His gaze lifted up to mine. “While I’m obligated by my oath to God to keep your confession confidential, can I ask you to do the same with mine?”

  I shot a confused look at an equally perplexed Rhys, then turned back to Jack. “Yeah. I’ll keep your secret.”

  He swallowed, suddenly looking uncertain, but then resolve hardened his jaw and his blue eyes held mine.

  “I can see them too.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I stared at him in disbelief, but his early behavior—worrying we knew about some secret related to demons—made sense. I placed a hand on the pew and leaned closer. “You mean see ghosts and demons?”

  “Not ghosts,” he said, “and I don’t really see the demons either. Not fully. I only hear their voices and see glimpses of their forms, but I know what they are.”

  “So you don’t think I’m lying or faking this?”

  He searched my face, and the lines around his eyes softened. “No, Piper. I believe you.”

  I rested my forehead on my hands. “Oh, thank God.”

  “That’s why I’m here at St. Philip’s,” he said. “Taking a sabbatical.”

  “Your punishment for seeing ghosts and demons is to catalogue stained glass windows?” Rhys asked.

  I sat up and saw the hint of a grin lift the corners of his mouth.

  “Yes and no,” he said, then checked his watch. “Crap. I’m late to my next appointment. I’d cancel it, but it’s with the bishop.”

  “You’re meeting with the bishop?” Rhys asked in surprise.

  He lifted his shoulder into a shrug. “He’s kind of my boss.”

  “Oh . . . yeah.”

  “This meeting is important, or I really would cancel.”

  “That’s okay. We need to be somewhere at three.” I checked my phone and then immediately jumped to my feet. “Rhys, it’s ten till. We’re going to be late too.”

  Jack stood and moved into the aisle as I did. “I’d like to continue this discussion, Piper.”

  I stared up at him in mingled disbelief and hope. He didn’t think I was crazy, he claimed to see them too, and he wanted to talk about it. Considering Rhys had found him online this afternoon, it was pretty much a miracle. Or fate. If you believed in those things. “I’m free tonight.”

  “Tonight. Let’s meet at Othello’s for dinner at seven.”

  “Othello’s?” Rhys muttered. I didn’t need to ask her why. The restaurant was hard to get into and pretty upscale. But I was still working through the fact that he’d asked me out.

  “Dinner?” Was this a date? What was I thinking? I was meeting an Episcopal priest to discuss our mutual demon experiences. This was not a date.

  “I know the owners. They can get us a private room so we’ll have some privacy to talk.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Good,” he said, walking briskly toward the vestibule with his laptop tucked under his arm. “But I want to give you something before you go.”

  “Okay.”

  He reached under the racks of candles and pulled out a handful of small bottles. I gingerly took them from him.

  “Holy water,” he explained. “I’m not sure how effective this is across the board, so don’t rely on it, but my own personal experience has shown they can’t touch me if I’m standing in a circle made of holy water.”

  “Touch you?” Rhys asked.

  Jack turned at the waist and partially lifted his shirt, revealing four long scars on his back t
hat looked like claw marks. The pink lines suggested the wounds were fairly new. “This is what convinced the bishop to take me seriously.”

  “Holy shit,” Rhys said.

  My own stomach dropped. “So they are capable of killing someone.” On some level I’d known that, or at least guessed it. After all, what else could have happened to Gill? But it felt different to see the damage before my eyes and hear a demon had done it.

  “Not all of them. They have different levels of power, but from what I can tell, one of them has gained enough strength to do serious damage—or kill.”

  “The one that did that to you?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did that happen here in Asheville?”

  He nodded. “At Zealandia Castle.”

  “Beaucatcher Mountain,” I gasped out. “It killed someone there last night.”

  His face lost color. “At Zealandia Castle?”

  “No, in a house about a quarter mile away.”

  Jack closed his eyes and whispered a curse word I hadn’t thought you could utter in a church without bursting into flames. Maybe you only got to do it if you were a priest. Determination filled his eyes when he opened them. “We really need to talk, Piper.”

  “I know. Tonight. I’ll be there.”

  “We have to go, Piper,” Rhys said, grabbing my arm and dragging me to the front doors.

  “Where are you going?” Jack called after us.

  Rhys pulled me through the door and shouted back, “To talk to a ghost.”

  When Rhys pulled up to the curb in front of the McNamaras’ house, Hudson was already there and waiting in his car. He got out when we did. He had a small bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Where have you been?” he asked in a low voice, obviously pissed.

  “Chill, Hudson,” Rhys said. “We were talking to a priest.”

  He did a double take. “A what?”

  “You heard right.” She turned to me with a worried expression. “You feel up to this?”

  I’d been quiet the short drive over, letting everything soak in. I’d hoped to get a few answers at St. Philip’s. The last thing I’d expected was to meet someone like Jack. I was still processing everything, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to play Piper the ghost whisperer.

  A woman’s anxious face peeked out from behind a curtain in one of the front windows. She was probably nervous enough for both of us, and besides, from what I could tell, the demon was stuck on Beaucatcher Mountain. I was several miles away. This was perfectly safe, but after seeing three ghosts in the past twenty-four hours, I was terrified of seeing another. It still seemed possible I was responsible for their deaths.

  I forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Pippy,” Hudson said.

  “I know. But I need to.” I headed toward the front door, my two best friends following on my heels.

  Mrs. McNamara opened the door before I even knocked. “You must be Piper.” Her shaky hands held the edge of the door. From Rhys’s research, I knew she was forty-five, but her worry lines suggested she was older.

  I smiled, though this time it was genuine. “I’m sorry I was late, Mrs. McNamara, and I’m especially sorry if it made you more anxious.”

  “I’m not—” She cut herself off and dropped her hands to her sides.

