Ghost of a Chance (Providence Paranormal College Book 8) Read online

  Bianca

  “I’ll tell her you want to visit her.” Donna Murphy, CNA, spun on her heel and then looked back over her shoulder. Her shiny brown bobbed hair bounced with authority. “She might say no, though. You know how it is with Psychics.” The grin she wore made it clear that she considered the Senior Center's denizens part of her family.

  I waited in the back parlor with Blaine and Lynn, the decor and furnishings reminding me of the Nocturnal Lounge even though sunlight streamed through the cream-colored lace draperies framing the windows. Lynn peered at the bookshelves while Blaine side-eyed a vase that was definitely not Ming Dynasty even though it made an attempt to be. Horace, Ignacius, and Wilfred hissed so many whispers at each other they might as well have been frying eggs on a griddle.

  “What’s going on?” I raised an eyebrow as I murmured, hoping none of the staff or seniors walking by in the hall would notice I spoke to what they’d think was thin air.

  “Wilfred’s saying we should be out looking for the spindle.” Horace rolled his eyes.

  “I tend to agree,” Ignacius said. The other two blinked at him right along with me. The two former husbands of Hertha Harcourt had always been at odds before. “With the amount of energy something like that puts out, it should be easy to track.”

  “I’m trying to explain to double dragons here that we ghosts can’t do anything about the spindle except sense it.” Horace sighed. “If whoever has it can see us, they’ll just move.”

  “Technically, that’s not true.” Wilfred narrowed his eyes at his old rival. “If we’re willing to make a sacrifice, we could be out there taking the fight to Hopewell’s Psychic friends.”

  “Friends?” Ignacius tilted his head exactly like Blaine was doing at the Monet print above the fireplace on the other side of the room. “Thought it was just one Psychic, and mind-controlled at that.”

  “It could be a medium, so technically there’d be a ghostly medium partnering with the solid. And mind magic only controls living people.” Wilfred spoke through a clenched jaw. “You have a forty-year jump on me in the being dead department, plus five hundred years of life as a dragon, and you don’t realize this?”

  “And you don’t realize you’re accusing either Delilah Redford or her ten-year-old son here?” Ignacius wrung his hands. “They’re both good people, and the only other mediums besides Bianca in Rhode Island, in case you forgot.”

  “Well, what about Henry’s memory trinkets? Edgar wiped a lot of minds before the Reveal and the Registry. And Henry covered for Hopewell more than once.” Wilfred’s voice stayed even and calm despite his paranoid musings. “We’ve no idea how many mediums there are around here who are unregistered.”

  “Iggy's right, there are only three.” Horace tapped the rim of his bowler hat. “I’m a ghostly medium. It doesn’t matter who’s in the Registry and who isn’t. We can sense the solid mediums.”

  “Don’t you need some kind of proximity for that?” Wilfred crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You forget that Bianca and I recently went all over the state looking for Edgar Watkins.” Horace shook his head. “Only three living mediums at that time, but there were more ghostly ones around. Which is a good thing.”

  “How so?” Wilfred seemed to relax a bit, though I could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

  “Some other time.” Horace jerked his chin at the doorway.

  “Hello there.” A birdlike lady with hair so white it was almost pink stepped into the room. She sauntered over to a settee and took to it with a flair that almost hid her slight limp from us. “I’m Mrs. Donato. I insist you three have a seat though Miss Brighton’s other friends can do as they please since I can’t see whether or not they sit in any event.”

  “She’s insisted you have tea, too.” Donna chuckled in counterpoint to the squeaky wheel on the tea cart she pushed into the room. I eyed it warily, remembering Jeannie La Montaigne’s unluckiest day from last semester. She'd told me about the faulty tea cart incident. “Don’t worry, the wheels have been cleared by the handyman since its tea spilling rampage this past spring.”

  Donna set a tray with a pot, sugar bowl, cream pitcher, and four cups with saucers on the table between the settee and the sofa. Lynn, Blaine, and I took seats. The dragon leaned on the right arm of the couch, peering out the window behind Mrs. Donato. His eyes shifted until he had vertical pupils, which meant he was monitoring her energy. Lynn took out one of her notebooks and a pencil, then settled in like this was a heavy study session instead of a friendly visit. I leaned forward and poured some tea for each of us.

