He leaned in close, his nose an inch away from my own. “That’s when you get them. And they give you all they’ve got.”
I backed away from him. “We don’t take anything from the people we help. We don’t charge fees or even accept donations.”
“Maybe not, but you’re still culpable. You still feed into the whole system and keep people clinging to hope that if they just find the right psychic, if they just spend a little more, they’ll get to see the people they love again. And either you’re playing into it on purpose, or you’re getting used by the people who are.”
“That’s not—”
“So, which are you?” he interrupted. “Complicit, or just stupid enough to buy into all the smoke and mirrors?”
“I am not a fraud,” I growled.
“Fine, then you’re a fool.”
My mouth and brain stopped communicating with each other at that point, leaving me unable to do anything but gape at him while the insult sank deep into my skin. Daphne emerged from the dark hallway behind Raziel, her eyes narrowed.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Raziel thinks I’m making all this up,” I said. “He doesn’t believe I saw anything. But you saw the spirit too, right?”
She nodded, and a shiver passed down her body. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
Raziel folded his arms across his chest. “Oh, this should be good. Do tell, tarot mistress. What did you see? Jacob Marley, rattling his chains?”
Steel flicked across Daphne’s eyes for a moment as she gazed at Raziel.
“Ignore him,” I said. “Just tell us what you saw.”
“Oh, for the love of all that’s creepy!” Kit shouted from the kitchen. She bustled into the living room, carrying a small condenser microphone on a stand. “How many times do I have to tell you people to save it for the show?”
I glanced down at my shirt, remembering the lavaliere microphone Kit had pinned there. At my hip, the red light on the transmitter box glowed, reminding me that everything I said to Raziel was being recorded. At least Kit would edit out anything we didn’t want our viewers to hear.
“Okay, you’re all set,” she told Daphne a second later. “What did you see?”
“A shadowed figure.” Daphne pointed to the space behind me with a shaking hand. “It stood between Mac and the fireplace, looming over her like a dark omen.”
“Could you see his face?” I pressed. “His eyes?”
She shook her head. “No. It had the height and width of a man, but it had… Well, the only way I can describe it would be to say it had the opposite of a glow, as though he was sucking light into himself. Is that… normal?”
I wanted to laugh. Normal. I’d left normal behind months ago, the day I’d seen a ghost in the Grimshaw Library and discovered my psychic abilities. To my eyes, the spirit had been a young woman with dark hair and a shy smile. But to the cameras recording me, she’d been a shimmering blur, a shapeless blob of white light.
The spirit that day had been friendly. According to the library staff, she never harmed anyone. She just wanted to spend eternity reading books on a sunlit window seat on the second floor.
The spirit I’d seen today had known my name. And to Daphne, he’d been a shadow, as opposed to being made of light. What did that mean? And had the camera picked up the same thing?
“Did you see anything like that in the footage so far?” I asked Kit.
She glanced at Raziel, then lowered her voice. “Not yet, but I’m sure we got something.”
“What’s that?” Raziel cupped a hand to his ear and leaned toward us. “Let me guess: the footage is conveniently dark, so you can’t prove anything conclusively.”
My hands balled into fists at my side. “I’m not making this up. If you’d seen what I’ve seen—”
“Oh, right,” he cut in. “All the hauntings and séances. Remind me, where were you the first time you saw someone summon a ‘spirit?’” He crooked his fingers in air quotes around the last word.
I narrowed my eyes, sensing a trap. We’d never talked about this before. How could I remind him of something I’d never told him?
“Ghost got your tongue? Well, I heard it was at one of Gabrielle Suntador’s famous—or should I say infamous—séances. And where is she now?” He frowned and scratched his head in mock thoughtfulness then snapped his fingers again. “Oh, that’s right. She’s awaiting sentencing for robbing her clients blind and killing her co-conspirators. Sounds real trustworthy. I’m sure she’d never fake a summoning.”
My fingernails dug little grooves into my palms. “You’re wrong.”
