Forbidden Highway (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 5) Read online

  A frigid arm fell over my shoulders, holding me in place. “Storm coming.” My father’s voice faded, scratching and buzzing like a distant radio station. “Gotta do…what she says…figure it out.”

  Rain rushed toward us, a silver wall hissing and pounding in the trees. It peppered its way across the old homesite and stung my skin like icy needles. I turned to speak to my daddy’s ghost, but he was already gone. I ran for my Nova, already soaked by the time I jumped inside. Teeth chattering, I took out my cellphone. There was a message from Tubby Tubman saying he needed to see me. I deleted it and punched in a text message to Wade Hill.

  I need you.

  He replied within seconds. I know. King needs me. Can’t get away.

  Can I come to you?

  The bar, came the reply.

  2

  Once I got away from the little dirt road where Priscilla Herrera’s cabin was, the rain stopped. The blacktop road didn’t even have a puddle on it. I craned my neck to see the sky. Not a cloud in sight. I pushed down the accelerator as far as it would go and sped across Burns County faster than usual.

  The Nova bounced into Long Time Gone’s pot-holed parking lot. Quite a few cars for a Saturday morning. I pulled around the side of the long wooden building, drove around back, parked next to a grouping of dusty Harleys and a few beat-up cars. I grabbed my bag, locked the car, and hoofed it around to the front door. I’d never open the back door leading into the storage room again after discovering the dirty room served as a place for horny couples to have trysts.

  A row of Harley-Davidson motorcycles crowded near the double front doors. An insignia graced the gas tanks of a few of them. Another motorcycle club? No wonder King wouldn’t let Wade come to me. I cut behind the bikes, and the double doors opened, and a familiar figure hurried out.

  “What’re you doing here?” Corman Tolliver crowded up against me. One ropy, ink-covered arm slipped around my waist to pull me close. “Let’s go in the storeroom before you go in.”

  One sweaty hour of lust, a lifetime of regret. I put both hands on his chest and shoved. “I said never again.”

  “Yep. You sure did.” He sneered. “But you’ll change your mind.”

  “I’m here to see Wade.” I raised my eyebrows. “Do you think your best friend would like knowing about us?”

  Corman mumbled something.

  “Speak up. I didn’t hear you.” I glanced at the doors, waiting for Wade to come storming out. He’d be looking for me by now.

  “I said ‘You ought to be grateful. You’re just a tramp with a dirty mouth.’”

  “Well, you’re a moron and a mediocre lay, so I guess we’re even.” I gave him a loud kiss on the cheek, shoved past him, and let myself into the bar. A half-dozen guys in black leather jackets turned to stare at me.

  “This is the entertainment?” A guy with a shaved head said to nobody in particular. “I thought there’d be several girls. And I want one with an actual rack.”

  I ignored him and peered through the smoke for Wade.

  My best male friend and roommate stood near the dartboard holding court with a half a dozen giggling girls. One of them stood next to him, rubbing her breasts on his arm. All but two of the women wore either tattoos or t-shirts proclaiming their status as a Candy Pistol, a female who allowed members of the Six Gun Revolutionaries motorcycle club to treat her like a sex toy.

  Wade sensed my presence, stepped away from his groupies, and motioned me over. I made my way through the crowd, stopping once to fight off a red-faced man in his forties who also thought I was the paid entertainment. Finally, I reached Wade.

  “Peri Jean!” The Candy Pistols chorused. They left Wade’s side to give me hello hugs. My part-time bartending job at Long Time Gone gave me plenty of opportunities to chat with them. I didn’t understand why they allowed themselves to be treated the way the Six Guns treated them. Some of these women had some smarts hidden beneath their saline boobs and tanning booth tans.

  “Have you seen Cricket?” I asked a girl I knew as Diamond. “I owe her twenty bucks. She saved my ass the other day when I needed gas for my car.”

  Cricket reminded me of my cousin Rae, who died a gruesome death at the hands of none other than Michael Gage from my vision. His me-he-he-he rang in my ears. The tiny hairs on my arms stood up.

  “We ain’t seen her for a couple of days.” Diamond glanced back at Wade and winked. “Figured she’s off on a toot. She’ll be back, probably broke.”

