Into the Light (2 page)

I didn't get to answer because Mr. Richards opened the door. As soon as it was open, the flood of information started. I sagged and felt grateful when Trip steadied me.

"A lot?” he muttered.

"Tons. All strong, too."

David Richards looked a little worse for wear as he silently ushered us into the house. His face was pale and drawn, denoting lack of sleep. His hazel eyes were bloodshot, and his short, dark hair stood on end.

"Sorry I'm such a mess,” he said. “I just got up. I was awake till the wee hours listening to what sounded like an orgy. Couldn't see a damn thing, but I could hear every last giggle."

"You're not crazy,” I said quietly as I absorbed his frantic energy. He was fearing for his sanity, and rightfully so. Most people aren't used to being privy to so much spiritual activity.

"And you are?” he asked, smiling just a bit.

"Sorry. Mr. Richards, this is Martee. She's the resident psychic. I'm Trip Ericson. We spoke on the phone."

Richards shook hands all around as Trip went on to introduce the rest of the group.

"So I'm not crazy?” he asked. His eyes told me my answer was important.

"Not at all. They're everywhere."

"Good. I feel better already. I have hot coffee if anyone's interested. It's all set up in the kitchen with a box of donuts. Do you need anything from me? Because I'm late for work already."

"Just a few questions,” Trip said. Mikey had already wandered off with his equipment bag, presumably to set up. Liz and Missy stood there looking antsy.

"Any rooms we should focus on? Any place where there's been repeated contact?"

In my mind's eye I saw an ornate, masculine bedroom. My guides also showed me a large room stuffed with sofas and wingback chairs. I saw a huge glass chandelier and a stone fireplace.

"The master suite and the sitting room,” Richards said without hesitation. “I've had an encounter or two throughout the entire house but those two rooms are the most active. I've actually moved into the guest room. I try to avoid the master suite if I can."

"Did you buy all this furniture?” I blurted.

"No. It came with the house. The original owner died about ten years ago and his family inherited."

"And they sat on the house forever and let it be. Then they needed the money, so it was auctioned off—lock, stock, and barrel,” I finished, receiving the information on my own.

"Yes.” He looked startled and comforted at the same time. “I really have to go."

Trip grabbed his bag. “We'll call the cell phone number you provided if we have any more questions."

"Good.” Davidson left without combing his hair.

"He's frazzled,” I said, meeting Trip's eyes.

"I'd think he was nuts if he weren't."

"Let's get started.” I moved toward the master staircase while taking in the richly upholstered, antique furniture that peppered the foyer. Probably worth a fortune.

Trip gently touched my arm. “I meant what I said out there, Martee. I know he saved you from answering, and that's fine. I am, however, not over you, even a little. Not by a long shot."

"We've got work to do,” I said around the growing lump in my throat. I missed the solid feel of him. Missed his chin resting in my hair. I missed the feel of his lips. What I wanted to do was step into him and let him wrap me in his arms. Instead I moved up the staircase.

My first spirit met me at the top. Her long red hair hung in perfect ringlets. Her skin was the color of milk and peppered with little red freckles.

Lily. That was her name. She laughed a laugh only I could hear and grabbed the lacy bodice of her dress and flashed me. Her breasts were the size of teacups, perfect in every respect. Enviable, really. I laughed despite myself.

"That's a hell of welcome,” I said.

"What?” Trip yelled from the first floor.

"Not talking to you,” I answered.

"Sorry, babe. Forgot."

Lily pointed to the left and I followed her lead. The master suite was exactly as I'd seen it. A large, mahogany bed dominated the room. It was covered with a red brocade bedcover that probably weighed a ton. Matching curtains managed to stifle all but the bravest rays of sunlight. The room was large and very masculine in a bordello kind of way.

Lily hopped onto the bed and laid back as if she owned it. I knew she didn't, but she was very at home here.

She waved to get my attention and sent me a picture. Clear as day, I saw a man kneeling before her—his face buried in her sex, his hands gently, but firmly, forcing her legs wider. Lily's head was thrown back in pleasure, and her lips parted. Her pink kitten tongue roamed over swollen lips. The man inserted two fingers inside of her, and continued to lick and stroke with his tongue. Right before she came, Lily grabbed both tiny, brown nipples and twisted them almost violently. Her orgasm shook her body mercilessly as her lover rose from his knees and unzipped his pinstriped trousers.

