Another excerpt from Wild Ghost Chase
Over a hundred years of impressions permeated the house.
In the corner, children gathered around a Christmas tree. Then,
the vision swept away, replaced by one of a woman sobbing into
her hands. Over his shoulder, Enigma heard a man shout. An
old woman, toothless and dressed in a ragged Victorian gown,
ran through the room and up the stairs. His psychic senses were
overloaded, so, to firmly plant himself in the present, he glanced
over at Monica and caught her gazing at him.
Her eyes held a look he’d seen all too often before. Lust. He
schooled his expression to one of nonchalance and returned her
stare with neutral interest, a direct conflict to his real feelings.
He wanted to talk to her, touch her, kiss her lips. Yeah, like that
would ever happen. She’d called him Jason, so she knew part of
his real name. He doubted she knew who he really was. No one
did. Heck, he wasn’t sure he even knew.
Enigma ‘Jason’ Mysterio died in a car crash two years ago.
Three times he’d been pronounced dead, and three times the doctors
and staff revived him. Three times lucky? To be alive, yes.
When he’d emerged from the large tunnel of light the last time,
he’d brought something back with him. Visions of the dead. The
apparitions affected him to the point where he could no longer
hold a normal job. On a whim, he’d auditioned for a part as a
medium on a television show—and gotten the role. At the urging
of his agent, he’d stopped using his normal sounding middle
name and embraced his given name, Enigma.
A short scream interrupted his reverie. Irene had her hand
dramatically poised over her eyes. How the hell he had ended
up with her as a partner still flummoxed him. Yeah, Irene was a
looker, but she was dumb as a box of rocks. Amazing that more
than a few folks thought she had psychic ability. She didn’t have
an ounce of extrasensory perception. Nor, in his opinion, could
He caught Monica rolling her eyes in disgust. His insides
flipped again and his pulse increased. Why did she have that effect
on him? He liked his women tall and athletic. In contrast,
she was short, had unruly dark hair that probably defied every
hair product ever invented, and didn’t need the extra ten pounds
the camera was rumored to add. Still, her curves made his hands
itch. Although she’d never suspect his attraction, he’d had years
of practice hiding his feelings.
As a child, Enigma Jason Mysterio had been teased for his
odd name and his extreme shyness. Growing up, he’d done everything
not to be noticed; he wore glasses, dorky clothes, and all the
trappings of a nerd. After the accident, he’d embraced his second
chance at life, this time determined not to miss out on anything.
“Enigma!” Irene’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Yes.” Enigma gave her an easy smile.
“I think we should walk through the entire house before we
get settled. I want to make sure I have a room free of impressions.
It’s imperative I get a good night’s sleep.”
“Of course, let me tell T where to start setting up—”
“I mean now,” Irene snapped.
“Sure.” Enigma shot an apologetic smile at T, their long-suffering
technical assistant, and then followed Irene up the stairs
with a sigh. She didn’t need a room with no ghosts. Heavens, the
woman didn’t have a psychic bone in her body. No, she simply
wanted to get the most comfortable bed in the house. With a
shudder, he hoped she wouldn’t suggest test driving a mattress.
The overt propositions started the day he began working with
her. Adept at saying “no,” Enigma had been amazed at Irene’s
persistence. Recently, something changed.
Perhaps she’d decided to devote herself to saving her marriage
to their producer, Richard. Thinking about their relationship,
or lack of one, he shook his head. No, the big dark cloud on
her aura screamed divorce. Judging by the thickness of the stain,
it wouldn’t be pretty.
“So, what are your impressions?” Irene asked when they
reached the top of the stairs and were no longer within earshot
of the rest of the group.
“There’s too many to sort through right now.” Enigma
shrugged. Suddenly, the scent of roses permeated the air. He
stopped, feeling as if he’d walked through someone. He made
out a petite form wearing something voluminous and white.
“I’m picking up the spirit of a woman. She died young.” At his
feet, he psychically sensed a pool of spreading blood. “I think
she was murdered.”
“Oh.” Irene shivered, a sexy move that appeared as if she’d
practiced it for hours in order to get the motion just right. “Good
boy. That gives me something to work with.” She began opening
doors and peering into the rooms.
Enigma followed, peering over her shoulder. From appearances,
no expense had been spared in the renovation of the house.
Authentic antiques, maybe even the original furnishings, were
accented with modern art on the walls and comfortable, colorful
bedding. Each room had a theme. In the first one, everything
revolved around roses. The bedspread, the curtains, and the easy
chair all had a floral motif. A vase overflowing with multicolored
blossoms sat on the dresser.
Irene drifted into the room to sniff the bouquet but then
pushed past him. This room wasn’t spacious enough for her. He
followed her trim form down the hallway. She peered into each
room, but didn’t enter any. At the very end of the hall, the last
door opened into a suite.
Enigma didn’t have to be psychic to know which room Irene
would pick. The spacious suite contained a king-sized bed and
had an attached bathroom.
“I call this room.” Irene plopped herself down on the bed
and bounced. She patted the bedspread beside her and gave him
her best come-hither smile. “Wanna try out the mattress before
we get to work?”
Enigma stood in the doorway trying to catch his breath.
Menace flooded his senses. The sound of his heart pounding in
his ears almost drowned out the bestial screams he psychically
heard. Then, he had a sense of a sudden stabbing pain in his neck,
and everything went quiet. Too quiet.
With a rush, sounds flooded in. Voices, both psychic and
real, made him startle.
“Why, honey,” Irene drawled. “You look like you’ve seen a
ghost.” She tittered with laughter. “I know you’re a good actor, so
I’m not going to believe you when you tell me this room is haunted.
I know it’s only because you want it for yourself.”
“No.” Enigma managed a weak smile. “It’s all yours.” He
glanced over his shoulder toward the sound of voices. “Everyone
else is coming upstairs. I can tell you that so far I’ve sensed two…”
Enigma trailed off, remembering the sense of evil and the bestial
screaming. “No, there are three spirits trapped here. Two women
and one man.”
“Ooh la la.” Irene raised one eyebrow and indulged in another
sexy wiggle. “A spiritual ménage.”
An eternal love triangle? Too soon to tell, but Enigma knew
one thing, there was more death than love suffusing the walls
of this house.
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