Ghosts of July (Shamans of the Divide, Book 1)

Chapter Four

"I'm not sure what you're doing to agitate these things," Renn said when he finally spoke. "But you need to stop."

I'd been expecting a lot of things to come out of his mouth, but getting chastised like some sort of kid wasn't one of them.

"What?"

He really thought I was doing this on purpose?

"I'm serious," he continued. "People get hurt when they mess around with spirits."

"Do you see them, too?" I had to know I wasn't alone in this crazy turn of events.

He shook his head.

"I don't see them, but I can tell when they're around. And they seem to gravitate toward you. So whatever you're doing, you need to stop."

"That's the thing," I said quickly. "I'm not doing anything. It started that night you and Hannah came into the diner. That girl was the first person I'd ever seen like that."

I had no idea what to call them. Were they true ghosts? Were they visions? Renn wasn't offering much by way of clarity so far.

"You're not messing with them?" He asked. "You're not screwing around with Ouija boards or lighting candles or any of the other stupid crap people do?"

"No!"

Renn looked down at his boot and kicked a rock. He seemed to believe me.

I went into detail about the girl with the bloody wrists and the bloody face, recounting as much detail as I could and washing over the embarrassing spill over the bus tub. I told him all I could remember about the man earlier at the diner. The details about his clothes and his hair, and the fact that he had actual eyes and not the blacked-out stare the girl had.

"Do they say anything to you?"

I shook my head.

"The guy looked like he wanted to. I mean, he looked as surprised as I did but I broke eye contact and he was gone. But the girl, there was just something different about her. She looked more—tortured, I guess. She was scary. He was surprising."

Renn kept me waiting for answers. He was quiet and staring off toward the sun, watching it as it officially began to turn into a sunset. The breeze picked up and I caught the faintest scent of what I thought was honeysuckle. Taking in another breath, I caught that awful smell from earlier in the week and sputtered a cough. It was faint, but it was there.

Renn sat up straight and looked around, searching the copse of sagebrush and tall grasses to our right.

"Do you smell that?" I asked.

"Smell what?" He didn't turn to answer me, though. He stood quickly and grabbed my hand to pull me up. "We need to get out of here. Your grandmother might be getting home soon."

No, Renn was worried about something and he wasn't telling me. My hand still in his, he pulled me to the bike and rushed me through the helmet/face-squishing ritual before revving the engine up.

He drove a more convoluted way back into Shades and I guessed it was to avoid Hannah and her gang of coiffed varsity queens. Picking his way along side streets and through four-way stops, he finally pulled into a laundromat that doubled as a coffee counter. I'd never had a reason to do my laundry here, but had ridden my bike past it nearly every day on the way to school when the weather was nice.

"Come on," he said. "I'll buy you a real cup of coffee."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that I hated coffee and I didn't want to break the spell. He seemed on the verge of telling me something important and after waiting what seemed like hours, I wasn't about to miss the chance.

We sat at a tall table and he left me to go to the soap counter to order. I guess I'd suffer through a cup of coffee to get a few answers. He returned with two to-go cups, a bunch of sugar, and a small pitcher of cream. I thanked him.

"Please tell me something," I finally said when he'd poured what seemed like four pounds of sugar in his cup. I didn't doctor my own up at all, but sipped it straight. He made a face when he saw me.

"Straight up, huh?"

I nodded and played it off like I was some sort of hardcore java junkie. In reality, the stuff tasted awful to me, but cream and sugar would only make it sweet and awful. I was of a mind to let awful be awful without the sheep's clothing.

"How do you know so much about this stuff?" I finally asked. Whatever this stuff was. I was done waiting for him. "And why are you concerned with what I'm seeing or not seeing?"

He took a deep breath and sat back, eyes down on his hands. He had amazing dark lashes. Seriously, the type women glob up their eyes with expensive mascara to get.

"It's a family thing—my mom's Shoshone. Was Shoshone," he said, correcting himself. "She died when I was in eighth grade. But they have a strong tie to the spirit world. My Uncle Coyote's big into it."

"What is it?" I wasn't sure if he was being ambiguous on purpose. But I was still confused.

"Tribal legends. Stuff like that. There's a lot more out there than meets the eye and somehow you've stumbled on to something."

I wondered how I managed to step in ghost bait.

"I've been here almost six months and this week is the first time it's happened. Nothing like this happened to me in Colorado," I said. "But if you can't see them, how do you know I can?"

Renn smiled at that.

"You're awful at hiding your shock," he laughed. "I can't see them. But I guess you could say I have a sort of connection to the spirit world when I choose to listen."

An older woman carrying three stacked plastic laundry baskets waddled through the front door and next to our table on her way to the washing machines. A fake ivy plant behind me snagged a few pieces of her whites as she walked by and she failed to notice them fall to the floor. I turned around to pick them up for her and gasped when I saw an extra-large, industrial strength bra hanging from the fake ivy plant. My eyes widened in horror and I looked to Renn. He had a hand over his mouth to keep himself from bursting out in laughter.

"What do we do?" I hissed, jerking a thumb at the gargantuan brassiere hanging inches behind me. "We can't just let her underwear hang in the tree!"

He was laughing by now and the more he gasped for air, the more annoyed I got. What was he, 12? Bras weren't that funny.

"Seriously," I said in disgust, standing up. "It's just a bra. You're acting like you've never seen one."

"Never one that big," he managed to keep his voice low.

"I'll be right back," I wandered back through the machines to the woman who was loading a washer. I tapped her shoulder and she spun around with a harsh look on her face. It softened a bit when she saw me.

"I'm so sorry," I began awkwardly motioning back toward the table. "But when you walked by, some of your laundry got snagged on the plant and fell out."

She smiled and her lined face was suddenly kind and warm. I wonder if she thought I was trying to sell her encyclopedias or something.

"Thanks," she said and began waddling back toward Renn. I was a few steps behind her and stopped near a wall of dryers when she gathered her lingerie from the ivy. She bent down to pick up the few socks that had scattered on the floor and as soon as she did, I noticed Renn talking to someone. I couldn't tell if he was mad or sad or somewhere in between, but when I looked over, I saw the reason.

He was talking to a very agitated, very tall Hannah Lewis