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Copyright ©2008 by Melinda Barron

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CONTENTS

The Resurrection of Josephine

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About the Author

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* * * *

The Resurrection of Josephine

A Ghost Seekers Novella

By Melinda Barron

Copyright © 2008, Melinda Barron

Published October 2008

by

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

Edgewater, Florida

All rights reserved

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Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

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Many thanks to Tiffany and her unending friendship and the perfect way she surrounds me with positive thinking and always makes me see the bright side of things, no matter what. Kudos also to Jess and Leigh, for their sustaining support.

This story is for my sister, Janet. I fell in love with New Orleans during a visit there with her many, many years ago. It was a visit I'll always remember, and cherish. Now arriving, gate one...

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Chapter One

New Orleans, Louisiana

Two weeks before Halloween...

"Thank you for coming, Martin. I know this is hard on you."

Martin Vandreen gently squeezed Stacy Jackson's hand. “It's much harder on you. Funerals, they say, are for the living, not the dead. I'm glad I could be here to lend some support."

He watched his friend carefully, waiting for what would come next. The question had to come. It always did. It was the reason he tried to avoid these situations as much as possible.

"Do you see him? My father?"

Martin swallowed a sigh. He'd already decided it would be best to tell Stacy the truth. Of course, lying to her could serve a purpose. It would give her some sort of closure to tell her that yes, he saw her father and he was happy, smiling and standing with loved ones. Or he could just tell her the truth, which had good connotations, also.

"No, I don't see him. That means he's already gone into the light, he's already crossed over.” Martin glanced at his friend, who flashed him a sweet, yet sad, smile. He knew that made her feel better, to know her father had moved on.

Sometimes being a medium was a royal pain in the ass. People expected him to know things, when sometimes it just didn't work that way. Every spirit was different, and when he told people that, they sometimes looked at it as a copout, as if he were a fraud who just couldn't tell them what they wanted to hear.

He was glad Stacy took the truth and didn't push the issue any further. He'd lied to people before, mostly to keep unnecessary truths about their deceased relatives from coming out. But he didn't want to do that to Stacy. She was too sweet.

He looked up at the ornate ironwork that composed the gate at the Orleans Cemetery, an obscure city of the dead sitting on the edge of the French Quarter. He stepped back as the horse drawn carriage made its way through the opening.

He would have to follow it now, have to go in behind Stacy and her other friends, providing comfort to her during the loss of her last known family member. It was the only reason he was here, really. Usually, he avoided funerals like the plague.

Being in the church for the service was one thing, but coming to the cemetery was another thing all together. He knew that once he entered the gate, he would be bombarded by the souls of people who hadn't crossed over, souls seeking his help. As much as he loved being a medium, having that many wayward spirits vying for his attention would drain him, leave him weak and vulnerable. And he didn't like that idea, at all.

He should have brought someone with him, maybe Fletch, or Dev, to help him deal with the local residents. But despite his reservations, he knew it was too late to back out now. Stacy needed him, and he never left a friend in the lurch.

The carriage was inside now, traveling down the uneven path. Martin took Stacy's hand, and they fell into step with the five other mourners, a very pitiful number if you asked him. Those that couldn't make it, either by choice or from prior obligations, had sent flowers, though. There were tons of them around the crypt, large sprays of roses and carnations, and a few green plants that Martin knew would find a home in Stacy's small apartment when this was all over.

Still, he'd expected to see more people. Stacy worked as a barmaid at a popular jazz bar on Bourbon Street. It wasn't even noon yet, and he would think more of her co-workers, or regulars would have shown up. After all, New Orleans was famous for its funerals.

Martin glanced at the small jazz quintet standing nearby, waiting to send Mr. Jackson off in style. Funerals were for the living, true, and you came to show respect, to support the survivors. And right now Stacy needed all the help she could get. Her father's illness had left her deeply in debt, with no one to help her shoulder the load.

They were close to where Mr. Jackson's earthly remains would be laid to rest when it hit Martin that not one spirit had made contact with him. He glanced around, expecting to see one or two hovering nearby, respectfully waiting for the coffin to be carried into the crypt before speaking with the medium who was now in their presence.

There was no one there, absolutely no one.

He'd never been in a cemetery and not encountered a wayward spirit. He frowned and closed his eyes, letting his psychic abilities flow out like little feelers, searching for a wisp of ghostly residue.

Cold invaded his body, wrapping itself around his heart and not letting go. Strong prickles of pain radiated out to his fingers and toes, making his arms and legs burn. He gasped loudly, his eyes flying open, at the sensation of sharp stabbing pain invading his body.

The fellow mourners stared at him, their disapproval evident. He tried to get hold of himself, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, silently reciting mantras to expel whatever it was that had grabbed hold of him. His hands shook, and his legs felt like jelly as he continued to dart surreptitious glances at the ornate crypts and statues set around the cemetery grounds.

There was no spirit in sight, no shape or form, no bright lights or circles of energy.

Martin clawed at the tie around his neck. None of the people around him gave off any indication that something was amiss other than the sadness they felt on Stacy's behalf. The priest waited nearby, worrying the beads on his rosary as Stacy spoke quietly with the undertaker.

He feels it too. That makes two of us.

Martin lashed out at the presence, which tried to invade him. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, and whatever had grabbed hold of his heart was squeezing now. The pain radiating down Martin's arm grew more intense as he clutched at it. He wondered if he would make it to the front gate without having a heart attack.

A better question was whether the evil lurking in this cemetery would let him go; would let any of them go. Martin glanced around again, licking his lips, feeling the fine layer of sweat that now dotted his upper lip.

The man standing next to him clasped his arm “Are you all right?"

Martin looked up into his worried glance. “Can't ... breathe ... need...” He stumbled and the man grabbed him, yelling out in a mixture of concern and surprise.

Martin felt another set of hands grasp him as he tried to wheeze in a breath, the air not making it into his lungs.

"He's having an asthma attack!” The first man held him firmer. “Let's get him away from the flowers."

Martin nodded, clutching at hands, trying, and failing to fight whatever was clawing its way into his body. The silently tense air of the funeral turned frantic. Someone was yelling to check his pockets for an inhaler, and another person was screaming for an ambulance.

"Out...” he wheezed again, the movement of his lungs making his chest ache more. The blood vessels in his eyes pounded with the increase in his blood pressure. “Outside."

"Help me!” Two large sets of hands grasped Martin's body then he felt as if he were flying. He watched the blue sky above him as they ran toward the entrance of the cemetery. Each step they took provided Martin with a little relief.

The pain inside him lessened, and feeling returned to his feet and hands. By the time they'd stepped outside, the pressure on his heart lessened and his breathing slowed.

"Sit him down!” Stacy's voice rang out. Martin's rescuers deposited him on a bench as she knelt down before him. “Martin?"

The fear in her voice hit him in the belly. He should never have come here. Still, he'd never had an experience like this before. Never encountered a spirit that was purely evil, like the one lurking inside the Orleans.

"I'm so sorry,” he whispered.

"My father?"

He looked down into her eyes, so full of pain and fear. “No, not him.” He gave her a reassuring pat, even though his own hands were still shaking. “I promise you Stacy, it wasn't him."

The sound of a siren rent the air. Martin shook his head to try to get control of himself. The paramedics would find an elevated heartbeat, but nothing more. They wouldn't be able to diagnose what had just happened, because it wasn't physical.

As the ambulance skidded to a stop, Martin looked back at the priest, who nodded at him, his knowing gaze burning into Martin's soul.

Two male paramedics rushed up, setting down boxes of equipment. One of them clasped Martin's hand and he shook his head no, looking from one to the other. The first one babbled about vital signs and a trip to the hospital.

Martin voiced his dissent, and then glanced at the second paramedic, who held a clipboard and stared at him with the same look the priest had just delivered. Martin shivered and pushed everyone away, thanked them for their time, then wobbled toward a taxi, ignoring the cries of the medical workers for him to come back.

He didn't need their kind of assistance right now. It wouldn't help. He needed to talk to his friends, needed to relate his story to people who would believe him and help him decide how best to handle the situation.

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Chapter Two

"There are no reported hauntings at that cemetery.” Devlin St. Giles flipped through a large book, then slapped it shut.

"I don't care,” Martin said, sipping from a huge mug full of chamomile tea. “Whether it's been reported or not, something is in that cemetery."

"Voodoo?” Fletch, Dev's lover, sat on Martin's other side, his face scrunched up in concern.

"I don't know,” Martin replied, smiling back at Quinn, the female part of their trio, who placed a steaming plate of pasta in front of him. Carbs were always good at restoring energy, and Martin dug into the food without hesitation.

"Male or female?” Fletch poked at him.

"Evil,” Martin said, his head bent toward the plate, strands of fettuccini hanging from his mouth. He swallowed quickly and sat down his fork. “I didn't get a signature on it, just the stench of malevolence. I felt no other spirits in there, so I'd say it has been feeding off their souls, absorbing their energy to grow strong."

"Wonderful,” Dev replied, sitting back. “Whatever it was thought you were a great addition to its smorgasbord."

Martin took another bite, savoring the creamy sauce that invaded his mouth. His friends let him eat in silence, and when his plate was empty he sat back. “We have to figure out what it is, and get rid of it."

"Why didn't it try to get anyone else?” Quinn took the empty plate to the stove, refilled it and put it back on the table.

Martin nodded his thanks at her when she sat down. “I put out feelers for it.” He shook his head in disgust at his own arrogance. He'd dreaded facing the spirits, and when he hadn't found any, he'd gone searching for them. “I wondered why I wasn't sensing anything, so I went looking. It probably took that as an invitation."

"And you know, Boo, that some of us are more open to things than others.” Fletch patted Quinn's hand and winked as Martin took another bite. He was getting full, but eating kept his hands busy. His nerves were still on edge, and he expected to feel the entity's icy grip try to take hold of him again. But it...

"Stopped at the gate."

"What?” Dev shook his head in confusion.

"It's bound to the cemetery, which means some other psychic has already had a run in with it, no matter what the book says.” Martin twirled the pasta around the fork, shook the utensil clean, then started again.

"I'll call my aunt,” Fletch said. “Maybe she's heard some stories about the Orleans."

Martin nodded. There were lots of old souls around, involved in voodoo or other paranormal activities that might be able to tell them what he'd encountered today. He wasn't sure he was up for it tonight, though.

He ached, both mentally and physically, and even though it was barely eight o'clock, he wanted to go to bed.

"Stay here,” Fletch offered, as if reading his mind. “We've got lots of room."

"No, thanks,” Martin replied with a grin. “I'm not sure listening to the three of you make love will relax me, and that's what I need, to relax."

"We don't do it every night,” Dev said, laughing. “Well, okay, most every night, but we can refrain. You shouldn't be alone."

Martin stood, his legs feeling more solid than they had earlier in the day. “Thanks guys, but I'm going to go home, soak in a tub, and relax. I'll be fine."