  “Thank you, Miss Brighton.” Mrs. Donato’s smile was as bright as a sunrise. She reached across and toppled a dollop of cream into her cup, then stirred with a clink of silver on china.

  “So, we came here on advice from someone in a house over on—”

  “Please, no direct questions or references to what brings you here today,” said Mrs. Donato. She picked up her cup and blew across it, then gazed for a moment at the swirling steam. “I already knew I’d be giving a reading or three this afternoon. Preambles muddle my process.”

  “So, what do you want to talk about, then, Mrs. Donato?” Lynn tucked her pencil behind her ear.

  “Jeannie and Ismail, of course,” the elderly woman beamed. “Aren’t they a lovely couple?”

  “Oh yeah.” Lynn shrugged with one shoulder. “I guess. I’m glad Jeannie found her mate because she’s Bobby’s cousin and all, but—”

  “Oh, don’t worry, dear.” Mrs. Donato winked. “They won’t upstage your wedding.”

  “Wait, my what?” Lynn blinked.

  “Well, haven’t I just about prattled my silly head off!” Mrs. Donato actually giggled. She sounded almost like a kid. I felt a surge of Psychic energy from her the moment before she spoke again. “What I mean about Jeannie and Ismail is, the two of them ought to be here in Providence.”

  “But they’re not.” Blaine turned his head, leveling his gaze at the frail woman as though she were as strong as he was. He may have been right, too, because he’d been checking her energy the whole time. “They’re in the Under, visiting the Goblin King for some kind of Unseelie court function.”

  “Exactly.” Mrs. Donato sipped her tea. “But they should be here, Ismail especially. In fact, they should return immediately.”

  “Bianca, you have to ask her why.” Horace was so agitated I started shivering. Glancing to the side, I saw Lynn’s breath as she dropped the notebook to curl her hands around the teacup in front of her. "There's death in the air."

  I leaned forward, gazing into the older Psychic’s eyes. “Why do they need to come back, Mrs. Donato?”

  “So far, call it a hunch. But please,” the elderly Psychic tilted her cup at the three of ours, “finish your tea, and I will tell you all you need to know.

  Lynn gulped a few times, swirled, then gulped again. Blaine mumbled something about tea being for widows and dashed it down like a shot of tequila. I glanced down to find mine was already gone, so I set the cup back in its saucer and waited.

  Mrs. Donato finished her beverage after we did ours. She set the cup down so gently it made no sound. Her head tilted to the left and then to the right as it bent over the table and all four cups. I hadn’t noticed at first that she’d been holding her breath. When she exhaled, a surge of Psychic energy stronger than anything I’d felt from a living person pushed out from her in a surge. Not a pebble in a pond, a boulder.

  “Oh, dearie me.” Mrs. Donato didn’t lean back, she sagged, and her eyes closed. Horace rushed to her side even though he couldn’t do anything to help. Wilfred and Ignacius shot up toward the ceiling, stopping short of passing through. Blaine sneezed.

  “I’m getting Donna.” Lynn stood up, the notebook and pencil falling from her lap to the floor.

  “No.” The elder shook her head, her gaze glassy and distant. “Get Ismail. One of your friends will need him to contest something. And you.” She pointed at
me. “You’ll spend some time alone soon.” She tilted her eyes up and to her left, where Horace hovered. “More than one of your incorporeal friends faces a big decision. The Watkins brothers erred in judgment when both the dragons passed.” She pointed at Blaine. “His father’s death broke a heart and no one bothered to help heal it, and his mother made more mistakes. Neither brother stepped forward to mend them when they could have, and now they’re stuck. The generation between yours and mine can’t fix this. You’ve got to do better than your parents did when they faced similar troubles.”

  “But why do we need Ismail?” Blaine leaned forward, smoke trailing out of both his nostrils. He was angry, of course. I would be, too, if she’d singled out my parents. “If he can’t come, we have to know so we can pick an Unseelie backup.”