He smirked at me.
“I hate what Gabrielle did.” My voice hitched in my throat. “I hate it. She has a gift—a beautiful, powerful gift—and she threw it all away. But her mistakes don’t invalidate what I do. What we do.”
Raziel opened his mouth to reply, but I held up a hand. I wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.
“We help people. We’re there when they’re at their lowest, when they think they’re losing their minds. And we help them.”
Mark, Yuri, and Graham joined us in the living room and flanked me, wordlessly backing me up. I straightened my spine.
“Know what I think? You go on and on about how you’re a thief and we’re the same, but you’re the only thief here. You steal hope. You steal livelihoods. Why are you so desperate to prove you’re right about everything? Why are you so scared to see proof of an afterlife?”
Raziel stiffened, and I knew I’d struck home.
Yuri placed a hand on my shoulder. “Mac—”
But I was already pressing forward. “What did you do, Raziel? Afraid to pay for your sins?”
He glared at me then laughed again. The sound was hollow and forced. “Nice deflection. Your acting skills are impressive. Gabrielle taught you even better than I thought.”
I lunged at him, not sure what I was about to do. Graham grabbed my arm and pulled me backward, and Raziel laughed again, genuinely this time.
“Hey, take it easy, champ.” He patted his shirt pocket, which still held his cell phone. The camera lens was just visible above the lip of fabric. “I don’t think the network will be too happy if a video of you attacking me goes viral, do you?”
My breath caught, and I stopped struggling against Graham’s grip. “You’re recording this?”
“All night long, kid.” Raziel strode to the door, tipping an imaginary cap toward us. “Thanks for the show, everyone. See you online.”
Chapter Eleven
My mother’s backyard glowed in the light of the setting sun. The flowers in her garden bloomed vivid pinks and yellows, and the low hum of summer sounds droned around me: insects, a light breeze, and music from the open window of a passing car.
I knew it was a dream. It’d been twenty years since I’d been back to this place in the waking world, but my unconscious mind regularly pulled me here. I didn’t mind. The patio was peaceful, and my limbs felt heavy against the hard metal chair of my mother’s old bistro set.
“How can I be sleepy when I’m already asleep?” I wondered aloud.
Nobody answered. The backyard was a solitary place. Occasionally, on nights past, my mother would appear on the fringes of my vision, just out of sight. I’d always wake up before she came into full view. I was content to sit here, alone, relaxing in the evening air. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back.
A sudden chill chased goose-pimples up my arms. I opened my eyes in near darkness; a single candle guttered and spat from the center of the table, and the rest of the backyard was obscured by a black mist.
Two red dots glowed from the shadows. The ghost from the cabin materialized across from me, his pupils burning like embers in a campfire. He leaned forward, bringing his face into the light, and I shrank back into my chair, squeezing my eyes closed.
“Wake up,” I told myself. “Wake up!”
When I opened my eyes, I was still in my mother’s
backyard. The shadows had disappeared and the sun once again warmed my skin. The red-eyed spirit had left, chased away by the return of the light and replaced by a somber-faced Yuri.
“It’s over, Mackenzie,” he said. His voice echoed oddly, as though we were in a large arena filled with loudspeakers. “ScreamTV has cancelled Soul Searchers.”
“No!” I covered my mouth with one hand. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
Yuri shook his head slowly. “My dream is dead. You killed it.”
The patio spun, and I faced the back of my mother’s house. Over Yuri’s shoulder, the ghost from the cabin stood at the kitchen sink, grinning at us through the open window. He cocked his head back and began to laugh, the brim of his top hat ringing his face like a dark halo.
As he laughed, the chair dropped out from beneath me and the ground shook. I looked around in panic, hoping to grab hold of Yuri to steady myself, but couldn’t find him. The patio groaned, cracking and splitting in two. I dove to one side, clinging to the trunk of an ash tree.