"Let us walk with you.” Fletch stood up, then pushed his chair under the table.

"No,” Martin replied, holding up his hand. “I appreciate the concern, but you helped me to calm down, and fed me. Now I need to go and sleep for a while."

And pray to the heavens above that the spirit doesn't try to invade my dreams.

After a few more minutes of argument about Martin staying, or going, he left, hurrying onto the sidewalk and heading toward his apartment on Royal Street. He loved his living space, a former slave's quarters turned into four rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen. It was just enough space for him, and the cost was right. Plus, it sat a ways back from the main house, which gave him the privacy he sometimes craved.

It started to rain as he walked, and Martin tried not to think about what had happened at the funeral. Tomorrow he'd contact a few of the old-timers, people who had lived in New Orleans far longer than he had. They might be able to help him sort out his ordeal, put a finger on who the spirit might be, and how they might banish it—and hopefully, recover the souls that had already fallen victim to the evil.

It took him about fifteen minutes to get to his apartment. On the way, he nodded at friends and waved at the guides for the ghost hunting tours that were prevalent in the French Quarter. Some nights he would stop and talk with the tourists, and, with the guide's blessing, add some of his personal tales about ghosts in New Orleans.

Tonight wasn't that night, though, and he hurried past the crowded groups.

He unlocked his gate, then rushed past the main house in hopes of making it home unobserved by Janice, his talkative landlady. He breathed a sigh of relief when he opened his door, then shut it behind him.

He didn't turn on the lights, afraid Janice would see the shine and come to chat, as she sometimes did. The glow of the moon filtered through the gauzy curtains as he made his way toward the bedroom. He stopped at the bathroom and lit a candle, then reached down to put the stopper in place and turn on the hot water.

Before he soaked, he would fix himself a nice stiff glass of bourbon. That should help him relax.

With the water flowing strongly, he walked into the bedroom and stopped cold. Something wasn't right. He couldn't feel a spirit here, but something was definitely amiss. He turned back toward the door, then went flying across the room as someone charged him, knocking him off his feet.

They landed on the bed, grappling with each other. At six feet, two hundred pounds, Martin was no lightweight, but the man on top of him was stronger, plus he'd gotten the jump. He sat on Martin's stomach, then grabbed his arms and pinned them above his head. Martin continued to struggle; knowing it would be useless to scream. Poor Janice was half-deaf.

It took him a few moments to realize the man on top of him wasn't making a move to hurt him, but was merely holding him in place. Martin stopped fighting, then looked up into the green eyes of the paramedic from this afternoon. The man was beefy, and there was no way Martin was going to break his hold.

This was the one who had looked at Martin as if he'd known what had happened at the cemetery. Obviously, Martin thought, he did.

Martin heard the bathwater turn off, then a woman stepped into the room, her long hair braided and hung over her shoulder. She approached the bed and put her hand on the paramedic's shoulder, gently squeezing.

When no one made a move, Martin's breathing slowed. He looked between them, wondering what the hell was happening now. Finally, he settled his gaze on the man on top of him. “You know, if I was supposed to pay for something this afternoon, you could have just sent me a bill."

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Chapter Three

"Don't scream,” the woman said, her voice soft.

Martin laughed in response. “Have I screamed yet? Who the hell are you, and what the hell do you want?"

"My name is Rumer Rousseau, and this is Noah Hopper. We're here to talk about Josephine."

"Who?"

"Josephine,” Noah said, his voice deep. “The spirit you encountered today."

"Oh.” Martin pulled on his arms, and to his surprise Noah let them go. He rubbed his wrists, then bucked his hips. “You can get off me now."

When the man didn't move, Martin bucked harder. “You know, most people knock on the front door when they want to have a conversation unless they're planning something that's not above board."

"Your landlady let us in,” Rumer said. “She's very sweet."

Martin groaned, then closed his eyes in frustration. “What lie did you tell her?"

"It wasn't a lie. We said we needed a psychic, and we do.” She put her hands on her hips, and Martin frowned at her. “You're not a very good psychic, if you didn't know we were here."

"I'm not that type of psychic,” Martin replied, pushing against Noah's chest. “Get. Off. Me. Now."

Noah stood and held out his hand in an effort to help Martin up. Martin ignored it and stood on his own, then he turned to Rumer. “Get out, now, before I call the cops."

"Don't you want to know about Josephine?” Rumer stepped in front of him, blocking his exit from the bedroom. “Don't you want to help us banish her?"

"Why should I believe a word you tell me after you broke into my house?"

"I told you, Janice let us in,” Rumer replied softly. “We need your help."

"And I need a drink.” He pushed past her, casting a longing look at the bathroom as he walked by. So much for a nice long soak. “Don't let the door hit you on the ass, as the old saying goes."

"Josephine is evil, and with your help we might actually be able to kill her this time."

Martin took a bottle of bourbon down from the cabinet, snatched a glass, and poured himself a shot. He slugged it back, winced as the liquid burned its way down his throat, then poured another.

"If you're waiting for the offer of a drink, it's not coming.” He grabbed the phone from its cradle. “Get out, or I dial 9-1-1."

When neither of his uninvited guests made a move toward the door, he threw up his hands in disgust. “What are you people, stupid? Do you want to spend the night in lockup?"

"Josephine LaClaire is wicked, pure dark evil. You know what she's done. You felt it today. Help us."

Martin sipped at his drink, his mind in a tangle. He'd been planning to investigate the cemetery, and the spirit, and now here the information was, ready to drop into his lap. That didn't mean, though, that he trusted the two people standing in front of him. It seemed just a little too convenient for him.

Martin crossed to the switch and flicked on the light so he could study them carefully. Rumer looked to be in her early thirties, with long black hair and dark eyes. She had a small mouth, with pouty lips. A small, upturned nose sat between her wide, expressive eyes. He guessed her to be about five foot six, with a few extra pounds that made her figure delightfully curvy.

He turned his gaze to Noah. Even though he'd seen him that afternoon he hadn't really taken stock of him. From their encounter in the bedroom, he knew Noah was a big man, about two inches taller than Martin, and about fifteen pounds heavier. Martin guessed his age at around forty. His dark hair was cut short, and his equally dark eyes gave off a sense of distrust and anger that burned Martin to his very center.

"Don't be pissed at me,” Martin said, pointing a finger at Noah. “I'm not the one in somebody's house, uninvited and unwelcome."

"She's a witch,” Rumer said. “And she's been alive for centuries."

"She's not alive,” Martin responded, taking another sip.

"She's not dead either, and you know it."

"What I felt was a spirit with no physical form.” Martin emptied his glass, the liquor taking effect and making him more talkative than he would normally be with total strangers. “That means dead. Mort, as they say in French; muerto as they say in Spanish; and abgestorben as they say in German. If that's not good enough for you, I'll turn on the computer and find you a few more terms."

He smiled as he watched Rumer fight back anger. Noah's eyes flashed and grew even darker. She turned to her companion and shook her head almost imperceptibly, to try to keep him calm. These two were quite a pair. Martin wondered if they were lovers, or married even. They certainly fit well together.

"She's not dead,” Rumer reiterated. “Her spirit is looking for a new home, after becoming displaced during a failed attempt at taking over someone's body. Please, let us sit and talk with you. What harm can it do?"

Martin thought back to the pain he'd felt that morning, the icy grip on his heart, and the way the spirit had tried to take over. He knew Rumer was right, but her approach left much to be desired. Still, if they knew about the entity, they could help him. On the other hand, they could be in cahoots with the spirit, but somehow he didn't think so.

Only one way to find out...

"Fine.” He held up the bottle. “Drink?"

"Yes,” Rumer said, holding up two fingers. “We'll both have one."

"Have a seat.” Martin could hear the surliness in his voice. He took several deep breaths, hoping to get his emotions back under control. It was hard, though, when someone had basically busted into his home and gotten the upper hand with one tackle.

He filled a bowl with ice, took down two more glasses and plunked them all on a tray before adding the bottle and carrying it into the living room. He placed it on the table, then sat across from his two unwanted guests.

"Sorry, but I'm not inclined to be a gracious host. You can serve yourself."

"I can't say I blame you,” Rumer replied, fixing herself and Noah a drink. “I'm really sorry, but I wasn't sure how to approach you, and since—"

"You found yourself alone in my house, and you thought you'd snoop?"

She had the good graces to look guilty, and Martin felt his heart soften just a bit. “Tell me about Josephine."

"Josephine LaClaire was born in Lyon, France, in March of 1731."

"No wonder she's in a cemetery,” Martin replied.

"My grandmother met her in November of 1956, here in New Orleans."

Martin frowned. “Met her as in channeled her at a séance? Or made some other contact with her spirit?"

"Met her as in had drinks with her on Bourbon Street and became friends with her. Grandmother was in her thirties, and Josephine was in her sixties, or so it seemed. Grandmother told me she was a nice woman, at first, and she could sense the magic inside her. Finding another person with gifts was a blessing, or so my grandmother thought."

The bourbon started to react with the fettuccini in ways Martin didn't like. Either that or he knew what was about to come out of Rumer's mouth, and that knowledge was making him nauseous.

"Josephine was very strong, and it didn't take grandmother long to figure out what she was about. Josephine had perfected the art of befriending a witch, and then switching places with her, taking control of the younger body, and then killing her old one, thereby killing the witch."

"Great.” Martin took a sip from his drink, then fought back the urge to spit it back up.

"You don't believe me."

"Oh yes, after today, I believe you.” He sighed heavily. “Finish the story."

"Grandmother said she'd worked out what was happening, and when Josephine made her move, grandmother was ready for her. She and two other witches bound Josephine, and then carried her to the Orleans Cemetery where they placed her in a crypt, thinking the New Orleans heat and humidity would do to her what it did to all bodies."

"Basically cremate her,” Noah said and Martin shot the man a mock look of incredulity.

"Really? I didn't know that the above ground crypts, while necessary because of the water table here, act like furnaces for bodies.” Martin sneered at Noah, who stood, his hands balled into fists.

"You're a prick."

"Screw you, Noah. Don't think that just because you got the upper hand on me by hiding in the dark it'll happen again. In a fair fight, I'd kick your ass.” Martin stood, balling up his own fists. It had been a bad day, and maybe hitting someone would make him feel better.

"Stop it, both of you.” Rumer stood, moving close to Noah as if to keep him in place. “I realize this is unpleasant for everyone, but there's no need to have a pissing contest. We need your help, Martin, and I intend to get it."

"Then put a leash on your friend,” Martin said. “Or maybe he'd like that too much. What about a muzzle? Or—"

"Enough!” Rumer screamed, then threw a hand in the direction of both men. They went flying back into their seats.

Martin was stunned by her show of power, but Noah seemed even angrier than before.

