Ghosts ⚔️ Blackbeard's Treasure

Chapter 7.

Driving back to Dresden, the windshield's hammered by a blinding rain. The wipers barely maintain visibility in the downpour. I see Julia's red lights bobbing up ahead. Blair is driving fast, water spraying out from under the car and the sides of her tires.

"Lizzie, what's going on? You're white as a sheet." When we stop at a red light, Dylan glances at me, concerned by my silence. Despite seeing the ghost in the parking lot, I feel safe with him in his Jeep. His energy is like a welcome blanket of warm sunlight surrounding my body.

"I'm tired of my backstabbing job. I asked Chills n' Thrills to cancel tonight's tour, but they refused." My boyfriend knows I'm psychic and that I see ghosts, but I'm not telling him I saw one outside Pirate's Republic. Or that Bloody Mary might have me on her visitation list.

He takes my hand and lightly rubs the back of it with his thumb. "You're right, Liz. Ever since the original ghost tour company became part of that soulless conglomerate, they've treated you like shit. I was hoping you'd get fed up with their bull and give your notice.

"I stayed with the company because I enjoyed doing the live theater part of the tour." I smile at him. " I want us to have our own place." Dylan makes good money as a personal trainer, working at the local gym, but it's nowhere near enough to support us.

He smiles. "Don't worry, we'll have more money in a few months. I'm making good overtime with a new client. We'll figure this out together."

We pull into the historic brick town house. I live one of the oldest neighborhoods in Boston. The sidewalks are illuminated with old fashioned gas lights. I see the flames are bent almost sideways in the fierce wind, flickering in their lanterns. Dylan finds a spot on the crowded, narrow street as Blaire and Julia have parked in the driveway. As we're running towards the brick doorstep, covering our heads against the downpour, the storm's gale winds blow out the street lamp flames and leave us in the dark. I hear tree branches scraping against the brick exterior of townhouse. Dylan says, "Looks like the power lines have gone down."

Inside, I shrug off my wet coat and shake out my wet umbrella. My grandmother greets us in the foyer, holding a vintage hurricane lamp. "Dylan you're staying here tonight? I don't want you driving in this weather. Blair's going to sleep over." Inside, I see several candles have been lit, making the townhouse feel medieval and primitive, but cozy.

Dylan shakes his head. "Thanks for the invitation, Julia, but I need to check on dad. He hates storms even when the power doesn't go out." Dylan's father, Mason, is a strapping man, with a flowing white hair and a silver beard, more than capable of taking care of himself, but in Dylan's mind he'll always be a mischievous, independent child. They squabble incessantly.

"Don't worry, we'll be fine here." I sigh. "If Mason needs you, I understand. I would've loved to have you stay and cuddle with me all night."

He bends down and kisses me and I feel the heat down to my toes. "The weather's supposed to clear tomorrow. Let's drive over to Fort Point to see this warehouse loft—even if this apartment does sound too good to be true." He leans down to whisper in my ear." Stop mothering, Julia. That's not your job." I suppress a smile.

"Dylan, be careful. Text me when you get home." After he heads back out into the maelstrom, I struggle to close the door against the blustery wind.

In the kitchen, I find Julia rooting around in the pantry drawers. After a few minutes, she retrieves a flashlight. When the light wavers and dies, she bangs the torch's metal head. "The battery's dead."

"Can I help?"

"Would you get the batteries? There's a box in the upstairs hallway."

"Blaire, come with me, you're soaked. I'll get you a change of clothes." I give her a meaningful glance. Climbing the stairs, I use my cell phone as a flashlight. A shimmer of lightning, low in the sky, illuminates the walls.

Once we're upstairs, I ask her, "The bloody ghost we don't name, she can't get in here? Can she?"

Blair shrugs her shoulders. "I've learned there's usually a magical loophole, but if neither of you looked at her long enough, she didn't have time to imprint. She's a parasitical demon that usually shows up in teenager's mirrors. There's always pent up sexual energy in that age group, allowing her to build up power. It's unusual she manifested in an alley. She's unusually contained in the mirror until she gains full control of the host. What happened during the ghost tour?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. There was a young child with her mother heckling me. I lost my temper when they started sabotaging the tour."

Blair nods. "Children are the hardest to trick into seeing ghosts. They trust their sixth sense too much. By the way, I'm sorry about not showing up tonight."

"No matter. I'm done with them. I can't work there anymore —what was that noise?" We both hear something banging against the outside of the house.

She stops dead in her tracks, listening. "Wait here, I need my purse." She runs downstairs to the kitchen.

I wait in the dark. shivering as I scan the corners of the hallway. Who's there?, I silently demand. I'm on the verge of freaking out when she returns and pulls out a small, plush bag she keeps in her vintage Louis Vuitton purse.

"Something's here," she whispers. Opening the plum-colored pouch, she delicately pinches a minute amount of fine, black powder between her fingers. Leaning forward, she blows the silky substance into the air in front of her.

"Reveal."

I gasp when I see faint, glowing outlines of luminescent purple and blue hex symbols appear in front of us. The floating symbols shimmer in our faces, before fading out of sight.

Ping!

Twisted limbs claw at the shuddered window. The pupils of Blair's dark eyes widen into dark pools. She sways like a cobra about to strike.