My mother’s house crumbled. Oddly, I was relieved. The ghost had been inside. Surely, he’d been trapped by the rubble. He wouldn’t be able to frighten me anymore.
In the distance behind the ruined house, two shadows appeared. One shimmered in gray light, reaching out a hand.
“Mackenzie!” my mother’s voice called. “Wait for me!”
But it wasn’t up to me. My feet didn’t move. The surrounding scenery rushed past as though blown by a strong wind. The second shadow in front of me grew bigger, filling my entire field of vision. As his face came into focus, his red eyes glowing harshly in the gloom, the red-eyed spirit opened his mouth.
Larger and larger he loomed, finally swallowing me whole.
Chapter Twelve
I stared sullenly down into my mug, watching the flakes of instant coffee dissolve in the swirling water. This wouldn’t be strong enough to chase away the lingering fragments of my nightmares. Again and again, the red-eyed spirit had stalked me through my dreams until my subconscious had grown tired of that particular game. Then, it switched to something much more terrifying in its plausibility: visions of a California conference room where ScreamTV was cancelling our show, citing my behavior and the fact that I was “wildly unpopular with our viewers” as reasons to terminate Yuri’s contract and leave him with nothing.
A pair of light snores drifted across the apartment. Graham was asleep in my bed, and Striker loafed on his chest. Her high-pitched, nasal wheezing was the exact inverse of his low, purring snuffle. The sight was just cute enough to prevent me from waking Graham and begging him to go down to the big kitchen to make me a better cup of coffee. I’d never been able to recreate his method; his brews were atomic strength, enough to knock the sleep out of you for weeks, but they still tasted good. Especially with something sweet and tart, like the box of raspberry danishes I knew Kit had hidden above the fridge.
Besides, even if I woke him, I didn’t think he’d be able to help me work through either of the things that were really bothering me. He wasn’t a psychic. He wouldn’t be able to confirm why Richard Franklin’s ghost hadn’t appeared or how I could figure out who that other spirit had been. I wished I could just pick up my phone and call Gabrielle. Even if I wrote her a letter, who knew how long it would take her to get back to me.
As for the second concern, there was only one thing that would make me feel better. I’d crossed a line last night with Raziel. I knew what I needed to do. And though it was still early, I knew I was putting it off. It should have been the first thing I did: the moment my feet hit the floor beside my bed, I should’ve marched straight over to the Oracle Inn to apologize for trying to attack him—and beg him to delete that video.
My reflection glared at me as I brushed my teeth and tried to flatten my hair into submission. I finally gave up and showered, marveling at the paradox of trying to look nice for a person whose definition of “dressing up” was wearing an extra revealing V-neck. I’d rather spend the entire day picking litter up off the side of the Moyard highway than spend another two minutes talking to Raziel, but if I didn’t do this, the entire Soul Searchers crew might have to find jobs doing roadside maintenance. Once Raziel was through with us, I was certain another network would never touch our show again.
I left Graham and Striker to slumber on without me and dragged myself to the inn. It was a sunny fall morning, and the scent of freshly fallen leaves filled the air. I cut through the square on Main Street, pausing to throw a few coins into the fountain at the center. The floral-themed water feature with its upturned petals catching the rays of the sun always reminded me of my mother. She’d been a horticultural hobbyist and could never resist the superstitious act of wishing on fountains. I stood there for a few moments, regarding my reflection in the rippling water. That, too, was a constant and comforting connection to my mother, whose genes had made a strong claim on my features.
Is that where you got this absurd impulse to tackle anybody who offends you? I asked the girl in the water. She shrugged, and I went on my way.
Wafts of pumpkin spice drifted out from the inn’s open windows, and I promised myself a steaming mug of chai tea and a pumpkin cookie as a reward for putting on my big-girl pants and extending the olive branch to Raziel. Whether he accepted was on him. A smile flitted across my face as I imagined what he could do with that proverbial branch if he didn’t want to erase his video.