"We do not have time for this.” Martin could feel the energy radiating off Rumer's body. “If Josephine has garnered enough power to get out of her crypt, then she could very well be able to slip the bonds of the cemetery soon. And if that happens, then she'll go looking or a fresh body in which to resurrect herself."

"Nice,” Martin said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Your grandmother bound her there once. Have her do it again."

"She's dead,” Rumer said softly. “That's why the spell was broken. We meant to go to the cemetery before she died, transfer the spell's power to me so I would be the guardian, but grandmother died suddenly, a month ago."

"I'm sorry,” Martin said, truly meaning it. “What about your mother? Wouldn't she know what to do?"

"My mother ran off when I was a child,” Rumer replied, her voice devoid of emotion. “I have two other friends who know the craft, but neither of them thinks they are powerful enough to help."

"I'm not a witch,” Martin said. “I'm a medium, a spiritualist if you will. I can talk to the dead, but I can't predict the future, and I don't have any other psychic abilities."

She leaned toward him. “You can talk to my grandmother, though, can't you?"

"It's possible, unless she's crossed over. Then it's doable, but harder.” Martin glanced at Noah, whose anger had faded. He was looking at Rumer with concern.

"What do you need? Let's do it right now.” Rumer stood back up, walking toward the kitchen as if she would find whatever was necessary for séance.

"I can't,” Martin said softly. “Not today. I'm weak from this morning. She drained me. I need to bathe, and sleep. I'm sorry."

"Of course.” Rumer came to stand next to him. “I'm just worried she'll get out, and someone will die, and it will be my fault."

"It won't be your fault.” Martin and Noah said at the same time. The two men exchanged glances, then Martin looked back at Rumer.

"Answer me this. If we succeed in binding her back in her crypt, then what happens? She's strong enough that when her body disintegrated, her spirit lingered. What makes you think it will take this time? You'll have to find a new guardian when your time comes to die, and the cycle continues from there. Or what happens if, heaven forbid, you're killed in an accident or something? Why don't you find a way to kill her?"

Noah stepped closer. “For that to happen, she'd have to resurrect herself into a new body, and the new body would have to die."

"That sucks,” Martin said, nodding. “Hard to kill just a spirit. But may I remind you it didn't work last time?"

"I know,” Rumer whispered. “I'm working on it."

"Terrific,” Martin replied. “If it's any consolation, her fight with me today probably drained her, too. And the body they buried today doesn't have a spirit attached to it. Mr. Jackson's already crossed, so she can't feed on his energy."

"That's good to hear,” Rumer said. “When can you do the séance?"

"Tomorrow night,” Martin said. “I have several friends who can sit with us, to strengthen the circle and help guarantee success in contacting your grandmother."

Rumer nodded, then stood, and surveyed the room. “Where's the extra bedroom?"

"Excuse me?” Martin looked at her in frustration, his ears hearing what she was saying, but his mind refusing to believe it.

"Your guest room? We'll sleep there."

"Uh ... no.” He indicated the door. “You came in through the front, you said, you can leave the same way. Call me in the morning."

Rumer sighed, then ran her fingers through over her tightly bound hair. “There's no couch big enough for us to sleep on, and if you don't have an extra bed, we're just going to have to sleep with you."

Martin snorted out a laugh. “In your dreams, baby. I don't have a guest bed because I don't like people staying over. I like to be alone sometimes, and this is one of those times. Which means I want to sleep alone. No offense to your beautiful self, or to your wonderful lover here, but I'm not the mood for company. So I repeat: You can leave the same way you came in."

"You're kidding, right? Josephine is my responsibility, and there's no way in hell I'm leaving you alone for her to attack in the middle of the night."

"She can't make it past the cemetery gates, remember?"

Rumer took a step closer to him, and Martin could see real fear in her eyes. “So you say, but I don't trust the bitch one iota. If you want us to leave, call the cops. If not, show us the way to your bedroom, cause we're not leaving."

"Then you can sleep on the fucking floor.” Martin headed for his room. “Use a couch pillow if you want. Good night."

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Chapter Four

Rumer awoke cuddled between two large male bodies. She snuggled down, savoring their heat, and the fact that when she moved, she could feel both of them stir. There had been quite a fight when she and Noah had followed Martin into his bedroom.

Despite all his bravado, and his screaming, he'd finally skinned down to his boxers and said fiercely, “I don't give a crap what you do anymore. I'm tired and want to go to sleep.” He'd crawled under the covers and within minutes, he'd done just that.

Now she lifted the sheet and looked down. A nice-sized erection greeted her, tenting out the material of Martin's boxers.

Stop it, she chided herself, there's no time for this. Still, she continued to stare, her hand itching to cup him and gently squeeze. After she and Noah had stripped to their undies and joined Martin on the big bed, the medium had stayed mostly to his side. Until the middle of the night when he'd turned and spooned Rumer against him, his hand stroking her hip. He'd caressed her side, cupping her bare breast, and gently squeezed her nipple.

She'd been awake, but she hadn't fought him. After all, she'd forced herself into the man's bed, who was she to deny him a little feel. Plus he'd been asleep, and she hadn't wanted to wake him. He didn't seem to mind that she was a woman, which made her wonder about his sexual preference.

She and Noah had been lovers for years, and at one point they'd invited another man to their bed. They'd hoped it could be something permanent, but it hadn't worked out that way, and in the end, things had gone back to just the two of them.

Still, she knew Noah sometimes craved a man's touch, and she hated to deny him. She turned her head to study Martin Vandreen. Tall and athletic, with shoulder-length dark hair and beautiful green eyes. His lips were full, and she imagined kissing them. Imagined him kissing Noah while she was sandwiched between them.

She often woke up aroused, but it was generally because Noah woke with a hard-on, and wanted to play. This morning it was the heat of both men, the combination of their skin against hers, the pull of Martin's psyche, despite the words he'd exchanged with Noah last night while they were both trying to prove they were top dog.

She glanced at Martin's chest, bare except for the silver Eye of Horus amulet, which hung off a leather thong. She ran her hands up to her neck, where the identical amulet hung. Noah had one, too. The Eye of Horus was said to be helpful in warding off the evil eye, and she wondered if it had come into play yesterday, if it had helped Martin escape Josephine's clutches.

"Handsome, isn't he?” Noah's voice was soft in her ear.

"Thank you."

Martin's voice made her jump, and then she laughed. “I didn't know you were awake.” She turned to where he now lay on his back, making his hard-on even more evident.

"Right, I'm in bed with two people I don't know, one of them who has looked at my cock, twice...” he stopped speaking when Noah moved over her enough to pull back the sheet and study Martin's boxers. “Make that both of them."

Rumer smiled at him, happy he wasn't upset that they were checking him out.

"I'm not having sex with you,” Martin said, standing quickly. He did nothing to hide his hard-on though, and she smiled.

"I—um, we—can take care of that for you.” She pointed to Martin's cock.

"Thanks for the offer, but no. Maybe some other time."

"Is it me?” Noah held up his hands. “If you're not into guys..."

"I like guys just fine,” Martin replied. “I like women, too, and I'm happy to see we're all on the same page, but the fact remains I know nothing about either of you. You busted into my house, and you forced your way into my bed. So thanks, but no thanks. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just go in the bathroom and jerk off."

"Why don't we all play together,” Noah said. “I'm hard, too, and I know my baby's wet. Mutual masturbation might help us forget the horrible way we met last night."

Martin snorted out a laugh, and Rumer swallowed a smile. “Doubt it,” he said. “Nothing's going to make me forget that, not even a jerk off session."

Still, he didn't move toward the bathroom and Rumer took that as a good sign. “Are you sure?"

She watched his face as he contemplated the idea, then rejected it, then reconsidered again. His body wanted it, she knew. It was his mind that rebelled, saying it wasn't right, that they weren't to be trusted.

"Have you never slept with anyone you just met?” She kept her voice soft and even.

"Sure I have,” Martin said. “But it's usually at night, after a few drinks, not the morning after I meet them."

"We'll make a rule,” Noah said. “Nobody touches anyone else, not even Rumer and me."

"Look, I appreciate the offer, but no.” He shook his head and moved toward the bathroom. Rumer watched him as he disappeared behind the door, closing it firmly behind him.

This run in with Martin Vandreen could be the best thing to ever happen to her and Noah, or the worst.

* * * *

Martin opened the refrigerator and winced. When he'd come out of the shower, Noah had been gone, and Rumer had run into the bathroom immediately, shutting the door behind her without saying a word. He supposed it hadn't been very polite of him to hog the only bathroom before his houseguests got a chance, even if they had been forced on him

But if he'd stayed in the bedroom one more second, he would have dropped his shorts and joined in their plan for a pleasure circle, and he wasn't ready for that, no matter how hard his cock had protested. It was simple for them to propose it, since they were lovers already, but for him, it wasn't easy just to jump in. The whole time he'd been in the shower he'd wondered if they were making love.

When he came out to find Noah gone, he'd decided they hadn't. The trust level for them had gone up, too, since there was no lock on his bathroom door, and neither of them had come in uninvited.

Of course, that didn't make everything all right. He's spent more than an hour screaming at them last night, trying to get them out of his house. Rumer had refused, and Noah had backed her up. Finally, he'd just given up and gone to bed, only to find them nestled against him this morning.

He knew they'd been right, though. Josephine could have followed his signature, found him and attacked him. Having someone here with him after yesterday's troubling events was a good idea.

He sighed heavily and shut the refrigerator door, then turned to the coffeemaker, which churned along in its quest to provide him—them—with morning brew. He had enough milk and sugar, if needed, but he had no real food in the house. He generally ate out, or invited himself to partake of Fletch's delicious cooking. And since he contributed money to the food bill at his friends’ household, they didn't mind, even if they did tease him about being a mooch.

Thinking of the trio made him glance at the clock. Quinn would have already left for work, but Fletch and Dev would be around. He needed to tell them last night's tale, get their help with tonight's séance.

The front door opened, and Noah came in balancing two large sacks and a cardboard tray filled with three coffee cups. Martin rushed to help him, taking the tray and setting it down on the table.

"Café au lait and beignets,” Martin said, taking an appreciative whiff of the air.

"Rumer's addicted,” Noah replied. “The clerks were surprised I bought three servings this morning, instead of two. I think they thought we got lucky last night"

Martin laughed softly. “Travel mugs, so the coffee's still hot."

Noah nodded, then cleared his throat. “Listen, about ... I'm sorry about...” he pointed toward the bedroom, “...tackling you."

"Me too,” Martin said. “Don't forget what I said, though. In a fair fight—"

"Coffee.” Rumer's soft voice broke into the conversation, and she grabbed one of the cups, then pointed to the bags. “How come they're not open yet?"

"I just got back,” Noah replied, tearing apart one of the white sacks.

Martin took down three plates, and they filled them high with the sugary treats. “Let's eat outside. Janice has a table set up out there, and she's already gone to work this morning."