  Wade put down his darts and came to tower over us. “I need to speak with Peri Jean alone. Why don’t you ladies keep our guests company for a while?”

  The Candy Pistols went away without the blink of an eye or a protest. I watched them go, completely puzzled by the dynamic between these women and the Six Guns. Wade grabbed my arm, dragged me into a dark corner, and pushed me toward a tall table with two barstools. He waited until I chose one and sat in the other.

  “What the hell kinda trouble did you get into?” A frown wrinkled his dark brows. “Scared me so bad I almost had to run out of here and find you. And I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on things while this other group’s here.”

  “What’s going on?” I glanced into the main bar area to see a group of scantily clad women arriving.

  “President of a smaller club wanting to merge with us. Meeting with King right now.” He jerked his thumb toward King’s office. “Woulda looked bad for me run out of here with no explanation.”

  I nodded. It all sounded bad to me. “I was trying to contact Priscilla Herrera. She hasn’t spoken to me since I figured out who really killed Daddy…and took care of it.” I shook out a cigarette and lit it, grateful Long Time Gone still welcomed smokers.

  “Let her stay quiet.” Wade bared his teeth in a snarl. “She got you into a world of trouble last time she butted into your life.”

  “But I need her to find the Mace Treasure.” I brushed ashes off the table.

  “Let it stay lost.” Wade flopped back in his chair, crossed his meaty arms over his chest, and glowered.

  “No.” I slapped the table, making the discarded beer caps jitter on the wooden surface. “Eventually another greedy, money hungry fool is going to come along and start looking for it again.”

  “Not your problem.” Wade widened his eyes and shook his head, making his long black braid whip around.

  “Wrong.” I picked up one of the beer caps and threw it at him. “Five people I cared about are dead because of that mess. Nobody else I love can be hurt because of the Mace Treasure, the curse on it, or anything else to do with it.”

  “So you put yourself at risk. What about the people who care about you?” Wade gestured around the bar.

  “I’m not in danger.”

  “You put yourself in danger every time you fart around with doing magic.” Wade closed his eyes and squeezed his fists so tight the knuckles went white. He spoke through clenched teeth. “What kind of magic were you doing tonight?”

  I told him about the ritual Mysti suggested for contacting Priscilla Herrera.

  “An ancestor altar?” Wade yelled. Several members of the other motorcycle club glanced at us. Wade took a deep breath and leaned forward. “You’re fucking crazy for doing that. You’re lucky nothing else hap—”

  I interrupted and told him about everything that did happen, including the vision with Michael Gage cutting the girl’s throat.

  Wade hissed through his teeth, and pointed one finger at me. “Never again. Ever. Call your mentor right now.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but Wade Hill was a big man, and right now, he looked like an angry warrior god from some forgotten mythology. I took out my cellphone and called Mysti Whitebyrd. She picked up after the fourth ring.

  “How’d the ritual go? Did she make contact?” Her sweet, calm voice came over the speaker like soft velvet.

  In as few words as possible, I told my mentor about the night’s failure.

  “Crap. I hoped she wouldn’t be this way. All r
ight. We’ll have to pull out the big guns, so to speak.”

  Wade held out one paw for the phone. I shook my head at him. He snapped his fingers. I held up my middle finger. His arm shot across the table, and his hand locked around my wrist and dragged my hand away from my ear. Smiling, he plucked the phone from my hand and put it to his own ear.

  “What kind of danger are you putting my friend in, witch?”

  Mysti’s voice raised, and the sound of her talking fast drifted to my ears. I couldn’t understand the words, but I knew the tone. She didn’t take kindly to criticism.

  “No, no, no. You offered to mentor Peri Jean, to help her learn how to control her abilities to communicate with the spirit world. Not to teach her the Old Ways. Not to put her in danger.” Wade’s set jaw and frown would have made all the color drain out of Mysti’s face.

  I reached across the table and grabbed for his arm. He waved me away.

  “Hey.” I raised my voice. “Don’t ignore me. You can’t talk to Mysti that way. She’s helping me.”

  Wade put one huge hand up in my face and talked into the phone. “Then you need to explain to her exactly what you’re getting her into…witch. And she needs to agree to it.”

