Family of Spies, page 4
Ellie leaped to her feet. “Okay, let’s go. I’ve got the psychic’s address mapped in my phone.”
Gavin and Ford clambered after her as she raced out the shop and down the street. She held her phone out in front of her, the GPS guiding her steps.
“Hurry, ma’ boyos!” she trilled in a perfect imitation of Ford’s mom.
Ford shook his head. “She has got to stop that. One yodeler in the family is more than enough.”
Chapter 9
They piled onto the bus, taking seats in the first row. Ford’s hands were sweaty, and not just from running on a warm summer day. Normally he’d play a game on his phone, but the past twenty-four hours had been so unbelievable, he just needed to think. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat.
What would the psychic tell him?
Deep down, he knew he wasn’t cracking up and knowing Gavin didn’t think so either was more comforting than he expected, but these hallucinations were pretty freaky. And seeing Nazis? They terrified him more than anything. The strangest part of all was that each time he had a vision, he felt like he was actually there, wherever there was; everything looked so crisp and clear. Heck, he even smelled roasted garlic in that restaurant and he tasted dust in the air from that bomb explosion. How could that be possible? When he touched the briefcase and the photos, immediately a vision occurred, but then he had that dream and it was just as real as the visions and he hadn’t touched anything. Frustration grew in the pit of his stomach. He hated not knowing what was happening. There had to be a pattern, but he couldn’t see it.
“We’re crossing the Seine,” Ellie said, interrupting Ford’s thoughts. “Not far now.”
The bus meandered along, slowing and stopping, warm air flowing through the doors as people loaded and unloaded while Gavin and Ellie compared GPS apps. Ford pressed his nose to the window. Boats floated down the river below and tourists travelled in packs along the sunken walkway.
Gavin pointed out the window. “Look! The Grand Palais! Did you know they have a police station in the basement so they can secure the art exhibits at all times?”
Ford grinned at Gavin, who looked like going to an art gallery was as fun as seeing a hockey game was to Ford. “Maybe you should consider dumping quantum physics and become a tour guide, if you take a pass on history professor.”
Gavin crossed his arms. “History is more of a hobby for me. I don’t want to ruin it by turning it into my career.”
“Right. History hobby. I think I’ll stick with remote-control airplanes.”
“Guys, we’re almost there. We get off at the rond-point des Champs-Elysées.” Ellie shifted her backpack and stood as the bus slowed to a halt. They climbed off, following Ellie and the GPS instructions on her phone. “This way.” She led them across the roundabout and past mansion after mansion. They took a quick left, then darted down an alley before arriving at an older and far narrower cobblestoned street. She looked up from her mobile at the boys. “Getting closer.”
The apartment buildings seemed ancient to Ford. Low, metal fences encased small front gardens.
“This is it,” Ellie announced.
“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” Gavin asked.
Dark green vines climbed up the crumbling brick walls and across the windows on the first two floors. Chunks of the apartment’s stone steps had fallen away and the rain gutters hung low, like a line of loosely strewn Christmas lights.
A nose-to-toe wave of déjà vu washed over Ford. Goosebumps erupted on his arms and blazed across his body. He grabbed the wrought-iron fence to steady himself. Something—or someone—was pulling at him, calling him towards the building. “This is definitely the right place. I can feel it in my bones.” Ford’s voice sounded distant to his own ears.
Ellie smiled. “That may be the single spookiest thing you have ever said.” She pushed at the black gate. It screeched open, scraping across the cobblestones. She dusted her fingers on her jeans and marched toward the front door.
A shiver ran from the nape of Ford’s neck, over his shoulders, and rippled out across his back. “Hopefully Madame Bellerose isn’t as scary as this building is,” he mumbled.
“I’m sure she’s fine, I’m sure she’s a sweet psychic,” Ellie said as she climbed the stairs and stopped in front of an old intercom panel. “Suite 379.” She punched in the apartment number.
“Monsieur Crawford MacKenzie?” a voice crackled from the speaker in the wall.