I sank to the bed as the vision passed. I felt moisture invading my cotton panties. My hand moved to my crotch and settled on the zipper of my jeans. I placed it there to steady myself, to smother my arousal. The pressure only served to heighten it.

"You okay?"

I yelped in surprise as Trip walked in. He took in the scene. Me flushed, breathing hard, and holding myself.

"What the fuck?"

"Sex,” I managed. “There's no malevolence here, but oodles of sex. I've only met one, but she just about brought me to my knees.” I summoned a weak smile. I guess it's better to get turned on than have furniture hurled at you.

"Been that long since we were together?” he asked knowing damn well how long it had been.

"Long enough,” I conceded. One month, twelve days, sixteen hours, I thought miserably.

"That's odd, because I just found Mikey feeling Missy's ass. Normally, I'd say ‘Yee-haw’ for him, but I know he does his best to ignore her advances. He doesn't want to lead her on."

"Feeling her ass might definitely give her the wrong impression.” I laughed. “But chances are he can't help it. He's picking up the vibes. We all are—that's what you pay us for."

"You, most of all,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “You feel more than any of us."

He sank to his knees in front of me and settled comfortably between my still-trembling thighs. He lightly ran his knuckles along the tops of my legs. I'd never noticed how big his hands are. How strong they look. How the black hair on his knuckles accents the whiteness of his skin.

"Can you do this?” he whispered. “You seem so exhausted lately. And sad, Martee. You seem so damn sad."

I was fucking sad. I was sick and tired, and so damn tired of being sick and tired. I wanted Trip back. I wanted normalcy. I wanted one day without ghosts and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night.

I leaned forward and kissed him. I savored each stroke of his tongue over mine. I tasted each lip by itself, then smothered them both with my need.

Trip's hands slid upward toward my own hand that still rested on my zipper. Each nerve sang out as his hands touched me. Each sent a message of suffocating desire to my cunt. I felt my legs start to tremble and jerk with anticipation. He pushed my hand aside and stroked me through the denim. I felt additional moisture flood my panties as his familiar touch encouraged an awakening deep in my belly. A need so stark and honest it made my stomach hurt.

He kissed down my neck, raising a trail of goose bumps as he descended. His lips fluttered over my collarbone and traveled the shivering ridges of my shoulders. Through the fabric of my tee shirt he took my nipples in his mouth and sucked hard. I felt his teeth brush me, making the sensitive skin stand at attention. Warmth and wetness soaking through the cotton, adding to the sensitivity.

"I want you back,” he whispered against me.

"It's the ghosts talking,” I answered, but I pushed my clit against his hand, forcing more pressure on the swollen bud. I rose up to meet his touch, trying to turn gentle into forceful.

"It's not the damn ghosts! I told you that outside before we even entered the haunted mansion."

It was true, but I didn't want to believe it. I wanted to deny his feelings for me as I denied mine for him. Living with a psychic isn't easy. Loving one must be hell on earth.

"I don't care that you have all this ... supernatural shit in your life. I'm a ghost hunter, Martee—you think that bothers me?"

His hand rested in my lap, but it had become still and rigid.

"I'm sorry. It should never have gotten this far.” I stood clumsily, forcing his hand off.

"You're going to kill me,” he muttered and rose to his feet. He ran his hand through his hair and blew out a sigh. “Great. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

He gave me a sad half smile as he pointed to his obvious erection. My heart lightened just a little with the smile. The invisible hole in my chest didn't ache quite so bad.

"Sorry."

"One day, Martee,” he said, and left the room.

Lily reappeared and shook her head sadly. She was disappointed in me. Not nearly as disappointed as I was.

"Why don't you talk to me?” I asked. “You know you can if you want."

She shrugged and shook her head. Finally, a quiet one. She pointed to the open door and I turned.

"She's shy is all,” said the second spirit. “I'm Hyacinth.” Unlike Lily, she had olive skin. A short black bob swung coyly around her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were such a rich shade of blue they were nearly purple.

