I slowly twist the knob on the porch door, then creep through. Josh and Junie follow me. I leave the door unlocked so Junie and I can get back in later. We duck under the motion light. I creak open the gate.
We’re tiptoeing down the walkway to the curb when we pass Grandpa perched on the porch.
Even with The Ruler wearing the amethyst, he’s not taking chances, but standing guard. Anyway, the necklace is probably in her jewelry box for the night. A stone that large could puncture a lung. I sleep with mine under my pillow.
“Good luck,” Grandpa squawks.
I give a half-nod. My heart’s pounding hard enough to bust out of my rib cage. I so want Mr. Haggarty to be the ghost-stalker. ’cause once we know the stalker’s identity, Mom, Grandpa and I can start figuring out why he won’t move on. I’ll use all that info to connect with him at the cemetery and convince him to fly into the silver box. Every one of these steps is a step closer to Real Time with Mom. But this nocturnal field trip to Buren is massively scary.
“Call if you need us.” Grandpa fixes me with a serious look to let me know he means business and he wants me safe.
“That bird just cawed.” Josh frowns. “I thought birds slept at night and got up, like, really early.”
“Urban myth,” I say, all noncommittal.
“Definitely,” Junie agrees.
At the front of the house, I glance up at Sam’s bedroom window. Dark. And there’s no movement at the blinds. Phew. I so don’t need a little brother mixed up in this dangerous business.
I clutch Josh’s hand, and we climb into the backseat of Amber’s car. Junie’s in the front with her cousin. A feeling of relief rushes through me when I realize Nick is absent. Of course, I’ll make an enormous effort to get along with him. At some point. Of course, we’ll double-date. At some point. But I can’t handle being nice tonight, given all the spectral stress.
“You’ve got flashlights?” Amber says.
“Yeah,” I say. It’s not that she’s worried about us tripping over a tree root in the dark. No, no, no. She’s worried we’ll annoy her new, ghost-hunting boyfriend and cramp her style.
You’d think Josh’d be übercurious about this evening. Truth is, he isn’t a guy who questions much. More of a go-with-the-flow personality. Which works well given my secret assignments with the Academy.
We arrive at Buren, and Zane’s van is already in the parking lot, under a bright light. How do I know it’s his? First off, no one else is here. Second, spray painted in Day-Glo orange on the side, it says, THE GHOST HUNTER, ZANE BROWN. CALL FOR ANY AND ALL PARANORMAL CONCERNS. Then there’s a phone number. Third, the hatch is up, and he’s hauling out junk and piling it on the sidewalk.
Amber squeals in next to the van. The engine’s barely off before she’s out and hanging on Zane.
The rest of us exit and join them on the sidewalk. I’m sniffing up a storm. No honey + dirty socks. Not yet, anyway.
“This is Josh Morton,” I say, “my boyfriend.” I still get a flutter in my stomach every time I say that.
“Hi, dude.” Zane’s kneeling, sorting through his stuff and trying to keep his balance with Amber all over him. He practices our names in case we get into a sticky situation and he needs to shout out to us. “I’m happy to lead you all. Just remember to do what I say, and nobody’ll get hurt.” He gazes at us like we’re his kindergarten class. “Let me assign everyone a piece of equipment.” He closes one eye, like he’s truly sizing up our individual supernatural talents.
He does not look at me and say, “Dude, this chick can smell ghosts and talk to them. She’s awesome.” Instead, he unzips a lumpy backpack and draws out a tape recorder. “You’re in charge of audio for EVPs. If you hear any electronic voice phenomena, hit Record.”
Yikes.
“What about me?” Junie asks.
“Hmmm.” Zane rubs his cute but pointy chin, then hands her a digital camera. “You’re watching for light anomalies, ectoplasmic mists, that sort of thing.” Next he gives Josh eighteen-inch L-shaped copper rods.
“These are dowsing rods. Hold them out straight in front of you, man,” Zane says.
Josh sticks his arms out, zero bend at the elbows. “Then what?”
“If we encounter paranormal activity, the rods will cross, producing an orb. Junie will snap a picture of the orb. Sherry will record any voices or sounds.”
“What about me, Zane?” Amber looks at him with big emerald eyes. Which are really brown eyes covered with green contact lenses, but he doesn’t know that. He probably also doesn’t know about her school boyfriend.
“You can help me with the gaussmeter. And you can carry the infrared noncontact thermometer. And you can be in charge of the materials in the backpack. And you can carry a flashlight. And you can tell others when to turn their flashlight on or off.”
All these “ands” make Amber a happy camper. She does enjoy bossing Junie and me around. She waves the thermometer, which looks like a toy gun.
“We can expect a drop of approximately ten degrees with a paranormal presence,” Zane says.
I’ve never noticed that.
“Flashlights on, people,” Amber cracks in a drill-sergeant voice. She pokes the thermometer into her jeans pocket.
