The Resurrection of Josephine
A Ghost Seekers novella
Martin Vandreen avoids graveside funerals at all costs—for good reason. As a spiritual medium with the ability to communicate with the dead, cemeteries tend to be filled with restless souls that want to chat with him. But when Martin makes an exception and attends the burial ceremony of his dear friend’s departed father, he encounters a powerful entity that nearly kills him.
Rumer Rousseau and her lover Noah Hopper will do anything to stop the resurrection of Josephine, including forcibly enlisting the help of Martin. Martin reluctantly agrees to help find a way to destroy Josephine before the evil witch gains enough power to overturn the spell binding her spirit to her crypt, thus allowing her to return to the world of flesh and blood.
Suddenly, Martin’s orderly, somewhat private lifestyle is turned upside down. But within the arms of Rumer and Noah, he’s finds that he no longer desires the solitude he once treasured, and longs to have a relationship that can stand the test of time. But will the bond they forged together be strong enough to survive the resurrection of Josephine?
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“She’s a witch,” Rumer said. “And she’s been alive for centuries.”
“She’s not alive,” Martin responded, taking another sip.
“She’s not dead either, and you know it.”
“What I felt was a spirit with no physical form.” Martin emptied his glass, the liquor tak-ing effect and making him more talkative than he would normally be with total strangers. “That means dead. Mort, as they say in French; muerto as they say in Spanish; and abgestorben as they say in German. If that’s not good enough for you, I’ll turn on the computer and find you a few more terms.”
He smiled as he watched Rumer fight back anger. Noah’s eyes flashed and grew even darker. She turned to her companion and shook her head almost imperceptibly, to try to keep him calm. These two were quite a pair. Martin wondered if they were lovers, or married even. They certainly fit well together.
“She’s not dead,” Rumer reiterated. “Her spirit is looking for a new home, after becoming displaced during a failed attempt at taking over someone’s body. Please, let us sit and talk with you. What harm can it do?”
Martin thought back to the pain he’d felt that morning, the icy grip on his heart, and the way the spirit had tried to take over. He knew Rumer was right, but her approach left much to be desired. Still, if they knew about the entity, they could help him. On the other hand, they could be in cahoots with the spirit, but somehow he didn’t think so.
Only one way to find out…
“Fine.” He held up the bottle. “Drink?”
“Yes,” Rumer said, holding up two fingers. “We’ll both have one.”
“Have a seat.” Martin could hear the surliness in his voice. He took several deep breaths, hoping to get his emotions back under control. It was hard, though, when someone had basically busted into his home and gotten the upper hand with one tackle.
He filled a bowl with ice, took down two more glasses and plunked them all on a tray be-fore adding the bottle and carrying it into the living room. He placed it on the table, then sat across from his two unwanted guests.
“Sorry, but I’m not inclined to be a gracious host. You can serve yourself.”
“I can’t say I blame you,” Rumer replied, fixing herself and Noah a drink. “I’m really sorry, but I wasn’t sure how to approach you, and since—”
“You found yourself alone in my house, and you thought you’d snoop?”
She had the good graces to look guilty, and Martin felt his heart soften just a bit. “Tell me about Josephine.”
“Josephine LaClaire was born in Lyon, France, in March of 1731.”
“No wonder she’s in a cemetery,” Martin replied.
“My grandmother met her in November of 1956, here in New Orleans.”
Martin frowned. “Met her as in channeled her at a séance? Or made some other contact with her spirit?”
“Met her as in had drinks with her on Bourbon Street and became friends with her. Grandmother was in her thirties, and Josephine was in her sixties, or so it seemed. Grandmother told me she was a nice woman, at first, and she could sense the magic inside her. Finding another person with gifts was a blessing, or so my grandmother thought.”
The bourbon started to react with the fettuccini in ways Martin didn’t like. Either that or he knew what was about to come out of Rumer’s mouth, and that knowledge was making him nauseous.
“Josephine was very strong, and it didn’t take grandmother long to figure out what she was about. Josephine had perfected the art of befriending a witch, and then switching places with her, taking control of the younger body, and then killing her old one, thereby killing the witch.”
“Great.” Martin took a sip from his drink, then fought back the urge to spit it back up.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Oh yes, after today, I believe you.” He sighed heavily. “Finish the story.”