"I'm sensing a theme here,” I said. “She's Lily, you're Hyacinth. Where's Rose?"

"She's downstairs getting that beautiful young man to return the frumpy girl's affections."

I barked laughter, thinking of how happy Missy would be when we called it a day.

"So you're all flowers? How many are there?"

She counted on long, elegant fingers. “Me, Lily, Rose, Daisy, Dahlia, Petunia, and Sunflower. Seven."

"Sunflower?” I asked in disbelief.

"She came later than the rest of us. It was the sixties—what can I say?"

I smiled. I wasn't getting a shred of malice from these spirits. I was beginning to think I was dealing with a simple matter of ownership. They owned this house, and they had no intentions of leaving it, dead or not.

"Where's the man of the house?” I asked. Might as well go to the source.

"Around here somewhere,” she said with a grin. “He won't come out as easily as the rest of us, but you already knew that."

I nodded in agreement. So—him and seven women. Walter was a player.

"There's no
was
about it. He is the man of the house, and the master of us all. I have no idea what a player is but I assume it's a modern term for a man who greatly appreciates women."

She sent me a doozy of a mental picture that nearly had me back on the bed. For just a moment, I was in Hyacinth's body, teased to the very edge of orgasm by firm but talented strokes. My cunt flooded with juices as Walter (I presume) plunged into me. He filled me with each entry, tortured me with each withdrawal. Lips teased my breasts, leaving trails of excitement with each naughty lick. I grabbed his ass and pulled him deeper. I trapped him with my thighs and held him against my clit, grinding with urgency. The orgasm bolted through me as I cried out with pleasure.

My own cry brought me back. Back to Hyacinth and her mischievous grin. I glanced at Lily and was rewarded with another flash from her. This time her neatly trimmed pubic hair appeared. Her bright pink clit was swollen and obvious even from a distance.

"Thanks, Lily."

She just grinned.

"Wow,” I said, addressing Hyacinth.

"We're very happy here. We don't plan on leaving anytime soon."

Great. Supernatural squatters.

"I understand.” I no sooner spoke than the gang burst in, Trip in the lead, Liz bringing up the rear. Missy and Mikey, in between, looked quite cozy for a change.

"Jesus! What happened?” Trip's eyes were wild, his breathing fierce. They had come rushing in response to my loud cry.

His eyes skipped over me, lingered on my heaving chest and flushed cheeks. Our eyes met, and he grunted. I picked up the unspoken loud and clear: You can get off with phantoms but not with me...?

I dropped my eyes in embarrassment. I was adding insult to injury, but it was beyond my control. I couldn't tune them out if we ever wanted them to leave.

"She's fine,” Trip growled to the others. The rest gave me a questioning look as he stomped off noisily.

"Sorry. He's right, I am fine."

"You sure?” Mikey asked as he rubbed Missy's back absent-mindedly.

I couldn't help but smile at Missy. Her eyes were glazed and her face had a fevered appearance. She looked like a cat in heat. I asked Mickey's guides to watch over the situation. The last thing we needed was more hurt feelings among the group.

When they left I addressed my companion spirits. “Can we go find the others?"

"That's easy. They'll all be in the sitting room. It's our favorite room in the house."

Of course. The massive room with the huge sofas. I could see them there now. The remaining five women and the man himself.

"Let's go."

"We'll meet you there,” she said, then disappeared. I turned, and my flasher had vanished as well.

I passed through the formal dining room on my way. I marveled at the stained glass over the large windows and the long dining table. It looked like it could seat at least twenty guests. The china cabinet held dishes that were most likely worth a bundle.

As I came through the archway, Mikey turned with one of his gadgets in his hand.

"We got cold spots coming out our asses, Martee. Looks like the..."

"Yeah, I'm on my way to the sitting room now. They're all in there waiting for me.” I grabbed the mug of coffee he was holding and took a sip. “Thanks."

"I hate when she does that,” he said to Liz.

"Take your coffee?"

"No, finishes my sentences."

The coffee was good, even if it didn't have enough sugar. I needed it because the temperature had dipped a good twenty degrees. The closer I got to the swinging door that marked the sitting room, the colder it got.