Ford slipped past Ellie to stand directly in front of the intercom. “Yes, that’s me. It’s Ford.”
“Bonjour Ford. Please, if you will, close the gate and then entrez-vous, s’il vous plait.”
“Ok—oui,” said Ford. How did she know the gate was left open? He pushed it shut and followed Ellie and Gavin into the dim entranceway.
“Third floor. There won’t be an elevator in this place,” said Gavin.
Ford stared up the staircase. A mahogany banister, missing a spindle—or three—banked the stairs. An earthy, musty smell filled Ford’s lungs. He coughed.
Ellie stepped on the first stair. A loud creak filled the foyer. “This building is a bit of a wreck.”
Ford whistled. “It was probably incredible back in the dark ages when it was built.”
“That is a bit of an exaggeration. The style of architecture dates from the mid to late 1700s,” said Gavin.
“Exactly what I was thinking! You can tell by the fine detail—” began Ellie as they climbed the stairs.
Ellie and Gavin nattered on about every last inch of the building, suggesting various architects as the possible designer as Ford followed them up the winding staircase. He tried to tune them out, but he couldn’t completely block their conversation. His irritation with their endless knowledge of every single thing grew with each squeaky footstep. When they got to the third floor, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“All right, all right, I get it. You guys know everything about everything!”
“What—what do you mean?” Ellie said, taking a few steps down the hallway.
“Physics, historical figures, Paris, and even architecture?! You two may know everything, but you know nothing about this.” Ford tapped his temple with his index finger. “Even Gavin the Perfect said so. Whatever is going on in here, you have no clue about it. Nada. Nil. Nothing.”
“I never said I was perfect,” Gavin said.
“And I—” Ellie sputtered.
“And the thing is, this isn’t about you. Neither of you. It’s about me…” Ford said and then muttered, “for once.”
Gavin’s face flushed. “O-kay, I’m not sure why you are suddenly so angry.”
“Because everything is always about you guys. Your grades, your hobbies, even how much better you speak French. Everything anyone in our family ever talks about is your massive brains and how much you are like our great-grandfather, ‘the brilliant and can do no wrong’ Edward Hugh Crawford!” Ford’s anger lessened with every word he spoke. Now he simply felt scared and alone. “And maybe that is true, but I’m the one having this bizarre connection with him. I’m the one seeing into the past and it is totally freaking me out.”
Ellie’s jaw dropped.
Gavin stepped closer to Ford. “I am so sorry. I—”
A door opened behind them.
The oldest woman Ford had ever seen smiled and adjusted her glasses as her gaze slowly travelled over the cousins.
“Excusez-moi, mes amis, but you are disturbing the other residents. I am Mme. Bellerose.”
Chapter 10
“Please, sit,” Mme. Bellerose said, nodding at a loveseat that sat under a wide window. Sheer white curtains ruffled in the warm summer breeze.
Ford sat and Ellie plunked down so close to him, their elbows touched. Much to his surprise, he could feel her arm shaking. Knowing Ellie, it must be from excitement and not fear. The moisture in Ford’s mouth dried and he cleared his throat. Gavin perched on the armrest on the other side of Ellie.
A blue, flowered teapot and four teacups sat on a simple dark wood table in front of them. Ford wasn’t a huge tea drinker, but he’d drink an entire pot if it would stop his tongue from drying to jerky.
Mme. Bellerose slowly eased herself into a tall-backed, gold-brocaded armchair that sat opposite them. She rested her small hands on the chair’s ornate arms, her fingers tracing the carved wood as she stared at Ford. Ford, trapped in her gaze, couldn’t pull his eyes away from her. The little remaining moisture in his mouth evaporated as she silently interrogated him.
Could she read his thoughts?
His hands began to sweat. Why wasn’t she saying anything? Wait, did she know he just thought that? And what about now? And now…? Using all his effort, he broke her gaze and stared at the teapot. Maybe if he kept just thinking of nothing, she wouldn’t be able to read his mind. But how do you think of noth—
“Hey, Ford!’ Ellie shouted, pinching him on the thigh. “Mme. Bellerose just asked if you want some tea.”
