Portals Heather Read online

  Heather Despair

  book two

  PORTALS

  by Leslie Edens Copeland

  Spectricity Books

  Bellingham, WA

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Spectricity Books

  Bellingham, Washington

  Visit our website at www.spectricity.net

  Copyright © 2018 by Leslie Edens Copeland

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices. This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices. For information address Spectricity Books.

  Third Edition

  To Luka

  for believing.

  Chapter One

  The Return of Heather Despair

  In the pale glow of dawn, Slade's Salvage Yard blazed blue, then red, then blue again. Flashing light from the police cars illuminated the trailers, the beat-up school bus, the heaps of wood and metal. I stood in the middle of it all, wearing a long, black dress, a heavy black-stoned ring newly on my finger. Heather Despair, back in the junkyard again.

  In the junkyard around me, police roamed chaotically through the junk. Trenton, Lily, and Oskar, my paranormal-loving friends, tried to reason with a determined police detective. Trenton kept waving his hands around, his blue eyes wide, his curly blond hair getting more and more disheveled as he ran his hand through it. His boyfriend, Oskar, was the exact opposite. The picture of calm, he stood aside, suave and handsome, with his perfect auburn hair and muscular build. Then there was Lily, my punk librarian friend. Her black hair streaked with pink, her huge glasses, her argyle sweater of the day—she lectured the detective like she was his commanding officer.

  Behind them, my mother, Shirleen, cried into her hands, still in her pink bathrobe. My stepfather, Bruce Slade, scowled at me.

  "She ran away, and that's the last time I'm telling you," he said to a police detective who was attempting to get a statement. Bruce squinted at me. "She didn't like having to follow house rules."

  "From the looks of things, your stepdaughter wasn't even living in the house," said the detective.

  I stood calmly in the midst of it all. After what I'd been through—fighting the evil Bellum in the spirit world—what was a little police drama? The detective left off questioning Bruce and approached me, a notepad in one hand, his head tilted curiously.

  Far back in the junkyard, a thundering crash sounded. The police drew their guns and crouched down, reading for anything.

  "Get down!" The detective pushed Trenton and Lily to the sand. He gestured for the rest of us to follow suit. Everyone dropped to the sand.

  Almost. Bruce ignored him. So did I.

  "Any idea what that was?" hissed the detective to Bruce.

  "No." Bruce stared in the direction of the sound. "Probably just a junk slide. Sometimes animals get in there."

  The detective motioned to the police officers. They crept toward the noise, staying low.

  "Hey, if you go back there, be careful. Sometimes that stuff will fall on you," said Bruce.

  "No kidding," I said. I stood tense, my hair whipping around my face in the sandy wind. Something wasn't right here. I could feel spectricity rising in my body, zapping its blue energy along my spine. With my new ring's power, I kept the energy under control—watching, waiting. I'd be ready for whatever emerged from that junk pile.

  Bruce was still whining. "Why'd you kids have to go and call the police?" he said. "Couldn't you just ask me where Heather went?"

  I gritted my teeth. "How do you know where I went?" I said, without looking at him.

  "You went to find your brother. Ain't that right?" I could hear him dusting off his dirty overalls.

  I said nothing, all my attention focused on the suddenly-quiet junkyard. Shouldn't those police have come back by now?

  Bruce blundered on. "So when you kids couldn't find Heather, you assumed I killed her and hung her body in the laundry room. Thanks for getting me in a heap of trouble."

  The thing is, he sounded nervous. I couldn't focus on it now. Strange flickering light issued from behind the junk, then disappeared. And it wasn't the emergency lights from the cop cars.

  Trenton burst to life, yelling, "Don't you even care what happens to Heather? She could have been dead!" He started to sob. I guess it had been a pretty long night for my friends, with me disappearing like that.