We head onto campus, armed with our ghost-hunting equipment. Junie and I also have our amethyst necklaces. And I have my nose.
It’s dark, but not pitch black because the school’s shining some powerful lights that apparently stay on all night. Plus, we’ve been ordered to use our flashlights.
“Time for some general rules about ghost hunting,” Zane says. “Number one: Only go with a professional. Like me. Number two: Scope out the haunting location during daylight. I investigated the location this afternoon. Number three: Have the proper ghost-hunting equipment. Once again, you guys have me.”
Blah blah blah. Got it. You’re the expert. But we’ve also got a mean ghost-stalker with an agenda. And whose name is on the agenda? Not yours. Mine. What am I supposed to do if the stalker comes after me specifically? In front of everyone? And hurts me? Or worse yet, trips me and makes me look like a total dork?
“What if the ghost is mean?” I ask. “How do we protect ourselves?”
“Good question, Sherry.” Zane stops walking, shrugs off his backpack and starts rooting around in it.
Amber rolls her eyes at me.
Zane hands each of us a small plastic bag with about a half a cup of something herbalish. “Open the bag if you’re in danger and let the spirits get a whiff. It’s cloves.”
So not filling me with confidence.
“This really works?” Junie’s frowning. “What about an amethyst?”
“I prefer cloves.” Zane waves his hand at our necklaces, dismissing the whole amethyst idea. “For a group, cloves are more cost-effective. If things really go south, though, I’ll take it to the next level. I have a method where I lure the spirit onto my back. Very fatiguing, but a special piggybacking talent I have.”
What is this guy blathering about?
“So what do we do?” Josh asks, all confused.
“If a spirit is bothering you and the bag of cloves doesn’t banish him, I’ll get down on my hands and knees, right close to you. The spirit will jump on my back, and I’ll take control of the situation.”
Junie and I raise our eyebrows at each other. Josh shrugs. Not like he really believes in ghosts anyway. Amber takes a baby step away from Zane. She tolerates little to zero weirdness in boyfriends. And Zane is close to crossing the line.
“We’ll walk around the school, concentrating especially on the office area.” Zane swings his backpack on and we start shuffling along again. “In general, we’re on the lookout for footsteps, weird smells, shadows that don’t make sense, doors opening and closing, lights switching on and off, sounds. Alert me immediately. I’m the expert.”
There’s a knot the size of Phoenix + Tucson + Flagstaff in my stomach.
Josh transfers both rods to one hand, then squeezes my shoulder with the other. “You okay, Sherry? You’re so quiet.”
“I’m okay.” If you only knew, dear cute, adorable boyfriend who thinks I’m normal. If you only knew how unokay I am.
Junie frees up a hand by sticking her flashlight under her arm. She squeezes my other shoulder.
How weird is it that even though I’m flanked by two people who really care about me, I feel überalone?
Zane picks up the pace until we’re standing in front of the office door. The one with the sign that says ALL VISITORS MUST REPORT TO THE OFFICE.
“Josh, my man, time to get those copper dowsing rods into position. Junie, Sherry, be at the ready with your equipment.” All military, Zane spreads his legs apart. Elbows straight, he holds out the gaussmeter. “I. Am. Now. Turning. On. The. Meter.”
Our eyes glued to the thin red needle, we lean toward Zane and his magic machine. Zane thumb-flicks the On switch.
And … nothing. Nada. Zilch.
The needle doesn’t waver, doesn’t quiver, doesn’t budge.
Slowly, slowly, we trek around the school. We’re dead quiet, totally focused on every sound, every movement, every breath.
My muscles ache with tension. Like the day after we do weights in PE. Josh is mummy-walking, the dowsing rods out in front of him. Junie’s index finger hovers above the shutter button. Zane handles his expensive meter like he’s in charge of the royal jewels. In one hand, Amber waves the digital thermometer. In the other, she’s manning a flashlight, sweeping its arc of light on the ground in front of us so we don’t stumble over stray trash.
We search the north side of the school.
Nothing.
Nothing.
The west side.
Nothing.
The south side.
Nothing.
Back at the office door, Josh lowers the dowsing rods. The camera whirrs as Junie switches it off. With out discussion, we congregate in a circle. Very horror-movie-ish.
I blow out a breath and begin to relax from the neck down. Vertebrae by vertebrae I’m turning rubbery.
“I’m bored.” Amber’s whine slices the night air. “Let’s go to a club or something, Zane.”
Annoyance flits across his face.
With furrowed brow, Zane looks each of us in the eye. He saves Amber for last. “Team, we’ve done good work here. The area is clean.” He clicks off the meter. “I sense some disappointment. And I don’t like disappointed troops. Let’s move our operation elsewhere. According to a fellow ghost hunter I had lunch with today, there is a middle school in the area with paranormal activity.
“Donner.”