Read Ghost Huntress Book 6: The Journey for Free Online Page B

holding hands with Patrick as the historic sites whiz by us.
    We’ll have time later this week to actually visit some of these famed locations on our own, but for now, I marvel at everything I see.  The streets are hustling and bustling, full of regular Londoners (Londiniums?) and visitors alike.  The stores are packed tightly together, and each corner seems to have a pub with a lion or a crest on the sign.  We pass by Trafalgar Square, then Churchill’s Cabinet War Rooms (where he ran World War II from an underground headquarters), again by Parliament and Big Ben and the London Eye.  This city is alive with excitement, as well as history.  I glance over at the seat next to me and see that Celia’s Mensa-level brain is about to explode from the overwhelming information overload.  She’s as much a geeky history buff as I am, and there’s no better place to quench that thirst than here.
    The bus stops outside of Number Ten Downing.
    “What’s happening?” Taylor asks.
    Christian rolls his eyes and puts his sunglasses back in place, obviously bored with our expedition.  But Jayne is nearly hanging off the side of the bus in anticipation.  She points down.
    “Look!  There’s a motorcade!”
    We all swarm to the right of the bus and glance down.  Sure enough, a few Bobbies (the London cops) have traffic stopped so a black sedan can pull out.
    The tour bus driver tells us, “As you can see at Number Ten Downing, our prime minister’s motorcade is exiting the location.  More than likely, he’s off to an important political meeting.”
    We see an older man step out of the residence and slip into the waiting car.  Yep, that’s the Prime Minister!  Wicked.
    Patrick snickers.  “I could read him from here.  He’s headed to view a soccer match.”
    Sometimes, being psychic is literally too much information.
    In any case, it’s still cool.  We wave and clap as the car pulls out and on its way.  How many kids can say they’ve seen a British PM?  Well… this girl.
    I retake my seat, a bit breathless from the experience, but it’s nothing compared to what’s in store for us next.  The bus twists and turns through the traffic to arrive at the looming Gothic figure of Westminster Abbey.  I gasp hard at all the monarchs and rulers from London’s storied past that are buried and memorialized here.  But most of all, to me, it’s a place where fairy tales come true.  Where Prince William and Princess Kate were recently married.  And where one of my favorite people of all time, Princess Diana, had her funeral. I tear up at the memory of how the world lost such an amazing figure.  Of how two boys lost their mother in a vicious car wreck.  Just like how mother, Emily.  A car wreck that I was involved in, as well, since Emily was still pregnant with me.  For some reason, I’ve always felt a connection to the British princess who not only touched a nation, but touched the world.  As we pass by the amazing structure, it’s as though I’ve been transported to another time, sucked into the tall, gray columns that nearly reach to the sky with their authority, making me feel insignificant in their wake.
    “It is breathtaking, isn’t it?” I say out loud.
    Patrick snaps pictures on his cell phone, and I hear nearly everyone else on the bus doing the same.  The tour guide prattles on about Edward the Confessor and the Romanesque style, but I’m locked in place, breathless as I gaze at the side portal opening with cracked colors of stain glass just above it.
    For standing right there waving at me with her straw colored hair swept back from her face is Princess Diana.

Chapter Six
     
     
    “I’m telling you what I saw,” I tell Patrick sternly after we get off the bus.  We’ve been dropped off at the location of our first case here in London’s Notting Hill neighborhood.  Talk about hitting the ground running.
    But I’m still reeling from my ghostly encounter.
    Patrick places his sunglasses on