  I heard Oskar shush Trenton. Lily pushed her big glasses up her nose. In her typical logical tone, she said, "Mr. Slade. Trenton's got a wild imagination. It might not have been logical to insist a murder investigation was in order. Trenton might have exaggerated—"

  Another loud crash resonated from behind the junk. I tensed and held out my sparking hands.

  Bruce groaned. "Oh no. I think they're in the chicken wire, old box springs, and razor wire layer."

  A policeman stumbled out of the corridor between junk piles, limping. I quickly lowered my hands, quenching the spectricity in my fists.

  One of the policeman's legs bled profusely, his pant leg cut away. His other leg was entangled in chicken wire. "Could you bring me some wire clippers and a first aid kit, please?" he said, sitting down hard on the sand.

  Again, the loud crashing from the back of the junkyard. A deafening creak of metal. The policeman paled. "What the—?" He looked back.

  I lifted my hands, blue fire burning in my palms, over the huge, black-stoned ring. My filmy black sleeves whipped around from the force of the spectricity, and I rose slightly off the ground, my toes trailing the sand. My long, black gown trailed under me, hiding my levitation from the mortals. I hoped.

  "Heather." Trenton's voice squeaked. I looked back at his anxious, big blue eyes. "This Goth look," he said. "Can we discuss this?"

  The bullets whizzed through the air without warning, spitting into the sand, pitting the side of the doublewide. I raised my arms high, but my shield was already up. Bullets pinged off the blue layer in mid-air. I watched in surprise as the shield swelled higher and wider, protecting my friends and family, the detective and the wounded officer. The shield seemed to react on its own.

  From the corridors between junk piles, armed police advanced on us, unloading clip after clip. My shield held, these small mortal projectiles not posing much challenge. Still, I shook in fear. Having five police officers fire pistols at me at point blank range was terrifying, not to mention deafening.

  "Stop!" I shouted and pushed the shield. It expanded outward until it collided with the police. One by one, it bathed them in blue. They fell to the sand, gasping, dropping their weapons, keeling over. When the last one went down, my shield evaporated—like it had never been there.

  The detective who had questioned me moved first. "Stay back!" he shouted to the rest of us. He ran to the first unconscious police officer and cuffed him. He went to each officer, putting their own cuffs on them. He had no trouble. Only one was conscious enough to groan.

  The detective read the conscious police officer her Miranda rights. I inspected the damage.

  "Why'd they o
pen fire like that?" I said aloud.

  The detective appeared by my side. "Miss, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" He gestured toward the squad car.

  "Everything is totally fine," I said, fixing him with a heavy stare.

  "We should leave," said Lily, her voice wooden. Trenton shook his head, arms crossed stubbornly. He alone had never been susceptible to the mesmerizing effects of my eyes. But as for everyone else . . .

  "Okay, that about wraps it up," said the detective. A glazed look on his face, he stumbled to the injured officer. The latter had finished prying the chicken wire from his leg and was wrapping his other leg in bandages. He limped over to help the detective rouse the cuffed police officers. Bruce watched in disbelief as they all piled into two vehicles and drove off without a word.

  "That's it?" Bruce huffed. "No questions, no statements? Not even going to find out where she's been all this time? Some police force."

  Shirleen almost knocked me over with a fierce hug. I put up with it for a few seconds, then I fixed her with my stare. "It's all right now. You can go lie down."

  "This whole ordeal has made me so tired. I'm going to go lie down," she said. She did a zombie walk into the double-wide.

  "I'll go with you," said Bruce, stomping up the steps. He shot a glare at me, but I fixed him with my eyes, and he kept going.

  I blew out a long, slow breath. "Good. Paranormals—we need to talk."

  ***

  Trenton, Oskar, Lily and I huddled inside the tiny, metal teardrop trailer. Trenton drew the curtains and we convened in whispers.

  "First order of business," I said.

  "Your new look," said Trenton, his nose wrinkling with scorn. "Heather, finally. It just is not you. Oskar and I were thinking, maybe we could take you shopping . . ."