They settled themselves at the table, enjoying the pleasantly cool New Orleans morning. Martin hid a smile as Rumer dug into her food, scarfing down one beignet in what he thought was record time before grabbing another one.

"It's the sugar,” Noah said, taking a bite of his own. “She's a sugar addict."

"I like the energy it brings,” she said, licking her fingers. “Why can't we do the séance this morning?"

"We could, but I'd like a little more time to prepare. Did your grandmother live here in town?"

"Yes, over on Dauphine. I haven't had the heart to clean it out, yet."

Martin nodded. “We should do it there, where she's connected."

"All right."

"What was her name?” Martin took a sip of coffee.

"Lola."

"We'll need some candles, and if you have something of hers to hold, something that meant a lot to her, it will help to contact her spirit."

Rumer nodded, then focused on something behind Martin's back. He turned to find Fletch standing there, holding a tray containing four coffee mugs. Quinn and Dev stood beside him holding white bags that Martin knew contained more beignets.

"Looks like we're late with our delivery,” Dev said with a laugh.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five

Martin took several calming breaths, then took a step toward the Orleans Cemetery gate. Beside him, Rumer shivered, running her hands up and down her arms.

"This is a bad idea."

"For people with powers for her to drain, yes.” Dev held up his hand, stopping her before she could speak again. “For those of us normal humans, it's not a bad idea. No one at the funeral yesterday was affected except for Martin, a medium. She can't hurt us."

"So you say.” Rumer shook her head and Martin did the same. He was amazed at the way his old friends, and his new ones, had taken to each other. Rumer had spilled the story about Josephine and Lola, and everyone had listened with rapt attention. When she was done, Dev had suggested a trip to the cemetery, and had been at the gate before anyone could object.

They'd had a heated discussion about the pros and cons of putting themselves in Josephine's path. Dev and Fletch had surprised them all by saying they'd gone there last night, but hadn't gone inside. Martin knew there was no way to deter them, and he told Rumer so.

They'd stopped by the trio's house to pick up a few ghost detecting items, and here they were, ready to do some hunting.

"She's not a ghost,” Martin said, pointing to the machines.

"She should have an energy signature,” Fletch said. “We'll find her."

Fletch and Dev headed for the gate, and Martin was surprised to see Quinn and Noah fall into step behind them.

"Quinn? You hate the ‘ghostly stuff.'” Martin held up his hands in a questioning gesture. “Where are you going?"

"I've changed in the last year,” she replied with a laugh. “Besides, it's broad daylight, and I doubt she can hurt us."

Martin shrugged, then looked at Noah. “No powers?"

"No,” Noah said. “But I want to see what we're up against."

The four of them entered the cemetery without saying another word, and when Rumer went to follow, Martin grabbed her arm. “Tell me about yourself."

"What?” She turned to him and frowned.

"You've been in my bed, and I don't even know what you do for a living."

Her laughter was soft, with a tinge of nervousness. “I'm a nurse, which is how I met Noah. He's a paramedic, as you already know."

"Yeah, I do,” Martin said, trying to keep the mood light. He turned his gaze on where the foursome was now winding their way through the crypts and around religious statues and stone benches. He knew Fletch and Dev loved this.

"What about you?"

"We're ghost seekers,” Martin said with a laugh. “We don't make a lot of money, but enough to keep us going. We visit various haunted places and either prove, or dispel, their hauntings. I also do séances for people, when asked. Quinn's a reporter for a TV station."

"Yeah, I've seen her on the news,” Rumer said. Martin noticed that while she was taking to him, she too was focused on their friends inside the graveyard. “I want to go in there, to confront her."

"Bad idea,” Martin replied, fighting down the panic in his stomach. Memories of Josephine's icy grip made him want to hurl his breakfast all over the sidewalk. “Trust me on that."

The four of them gathered in a small group, and Martin took a step closer to the gate. “They've found something."

"Yes,” Rumer replied. She bounced on the balls of her feet, then wiggled her hands. “I'm going in."

"No!” Martin grabbed at her, but she shook him off, turning before she got to the gate.

"You stay here, but I'm leaving. I won't let that bitch have any sort of hold over me, including keeping me from going where I want to go."

She marched inside the gate and Martin rushed after her, stopping before he stepped onto the grounds. As she walked, he looked toward his friends, then gasped.

A dark form, made entirely of energy, floated near them. It swayed back and forth, and Martin charged for the fence, clutching the iron slats. As Rumer neared the group, the form took the shape of a woman, filmy, but still visible.

Martin yelled at Rumer to come back. “You're giving her energy, get back here!"

"No!” She continued to walk, and the form coalesced into a more solid form.

"Oh hell!” Martin pushed away from the fence, and then took off across the graveyard, hot on Rumer's heels.

Rumer could see the form, floating. She watched it take shape, the face of a very beautiful woman smiling at her. The woman's gesture made Rumer shiver in disgust.

Martin grabbed her and tried to pull her back; she bucked him off. “No.” She turned her attention of Josephine. “You evil witch."

Josephine smiled, then blinked her eyes very slowly.

Cold invaded Rumer's body and she conjured a protection shield, making sure it encompassed every person in the cemetery. When Josephine's smile faded, she knew it had worked. “Enjoy your last few days of power, witch. You'll be dead, soon."

Even the humans started and hunched down, looking around for the source of laughter that filled the cemetery. “Your grandmother thought the same thing. But yet here I am, and she's dead."

"I hear her,” Noah said, taking a step toward Rumer.

Rumer nodded, holding up her hand to halt his advancement. Martin clutched at her shoulders, trying to pull her toward the gate. “My grandmother was a good woman. Something you know nothing about."

The spirit's laughter increased. “She thought I was good, or didn't she tell you that part? It's how I attracted my prey, by seducing them. And she was very tasty."

Rumer's scream of anger startled everyone, and Martin pulled on her harder. “Don't you see what she's doing? If you're mad, then your energy is focused away from whatever it is you're doing to hold her at bay. Don't get in a fight with her. Not here, not now."

Ignoring his words, she fought off Martin's hold, her anger boiling deep inside her. “You're lying!"

"Am I? Ask her—or wait, you can't because she's dead. Unless you have help from the one behind you. He was delicious, too, in a totally different way. Although I didn't get enough of a taste.” Josephine focused on Martin, and Rumer's anger level increased.

"Bitch."

Josephine laughed and blew her a kiss, and the cold that had invaded her earlier returned. She knew Martin was right: her anger had diminished her protection shield, had let Josephine slip inside.

Fear filled her as icy fingers clasped at her heart. She tried to suck in air but knew, unless she calmed down, it wouldn't do any good. Their four friends were with them now, ushering Rumer and Martin toward the entrance to the cemetery.

Noah pushed at her as Martin pulled, both of them trying to get her to leave. She would be damned, though, if she would let the witch beat her. That would set a bad precedent.

Rumer dug in her heels and stood stock-still, closing her eyes and letting her anger flow out of her. Parts of it stayed, like her rage over Josephine taunting her about her grandmother, but when the majority was gone, the shield slammed back in place.

She shot a triumphant look at Josephine. “I'm stronger than you are,” Rumer said, pushing away the hold Martin and Noah had on her. She took several steps toward Josephine, who no longer looked like the cat who swallowed the canary. “You'll see it soon enough."

For a moment, she thought the witch would strike out at her again. She strengthened the shield, waiting for the attack, but it didn't come. The look on the witch's face, though, was meant to provoke her, the sneer full of malice and contempt.

"Don't let her do it,” Martin said, his voice low next to her ear. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she felt warmth spread through her. “She knows we're going to try something, and she knows it's going to happen soon. She's trying to make you angry, so that you lose control. She's saving her strength."

Rumer nodded, knowing he was right. She cast a glance at Noah, who reached or her hand. She gave it to him and he stepped closer.

"Listen to Martin,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I can't see her, but I know she's there. Don't let your anger control you."

Rumer closed her eyes, hearing her grandmother's voice in her mind. “There's nothing shameful about turning away from a fight. Don't ever let anyone goad you into something, and don't ever use your powers for something wicked, or in anger. That will lead to things that will damn you, forever."

On the other side of the shield, Josephine waited. Rumer let go of the last vestiges of her anger, then turned and took Martin's hand, so that she had one man on each side. They both squeezed in reassurance.

When they were outside the gate, she felt tears prick her eyes. She wasn't sure she was up for this, was the person meant to take Josephine down. But there was no other choice, was there?

She didn't belong to a coven, and she knew only a few other witches, all of whom had run from this battle. It would be up to her, and her new friends.

"Can we do the séance now?” She turned to Martin, her stomach flipping when he shook his head.

"That would be a bad idea, I think. We need to take a nap, eat, and then go to your grandmother's house. And you need to remember that I'm not always successful. There is no guarantee."

Rumer nodded, even though she knew he had to succeed. She was sure her grandmother was the only one with an answer on how to get rid the world of Josephine.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six

Martin plopped himself down on his couch, then smacked his lips. “Does it bother you that your grandmother might have been attracted to another woman?"

"No,” Rumer said, sitting down across from him, leaning into Noah's chest. “It bothers me that she would have allowed herself to be seduced by such evil."

"Evil can be easily masked, and as the saying goes, we don't always know the people we love,” Noah said, stroking her arm. “We see what they want us to see, and sometimes things are hidden."

Rumer nodded, and Martin's heart went out to her. He could tell this ordeal was hitting her hard. The idea her grandmother had been easily duped made her ache inside. “Tell me something, if Noah hadn't been called to the cemetery yesterday, what would you have done about her?"

"I don't know,” Rumer replied. “I've tried to think of several solutions, but nothing ever took hold. Knowing she attacked you, though, that pushed me forward. She can't be allowed to linger there and feed off the energy of the living, or the dead. If she grows strong enough, and then disappears, I will have failed."

"We.” Martin leaned forward. “It's not just you anymore. We're in this together.” He stood quickly and jerked his head toward the bedroom. “I'm taking a nap. Care to join me?"

"You seem to sleep a lot,” Noah said. “Depressed? You have an inadequate love life?"

"I have no love life,” Martin replied. “But, right now the sleep helps me store up energy for tonight, and recover it from yesterday."

"We did offer.” Noah lifted his brows, and Martin fought the urge to reach over and slap the arrogant look off his handsome face.

"You did, so I'll repeat, I'm taking a nap, want to join me? You can give me a blowjob and help me unwind before tonight."

"Such a sweet offer, right baby?” Noah caressed Rumer's arm.

Martin shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, it's been a long time since I've invited anyone to my bed. And I never really was a hearts and flowers kind of guy."

When they didn't move, Martin sighed. “Well, I'm going in. See you in a bit."

In the bedroom he stripped down to his boxers, turning toward a chair to lay out his jeans. When Noah's arms came around him, his hand snaking down to clasp Martin's semi-hard cock, Martin groaned.