“Uhm, sorry, yeah, that would be great. Thanks,” Ford replied, his dry mouth making his voice scratchy.
Mme. Bellerose smiled and lifted the tea strainer from the pot and rested it on the tray. “Most Parisians adore café au lait, but I’ve always been taken with tea. Would you care for lemon or sugar?” she asked as she poured him a cup.
“Both, I guess. Thanks.”
She placed the teacup on the saucer and slid it across the tray towards Ford. She stared at the tea leaves as Ford grabbed the sugar bowl and plopped in two cubes and squeezed lemon into his cup. He stirred the tea quickly as a homey aroma filled his nostrils. Ford gulped. He finished it in seconds and placed the cup on the coffee table.
Mme. Bellerose smiled. “Better?”
Ford nodded.
“Let me look at you.” She took one of Ford’s hands. She examined the back of it, then flipped it over. “Ah, I see.” She traced a line that ran from his wrist up between his thumb and pointer finger. Shivers rippled across his hand. “Hmmm. Très bon.” She released him.
“What…what did you see?” Ford asked.
“So impatient. I am not done. Let me see you properly.”
Her eyes widened for a moment as she reached across the coffee table and placed one hand on each side of his face. Surprised, he stiffened. Her palms were cool on his cheeks. “Ah, yes,” she murmured before closing her eyes. Warmth rushed outward from her fingertips and across the back of his head, like a band of heat, relaxing him in the process.
Ford yawned, suddenly feeling exhausted. His eyelids grew heavy, but not as heavy as his head. It lolled to one side, then the other. He yawned once more, before fully relaxing.
Mme. Bellerose smiled and then released Ford. He blinked his eyes open, feeling drowsy.
“It is as I expected,” Mme. Bellerose said. “You are a clairvoyant, as am I.”
“A clairvoyant. Is that why I’ve been having these strange…episodes?”
“Yes, they are visions of the past. You will be a truly great clairvoyant one day.”
Ford leaned forward, a wide smile on his face. “A genius clairvoyant?”
Mme. Bellerose laughed. She sounded like a young girl.
Ellie leaned forward. “A genius—” she began, but the old woman cut her off.
“Yes! Yes, Ford. I like that—a genius clairvoyant. But you are inexperienced. Your psychic ability is like a geyser exploding at will. In time, you will learn to guide your talent and train your mind to decipher the clues others left in the past, so you can solve their mysteries today. Their memories are like echoes lost in time. That is what you are tapping into: memories that are travelling through time, not bound by life or death. They will always be there, they just need someone like you who can hear them.”
“Wow,” Ford replied, a smile spreading across his face.
She smiled back.
“Wow indeed. But Ford, remember not everyone will be so willing to accept your gifts. You must guard this piece of you. Be very, very cautious with whom you share your abilities. From my experience, desperate people will stop at nothing to control a proven psychic, forcing them to use their gifts to perform cruel and vicious acts,” she crossed herself. “I have known many who were turned into agents of evil. Ellie, Gavin, you may need to protect Ford.”
Ford’s smile disappeared.
Gavin looked from Mme. Bellerose to Ford. “Agent of evil? I don’t like the sound of that.”
As Ford sat up straighter, a small smile crept back onto his face. He couldn’t help it. Agent of evil or not, he was a genius. He couldn’t tell anyone, which was kind of a downer, but still it was the single most amazing thing that had ever happened to him.
And finally, he felt like he belonged in his family—his genius family.
“I don’t know. This seems a little convenient,” Ellie said to Mme. Bellerose. “Why didn’t we know Ford was a clairvoyant before now?”
