by Skylar Finn
Odette’s absence perturbed me. Why had Stella followed me from King and Queens while her daughter—whom I was more acquainted with—had not? Odette had asked one thing of me: to solve the mystery of the 1988 King and Queens fire so she could move on to whatever life existed beyond this one. I had failed her. There was a block in my head. The steady dull throb acted as a barrier between my conscious thought and whatever part of my brain controlled psychic ability.
“Odette,” I muttered, feeling like a fool for speaking into the wind. “Your mother mentioned ghosts can attach themselves to people. I assume that’s why she’s around. Where are you?”
Nothing but the howl of the wind answered me. Not even a flicker of the dead girl’s conscience rode on the breeze.
“Did you move on?” I asked. “Or are you still trapped at whatever’s left of King and Queens? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s happening.”
Still nothing. Odette’s pearly figure did not appear. The hair on the back of my neck remained flat against my skin. Nothing prickled or stung to indicate my psychic energy waking up. I felt empty, like my energy had been dug out of the gaping hole in my chest. I leaned over the railing, balancing on my rib cage as I let my weight tip forward.
“Careful!”
Someone tugged on the hood of my jacket so my feet landed on level ground again. The sudden jolt yanked me out of my pleasant state of mind. I steadied myself as my vision swam. The figure of a woman came into focus. She was older, in her sixties or seventies, with curled, box-blonde hair and gray eyes. She wore a look of concern beneath her garish burnt-orange scarf, and when I lurched toward the drop off again, she clutched the front of my coat to guide me away from it.
“Sit down, sweetheart,” she said. “Take it easy. What are you doing up here all alone? You shouldn’t hike without a trail buddy. It’s the first rule on all the signs.”
“You’re alone,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but I’ve been hiking all my life,” she said. “Beginners can get lost or hurt, even on the easiest trails. Are you feeling okay?”
Sitting helped, as did pinching the bridge of my nose to redistribute the shooting pain between my ears. “Getting there. Must be the altitude, you know?”
She rubbed my back through my thick layers of jackets and coats. Then she unhooked a metal water canteen from a carabiner on her belt and offered it to me. “Drink this. You might be dehydrated. It’s easy to forget water in the cold. You don’t notice how thirsty you are until it’s too late.”
I coughed as the frigid stream of water from the canteen trickled down my throat. “Thank you. I needed that. What’s your name?”
“Gina,” the woman replied, holding her hand out for me to shake. “And you?”
“Lucia.”
“It’s a pleasure, Lucia. I assume you don’t hike often.”
“No, I can’t say it’s one of my favorite pastimes.”
She chuckled as she settled on the step next to me and screwed the cap to the top of the canteen. “Can I ask why you decided to suddenly take up the hobby then?”
Sweat dripped into my eyes. Despite the cold, it was hard work getting to the lookout. I swept my hood and hat off to wipe my forehead, enjoying the brisk breeze across my heated scalp.
“It’s been a rough few days,” I said. “Hiking seemed like a good way to get away from everything for a while.”
Gina hooked the water canteen on her belt. “I agree. When I need to let off some steam, I take to the woods, but I don’t often dangle myself over massive drop offs. That, I imagine, is more stressful than not.”
The statement housed a silent question. Had I purposely leaned too far over the railing? My first instinct was to answer no. I didn’t have a death wish.
“I guess I got a little carried away,” I answered. “Wishing I was a bird.”
“Would it help to get your mind off things?” Gina asked. “There are a few birds popping out of their hiding places if you’d like to check it out.”
I stood shakily, and we returned to the lookout. This time, I remained firmly at the center of the platform instead of approaching the railing. Gina peered skyward, searching the vast blue atmosphere for signs of feathers or wings. When she finally spotted something, she pointed into the trees rather than up at the sky.
“There.” She lined me up directly in front of her so I could follow her eyesight. “Through those branches. Can you see?”
I squinted, spotting nothing but pine needles and snow drifts. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“It’s a Northern Goshawk,” she said. “See the streaky patterns in the white on its belly? She’s a juvenile.”
My eyes strained to pick up any difference in the landscape. Finally, the bird turned its head sharply from one direction to the other, giving me a movement to pick up on.
“I see it!”
The exclamation startled the raptor into flight. It spread its wings and took off with ease, swooping low over the lookout as it took its leave. Its beady yellow eyes flashed in every direction and brimmed with intelligence. It was like getting an inside look at Mother Nature’s true intention.
“That was a lucky spot,” Gina remarked as the goshawk rode an air pocket up and away. “Goshawks are usually pretty elusive, and they’re mostly found in the Rockies.”
Reeling from the close encounter, I asked, “Do you know a lot about birds?”
“I picked up quite a bit of information on various hikes,” Gina said. “They came to fascinate me after a while. What a dream to be so free, don’t you think? If only humans had similar paths of escape.”
“I’d never land,” I said.