"Very nice,” Noah said, squeezing and pumping him gently.

Martin sighed heavily as his cock filled out with each stroke. “Glad you like it.” He shifted his gaze to see Rumer, naked, climbing onto the middle of the bed. She sat against the headboard, her legs spread in invitation, and Martin was sure this round of pure sex would help them bond. It would be good for all three of them.

Noah let go of his cock, and Martin walked to the bed, crawling up between Rumer's legs and kissing her gently, his fingers stroking over a bare breast. Her moan of pleasure made him smile, and he kissed her again, his tongue sliding into her mouth and swiping over her teeth.

Strong hands stroked his shoulders, and Martin pushed back into the touch. He adored having sex with a woman, but feeling a man's strong hands on him was another feeling to be savored. Having them both at the same time was delicious.

Martin leaned over and captured one of Rumer's nipples, his hand snaking out in search of Noah's cock. Noah guided him, helping him find it as he lowered his mouth to Rumer's other nipple. Then he clasped Martin's cock and they jerked together. Their hands set a steady pace, sliding up and down each other's shafts as they licked, kissed, and sucked Rumer's hard nubs.

"Oh yes.” Rumer grasped both of their heads, clasping them tightly to her breasts. “I love to watch two men play together. It's so sexy, especially when they're sucking me."

Martin nibbled on her nipple, then licked it gently. He lifted his gaze to her and winked before dropping his hand from Noah's cock and leaning over to suck in as much of the man's dick as possible.

Noah's deep groan let him know the touch was appreciated, and while Martin sucked, his fingers sought out Rumer's folds, pushing into her soft body, feeling her wetness coat his fingers.

"Pinch her clit,” Noah said. “She likes it that way."

Rumer's sensuous, low moan made Martin's cock jump. He stroked her folds, his fingers sliding up and down in time with his mouth, which still slid up and down Noah's length. He tongued the head, slipping into the slit, savoring Noah's groan of pleasure.

He pulled back, watching Noah's cock bob in front of his face. He ran his tongue down the ridge in the back, reveling in the hiss of pleasure that escaped Noah's mouth. He sucked the head back in, nibbling on it gently as his fingers continued to stroke Rumer. He found her clit easily, running his thumb over the tight bud with a gentle stroke as she bucked her hips into his hand.

Martin kissed the tip of Noah's cock, then sat back and smiled at him. Without saying a word, he transferred his mouth to Rumer, running his tongue over her outer lips, then pulling them apart and gently blowing on her wet folds.

"Oh lord.” She wiggled and groaned as he licked and blew several times. When her groans turned deep and needy, he dove in for the kill, sucking her clit into his mouth while Noah caressed Martin's back, his hands dropping to gently knead Martin's buttocks, pulling them apart and then squeezing them back together, putting delicious pressure on Martin's nether opening.

Noah's fingers dipped down and teased his anus. “Yeah, feels good,” Martin said, resting his head on Rumer's thigh and continuing to blow on her wet flesh.

"Yes it does,” Rumer said, putting her hands on the mattress and pushing herself into Martin's mouth.

He licked and teased and nibbled until her hips were bucking wildly, her pussy pushing into his mouth with abandon. All the while Noah teased him without penetration, stroking, and feeling his puckered opening with one finger while his other hand dipped down and jerked Martin's cock, varying the tension just enough to keep Martin from going over the edge.

"You're killing me,” Martin said, panting. He glanced back at Noah, who continued to tease Martin, pulling on his cock, then stroking his balls and anus.

"Lie down on your back,” Rumer said, stroking Martin's hair.

Martin glanced back at her, and he could tell exactly what she was thinking. He lay down on the bed, then crooked his finger at her. “Come here, you."

She obeyed immediately, straddling Martin's face and lowering herself until his lips touched her pussy, and her mouth could swallow his cock.

Martin groaned as she sucked him, her mouth firmly around his shaft. Noah used his tongue to draw little circles around Martin's balls, flicking his tongue back and forth on Martin's tightening sac.

The double attention almost drove Martin crazy. He rolled his hips as Rumer and Noah continued to suck and lick, stopping at times to give each other wet, noisy kisses. He lapped at Rumer's pussy like it was delicate cream, slipping his tongue inside and fucking her gently. When he could feel he was about to come, he moved his mouth, fearful of biting something that would cause pain instead of pleasure.

Rumer groaned when Martin pushed two fingers inside her wet channel, fucking her in the same rhythm her mouth worked up and down his cock.

"Here ... wait ... coming...” Martin thrashed his head about, then pistoned his hips rapidly, his cock sliding in and out of her mouth. The burst of his orgasm hit him like a train, the first jets coating the back of Rumer's throat. When Noah groaned and whispered, “share, baby,” to Rumer, the pleasure increased. Noah's mouth replaced Rumer's, and Martin shot off another round, coming harder than he'd ever come in his life as Noah fastened onto his cock, his mouth like a vacuum.

When his cock finally settled, Martin dove back in for his treat, licking and sucking at Rumer until she screamed, then he did it some more, nibbling on her clit as she rode his mouth. He felt her pussy seize again. He clasped her thighs, pulling her down as far as she could go. When the aftershocks finally settled, he caressed her soft legs, trailing his fingers up and down as he gently stroked her insides with his tongue.

It took Martin a few minutes to realize Noah had stood up, his cock even with Rumer's mouth. Her head bobbed back and forth as Noah anchored himself by putting his hands on the wall.

Martin wanted to climb out from under her, to scramble behind Noah, and give his balls the same treatment Noah had given him. But he didn't want to interrupt their rhythm. From the tense stance of Noah's body, Martin figured the other man was close.

"Rumer, baby.” Noah growled out the words as the movement of Rumer's head increased. Martin stroked her as she rode out Noah's orgasm, his cock making a loud popping noise as she released it.

Martin continued to caress her legs, and when she went to stand, he held her close, his tongue darting out to give her a few final last lashes with his tongue. Her groan of pleasure made him smack his lips loudly.

"Very yummy."

Everyone laughed. Noah got up, and Martin helped Rumer stand, then quickly followed suit. He pointed to the bed. “I'll be the perfect host and go get hot towels. You two rest, and then I'll come and join you."

He gathered three hot towels, then came back into the bedroom and handed them out. When they were clean, Martin glanced at the clock; it showed they had about four hours until they needed to meet the rest of their séance party at Lola's house on Dauphine Street.

Martin threw the wet towels in the bathroom, not caring when they fell to the floor near the sink. “I'm not a great housekeeper,” he said as he walked to the bed, lying down next to Rumer. Noah was already on her other side, so she was again the meat in a sandwich.

"That wonderful interlude will help me rest,” Martin put an arm around her. He wiggled his fingers in invitation, and Noah mirrored his actions, interlocking their fingers on Rumer's stomach. “Do we need to set an alarm?"

"Noah's got a built in clock,” Rumer replied. “Comes from being a paramedic. He'll have us up in plenty of time."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seven

Lola's house wasn't what Martin expected. She died when she was eighty-two years old, leaving him to expect doilies on every wood surface and plastic on all the furniture. Instead, he saw bright colored sofas and chairs with a slight covering of dust, and beautiful prints featuring travel destinations. There wasn't a fake flower or collection of chintzy knickknacks in sight.

"Tell me about your grandmother.” He turned to Rumer, who smiled brightly before she cleared her throat to answer.

Yeah, baby, I remember the great sex, too. He winked, smiling at the blush that rose on her cheeks.

"Lola was a character. She traveled a lot, and couldn't stand to sit and do nothing. She had to be on the go, from the time she got up until the time she went to bed. That's why it surprised me when she died, she seemed so healthy and active."

Noah came in from the kitchen and handed her a cup of water, then sat down. “She had great checkups, which just goes to prove, you never know when your time's up."

Martin chuckled. “Thanks for the reminder."

Rumer clutched her glass. “Do you sense her presence here?"

Martin gave her a sad look. “Not really. I can feel residual energy, but I don't think she's still around. I think she was anxious to get on the other side and see what's what."

"That sounds like Lola,” Rumer replied with a laugh.

"But, if she wants to help us, she could make this easy,” Martin said, turning his head toward the knock on the door. “Let them in, will you Noah?"

Noah's look of astonishment amused Martin. He'd had fun playing one-up with the man on the first night. The apology had seemed to take a bit of wind out of their encounters, except for the sexual interlude they'd just shared. It might be fun to pull the guy's strings a little, see how he reacted.

"You got two hands, and two feet, do it yourself.” Noah crossed his legs and put his arms around the back of the couch.

"What's wrong, you afraid you might miss something? I'll take notes for you, if you want."

This time Noah narrowed his eyes, but the look in his gaze let Martin know the other man knew exactly what he was doing, and two could play at the game.

"Sure you know how to write?"

"I learned in grammar school, and we used a pencil and paper. What did they use in your time, a slate and chalk?"

"Stop it you two,” Rumer said, heading for the door. Martin and Noah exchanged wicked smiles.

"Don't call me old,” Noah said. “I can still whip your ass, pup."

"Yeah, we'll see.” Martin greeted Fletch, Dev, and Quinn, hoping the energy from the six of them would be enough to contact Lola.

Rumer offered tea or coffee, and everyone refused.

"Let's keep the lights low and light a few candles,” Martin said. “Only positive energy, people, no negative, and if you think a bad thought, please go in the other room. I need happy people around me. When the mood's set, we'll sit and chat for a while, and when we're all relaxed, I'll see whether Lola wants to come and play for a bit."

After five minutes, Dev and Fletch reconsidered their decision about refreshment, and Rumer went into the kitchen to fetch bottles of tea. When everyone was seated again, Quinn launched into a tale about a man she'd met while covering a news story today. The man, Jackson Brightly, had been arrested three times for streaking down Bourbon Street.

He'd called the TV station to see if they'd do a story about inequality, since women walked around topless at Mardi Gras constantly.

"So, my boss thinks this is a good story,” Quinn says with a laugh. “He sends me out, and my cameraman and I get to the door, and Jackson answers it buck nekid."

Her exaggeration of the last word made Martin laugh. He put his hand over the candle flame, letting his body absorb the heat.

Lola, are you here?

No answer came to his silent summons, and Martin cast his gaze back to Quinn, who was elaborating on how she tried to interview her naked subject without dissolving into laughter.

"So Jeffrey, my cameraman, he's snorting behind me, and I'm wondering exactly what he's focusing on, since obviously we can't shoot Mr. Brightly except from the neck up. So..."

Lola, come out and talk with me. You can enjoy Quinn's tale. It sounds like something you'd like. Plus, you'll get to see Rumer. She needs you.

Martin smiled at the faint shift in the room's energy. Lola was trying. He closed his eyes and focused on her signature, repeating her name softly in his mind.

"She's here, isn't she?” It was Rumer who spoke first, and it took Martin a few seconds to open his eyes and notice everyone staring at him. All conversation had stopped.