  “It’s unclear. But I see darkness, furred tails, pointed ears.” Mrs. Donato yawned. “And you don’t need a Djinn’s magic or an Unseelie Faerie of rank. It’s who he is that matters.” She turned her eyes on Lynn, gave her a faded smile. “You can go and get Donna now, young healer. Your part in this chapter is done, but they’ll need you again later on.”

  “Um, sure?” Lynn turned and trotted out of the room.

  When the Nursing Assistant returned, she took one look at Mrs. Donato, then shooed us out with one hand and grabbed the phone on the wall with the other.

  I walked down the hall with my two corporeal friends and three less solid ones, listening to the sound of Lynn’s pencil documenting everything we’d seen and heard.

  Visiting Mrs. Donato had been a bit like consulting a magic eight ball. The outlook was cloudy. And things definitely got more confusing and dangerous before they came clear.

  Chapter Ten

  Horace

  I lagged behind in the foyer, stopping Ignacius and Wilfred by sticking my hands out to either side of me. They halted, but the authoritative effect was ruined when a lady with a walker mumbled something Italian into an old flip phone and hobbled inside, walking straight through us.

  “Shouldn’t you be following her, Horace?” Ignacius jerked his chin at Bianca’s retreating back. “She looks a little paler than usual.”

  “Yeah, you and I will.” I nodded at Wilfred. “He won’t.”

  “I— Um, what?” Wilfred didn’t usually stammer, but I had caught him off guard, after all.

  “You’re going on a quest to find a Redford.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Or that insufferable Rob."

  “But I thought splitting the party was a bad idea.” Wilfred shook his head.

  “We need a second set of Psychic eyes on this and Ignacius is right, Bianca does look pale.” I started slowly out over the sidewalk. “Check the Redfords’ house first, I’d prefer Ed’s help over his mom’s.”

  “Really? But she’s way more experienced than a ten-year-old kid.” Wilfred raised his eyebrow.

  “Call it a hunch, but I think Ed might have information we need, and he’s definitely on our side.” I beckoned to Ignacius. “None of the solids have bothered talking to him since Fred's adventure to rescue him, but that doesn’t mean we should follow their lead.”

  “Yeah, I understand.” Wilfred nodded. “The living can be a bit dense. I sure was.”

  “Nice one, Willie.” Ignacius chuckled.

  “Thanks, Iggy.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, watching them float little golf waves at each other and snickered. If the double dragon dads could get along, maybe the Harcourt family fences had a chance of getting mended in the solid world as well someday.

  Bianca

  On the way back to campus from the Senior Center, my phone beeped. I tapped it to find a message from Olivia.

  Jeannie’s list of seniors invited to and actually at the charity ball.

  I scrolled down, checking all the names. “Well, Mrs. Donato was there. But wait. Who is Katherine Rogers, and why was she on the guest list and not at the event?” I tapped the phone to bring up google and searched her name. I found an obituary for a month before the ball. She’d been ninety-one. I added the information to the list, then selected the Tinfoil Hat group and sent to all. No more splitting the party. We needed each other.

  Blaine’s stiff shoulders as he and Lynn argued made me worry. The first person he thought of from Mrs. Donato’s description had been Nox Phillips, who turned into a big, black, Unseelie horse with water magic. Lynn said it could have something to do with Josh Dennison’s missing older brother Derek, who was a werewolf and had gone missing after getting in trouble with the law toward the end of the Reveal.

  I felt in my gut that the prediction pointed to Tony and thought Blaine should know better. Ismail wasn’t related to the Dennisons in any way. He'd had nothing to do with Nox’s family, either. But the Djinn had paid a ton of attention to Tony since Jeannie brought his lamp to campus last spring. They even looked a bit alike, something around the eyes and the bridge of the nose. And that hunch of mine just wouldn’t quit.

  Trotting to catch up, I intended to explain. It was no use. Ghosts along the way kept interrupting me, trying to stop and talk, which made me sound spacier than I already felt. Blaine might as well have been wearing headphones for all the good my attempts at conversation did, and Lynn kept side-eyeing me. She handed me a squat bottle of water. I slowed down to twist the cap off and drink a bit. As the two most book-smart people I knew kept their pace, I heard Lynn snark at Blaine about reptiles lacking ears. I shuffled along, taking another swig of water, then grinning as I realized she was sticking up for my incoherently babbling self.