“Neither would I,” Gina agreed. She set her backpack on the lookout, rooting around in it until she unearthed two granola bars. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
We sat at the edge of the lookout and dangled our feet. Gina made sure that the lower rung of the railing kept me securely in place. Her worry was unnecessary. I didn’t intend on jumping, but I did get a secret thrill from our proximity to the drop off.
“So what do you do, Gina?” I asked, munching on the granola bar. “Do you hike all the time?”
“I wish,” she said. “My dream is to retire to a camper van and travel cross-country. Simple, sustainable living. Low cost too.”
“Why can’t you do that now?”
“Because retirement is a scam,” she said with a wink. “I wasn’t good at managing my money when I was younger, and as an artist, I never made much money to begin with. Besides, when you work for yourself, no one tells you to set up a retirement fund, so here we are.”
“You’re an artist?”
She tossed a raisin over the railing, where it hurtled into the open space below. “I paint. What about you?”
“No, nothing like that. My dad was a portrait artist though.”
“Was? He doesn’t draw anymore?”
“He died.”
“Oh, dear,” Gina said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t worry, it happened a long time ago,” I said.
The last time I thought of my father in a positive light was long before the idea for Madame Lucia’s Parlour popped into my head. Jazmin and I once visited an art gallery in Downtown Burlington, where one of the artists exhibited a style similar to my father’s. Jazmin had to drag me away from his booth after I perused his pieces for a solid hour, studying the charcoal patterns on the canvas with the same intensity of a sinner asking for forgiveness at church. Of the things I remembered about my father, his art was the most beautiful. He drew my mother mostly. She was stiff and strict in real life, but through my father’s artistic process, she embodied a languid love. I preferred my father’s version of my mother, and I preferred my father as an artist rather than a person. When he was a person, he was not a good one.
“Thanks for this,” I said.
“For the granola bar? Nonsense! I buy them in bulk.”
; “Not just the granola bar,” I laughed. “For the talk and showing me the goshawk. I really needed a break from all the crap going on in my own head, and it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t wrapped up in my drama.”
Gina patted my hand. “It’s been a pleasure, dear. Are you staying at White Oak much longer?”
“I’m not sure.”
She dusted her hands over the ravine and tucked the torn granola bar wrappers into her backpack. “I’ll be around for a few more days. If you need someone to talk to, feel free to look me up. I enjoy the company.”
She offered me the canteen again. I took a swig and handed it back. “I might take you up on that.”
A burst of bright copper hair disrupted the earthy landscape as Jazmin climbed the last step to the lookout. She spotted me and Gina sitting at the edge.
“There you are! And wearing my coat.” She had borrowed a ski jacket from White Oak to compensate for the one I had stolen. “You never planned on meeting me at the spa, did you?”
“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Gina chimed in as she climbed to her feet. “Lucia and I met in the lobby and immediately bonded over our love of art. I convinced her to come bird-watching with me. You know what they say! You should never go hiking without a buddy, and these old hips of mine aren’t as reliable as they used to be.”
She grimaced and limped to one side. I disguised a chuckle. For her age, Gina was in phenomenal shape. I had a feeling that her hips were just fine.
“Nice to meet you, Gina,” Jazmin said. “I’m Lucia’s best friend, and regardless of your newfound bond, it’s imperative that I know where Lucia is at all times. In the future, I’d appreciate if you at least left a message on my cell. I’ve been looking for you for over an hour.”
Her harried expression wasn’t just a result of my abandoning her at the spa. Something else was going on, something that Jazmin probably couldn’t talk about in front of Gina.
“Why?” I asked. “What happened?”
“The police are here,” Jazmin said. “They want to speak with all of us.”
Gina zipped her hiking pack and shouldered it. “Sounds serious. I’ll leave you ladies to it. Lucia, don’t forget what I said. If you’re up to it, come find me. I know a few other trails here that are good for distracting us from daily life.”
Jazmin waited until Gina was out of sight to scold me. “Seriously? You ditched me for Grandma? I was worried sick.”
She shivered in the cold. I took off my beanie and pulled it on over Jazmin’s head instead. “You’re shaking. Let’s get you back to the resort. Aren’t you glad we didn’t hike up to the hot springs? You would’ve never made it.”
Two police cars and a professionally boring sedan were parked in White Oak’s valet loop when we reached the bottom of the mountain, but there were no signs of uniformed cops in the lobby. Jazmin unzipped her borrowed coat and returned it to a passing employee. With so many layers on, I started overheating quickly. I stripped down to my innermost sweater, my arms full of thick winter fabric.
“Can I take those things up to your room for you, miss?” asked a passing bellboy. All of the White Oak employees wore khaki pants and bright white polo shirts with the lodge’s crest printed on the left side of the chest. It made all of them look vaguely similar, and I had no idea which bellboys I’d already interacted with. “It’s Miss Star, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Room—”
“2814,” he recited. He folded the coats with one hand and draped them over his arm. “They’ll be waiting for you upstairs. Mr. Porter’s through that door there. I believe he’s expecting you. Enjoy your day!”
The door in question was behind the front desk and labeled “White Oak Staff Only.” Jazmin, however, had less reservations about breaking the rules than I did. She led the way, nodding politely at the employees manning the front desk. Every single one of them seemed to recognize us, despite our untimely arrival last night, and no one questioned us as we knocked on the staff door.