The inn was quiet at 6:00 a.m. on a Sunday. Few guests were up this early, and none had yet made their way down to the café at the far end of the lobby. The barista, the same dark-haired college student who’d served me during my tour with Penelope, leaned over the counter, reading the paper. His espresso machine gleamed tantalizingly, but I sternly told myself that rewards were best enjoyed after you’d finished your chores. Especially if the chore was this distasteful.
I made my way up the inn’s grand staircase. On the top floor, the door to the attic suite had a shiny bronze ‘301’ drilled into it. The light reflected off the numbers unevenly, and as I got closer, I realized the door was ajar.
“Raziel?” I knocked softly on the doorframe, not wanting to push the door open any farther. The thought of walking in on him changing—or worse, with some fangirling groupie—made the last of my instant coffee rise in my throat.
There was no answer.
“Raziel?” I tried again. “Hello?”
An unmistakable shiver of dread passed over me. Something was wrong here. I could feel it. Swallowing, I pushed the door open, revealing…
Nothing. The cozy cluster of couches and their little table were undisturbed, and the heavy curtains hung unruffled. The wardrobe doors looked firmly closed, and the trifold screen zigzagged beside it. Across the room, the bathroom door hung open, and my reflection stared back at me from the mirror above the sink. A rush of relieved air escaped my lungs, and I laughed quietly.
“You and hotel rooms,” I told myself. “Are you ever going to get over that?”
I leaned into the room to grab the knob and pull the door closed, and something strange caught my eye. In the gap between the privacy screen and the floor, something shiny glinted. I moved closer; Raziel’s honey-tinted aviator sunglasses rested on the hardwood.
“Raziel?” My voice quavered, betraying my strong desire to not see what was behind that screen. But I’m nothing if not morbidly curious, and the need to know beat out my want to stay ignorant. My hand reached out on its own and pulled the screen back.
Raziel lay face up, his vacant eyes staring at the rafters above us. Red marks covered the lower half of his neck, and the braided tassels of a curtain’s cord snaked around his throat.
He was dead.
The coffee in my stomach bubbled up again, this time getting all the way up to my mouth as I stumbled backward. I tripped over my own feet, landed on the rug and coughed, struggling to swallow so I could suck in air.
My throat cleared, and I gasped in enough air to scream for help
. After another scream, footsteps pounded up the stairs outside the open door.
“In here!” I yelled.
As the footsteps grew closer, I looked once more at Raziel’s lifeless body. He’d been so convinced there were no such thing as ghosts that he’d dedicated his entire life to destroying psychics and mediums. Now he was dead and knew better than any of us what truly waited on the other side.
Wherever he is, I thought, he can’t deny the afterlife anymore.
Chapter Thirteen
“There she is.” Deputy Alicia Wallace strode across the cafe floor and set her brimmed hat on my table. She tucked her thumbs into her belt, tugging her utility pouches and holster forward.
With her tall, sturdy frame, Wallace towered over me even when I wasn’t sitting down. That stature, combined with her ever-present firearm, had intimidated me since our very first meeting. Now, even though I considered us friends, her presence still made me a little nervous.
“Donn’s Hill Body Magnet Strikes Again,” she said, dragging her hand across the air in front of us like she was revealing an invisible newspaper headline. “I can’t wait to hear what you were doing in Raziel Santos’ hotel room at five-thirty on a Sunday morning. Aren’t you with Graham Thomas?”
“Yes.” Heat rushed into my face, heat that had nothing to do with the chai tea in my hands. “And this isn’t what it looks like.”
She chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder. “It never is. Look, I still need to go check out the scene and conduct some interviews. The sheriff is taking the lead on this case personally, due to the high profile of the victim. And when he does something ‘personally,’ it means I do it.”
I stared up at her. “What?”
“Never mind. Bad time for a joke.” She patted my shoulder again, more softly this time. “I know finding a dead body isn’t easy. Do me a favor: stay here. I’ll come back and go over your statement once I’ve been upstairs.”
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