"Not yet. She's close, though. She's enjoying the stories. Quinn, tell us another tale, something funny. Or Noah, relate something humorous about your job, maybe someone you picked up who'd done something outrageous."

"Lola liked to laugh,” Rumer said, smiling.

"Yes, keep going.” As they talked, Martin reached out with his senses. He could feel Lola hovering nearby, trying to make contact, with no success. Each time it felt as if she were near, he'd double his efforts, but she'd fade, her agitation at not being successful very evident.

He knew this one would drain him, and as his friends, old and new, traded stories, he kept his energies focused on Lola, on bringing her into the room.

After about forty-five minutes, Noah launched into a tale about a drunk who had decided he was a statue in Jackson Square. The man waded into the fountain and assumed various poses, running from area to area so everyone could get a good look at him. At one point he slipped and “conked his head on the side,” Noah explained. “It took fifteen stitches to close him up, but he survived. Then he spent the night in the drunk tank."

"At least he had his clothes on,” Quinn said, everyone joining in her laughter.

"So he says.” Martin glanced at the form floating next to him. She was an older version of Rumer, with long flowing black hair and a gorgeous smile.

"Hi.” The room grew silent as everyone turned to him.

"Grandmother?” Rumer started to stand, but Martin put out his hand to tell her to stay silent, and still.

"Yes,” Martin said, his voice low. “She's saying the guy might have been naked. Was he, Noah? Are you holding out on us?"

A ripple of nervous laughter floated through the room, and Noah cleared his throat. “Yeah, the people watching him said he stripped after about twenty minutes of posing."

More laughter filled the room, but it was muted this time, and tinged with excitement.

"We need your help,” Martin said. “You know why."

"Josephine. I knew she would come back to haunt me, it's just strange I had to go for it to happen."

"She needs to die,” Martin said. “She's out of her crypt."

"I would imagine so. Two of the witches who bound her are dead, myself and Mary Elizabeth Mason. Only Sandra Tilbet is left. And when Sandra dies, the magic will be broken. She'll take the first human body she comes across, and she'll go back on her merry way, killing witches and stealing their bodies, and their powers."

Martin repeated her words for his audience, and Rumer held up her hands in offering. “Help me, grandmother. Tell me what to do.” She looked around as if expecting the woman to appear, and Martin wanted to gather her in his arms, push away the tears he saw clouding her eyes. Noah put his hand on her shoulder, and Martin nodded in appreciation for the man's gesture.

"The only thing I can think of is to rebind her on Halloween. Rumer is strong enough, and the veil is thin that night. That will keep her in the crypt until you can form a better plan."

Martin shivered as Lola's form began to fade. “Don't go yet."

"It's so hard,” she said softly, reaching her pale hand toward Rumer. “I'm sorry for leaving you with the mess, baby girl."

Martin tried to grab hold of Lola's essence, keep her here until she'd answered all their questions, but it was too late. She was gone. He repeated Lola's words for Rumer, and the threatened tears began to fall. She wiped them away quickly, then coughed.

"We need to find Sandra Tilbet,” Rumer said. “Maybe she can at least tell me the spell they used. That will help."

"Did your grandmother ever mention her before?"

"No, I've never heard the name."

Martin stood, his legs wobbly. Then he sat back down. Readings always took a bit out of him, and this one had left his body trembling. “We need to search, see if there's some clue here that might tell us who she is. Rumer, is that all right with you?"

"Yes.” She took charge of the situation, sending different people to different rooms to look through bookcases, desks, and anything else they could find. It took almost two hours before Dev came running back with a book in his hand.

"A diary?” Martin nodded hopefully, but faded when Dev shook his head.

"It's an old phone book, with addresses and numbers listed. And one of those numbers is for Sandra Tilbet. The address lists her on Royal Street."

"What are the odds that she'd still live there?” Rumer came up behind Dev, glancing at the address book. “It's been fifty years."

"Well, New Orleans is a small town at heart, and lots of people stay in the same house their whole life,” Martin said. “I say we go there tomorrow and check it out."

After a discussion, it was decided that Rumer and Martin would go, since Noah was on for the early shift. Martin could tell Fletch and Dev wanted to take part, but they didn't want to overwhelm the lady either. That is, if they found her. In the end, his old friends offered to do more research on Josephine and see what they could come up with.

When Dev, Fletch, and Quinn departed, Rumer turned to Martin. “Are you all right?"

"Drained, is all,” he said. “Sometimes it really takes it out of me, and this was one of those times."

"We could stay here,” Rumer replied. “There's a big bed upstairs. We don't have to have sex, just relax and sleep together."

Martin nodded. Normally he pushed everyone away after a session, preferring to recharge his batteries on his own. Tonight, however, he felt the need for companionship from the two people standing in front of him.

"Let's go.” Rumer held out her hand, and Martin took it.

He followed her upstairs, with Noah staying behind to turn off lights and secure the house. Rumer led Martin to a room with a huge king-sized bed, and several posters featuring different scenes from New Orleans on the walls.

"This was my room, growing up,” Rumer said softly. “Grandmother let me keep my posters here, and I stayed whenever I felt like it."

"She seemed happy,” Martin offered, his voice low. “I know it's hard to be without her, but she wasn't sad, except about leaving unfinished business."

"I'll finish it for her,” Rumer said, her eyes blazing with emotion. “Josephine LeClaire will regret the day she ever laid eyes on my grandmother."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eight

"You would not believe how much she's looking forward to this.” Martin and Rumer followed the tall, dark-headed woman through the several rooms. “Ever since you called, she's been a bundle of energy, which is a good thing."

The woman stopped and turned toward them. “Mother's not long for this world, and it does my heart good to see her happy about something. The cancer has eaten at her until she's so frail, sometimes it's hard for her to get out of bed."

"We'll keep it short and try not to upset her” Martin said.

"No, don't do that. She'd be upset if you babied her. This has been a wonderful development, and I know she's anxious to talk about Josephine. She's told me all about it and wants to help banish her for good. Their failure with Josephine has always weighed heavily on her mind."

Martin and Rumer exchanged glances as Tori Tilbet-Smyer walked out the backdoor of the house in the garden district. When the two had gone to Sandra Tilbet's house that morning, they'd been informed she'd gone to live with her daughter six months previously. The helpful neighbor had given them a phone number, and Tori had gushed for them to “come right over."

"Mama, they're here.” Tori sat down and patted her mother's hand, not in a condescending fashion, Martin noted, but with true affection. He smiled at the gesture, then held out a chair for Rumer.

"I made coffee,” Tori said, indicating the tray, which held stoneware mugs and a huge coffee urn. “Or I can make tea, if you prefer."

"Coffee, please, for both of us.” Martin swallowed another smile. It was as if they'd known each other forever. It had felt that way last night, too, when they'd gathered on the large bed, all of them naked, but none of them groping for each other. They'd exchanged lingering kisses between the three of them, then fallen asleep tucked around each other.

Noah had kissed them both softly when he'd left, and Martin had fleetingly wondered what it would be like to wake up that way every morning as part of a relationship, something he'd never been able to sustain in his lifetime. Things just felt so right with Rumer and Noah it was almost scary. Of course, that's not to say it would last. Maybe when things were resolved, Rumer and Noah would float away from him. But somehow he doubted it. Something inside him told him this was the real deal.

"You look like your grandmother.” The woman's wheezy voice pulled him back to events at hand. “And your mother. She was a wild one, that's for sure."

"I'm sure she still is,” Rumer said.

"Josephine LeClaire murdered my sister, Lydia.” Her matter of fact tone of voice made Martin wince.

"I'm sorry."

Sandra turned her gaze to him. “It's why we tried to banish her, Lola, Mary Elizabeth, and myself.” She stopped and breathed heavily, reaching down for an oxygen mask and pulling it to her face. When she dropped the mask, she focused on Rumer. “We were young, and stupid, and I was angry because she'd murdered Lydia."

She reached down again and brought up an eight by ten frame, turning it toward Rumer and Martin.

"Josephine,” Rumer said, her eyes widening.

"This is Lydia,” Sandra replied, turning the photo toward her and running her fingers over the glass. “She was so young, and very, very strong. Her abilities were much sharper than my own. It's why Josephine targeted her, after she failed with your grandmother."

"I'm so sorry,” Rumer said, reaching over to take the woman's hand.

Sandra nodded, then brought the mask back up to her mouth, and breathed heavily again. She lowered it, then sighed. “We were young, too, and very headstrong. Instead of contacting elders, or people who might have been able to help us, we followed her to the cemetery. She was burying the body she'd just discarded."

"Makes sense,” Martin said. “That's when you decided to bind her spirit to the crypt?"

"Yes. I knew Lydia was gone, nothing left of her but her body, inhabited by that devil. Too late we realized that if we bound her, we'd have to unbind her to kill her human body, Lydia's body. And if we did that, she'd probably kill us before we could get to her. She was very strong. The only reason we were successful was because we snuck up on her while she was placing the first body in the crypt."

"That means—” Rumer's voice floated off.

"Yes, to kill her, you're going to have to unleash her. Our words were wrong. When Lydia's body died, Josephine's spirit clung to the crypt, and that was our mistake. I can tell you the spell we used, but you're going to have to be prepared. Lydia's body is gone, and Josephine is no more than spirit now. The first thing she'd do is hunt for a new host, a strong magical one, probably you.” Sandra pointed to Rumer and Martin sat up straighter.

"To kill her, we're going to have to kill her host.” Martin felt as if the words were pulled out of his body, his stomach clenching in pain as he spoke.

"Yes,” Sandra said. “Do it on Samhain. That's the night we bound her all those years ago. Do it before midnight."

* * * *

"That's your plan? Not no, but hell no! Fuck no!” Noah paced the kitchen at Fletch, Dev, and Quinn's house. Everyone sat around the table except Fletch, who stood at the stove, stirring a huge pot of gumbo.

"It's the only way,” Rumer said. “Sandra Tilbet is sick, fatally so, and when she dies, Josephine is free. We have to kill her before she has the chance to do to someone else what she did to Lydia Tilbet, and all those women before her."

Noah wheeled on her, and Martin could see the other man's anger, and pain, deep inside him.

"So your solution is to let her take over your body, kill it, and then she's gone."

"It's perfect,” Rumer said. “You can bring me back, you're a paramedic. We wait two minutes until Josephine's spirit is gone, and then you do CPR on me and it's all back to normal."

"What happens if it's Josephine that comes back, and not you?” Noah put his hands on the table and leaned toward Rumer. “You have no idea if this will work, and I will not risk it!"

His voice rose with every word, and Martin reached out and stroked his arm. “Calm down."

"Are you kidding me? You're going along with this?” Noah pounded his fist on the table in front of where Martin stood.

"No, Noah, I don't agree with it,” Martin said. “I've already told her that, but she wanted to propose the idea to everyone."

