The last few hours of the night passed slowly as I lay awake—and alone—in my apartment. Striker’s decision to stay with Graham was clearly a message. She was as angry with me as he was, and that was just fine. If they wanted to be pissed at me, they could deal with me being pissed at them. I pulled the covers up to my chin and fumed silently at the dark ceiling until the first rays of sunlight crept into the apartment. Only then did I slip into a fitful rest, not sleeping deeply enough to dream or recharge.
The chime of a text message on my phone woke me just after noon. Going to Moyard for clay, Graham wrote. Be back tonight.
An involuntary snort escaped my nose as I tossed the phone unceremoniously to the foot of my bed. Part of me was relieved we couldn’t continue our argument from the night before. Another part of me felt cheated. I hadn’t gotten a chance to win. Plus, we’d left things unresolved, and the world seemed out of balance. Right this second, Graham’s Geo was carrying him farther and farther away from me. I hoped the physical distance didn’t correlate with an emotional one. Hurt as I’d been the night before, the thought of Graham and I drifting apart was too painful to dwell on.
I lay in bed until my bladder convinced me it would be prudent to get up and then slumped down the stairs to the kitchen. The house was thankfully empty. No other residents were lunching at home, and it occurred to me that the ones with regular jobs were probably at work. As I chewed a piece of toast, I reflected that I’d probably have to get a day job soon myself. Despite Kit’s assurances that she hadn’t made a decision, I predicted she’d leave, and the Soul Searchers would die a quick death by the New Year. I glared at the closed door to the butler’s pantry. Amari’s show would probably take off, fueled by Raziel’s loyal fanbase, while we faded into obscurity.
My restless mind infected the rest of my body, and I absently dug my fingers into the skin between my shoulders and my neck, rubbing the sore muscles there. What I needed, I decided, was a massage. Putting my feelings about The Enclave aside, I looked up Elizabeth Monk’s number. She was one of three people in that neighborhood I was certain wasn’t lying to her customers, so I called to set up an appointment. I was in luck; she could squeeze me in early that evening.
That left me with several hours to kill, and I made the mistake of searching through the classified ads for jobs nearby or ones I could do online from home. The listings reminded me I’d lucked into my position as a professional medium in the first place, and the advertised jobs all held zero appeal compared to the thrill of making a TV show with my friends. By the time I left for my appointment, my shoulders rode at ear level.
I headed for The Enclave on foot since both Graham and Kit’s vehicles were missing from their spaces in the long carport. Crisp autumn air filled my lungs as I made my way across town, and I marveled at the length of all four seasons in Donn’s Hill. I was used to the short shoulder seasons and long summers and winters of the Rockies, where you begged for winter by the end of summer and vice versa. Here, we’d already had weeks of stunning fall foliage and there were still many more to go before we had to worry about the first snowstorm.
A dull ache filled my chest as The Enclave came into view. The reality I had to embrace was that the city I thought I knew had changed. It wasn’t the same one I’d discovered six months before. The feeling of betrayal lingered whenever Nick or Fang’s face popped into my head. Gabrielle might have helped rob her clients, but at least she hadn’t lied to them about seeing their dead loved ones.
The street was quieter than it’d been on Sunday, as few out-of-towners bothered to make the trip to Donn’s Hill in the middle of the week. The faces I passed on my way to Elizabeth’s parlor were locals grabbing dinner at the pub or ducking into one of the quirky little occult stores to do some shopping.
Elizabeth’s face lit up with recognition when I entered the little lobby at the top of the stairs. “Didn’t recognize your name on the phone,” she said. “How’s the little puff?”
“Her limp is much better, and she’s her usual active self. We’ve got her on some injections, and we’re going to keep bringing her in for regular massages.”
“Good. Come on back.”
She led me back to a different room than the one where she’d treated Striker. This one was dimly lit by a large pink salt lamp in the corner, and the only piece of furniture was a tall, narrow table with a donut-shaped pillow protruding from one end. String music over a background of rain sounds played softly from speakers in the ceiling, and a soothing, earthy aroma filled the air.
“Smells good,” I said. “More of your oils?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Ylang ylang.”
She left me alone to undress and position myself on the table, and I sighed as the heated blanket beneath me warmed my muscles. In the strange, pinkish light, the lines between the slats of the hardwood floor looked like a puzzle to solve, and I searched for patterns and pictures in the wood grains.
A soft tap sounded at the door and Elizabeth let herself back in. “What’s troublin’ you today?”
“Well, I feel like a bunch of pretzels have replaced my neck muscles,” I said. “So pretty much that.”