“Grandmother said she’d worked out what was happening, and when Josephine made her move, grandmother was ready for her. She and two other witches bound Josephine, and then car-ried her to the Orleans Cemetery where they placed her in a crypt, thinking the New Orleans heat and humidity would do to her what it did to all bodies.”
“Basically cremate her,” Noah said and Martin shot the man a mock look of incredulity.
“Really? I didn’t know that the above ground crypts, while necessary because of the wa-ter table here, act like furnaces for bodies.” Martin sneered at Noah, who stood, his hands balled into fists.
“You’re a prick.”
“Screw you, Noah. Don’t think that just because you got the upper hand on me by hiding in the dark it’ll happen again. In a fair fight, I’d kick your ass.” Martin stood, balling up his own fists. It had been a bad day, and maybe hitting someone would make him feel better.
“Stop it, both of you.” Rumer stood, moving close to Noah as if to keep him in place. “I realize this is unpleasant for everyone, but there’s no need to have a pissing contest. We need your help, Martin, and I intend to get it.”
“Then put a leash on your friend,” Martin said. “Or maybe he’d like that too much. What about a muzzle? Or—”
“Enough!” Rumer screamed, then threw a hand in the direction of both men. They went flying back into their seats.
Martin was stunned by her show of power, but Noah seemed even angrier than before.
“We do not have time for this.” Martin could feel the energy radiating off Rumer’s body. “If Josephine has garnered enough power to get out of her crypt, then she could very well be able to slip the bonds of the cemetery soon. And if that happens, then she’ll go looking or a fresh body in which to resurrect herself.”
“Nice,” Martin said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Your grandmother bound her there once. Have her do it again.”
“She’s dead,” Rumer said softly. “That’s why the spell was broken. We meant to go to the cemetery before she died, transfer the spell’s power to me so I would be the guardian, but grandmother died suddenly, a month ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Martin said, truly meaning it. “What about your mother? Wouldn’t she know what to do?”
“My mother ran off when I was a child,” Rumer replied, her voice devoid of emotion. “I have two other friends who know the craft, but neither of them thinks they are powerful enough to help.”
“I’m not a witch,” Martin said. “I’m a medium, a spiritualist if you will. I can talk to the dead, but I can’t predict the future, and I don’t have any other psychic abilities.”
She leaned toward him. “You can talk to my grandmother, though, can’t you?”
“It’s possible, unless she’s crossed over. Then it’s doable, but harder.” Martin glanced at Noah, whose anger had faded. He was looking at Rumer with concern.
“What do you need? Let’s do it right now.” Rumer stood back up, walking toward the kitchen as if she would find whatever was necessary for séance.
“I can’t,” Martin said softly. “Not today. I’m weak from this morning. She drained me. I need to bathe, and sleep. I’m sorry.”
“Of course.” Rumer came to stand next to him. “I’m just worried she’ll get out, and someone will die, and it will be my fault.”
“It won’t be your fault.” Martin and Noah said at the same time. The two men exchanged glances, then Martin looked back at Rumer.
“Answer me this. If we succeed in binding her back in her crypt, then what happens? She’s strong enough that when her body disintegrated, her spirit lingered. What makes you think it will take this time? You’ll have to find a new guardian when your time comes to die, and the cycle continues from there. Or what happens if, heaven forbid, you’re killed in an accident or something? Why don’t you find a way to kill her?”
Noah stepped closer. “For that to happen, she’d have to resurrect herself into a new body, and the new body would have to die.”
“That sucks,” Martin said, nodding. “Hard to kill just a spirit. But may I remind you it didn’t work last time?”
“I know,” Rumer whispered. “I’m working on it.”
“Terrific,” Martin replied. “If it’s any consolation, her fight with me today probably drained her, too. And the body they buried today doesn’t have a spirit attached to it. Mr. Jackson’s already crossed, so she can’t feed on his energy.”
“That’s good to hear,” Rumer said. “When can you do the séance?”
“Tomorrow night,” Martin said. “I have several friends who can sit with us, to strengthen the circle and help guarantee success in contacting your grandmother.”
Rumer nodded, then stood, and surveyed the room. “Where’s the extra bedroom?”
“Excuse me?” Martin looked at her in frustration, his ears hearing what she was saying, but his mind refusing to believe it.
“Your guest room? We’ll sleep there.”