  “I usually work alone,” I continued, “but my friends Hudson and Rhys are with me today. They would like to observe, if that’s okay. But if not, they can wait for me outside.” I realized we’d never come up with a reason for them being here.

  Rhys stepped up next to me. “I’m Rhys Sanders. I’m a grad student at UNCA, and I’m writing a paper on what Piper does. She’s told me about her experiences, but I think my paper would be more authentic if I saw her in action firsthand. I promise anything that could connect this experience to you will be kept strictly confidential.”

  Mrs. McNamara looked relieved. “Okay.”

  “And I’m Rhys’s friend,” Hudson said, extending his hand. “I’m here as a videographer.”

  That explained the bag, but as far as I knew, Hudson didn’t have a video camera. Had he bought one just for this?

  Mrs. McNamara shook his hand, but some of her anxiety had returned.

  “This video won’t be posted anywhere online,” Hudson said. “It’s to assist Rhys with her paper—in case she misses anything. If at any time you feel uncomfortable with it, I’ll stop.”

  “Or,” I said, “they can wait outside. This is entirely up to you, Mrs. McNamara.”

  “No,” she said, moving back. “It’s fine. I just don’t want to see this on YouTube or anything like that.”

  “Not to worry, Mrs. McNamara,” I said. “That won’t be happening.”

  “Please call me Nancy,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. “Mrs. McNamara makes me feel so old.”

  “Of course, Nancy.”

  Rhys pulled a stenographer’s notebook out of her oversized purse, and Hudson opened his bag to retrieve a small handheld video camera.

  Everyone turned to me expectantly.

  “First,” I said, “I’d like you to tell me what’s been going on in your house; then we’ll walk through it. If you think you know whose spirit is in your house, please don’t tell me. I like for the spirits to speak for themselves.” An image of Austin, the ghost from this morning, popped into my head, and I was suddenly filled with shame. What if real spirits had been trying to communicate with their loved ones all along, and I’d kept that from happening?

  “Are you okay?” Nancy asked.

  I stuffed down my nerves. My clients needed me to be the calm one. After taking a centering breath, I said, “Yes. Sorry.” I tilted my head and said in a gentle voice, “Now tell me about the odd things that have been happening in your house.”

  “We hear creaks and moans at night, which of course you could attribute to an old house, but the noises come from . . . They come from a particular bedroom. But lately things keep getting moved in the room—from one side to the other, and the closet door opens and closes on its own.”

  “Then perhaps we should go up to the room first,” I suggested.

  She led the way up the massive staircase, and I followed behind, trying to ignore that Rhys and Hudson were behind me.

  I’d heard voices at a few clients’ houses over the last week, and Nancy’s “haunting” sounded legitimate. If I opened myself up to the spirits, would I be able to hear them more clearly? I needed to concentrate without allowing my friends to distract me.

  Stopping several steps from the top, I turned around to face them. “I need you two to stay back and out of the way.”

  Rhys’s mouth dropped open. “Why?”

  I looked up the staircase, watching as Nancy disappeared into one of the rooms. Her daughter’s room. “You don’t have to leave, but I’m going to try something, and I don’t want to do it around you two.”

  “What do you think we’re going to do?” Hudson asked.

  “It’s not that. This is about me.” I shook out my hands. “I’m usually much calmer when I do this, and I need a second to settle down.”

  “I know,” Rhys said, “why don’t I go interview Nancy so you can take a moment to settle down?”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  She continued up the stairs and called out, “Nancy, would you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Her voice trailed off as she went into the room.

  Hudson’s hand cupped my upper arm. “What’s really going on, Piper?”

  Tears filled my eyes. This all felt too real. Too intimidating. Before it had seemed like I was doing something harmless to help people move on with their lives. Now I was dealing with real ghosts. “I’m scared.”

  His eyes widened. “Of being here? You don’t have to stay. We can go home.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not afraid of Nancy’s daughter. I’m scared I won’t see or hear her.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I was a fraud, Hudson. I chea
ted all those other people, and I let myself feel okay about it. I want to do better, but what if I can only see some ghosts and not all? What if I can’t give Nancy McNamara what she needs?”

  “First of all,” he said in a gentle tone, “you helped all those people before Nancy McNamara, whether you really talked to the ghosts or not. Just like you’re going to help Nancy today.”

  “But what about the ghosts? What if they had messages that needed to be shared and I kept their loved ones from hearing them?”

  “You can’t change that now, Piper. You can only move forward and do the best you can.”

  I nodded, wiping a stray tear from my cheek.

  “If you need me and Rhys to wait in the hall, we’ll do it. We’re here to make sure you’re safe.”

  I almost argued that I had no idea how they could help me, but I kept it to myself, mostly because I really did want them here. Just not hovering. “Maybe stand in the hall and watch through the open door?”

  “Done.”

  The upstairs hallway was decorated with dark oak wainscoting and a wood floor covered in an Arts and Crafts style runner. The second door on the right was open, and I could hear Nancy’s and Rhys’s voices filtering from it.

  I took another deep breath before stepping into the room.

  Rhys glanced up from her notepad. “And here’s Piper now. I’ll let her do her thing.”

  Hudson motioned for her to come into the hall, and I felt a burden lift off my shoulders as soon as they left the bedroom.

  “This was your daughter’s room?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said in surprise. She hadn’t told me yet, but I knew her sixteen-year-old daughter, Megan, had died seven years ago in a car accident. A car accident the cops had deemed suicidal.

  Just treat it like any other case.

  Keeping my elbows at my sides, I lifted my hands, palms out, and closed my eyes.

  Megan, talk to me.

  I made a slow circle around the room, concentrating but hearing nothing. After a minute, I began to get frustrated. It looked like I might have to fake this one, and I really didn’t want to, not if there was any chance Megan really was attached to this house.