Noah crossed his arms over his chest, starring daggers at Rumer. “So what's your plan, we shoot you? Stab you? Poison you?"

"Quit being an asshole,” she replied calmly. “Strangulation would work best. And I'm sure when I come back it would be me, and only me. Josephine wouldn't have had enough time to get a stronghold in my body."

"I won't do it,” Noah's voice was devoid of emotion, but Martin could feel his pain.

"Noah, please.” Rumer reached out for him. “This is the only way."

"Maybe not.” Fletch came over, placing the pot in the middle of the table. “Food you get, service you don't. Everyone can help themselves. And, as I was saying, maybe not. My aunt, she's a voodoo priestess. Maybe she could help."

"What, turn her into a zombie? That would be worse, wouldn't it?"

Fletch filled a bowl with food and sat down. “I called her today, and told her the gist of the story. She say there's a spell she could use, to destroy the demon, for that's what Josephine is, isn't she?"

A round of affirmative answers filled the air. “Do you want me to call her again?"

Martin waited for Rumer's answer. Rumer looked to Noah, who still stood, his hands on his hips, fire burning in his eyes.

"It's worth a shot,” Noah said. “It's better than the idea of killing you, and then bringing you back."

"I agree with Noah,” Martin said, glancing between the two of them. “It's too risky the other way. If Josephine comes back when the CPR is successful, then we're up the creek."

"Voodoo scares me,” Rumer said. “I don't know enough about it."

"Josephine scares me,” Martin replied. “Fletch's Aunt Margrette is a good woman. I've met her, and she's strong."

Martin could tell Rumer considered their idea, even if she thought her own was better. Finally, after a few moments, she nodded. “Call her, but I'm not agreeing to anything until I meet her in person. If it comes down to it, and you guys refuse to help, I'll find another witch, maybe Sandra's daughter, to help me."

"Margrette will be thrilled,” Fletch said. “She's itching to help. Now, let's eat. I slaved all day on this."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nine

It struck Martin as funny that they didn't even discuss where they would spend the night when they left their hosts. They were on foot, as always, and when they headed away from his house, Martin knew they were going to theirs.

He fell into step with them easily, walking with Rumer in the middle. She had her arms crossed over her chest in silent defiance. No one had agreed to her plan to play host to Josephine, then be killed and brought back with CPR. She hadn't mentioned it again after they'd agreed to talk to Margrette, but Martin could tell Rumer was itching for a fight.

"Busy day today?” Martin directed his question at Noah, who snorted.

"No people in fountains if that's what you're asking."

"Too bad, it might have brightened your day, old man.” Martin stopped when Noah stepped in front of him.

"Don't call me old man, pup."

"Why not? You've got at least ten years on me.” He pushed around Noah and held up his arms in confusion. “Where the hell are we going, anyway?"

"Our house is just down the block,” Rumer said.

"Good.” Martin started to walk, then turned to Noah. “See if you can keep up, or do I need to find a wheelchair and haul you the rest of the way?"

He easily sidestepped Noah's outstretched hand, then took up a boxer's stance, bouncing from foot to foot and jabbing his fists toward the other man. “Come on, put ‘em up."

Rumer giggled, walking without the men following her. “Stop acting like children."

Martin kept up his swagger, bouncing backwards down the street, punching his fists toward Noah, whose ire rose with every punch.

At the gate, Martin danced circles around Noah while Rumer clicked the lock open. After she opened it, Martin darted inside, continuing to spar with his invisible opponent until Noah stepped in front of him.

"Come on, let's go. You got the drop on me the other night, but you won't do it tonight. Put ‘em up."

For a minute, Martin thought Noah wouldn't play along, that he would dismiss Martin's attempt at lightening the mood a little. And then suddenly, Noah took a swing at him, jabbing his right arm out. Martin saw it coming and deflected it with a laugh.

"See, told you I was good.” They traded punches, some of them missing, some of them landing, but none of them hitting with enough force to cause any pain. After a few minutes, Martin tackled Noah. Rumer, who had been watching and giggling, laughed louder.

"You two are like little kids. Stop it.” Her halfhearted command fell on deaf ears as the men rolled around together. After a few minutes, Martin pinned Noah to the ground, holding his hands above his head. He leaned down and kissed him, their tongues dancing around each other, both their chests heaving with exertion.

Martin rubbed his crotch into the other man's, both of their cocks strained against the pants they wore, and Martin kissed him harder, capturing the loud groan of pleasure that escaped Noah's lips. When the kiss broke, he nipped at Noah's nose, then he whispered, “Let's get her,” in Noah's ear.

"Good idea."

The two men jumped up and turned to Rumer, who still laughed, even though she'd pasted a mock frown on her face. Martin saw the minute realization hit her, and she took off for the house, fumbling with the keys as she neared the door.

Martin grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into his chest. “Where do you think you're going?” He dragged her back into the yard as Noah darted into the house.

She kicked and flailed out her arms, her laughter belying her movements. “Stop it! It's too cold out here for this. Let's go inside."

"Don't think so,” Martin said, one arm holding both hers down while the other worked the buttons on her jeans. She stopped fighting when he slipped his fingers inside her pants, caressing his way down to delve into the soft warmth between her thighs.

"So wet,” he whispered in her ear. “I can't wait to be inside you."

Noah reappeared with a thick blanket, which he quickly spread on the ground. He hurriedly took off his clothes, then helped Martin undress Rumer, who no longer resisted.

When they were on the blanket, kissing, Martin quickly undressed. He noticed a bottle of lube and a few condoms sitting on the edge of the blanket, and he smiled to himself, his cock hardening even more than it already was.

He joined them on the blanket, and hands roamed, stroking cocks, and caressing Rumer's softness. Noah and Martin pushed Rumer back gently, one of them on either side. They both captured nipples as their hands caressed her folds, taking turns at teasing her clit, and then sliding inside her, both of them using their index fingers to fill her.

She undulated under them, her soft moans filling the air. Almost as one, the men kissed their way down her body, licking and nibbling as she clasped at the blanket. Martin pushed her legs wider apart, then gently parted her lips and licked her clit. It throbbed under his touch, and he sucked it in gently, rolling it around with his teeth until her hips bucked up to greet him. Then he moved back and let Noah take over, stroking the other man's head as he licked and sucked in the same spot Martin had just loved.

"Oh lord,” Rumer whispered, “I can't take much more. Please let me come."

Martin slide two fingers inside her, slowly drawing them in and out while Noah feasted on her. Several minutes later they traded places again, Martin lapping at her core while Noah gently fucked her with his fingers. They traded on an off for a few minutes, and then the men exchanged looks.

Noah nodded, and Martin bent down, sucking Rumer's clit into his mouth and gently biting.

"Yes!” Her hips shot up as her orgasm shot through her. Noah continued to fuck her with his fingers as Martin sucked, drawing another orgasm from her as she lashed around, begging for a cock, begging for more.

When she lay still, Martin winked at Noah, who handed him a condom. Martin quickly sheathed himself, shivering at the sound of another package tearing as he positioned himself between Rumer's thighs, put his hand on her hip to lift her gently, then slid inside.

"God yes,” he whispered as she grasped him, pulling him in all the way, holding him hostage within her tight sheath. He fucked her slowly, gazing down at her as Noah's skillful fingers spread warmed jelly on Martin's ass. Noah slipped a finger inside, caressing Martin with careful strokes. Noah used his free hand to fondle Martin's balls, gently squeezing them until Martin thought he would die from need.

"Noah, please just fuck me. Do it!” Martin stilled himself inside Rumer, her supple walls clutching him tightly. When Noah settled himself over Martin and clasped his hips, Martin sighed.

"Fuck yeah, do it.” The tip of Noah's cock pressed against Martin's tight rosette, and Martin sighed again, pushing backward, and swallowing the head as it maneuvered past the grasping ring of muscle.

There was a collective groan from the three of them as Noah worked inside, stopping and starting, thrusting and withdrawing, until his sac rested against the sensitive ridge that ran from Martin's balls to his anus.

Rumer shifted her legs, bringing them up so that Martin slid deeper inside her. She shifted again, wrapping one leg up and around Noah, and then they began to move as a unit, plunging in and out of each other with an increasing pace, their short gasps sending chills of delight up Martin's spine.

This was a totally new experience for him, being fucked while fucking someone, and it was the most incredibly erotic thing he'd ever experienced. Rumer's mewls of pleasure mixed with Noah's groans of exertion and enjoyment, and it drove Martin even higher, his own cries mixing with their own.

They traded kisses as they moved, their tongues melding together in twos and threes, their hands continuing to stroke each other. Martin lifted enough to slide his fingers down between his and Rumer's bodies, stroking her to orgasm one more time as she wiggled under his touch. The look of pure bliss on her face wrapped around his heart, fueling his passion like nothing ever had in the past.

When Noah grasped his hips and thrust harder, Martin knew he was on the edge. He tightened his muscles as Noah's cock stroked over his gland. Martin matched the pace, his own orgasm slamming into him seconds before Noah cried out first Rumer's, then Martin's name, plunging himself in and out of Martin until Martin thought he would go over the edge again.

Noah slowly moved them onto their sides, their bodies still joined, two cocks throbbing almost as one.

"Incredible,” Martin said as Noah caressed his arms and kissed his shoulder.

"Round one,” Rumer said with a laugh. “I'd call this little free-for-all a great success, wouldn't you?"

Laughter filled the air as they cuddled close, falling asleep together. It was several hours later when they woke and hurried into the house, snuggling down into Rumer and Noah's huge bed, Rumer nestled between the two men.

Martin lay on his back, his hand resting on Rumer's hip. He turned his head toward the window, watching the moonlight through the sheer curtains. Thoughts of the future filled his mind. He'd been jealous of the love Fletch, Dev, and Quinn shared. Was it possible that, what started as a break-in at his house, and had now turned into a love fest, could last? Or was it something that would end when Josephine had been destroyed?

He had no doubt they would be successful in their quest. He just hoped the victory would carry over into their personal lives.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Ten

The days flew by in a whirl. The weeks before Halloween were always busy for Martin and his fellow ghost seekers, with people wanting them to deal with the spirits that plagued them. Most of the calls they went on turned out to be someone's overactive imagination, and Martin always felt bad about taking money from those people.

Dev always reminded him, though, that the people believed their hauntings were real, and calling in the ghost hunters gave the customers peace of mind. There were a few true to life calls, though, with a few friendly spirits who enjoyed hanging around and causing mischief, and one not-so-nice one that didn't want to go home, and nothing Martin could do would change his mind. He'd made a mental note to get back to those people later, to try and help them solve their problem.

In between work, there was Rumer and Noah. Martin no longer stayed at his own house, spending every night in his lovers’ bed, laughing and making love with them until early in the morning. When Rumer and Noah had to work the next day, they curtailed physical activities, instead talking and learning each other's stories, likes and dislikes.