  I paid no attention, diving instead under the cot. "Here it is!" I held up my notebook by the corner.

  "Not the best accessory choice, Heather Despair," said Trenton. "Oskar was thinking more along the lines of a beaded evening bag."

  "I certainly was not!" Oskar hissed. "I like her Goth look. I think she could go lighter on the pancake makeup, but the gown is rather attractive."

  "You like that? That sack?" squeaked Trenton. "She looks like a bag of flour. Dark flour. Very evil flour, but still—shapeless and dumpy. It puts ten years on her and brings out the bags under her eyes."

  They started to tussle, making the trailer rattle and shake.

  "Quiet!" I said. "We're not here to discuss my fashion sense!"

  "Oh, that's a pity, because we really need to," said Trenton. "Oskar says—"

  "Oskar says we'd better find out what's lurking in this junkyard," said Oskar, placing his hand discretely over Trenton's mouth. "And I do like your gown, Heather. Very classic lines."

  "Thank you," I said. "And I agree. We need to find out what caused those police to go berzerk. And I know just who to ask."

  Chapter Two

  A Séance in the School Bus

  Moments later, we stood in the old school bus where Valente de los Santos had met his demise. In the bright light of day, the old, cracked seats were fully visible and didn't look like tombstones anymore.

  First, I needed to call Valente. I stood next to the driver's seat of the old school bus, my hands held in the air like a conductor's. An eerie tune rose unbidden from my throat.

  Above the bus seats, sand and rocks hung in the air, levitating all around us.

  Trenton poked his head up from a seat in the back of the bus. "I'm still too tweaked out by this!" he shouted, and popped back down. Oskar and Lily stood behind me, watching.

  A blast of air whirled around the interior of the bus, stinging my skin with dirt and debris. I lowered my hands into the torrent, and it died down.

  I let my fingers drift up and touch the edge of the invisible doorway to Dead Town.

  "The entry to the spirit world is here," I said.

  Valente's portal. The portals of haunting ghosts enabled anyone to travel to the spirit world and back again. As long as the ghost stayed haunting and did not leave the mortal world, the portal stayed open for business. It closed when the ghost finally cut ties to the mortal realm forever and journeyed to the spirit world.

  My fingers brushed the portal's slowly turning energy above us, in the center of the bus. One day, Valente would travel up his portal and it would close. Until then, it was my way out of here. It would be easy to lean forward . . . let it draw me upward . . .

  From his hiding spot, Trenton called, "Did you talk to the ghost yet? Can we go?"

  "Not yet," I said. "I need your translation skills, Trent." His Spanish was better than mine.

  I raised my hands high. The bus seats rattled and shook. Trenton shrieked, "Stop! Stop!"

  I lowered my hands. The shaking subsided.

  "Heather." Trenton's voice wobbled with fear. "This is really, really freaking me out. How about you ask the ghost to come out? Let's get this over with, okay?"

  "Genius," I said. "Valente de los Santos! Hola! Como está?"

  "That was good, Heather," said Trenton. "You said 'Hello, how are you?'"

  "I know! Translate what the ghost says, not what I say!" I hissed.

  "Oye, cómo va?" creaked Valente's ghost voice.

  Lily jumped. "I heard thunder," she said.

  "It's him." I bowed low. "Muy bien, gracias, Señor." I figured it couldn't hurt to be polite. "We need to know why the police attacked us."

  Trenton translated my words. "La policía nos atacó. Por qué? And you said, 'Very well, thank you, sir.' I didn't hear anything else." He peered apprehensively into the bus's darker corners.

  "Why can't you and Lily hear him?" I said. Valente's voice was low and whispery, like he wasn't feeling well. Maybe he wasn't manifesting enough for them to pick up on it.

  "I can hear him," said Oskar, his face pinched as if it pained him. "Barely. I can't understand him, though. I don't know a word of Spanish."