“Come in!” Nick called from the other side.
The room was set up for conferences with a long, centered table and a plethora of office chairs. Another door led to a small break room with a vending machine and a coffee pot. Nick sat at the head of the table, his bad leg propped up on another chair as he massaged his thigh through his suit pants. Two police officers, one male and one female, doctored their coffees in the break room. Apparently the stuff in the pot wasn’t half as good as the brew Slopes Café sold, as the male officer dumped four packets of sugar in his Styrofoam cup before he could drink it without wincing. The female cop noticed us first and whacked her partner on the shoulder to alert him to our presence.
He coughed into his coffee and wiped the spillage from his upper lip. “Sorry about that. I’m Officer Graham, and this is my partner.”
“Fuentes,” the female cop supplied, shaking our hands. “We understand that the two of you were involved in the ordeal at King and Queens. Do you have a few minutes to speak with us about what you witnessed?”
The door to the conference room opened again, and Riley sidled in, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Mr. Porter,” she said, her gaze slipping right past me. “Someone said I was supposed to meet you in here?”
“Yes, thank you for coming, Riley,” Nick said, smiling warmly. “Officers Graham and Fuentes are here to ask us about the events that transpired over the last few days. Are you comfortable with that?”
“It’s just standard procedure,” Graham said, collecting Riley’s attention. “Nothing to be scared of.”
“I’m not scared,” Riley said. “But I need to talk to my friends first.”
Nick and the officers gave us the room. At first, I thought Riley might apologize for giving me the cold shoulder all last night and this morning, but as soon as the three of us were alone, she shifted into her serious mode and planted her hands on the conference table like she was about to announce her ascension to CEO of White Oak.
“I’m not telling them about the ghosts,” she declared. “I know what will happen if I do. They’ll take me away and lock me up at some hospital and run a bunch of brain scans. If you let them do that to me, I’ll hate you forever.”
“Riley, we would never—” I began.
“Don’t you tell them either,” she warned me. Her tone was cold and hard. She’d never spoken to me that way before. “Don’t tell them anything about me or you.”
“Keep the footage we collected from King and Queens quiet too,” Jazmin added. “I have a feeling we know a lot more than they expect we do. If they find out we were recording, they’ll confiscate our data and use it against us. They could frame us for something we didn’t do.”
“Like murder?” Riley said. “Not all of us are innocent in that department.”
Jazmin came to my defense since Riley’s acidity knocked any retort out of my mouth. “Be quiet, Riley. You have no idea what Lucia went through when she was your age.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Well, don’t!” Jazmin said.
Someone knocked on the door, and Officer Fuentes peeked her head in. “Everything okay in here? We heard raised voices.”
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “We’re ready for you. Riley’s volunteered to go first.”
It was the equivalent of throwing Riley to the wolves, but for once I didn’t care about protecting her. She was acting like a petulant child when the three of us needed to form a united front. Sometimes, I forgot that she was only twelve, but the look on her face as I ushered Jazmin from the conference room reminded me that, out of all of us, she had lost the most. Guilt flooded my mouth with a bitter taste akin to chewing on pennies. Riley could say she wasn’t scared all she wanted, but she sure didn’t appear brave as we left the room.
“That was a bit much, don’t you think?” Jazmin muttered as we leaned against the wall outside the conference room and waited for our turn to talk to the cops.
I squared my shoulders. “If she wants to
treat me like a criminal, I’m not going to bother protecting her feelings.”
“Lucia, she’s just a kid,” Jazmin said. “You’re the adult here. You have to be the bigger person. No matter what she does or how she acts, your job will always be to protect her. This morning, you told Nick that Riley might as well be your daughter. Don’t alienate her the way your mother alienated you.”
She moved off to chat with a nearby employee before allowing me to answer. Her warning festered like roadkill in my head, stinking up my mental space. The last thing I wanted was for Riley to look at me the way I looked at my mother. No, we weren’t related—we hadn’t even known each other for that long—but Riley had become the most important person in my life second to Jazmin.
They didn’t keep Riley long. Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the office. Her shoulders drooped and she sighed, but when she caught sight of me leaning against the wall, she straightened up and glared.
“They’re ready for you,” she said.
“What did you tell them?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential.”
“Riley, are you serious?” I caught sight of Jazmin over Riley’s head, who made a “zip your lips” gesture at me. “You know what? Forget about it. Enjoy your day.”
I shouldered past her, putting too much force behind it and accidentally knocking her off balance. At the same time, a tall man in a spindly suit approached us from behind. He set Riley on her feet.
“Whoops! There ya go, miss,” he said.
She didn’t thank him and scurried off to consult with Jazmin.
“Don’t mind her,” I said. “She’s in a mood.”
The man bowed his head in understanding. “Kids are always a bit moody. It’s probably because adults never bother to listen to them. Are you her mom?”
“No, her mother died a few weeks ago,” I said. “And her dad—”
