Page 94 of It takes a Psychic

By the time they reached the safety of the driveway, the entire first floor of the mansion was exploding in flames.

“This should be far enough,” Oliver said. “The stone walls and the rain will keep the fire from spreading. I think.”

They all staggered to a halt and turned to watch the big house implode. For a time no one spoke. Eventually Oliver dumped Harp on the wet ground and looked at Leona and Roxy.

“Never a dull moment around you two,” he said.

Leona studied him closely, but in the end she could not decide if the corner of his mouth had kicked up in his edgy micro-smile or not. Considering the circumstances, probably not.

She tightened her grip on the journal and opened her senses. She realized Oliver was watching her, waiting for the verdict.

“It’s authentic,” she said. She looked at Thacker. “I really need this document. How much do you want for it?”

“What?” Thacker jerked his attention away from the burning mansion and glanced at her. He appeared bewildered by the question for a few seconds and then his expression cleared. “Oh, right, the Willard journal. It’s yours, Dr. Griffin. I’m happy to give it to you. Least I can do.”

Leona cleared her throat. “Sir, your house and your entire collection are currently in the process of burning to the ground. You’ll need money to rebuild.”

Thacker chuckled. “No need to worry about me. Money isn’t a problem. Inherited a fortune, you see. Besides, you and your sister have a much stronger claim on that journal than I do.”

“Thank you. I am truly grateful. But why did you say that giving me the journal was the least you could do?”

“You’re a legend come to life, Dr. Griffin.” Thacker beamed. “You’re the bride who brought the key to Vortex to Lost Creek, opened the machine, and proved that Vincent Lee Vance was not alive inside.”

“Setting the legend crap aside,” Leona said, “I would remind you that the body inside Vortex was not Vance.”

“Exactly,” Thacker said. “And in the process, you broke the spell that has gripped this little community for the past couple of months.”

Chapter Forty-Three

“The bridge is back whereit’s supposed to be,” Starkey said. He planted a hand on the roof of the Slider and leaned down to talk to Oliver through the open window. “It’s early afternoon, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting down off this mountain and back to Illusion Town in time for dinner.”

“I used the landline in the inn to contact the FBPI and the Guild,” Oliver said. “They’ll be on-site as fast as they can scramble a team together. I expect an advance team will be here later today. Meanwhile, you’re in charge.”

“I’ll keep an eye on things until the Feds get here,” Starkey said. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Those damned pendants have gone dead. No one’s hearing the Voice. People are coming out of the fog.”

Leona sat quietly in the front seat of the Slider, the Willard journal on her lap. Roxy was perched on the back of the seat, eager for another road trip.

Earlier, when they went upstairs to grab the suitcases, there had been no sign of Edith Fenwick or the paranormal investigators. Oliver had checked Baxter Richey’s room and the one that had been used by Darla Price. Their car was gone. It was clear they had packed up and left.

Starkey looked like a new man today. He was not wearing the headphones and he no longer had the air of a lonely, tormented artist who felt compelled to walk the night in an effort to protect his community against the ghosts of the past. He was a Guild man with a mission.

Leona smiled at him. “I bought your beautiful specter-cat. I love it. There was no one at the front desk so I left the cash on the table near the stairs. You might want to collect it just in case Edith Fenwick forgets to pay you.”

Starkey chuckled. “I’ll do that.” He took his hand off the roof of the Slider and stepped back. “Drive safe.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said.

He put the vehicle in gear and drove out of the parking lot. Leona took one last look around Lost Creek. Main Street was even quieter than usual. The grocery store and the diner were closed.

“I wonder how Baxter Richey and Darla Price will explain this episode to their audience,” she said. “I suppose they could recast it as a myth-busting story.Vincent Lee Vance Cult Exposed.”

“Don’t count on it,” Oliver said. “It’s more likely they’ll go withThe Bride of Vincent Lee Vance Returns.”

Leona shuddered. “That is not funny. A story like that would destroy whatever hope I have of firing up a new career as a private consultant.”

“That just goes to show how little you know about consulting work. Trust me, that kind of press would do wonders to launch your new career. People love a good legend.”

“I am not a legend.”

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