  We all stared at Oskar, even Trenton, who popped up and shook his head.

  "I didn't grow up around here, okay?" said Oskar. "My French is très bon."

  A torrent of Spanish filled my ears. Now Valente was crying, "Ay, mi" over and over.

  "How can I speak to him?" I said. Valente had gone way past the limits of my basic Spanish. Trenton and Lily could translate, though—if they could hear him speak.

  I beckoned to him, bade him come to me. Thrice I called, "Valente de los Santos."

  He appeared, transparent and wisping, his eyes pleading. I held out my arms to him, and he rushed forward. He stepped right into my body.

  "Mis huesos . . . mis huesos . . ." said my mouth, but with Valente's deep voice. Valente was speaking through me! I watched all this from the back of my mind, allowing him to speak.

  "Your eyes have gone black again!" said Lily.

  Valente lifted my hand and pointed straight to the back of the bus, where Trenton hid. In the deepest voice he could muster from my vocal chords, Valente said, "Ayúdame."

  "Lily, I think Heather's possessed," squeaked Trenton.

  "She is," Oskar confirmed. "That's the ghost you're hearing."

  "So then? Translate!" said Lily, staring wildly at me.

  "H-h-he says to help him," said Trenton, his teeth chattering. "Will Heather be all right?"

  "She should be." Oskar's voice hesitated.

  "You'd better ask the ghost. In Spanish," said Lily, folding her arms like a prim teacher.

  "Heather está bien?" asked Trenton.

  "I don't think you conjugated that correctly. The question should be in future progressive," said Lily.

  "Cállate!" shouted Trenton, glaring at Lily. Did he just yell, "shut up" in Spanish? Trenton's eyes grew round when he realized his mistake. I felt the wave of anger that rushed over Valente. Small objects lifted from the bus floor and rained down on Trenton, along with the ghost's cursing.

  Trenton covered his head with his hands, screaming, "Lo siento, perdón, Señor!
"

  I felt Valente twist my face into an angry mask. The Paranormals gasped at me in fear as Valente spoke in a deep, echoing voice. "Escuche, mortales. El malvado está aquí. Me robó los huesos."

  A great spasm wracked my body, as Valente stepped away from me and faded into nothing. I tumbled to the bus floor, dizzy and weak.

  "What happened? Que pasó?" Trenton was so confused, he didn't know which language to speak.

  Oskar went to help me up. Once I was standing, Lily said, "Wow! Your eyes are golden again."

  "Did anybody catch what he said?" I reeled against Oskar. He locked his arm around me, and I smelled his pomegranate-flavored hair. Interesting. This was doing nothing for me—I no longer cared.

  It seemed my heart was occupied elsewhere.

  "I wrote down his message," said Lily. "He said to listen to him, mortals. He said a malvado is here. That's an evildoer." She held out her notes. "Look."

  We all read the words, together. "Me robó los huesos."

  I drew in a breath as Trenton interpreted the words. "He stole my bones."

  ***

  "Valente did not look well," I said. I stuck my shovel into the dense sand beneath the bus, where we'd been digging. Dusted my hands on my jeans. I'd had to change out of the spirit dress when we started this job, much to Trenton's relief.

  "If you say so. Lily and I didn't even see him," said Trenton. He panted as he shoveled more sand.

  "Oskar, can you back me up?" I said.

  Oskar nodded, leaning casually against the bus. "He didn't look well at all. He was very thin."

  "What is a 'malvado' again?" I said.

  "That's evil," said Trenton immediately.

  "Extremely evil," Lily agreed, wiping sweat from her brow. "Whew! This heat! Heather, how about levitating some water out here?"

  "If I go in the double-wide, Bruce might notice what we're doing," I said.

  We shoveled away under the bus. Valente's bones had to be around here somewhere. We'd already searched the back of the junkyard and on the bus. We found nada.

  There was nothing for it but to dig.

  "There is something bad around here. I can feel it," I muttered.