  This must have infuriated Mysti because she screamed her answer loud enough for me to hear.

  “She’ll have to agree to it, you backwoods healer, or we won’t be able to go forward.”

  I grabbed for the phone. Wade wouldn’t let go, so I had to settle for yelling into it. “Agree to what?”

  “Give Peri Jean back the cellphone, you damn peckerwood,” Mysti screamed.

  Wade dropped the cellphone on the table and batted it at me.

  “Peri Jean?” Mysti’s breath came in pants. I could imagine her wild eyes and the red on her tanned cheekbones. “You there, honey?”

  “I’m sorry.” Despite how badly the ritual scared me, I wanted Mysti in my life, both for her tutelage and her friendship.

  “No. He’s almost right. I should have talked to you about this sooner.” Someone shouted in the background on her end. “Look, girl, this is not something I want to tell you over the phone, and I’ve got to go anyway. They’re ready to film another take.”

  Mysti had gotten work on an episode of one of those ghost hunter TV shows. They were filming the investigation of a haunted plantation in Louisiana that had served as a Civil War hospital.

  “How’s it going down there?”

  “More showmanship than actual talent. My brother loves it.” She sighed, and this time I heard someone ask if she was ready. “Tell you what. This’ll take fifteen minutes, tops, now that I understand they want me to fake it. How about we meet mid-afternoon for a quick talk? Carthage?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Mysti named the place and hung up. I put the cellphone in my pocket and narrowed my eyes at Wade.

  He put up both hands and shook his head. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. It’s just…don’t you remember how bad the Herrera witch’s ghost hurt you a few months ago?”

  “I’ve got to at least try.” Even if my skill level wouldn’t let me succeed.

  Wade’s shoulders hunched. He nodded, his dark eyes dull and sad.

  “Thank you for being here for me.” I reached across the table and put my fingers on one hand. He rubbed his thumb over them. The little zing of heat I felt every time he touched me made me squirm.

  “Why don’t you two get a room?” Corman set his beer on the table and stared at me.

  Wade and I pretended not to see him.

  “That vision with Michael Gage bothers me, Peri Jean.” He stroked his beard and bit his lower lip. “I’m gonna do some checking—”

  “Who said ‘Michael Gage’?” a familiar voice bellowed. King Tolliver, president of the Six Gun Revolutionaries motorcycle club, hurried to the table. He glared first at me, then at Wade. “What are y’all talking about that lying, cheating motherfucker for?”

  “I had a vision with him in it.” I swallowed at the phantom taste of blood in my mouth. “He murdered a girl.”

  “You saying you seen him, ghost girl?” Corman took a long drink of his beer.

  “Just heard him laughing.” I imitated the laugh.

  “Gage’s in the prison hospital. I got a contact on the inside. But you heard him today?”

  “In a vision. Could have been from ten years ago.”

  “Better be all it is.” King grunted. He ran his dead gaze over my dirty clothes. “Go in my office and get a shower. Serena’s going to entertain instead of bartend. President of the Sidewinders liked her.”

  Money was money, so I cleaned up and got behind the bar. Two guys wearing the standard scraggly beards and stringy hair motioned me over. The sandy-haired one held up his hand in my face while he finished talking to the dark headed one.

  “Yep. Killed him straight up. Cut out his tongue and choked him to death with it.”

  “No shit?” The other guy made a face.

  “Yep, so we’ll have to find another contact inside.” The sandy-haired guy turned to me. “Our beers are warm. Give us two more.” He reached out to trace the rose tattoo on my chest.

  I danced out of his way and went to fetch the beers. The rest of the morning followed in suit. King made me stay to clean up after the Sidewinders finally roared off on their motorcycles. I rushed out to my car, tapping out a text message to Mysti that I might be about ten minutes late.

  Caw. Cawww. Caw.

  I slid to a stop and glared at the raven perched on my hood. The bird cocked its head and stared back.

  I took another step toward the bird. Thunder boomed despite the clear sky. Ravens were suddenly everywhere. Perched on the light pole. On the roof of my car. Perched on the Harleys beside me. The caws hurt my ears, made me feel unhinged. Lightning flickered again. The birds went x-ray transparent and faded away.

