A/N: alright, I apologize for not updating sooner. I've been busy writing a story at the Meg Cabot Book Club writing forum, and it was hard to fill my head with any plots besides that one until I was done. (Lesson: next time I shall finish one story before beginning another). So without further ado: the next chapter (I know it's short)

CHAPTER 13: Prelude to a Battle

Thank God the warehouse that my dad told me of wasn't too far from my house, because I realized that walking in high-heeled shoes (as useful as they are) isn't such a great idea, here in the rocky Carmel, California.

But I'm telling you, the pay-off is in the hand-to-hand battle, especially when you are swinging your leg to a high-kick at some pissed-off ghost's face. Even crushing someone's foot was made easier.

The warehouse looked deceptively abandoned, rusted, and ready to crumble down. I decided first to circle the area, and get the lay of the land. Two things I've learned in my history of ghost-busting:

1. Know the turf really well before-hand, and

2. Make sure you have an escape rout if things don't go your way.

And I was doing both by checking what was round.

There were two large barn-like doors to the front of the building, facing a small lane, and two to the rear, facing some sort of forest-y type area. This would be my escape route if things went awry.

The windows were well high up, and I'd have to do some serious climbing if I wanted – or needed – to get out that way.

The building seemed isolated enough. No neighborhoods or business centers around.

So I was ready.

I decided to enter through the top windows, so that I could at least get a peak inside. There was a growth of some tall trees near one side of the building. I reluctantly too off my shoes, tied the laces and swung them around my neck.

"Santa Maria," I sucked in my breath, when I got to the window.

Guns, weapons, explosives – piled to the sky. All shapes, all sizes; ghosts holding them, patrolling the parameter. I felt like I was in a RoboCop movie. Big, beefy guys, tattoos etched on their arms, and past their shirt sleeves. All ghosts like the guy who stopped me at Paul's house.

This was going to get sticky. I swung my leg over the ledge, and climbed onto the top of the roof.