  I yawned, suddenly exhausted from all the Psychic backlash at tea. And I wanted to stop walking but figured it’d be a bad idea for Blaine and Lynn to lose me. I wasn’t sure whether anyone but the fellow in the basement had seen us leave the Spanos house and head to the senior center. Tangling with the Gatto Gang was the last thing I wanted to do. I drank the last of the water, then tossed the bottle into a green recycling bin.

  Even though Lynn was shorter than me, she power-walked with a competitive vengeance so she could keep slightly ahead of Blaine as she good-naturedly told him off. I wouldn’t have had a problem with keeping up if I hadn’t been so fatigued. I tapped the phone again, which made me jealous. It got to go back to sleep. I was terminally tired, as usual. I wondered why Horace wasn’t at my elbow, telling me to eat something.

  The toe of my sneaker snagged on the sidewalk somehow. Okay, maybe it didn’t. I’d tripped on nothing. The phone clattered to the pavement on its back, the case protecting it from shattering. I could be more than just exhausted. Had my medication alarm gone off while it was silenced at the Senior Center? Had I eaten breakfast? I couldn’t remember. Slipping up when you have diabetes is like walking into quicksand.

  I squinted, trying to focus on the PPC logo emblazoned across the back of Lynn’s sweatshirt. For some reason, I felt like I viewed it from underwater. It got further away from me the longer I looked, too. And my palms stung. The phone stared up at me, lighting my face like a flashlight at spooky slumber-party story time.

  “Bianca, you needed food and insulin almost an hour ago.” Horace’s hand covered mine, then nearly merged with it. I gasped.

  He’d zinged me before with his energy, but we’d only mingled briefly before. This was the closest Horace and I had gotten to trying Possession. The last time I’d mentioned it, he’d shut the conversation down, so he had to sense an impending emergency to even go near that neighborhood.

  My hand went into my bag, out of my control. I looked at Horace, watched his brows knit together and his jaw lock in concentration. What could he be working so hard at? Oh yeah, right. Moving my hand. That’d be difficult for a ghost to do all on his own.

  “Ow!” I cried out at that old familiar pinch. The tiny insulin needle stung my right thigh, same side as the hand Horace had his literally in.

  My hand moved again, back into my bag. I couldn’t feel what my partner did with it but heard something rustle. Two voices flew past my ears with a
gust of wind, then ghostly energy buffeted me back until I sat. My left wrist stung slightly as the pressure of my weight came off it.

  “Unwrap it and eat.” Horace’s face looked more transparent than usual; all the effort must have drained him. He let go of my hand and the feeling woke in it again, all pins and needles like when my foot fell asleep.

  I moved my left hand to cross over my right, feeling almost like it floated. Fingertips made contact with the shiny plastic wrapper. I let them catch and tear, then lifted whatever the snack was to my mouth and took a bite.

  “Blargh,” I said around a mouthful of PowerBar. “Not oatmeal. You know I can’t stand the oatmeal-flavored ones.”

  “But it’s got raisins in it.” Horace’s pale lips twisted into a half-smile as he finished the cheesy movie quote. “You like raisins.”

  “Not like this.” I swallowed and took another bite anyway. “But it’s okay. Thanks, Horace.”

  But my ghostly partner didn’t smile. The medication and food had helped, I almost felt like I could get up. So why were his eyes like saucers? Why was Ignacius rushing toward us, looking like he was trying to spit fire? Didn’t he know by now that dragon ghosts didn’t get dragon powers? And why were Lynn and Blaine shouting from down the street?

  I took one more chomp of the cardboard-textured PowerBar when one rough hand covered my mouth and the other snagged me around the waist. Whoever had nabbed me was strong enough to be a shifter—the scary and powerful kind. Possibly even of the big-cat variety. I stared down at my phone and the empty insulin syringe on the sidewalk, wishing I clutched either of them instead of the almost useless snack.