Free Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey by Marley Gibson

activity, and I’m sure once we review the recordings from last night, we’ll find EVP to back that up.”
    He holds up his hand.  “Kendall, I understand, but Mrs. Flanders won’t allow us back anymore.  Her priest did a blessing on the house and that’s that.”
    “What did she do with the Ouija board?” Maddie asks.
    Oliver reaches over for his discarded briefcase, sets it on the table, and pops it open.  Slowly, he withdraws the Ouija board that Mrs. Flanders had in her house.  I gasp, as do the other girls.  Jayne, in particular, shudders a bit.  The young girl is definitely frightened, but she remains quiet.
    “What are you going to do with that?” Celia asks.
    Christian just snickers.  “I’ll take it, Oliver.  It’s been calling out to me ever since last night, so I think I should add it to my collection.”
    I’m not crazy about the notion of one Ouija board in our presence, much less two.  But that’s just me.
    Oliver hands the item over to Christian.  The young psychic stares directly at me, trying to penetrate my thoughts which I’ve thankfully guarded.
    Then, he says, “Mark my word.  We haven’t heard the last of Dojo this summer.”
     *~*~*
    After another full day of playing tourist—watching the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace, climbing to the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and taking a boat ride down the Thames—there’s no time left to hash about the men who’ve invaded my life.  Patrick’s in historical geek mode as we tour around, Jason’s hanging out with Celia who’s giving him her own narration of the city, and Christian is pensively hanging in the wings, seemingly bored with the architecture and antiquity of his own country.  I stick with the girls, snapping photo after photo of all the great sites and posting them immediately to my Facebook page for everyone back home to see.
    Now, after a quick dinner at a friendly neighborhood pub, we’ve arrived via our chartered double-decker bus in the Kensington area of London, where our next investigation awaits us.
    Lady Margaret Hewitt, a ginormous fan of Oliver’s, greets us as we file into her gorgeous home.  Actually, it’s more like a small castle in the middle of the city.
    “Aren’t you teenagers adorable.  I’m so honored to have you here in my home.  And Oliver, you’re my favorite psychic on the telly.”
    Oliver actually blushes at her compliment.  “Now, Lady Hewitt, you do go on.”
    “How old is your house, Lady Hewitt?” Celia asks in full investigative mode.
    “The land has been in my family dating back to the fifteen hundreds,” she says proudly.  “I’ve been here for thirty-nine years.”
    “What sort of paranormal activity have you been experiencing?” Maddie asks.
    Lady Hewitt takes a handkerchief from her pocket and dabs her pale, white skin.  It’s apparent there’s something causing the noble woman to perspire just thinking about what’s disturbing her home.
    “There are what you’d call cold spots abounding in the house.  Not just in the winter time when a chill is expected.  Rather, in the middle of summertime.  Like this morning.  I was sitting down to my breakfast and my maid told me the pantry in the kitchen was ice cold.  I stepped away from the dining room and followed her to find that, indeed, she was not exaggerating.  I could see my breath when I walked into the storage space.  Then, I experienced the same thing in the sitting room later this morning.”
    “It was in the nineties today,” Jessica notes.
    “No kidding,” says Jayne.
    I want to chalk up the cold spots to this simply being a drafty, stone building, but my psychic tingling senses tell me there’s something more here.  A presence that’s watching and lurking.  I spread my hands out wide and shut my eyes, opening myself up to whatever is here and whoever will communicate with me.  Patrick is by my side immediately and takes one of my hands in his.
    I feel it too, he tells