Mme. Bellerose chuckled and poured herself another cup of tea. “Convenient? That is not how clairvoyance works. I believe Ford became aware of his ability for two reasons.” She then spoke directly to Ford. “First, you tapped into your own great-grandfather’s memories and he is a blood relative. Second, you are meant to do great things, solve mysteries locked in the past and help people. It is as if your gift grew tired of your ignorance of its existence and it pushed through hard so you could no longer ignore it.”
Gavin frowned. “I’m still a little confused. Can my brother see anyone’s memories? That seems pretty intrusive.”
“No, it is not so simple. Ford must connect with that person in some way—through emotion, family relationships, or a personal belonging or artifact. There are many ways a connection can begin.”
Ford let that sink in. It was a lot to accept.
Ellie’s look of disbelief morphed into a huge smile. She leapt to her feet, her eyes sparkling. Ford knew that look of excitement. “Ford could solve every single mystery known to mankind! He could figure out if there really is a lost city of Atlantis, or what happened to the great Mayan civilizations, and if actual aliens live among us,” Ellie said. “He could predict lottery numbers! We could be millionaires!”
Mme. Bellerose clapped her hands and laughed. “No, no, ma chèrie. That is not how it works either. To begin with, Ford cannot see into the future, only the past.”
Ellie’s smile slid from her face. Her arms fell to her sides.
“So that means…” Ford said, tapping his thigh. “That as long as I have some sort of connection, I can see anyone’s past memories?”
“Not exactly. Even with a connection, memories can remain untouchable and no one knows with complete certainty why that is. Many of us believe that some people’s energies just won’t allow it. What is important to remember is that even if there is a connection, the memories cannot be forced. Either they are accessible to you—the clairvoyant—or they are not. What we do know for sure is that a connection must come with a desire to know and to learn for both the sender and the receiver.”
Ellie sighed and crossed her arms.
“I can imagine you are having trouble believing me,” Mme. Bellerose said to her.
“Who wouldn’t? It is pretty unbelievable: energies swirling around us, memories crying out to be heard, and Ford being part of some big community of psychics.”
“In time, I hope you will come to believe in your cousin.” Mme. Bellerose turned to Ford. “You must never use your gift to fulfill your own wishes. Use your gift to help others. That is where true happiness can be found and you will help right old wrongs and always, always trust your instincts. Your instincts will keep you on the correct path.”
Ford shrunk into the couch. He liked being a psychic genius, but he wasn’t sure he was up to the challenge Mme. Bellerose was giving him. “Help right old wrongs? You make me sound so important.”
“Oh, you are, but so are Ellie and Gavin and your parents and the postman down the street. We all play our part. Each one of us. But some of us can have a greater impact. That is where the responsibility comes in. You must respect this part of yourself and use it wisely. You are a great psychic who can see into the past.”
A cuckoo clock chimed, the small wooden bird popped out of its house marking the time.
Mme. Bellerose rose from her chair.
Ellie pulled Great-Granddad’s papers and photos from her bag. “I know our time is up, but could you help us with these? We just need to know why they are significant.”
Mme. Bellerose closed her eyes and held her hand out a few inches above the stack in Ellie’s arms. She smiled and opened her eyes. “This is a puzzle you three must figure out.”
“That’s all you can tell us?” Ellie asked.
“I will tell you this: this is your destiny—to be here in Paris together, to journey through the past, and to right a wrong and through these old documents you will connect to your great-grandfather,” Mme. Bellerose said as she walked down her hallway to the front door. Gavin and Ford followed close behind.
Ellie stuffed everything back into her bag and elbowed past the boys. “Our destiny? Journey through the past? Right what wrong? We need to know why and—”
“Now, I must say au revoir,” Mme. Bellerose interrupted Ellie’s protest. She clasped Ford’s hand. “Remember, you will do great things.” She then turned to Ellie and Gavin, Ford’s hand remaining in her grip. “This puzzle cannot be solved with Ford’s abilities alone. You two are essential. And remember, Ford may need your protection. Adieu, mes enfants. Good luck.”
She gently nudged Ford through the doorway to join Ellie and Gavin.
“But, what—” Ford began.