Martin found out that Rumer hated peas, and she detested rudeness. Noah loved peas but hated spinach, and when people were rude, he was rude right back, something Rumer sometimes had problems dealing with, and would cause many an argument.

Several times they got together on a “threesome” couples’ night with Fletch, Dev, and Quinn. Martin was thrilled his friends were getting along so well.

During her off hours, Martin would take Rumer to visit Sandra, where the older witch taught Rumer the spell they'd used to bind Josephine to the crypt. With each visit, Martin could see Sandra sliding downhill, and it seemed to him as if she were only holding on to life until Samhain, so the final destruction of Josephine could take place.

He mentioned as much to Rumer one night and she'd nodded her agreement. “Her breathing was so irregular today. Tori told me she's not sleeping very well, either."

"I hope she makes it through,” Martin said, saying a silent prayer for Sandra, and for Mary Elizabeth, and Lola, who had all done their best to rid the world of a terrible evil.

Three days before Halloween they met with Fletch's Aunt Margrette. They'd had lunch with her a week previously, feasting on crawfish that Fletch had prepared and listening to her idea for killing Josephine without her having to find a human host first. It involved things that Martin didn't quite understand, something about dolls and binding spells.

Once Josephine was bound to the doll, it would be lit on fire, Margrette said. “A fitting end for her, a truly evil witch."

Martin had agreed, but there was still a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that something would go wrong. Josephine was strong now, he was sure of it. Martin and Rumer had gone out of their way to avoid the cemetery, for fear she would somehow find a way to get to them, and slip away before the final ritual could be completed.

Dev had gone by everyday, though, and he said he could still sense her there, and that the equipment still connected with her presence. And since Sandra was still alive, Martin had no doubt Josephine was still there, waiting for her chance at resurrection.

The night before Halloween, Martin stood with Rumer in line at a local deli, waiting to buy food so it would be ready for Noah when he got off work.

"When are you going to give up your house?"

Martin turned a curious gaze on her, the matter of fact tone of her voice making him smile slightly. “Just like that?"

"Yes. You know Noah and I don't want to let you go."

"No, I don't know that.” Martin cleared his throat. “We've never really discussed it."

"I thought every night we went to bed together was discussion enough. We don't even question it anymore, none of us. You've noticed that, haven't you?"

Martin nodded. “Just because it's a habit doesn't mean it's a fait accompli. I want it to be, yes, but how arrogant would it be of me to just say, ‘here I am, I'm moving in?’”

"Very well, consider this a formal invitation.” She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed him gently, her mouth lingering right next to his. “Will you move in with us?"

Martin's heart beat increased, and his eyes softened at the look of need and acceptance on her face. “Yes."

"Good. Now feed me, I'm hungry."

* * * *

Martin shivered against the crisp, October air. They'd walked to the cemetery, Martin and Rumer both using the time to gather their thoughts, and the energy they thought they'd need.

They'd spent last night moving Martin's meager number of belongings into their home. Martin had assured Janice he'd return to mow her yard every week in the summertime, and had promised he'd come to visit for coffee at least three times a week. His landlady had been upset, but understanding, and Martin had made her promise she would let him check out any potential tenant before she signed any papers.

They waited now for Margrette, who was set to arrive in half an hour. Martin could feel Josephine's energy, swirling inside the graveyard. The spirit knew something was about to happen, and her anxiety was thick, dusting the air like syrup, sticking to everything.

Martin pulled on the neck of his shirt, then took several deep breaths. “We need to hurry. If this doesn't work, we'll have to try to figure something else out, and I'd rather be done with it tonight."

"You're right,” Rumer said. “I still think my idea—"

"No!” Noah stepped forward, pointing at Rumer. “I'm warning you, Rumer, if you think—"

"Don't you dare point a finger at me, Noah Hopper. If I think—"

"Stop it,” Martin stepped between them. “She'll feed off your negativity. Positive, happy thoughts everyone."

Silence took over for a few minutes, and then the sound of a car pulling up made all six of them turn their heads.

"That's not Margrette's car,” Fletch said, frowning.

"It's Sandra,” Rumer said, walking toward the vehicle where Tori was now helping her mother out. “What are you doing here?"

"I came to help,” Sandra said, standing up straight, her hands shaking. “This is my mess, and I want to see it taken care of. We should have done something years ago, instead we let it linger, and now she's about to be unleashed, again. I won't last much longer."

"No,” Rumer said. “Don't do it. We'll take care of it. Go home and rest."

"Why? So I can die and be well rested? No, I'm staying.” Sandra walked toward the open gate and strolled through, using a cane for support.

"Don't go in there, not yet! We're not ready!” Rumer turned to Tori. “Take her home!"

Fletch and Dev went after her, trying to block her path, but were magically deflected, both men falling down.

"Crap.” Rumer turned to Martin, who uttered the word again, then took off after Sandra, pleading with her to turn around. The woman ignored him, signs of her frailty disappearing with each step.

The group followed her and as they neared the crypt, Martin stopped. Josephine watched Sandra with greedy eyes, an evil smile on her face.

"Welcome, sister. So nice of you to come and visit me. It's a bit overdue, though, don't you think?"

"Oh lord above,” Rumer skidded to a halt next to Martin pulling on his shirtsleeve. “I can hear her. We've got to get Sandra out of here."

"No,” Martin said. “It's too late. Sandra feels this is the only way, and she may be right."

"I'm not afraid of you anymore,” Sandra said, stepping closer to the crypt. “Come and get me."

Josephine's snort of disbelief sent chills up Martin's spine, and the gasps from the assembled group let him know everyone had heard her.

"You? Why would I want you when I have other, more succulent offerings? The young witch will do nicely, and her gorgeous body will serve me well."

Martin and Noah stepped in front of Rumer, pushing her back. “Go, Rumer,” Martin said, jerking his head toward the gate. “Get out, now."

The sound of another vehicle pulling up to the curb let them know Margrette had arrived. “Fletch! Hurry.” Martin tried, and failed, to keep Rumer from running in front of him. He grabbed her when she tried to leave and she fought him off. She didn't get far before Martin and Noah both clasped an arm.

Sandra's laughter mixed with Josephine's, bringing everyone to a halt. “She may be young, but I'm stronger in ways that will serve you. Once you have my magic, mixed with your own, you can use it, can't you?"

Martin realized Josephine was considering the other woman's words very carefully. It was probably true that Sandra's magic was stronger than Rumer's, and Josephine would know that. And in her greed and eagerness to gain corporal form again, she might not realize Sandra was dying.

Sandra narrowed her eyes at the spirit, then laughed, a full-bloom explosion of sound aimed at making Josephine angry. And it worked.

"Come on, witch, have you lost your nerve? Afraid you can't live outside the stone you've called home for the last fifty years."

Martin could tell it took all of Sandra's strength to say the words. It hit him then that while she seemed stronger than she had the last time he'd seen her, her hands shook, and it wasn't from fear.

"No.” He shook his head in disbelief and looked to Tori, who stood nearby, tears falling from her eyes. He could tell the woman wanted to run to her mother, to pull her back, but he also knew it was too late.

There was a burst of sound as Josephine screamed, and Sandra's whole body shook. The spirit form of the witch disappeared, and then Sandra fell to the ground, writhing in pain. When Noah made to run toward her, Martin held him back.

"Don't touch her. She's poisoned herself.” He looked to Tori for conformation. The woman nodded and burst into tears.

"No!” Rumer rushed forward, but stopped just inches away from Sandra's body.

Martin could feel the two spirits within the one body, Josephine now fighting to leave, and Sandra fighting just as hard to keep her inside until the flesh gave out and the body died.

It took two horrible minutes for Sandra's body to fall still. Martin felt the spirits leave, felt Josephine's scream of pain before her spirit disappeared, the evil gone. And then he felt Sandra's yell of triumph, felt her surge of satisfaction, and lifted his eyes to see her floating near her now lifeless body, a smile on her beautiful face.

"Good job,” he whispered softly, his eyes widening when he saw Josephine coming up behind her. It took him a few seconds to realize it wasn't Josephine approaching, but Lydia. She placed her hands on her sister's shoulders, then turned her gently and pulled her into a hug.

Tears filled his eyes as he turned to Tori, now sobbing in Rumer's arms. “Your mom's okay, and your aunt is here, too."

Tori nodded, but continued to cry.

"We need to get out of here,” Dev said to Martin. “It's going to be hard to explain being in a cemetery on Halloween with a dead body. We've got to get her back to her house."

"You're right.” Noah stepped forward and gathered Sandra's body in his arms, carrying her gently to Tori's car. Quinn drove as they left, with Dev and Fletch following behind in Margrette's car.

Martin turned to where Sandra and Lydia still stood, their closeness making his heart swell.

"I can't believe she did it,” Rumer said, softly.

"Why. You were you willing to do it, right? She's sick, and she knew she was dying, and this was her way to right something she thought she'd done wrong, and keep anyone else from being hurt."

Noah stepped up on Rumer's other side. “Is she really gone? Josephine?"

"Yes.” Martin looked around the cemetery, where a few spirits still lingered. “I need to try and help the souls she's displaced."

Rumer put her hand on his arm, looking into his eyes. “Will it hurt you?"

"It might drain me a little, but I can't leave them."

"Then we'll stay with you,” Noah said. “Cause that's what lovers do."

Martin kissed them both gently, letting his lips linger on theirs, savoring the feel of their hands on his hips and back as the three of them hugged.

Then he stepped back and turned to Sandra. “Thank you. From the bottom of our hearts. You and your sister need to go, now. Make up for lost time, and don't be a stranger."

When she was gone, he sighed heavily, then walked toward the first spirit who showed him any recognition. It promised to be a long night.

He'd only taken a few steps when he stopped, the presence of Rumer and Noah giving him a surge of energy. Usually, a challenge like the one standing before him would be daunting. He knew it would exhaust him. But tonight, instead of seeking solace after his work, he would hold out his arms, and Noah and Rumer would be there.

That gave him a sense of belonging and of power that he'd never felt before.

He turned to them and held out a hand, love filling his heart as they both gaze at him. “Come with me."

And so they did.

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About the Author

Melinda Barron loves to explore Egyptian tombs and temples, discover Mayan ruins, play in castles towers, and explore new cities and countries. She generally does it all from the comfort of her home by opening a book.

Melinda is the fourth of five children born to an Army officer and his wife. A longtime newspaper journalist, Melinda has loved to read and write from an early age. Now she lives in the Texas Panhandle with two cats, Amelia and Pippin, and enough books to, according to her brother, open her own library. In addition to reading and writing Melinda enjoys travel, cross-stitching, watching movies and spending time with her friends and family.

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Table of Contents

The Resurrection of Josephine

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About the Author

Also from Resplendence Publishing:

Find Resplendence Titles at the following retailers:

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