  Head buzzing with confusion, I got into the car and locked the door. A ring I hadn’t seen in almost a year hung from the rearview mirror. It was silver and made to look like a spider with a red stone set into its belly. A freezing splash of terror hit me and soaked in.

  First the vision and now this ring. How? Did Michael Gage have some new idiot doing his dirty work? A worse thought occurred to me. Whoever hung the ring could be in this damn car with me.

  Me-he-he-he. The awful laugh rang in my thoughts. My skin crawled in anticipation of hands rising out of the backseat and closing over my shoulders, of Michael Gage’s breath tickling my ear. I spun to look in the backseat. Empty. I turned back to the ring. It faded and disappeared. I waved my hand where it had been, thinking maybe this was some trick of the light, but it was gone.

  I leaned my head against the headrest. Had Priscilla Herrera implanted some sort of hex in me during our brief visit? Or was I losing my grip on reality, imagining things? These last few months had been filled with things I never wanted to believe in before. Now I played with them, manipulated them. Did I do this to myself? No quick answers came.

  I huddled back into my seat, arms crossed over my chest, jittering with the shivers. My cellphone buzzed. I yelped and dropped the phone in the floorboard. I used one hand to feel around my feet, grabbed the cellphone, and regarded it with dread.

  It was just Mysti. I’ll be here. Take your time.

  I started the car and headed off to our meeting in Carthage.

  THE PARK where Mysti suggested we meet was actually a memorial to a dead country singer. Though not my first time to notice the place, this was my first visit. I got out of the car, and Mysti stood to wave to me. I hurried to her, more eager for my friend’s advice and encouragement than I realized.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She hugged me hard. “You’re going to come out on top of this thing.”

  I released her and allowed her to lead me to a concrete picnic table. She took slow steps and slid onto the concrete bench with a grunt. I sat across from her and got the first good look at her. Her appearance took my breath away. Fatigue dulled My
sti’s normally bright, inquisitive eyes. Dark half-moons hung under them. Wrinkles bunched her ruffled hippie blouse, and she slumped forward, elbows propped on the table.

  “What’s wrong?” Concern for my friend overrode my self-interest.

  “This job is kicking my ass.” Mysti tried to smile and didn’t quite make it. “The pay’s great, but it’s more acting than actually contacting spirits. Brad’s great at it. In fact, they’re casting him as the powerful witch in our brother-and-sister team.” She rolled her velvety brown eyes. “I’m still sorry I couldn’t convince them to hire you too.”

  I shrugged and shook my head to let her know I didn’t have a problem.

  “So you had a frightening experience this morning when you tried to contact Priscilla?” Mysti rubbed at her face.

  “The worst.” I went through the events in as much detail as I could. When I got to the part where my daddy showed me the storm coming, I cried.

  Mysti, who was tougher than her flowing hippie skirts and sun-bleached hair suggested, let me get it out without fawning over me. Her only acknowledgement of my tears was the offer of a starched, lace-edged handkerchief. I waved it off and wiped my nose on my t-shirt.

  “I’ve suspected this is how things would go.” Mysti folded her hands in front of her. “Especially after Priscilla possessed you when you took back the cursed mini treasure chest from Carl Mahoney.”

  “But I still don’t understand what ‘this’ is.” I fought to keep the memory of that awful day folded and tucked away in a locked cabinet. The feeling of having no control while someone else’s spirit rode me and carried out her own desires still gave me the willies.

  “That day, she saw the potential buried in you. She knew you were the one.” Mysti rubbed at her face again and shook her head.

  “The one what?” The words wrapped freezing bands around my spine and stole my breath away. A raven landed a few feet away on a stretch of sidewalk designed to look like a guitar. It cocked its head at me. I tried to ignore it.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been up all night.” Mysti dug in her huge, fringed bag. She pulled out a silver thermos and poured steaming coffee into the tiny cap. She offered it to me first, but I shook my head, impatient for her to tell me what I had to deal with next. “Let me try this again. I’ve been studying magic and how to use it since I was nine years old. My experience gives me an idea of your potential to do magic and to use your abilities as a spiritual medium. And, believe me, it is above average. Priscilla saw for herself the promise inside you.”