Her feet appeared beneath my face, clad in comfortable-looking tennis shoes. She started working on my back, and I almost giggled as I pictured myself looking like Striker had on the little table in the other room. My eyes closed as she massaged my muscles, and her words about holding stress in my shoulders registered strangely, a few moments after she said them. For the first time in weeks, I felt myself relaxing.
I need to do this more often.
The little crystals hanging from her bracelets tickled my back, and I imagined them leaving behind trails of white light as they passed over my skin. The image soothed me.
A bell chimed from the lobby and Elizabeth apologized. “I usually have a girl mindin’ the desk, but she’s been sick. Be right back.”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone in the room. I didn’t mind. The table was warm, my muscles were untangling, and my mind was quiet. No thoughts or regrets or plans hopped around in there. I just relaxed. My eyes closed, and I sighed contentedly.
The peace lasted a mere thirty seconds before the floor creaked and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention.
“Elizabeth?” I called, not expecting a response. I hadn’t heard the door open.
The feeling of unease crept down my back. A sudden stab of fear in my stomach made the case that it’d be better to keep my eyes closed. But I’d spent too much time with a cat and picked up her bad habits. I couldn’t be content without knowing what was wrong in the room. Against my better instincts, I looked.
Red eyes stared back at me from the floor beneath the table.
The woodgrain pattern behind the eyes was just visible through Horace’s semi-translucent form, but his presence was all too real. I inhaled sharply and my breath caught. His jagged grin and low top hat hung in the air two feet from my face, so close I thought I could smell him.
Ghosts don’t smell, my brain reminded me. But that knowledge didn’t stop the faint tendrils of a bitter, sage-like scent from lingering in my nose. I pushed myself up off the table and gathered the sheets around my body. The insane worry that he could grab my feet kept me off the ground, and I wished the table had been pushed up against the wall instead of the middle of the room. I’d never felt so exposed.
I blinked, and Horace stood before me, blocking the door.
“I’ve missed you, Mackenzie.” His voice was a low purr. “Why haven’t you come to call?”
I couldn’t answer right away. My lungs still refused to do anything with that last gasp of air I’d sucked in, and my brain struggled to process what was going on. Had I been trying to reach him? Had I been trying to reach anyone? I’d just been lying here, relaxing and allowing my mind to be blank. How could he be in this room?
“Something the matter?” he asked. “No need to be shy.”
Experimentally, I tried to close myself off to spiri
tual energy again. I imagined shields made of white light slamming up around me, protecting me and keeping me firmly rooted in the living world. Just as before, the shields did nothing. Horace remained in front of me, his red eyes slowly fading to black.
Breathe, I told myself. Keep breathing.
Finally able to speak again, I told him, “I don’t have the jewelry box.”
“I know. It was taken from you.”
My eyes narrowed. “How did you already know?”
“I told you before.” He flashed his teeth at me again. “I see everything.”
“You said you saw everything that happens in the inn. The box wasn’t stolen from there.”
“And I also told you I can ride the energy of psychics like you to escape that prison, however temporarily. Your energy…” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “I’ve been waiting to find something like it for a very long time.”
“I want to help you move on,” I said, ignoring the feeling of rising bile in my throat. Everything about this spirit made me feel like my skin was on inside out. “I don’t know if we’ll ever get the jewelry box back, but we might be able to help you find peace otherwise.”
His black eyes bored into me, and he registered no reaction to my offer to help him reach the next life. He tilted his head to one side and asked, “Could you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“The spirit in the jewelry box.”
I struggled to keep my face neutral. Something deep inside me warned that it’d be dangerous for him to see how easily he threw me off balance. Not trusting my voice to remain steady, I simply nodded.
He licked his lips. “I thought you would. There’s something special about you, Mackenzie. Your power… It’s greater than anything I’ve encountered in many, many years.”
“Tell me about the spirit,” I said. “The one in the box.”
“I’ll explain everything the next time I see you.”
An involuntary shudder shook me. I didn’t want there to be a next time. Though he was far less violent than Richard Franklin, he terrified me more deeply. I tried to stop myself from asking the next question, but the treacherous words spilled out of my mouth anyway. “When will that be?”
His form flickered, fading into the door behind him. His answer was a hiss in the air. “Sssssssooooooon.”
Okay, we’re done. My hair tried to leap off my scalp to find safety elsewhere. I tried to follow its lead, but my legs were uncooperative. They carried me off the table just fine, but collapsed beneath me, leaving me a crumpled heap on the floor.
I gripped the table with both hands and pulled myself back to my feet. Panting from the exertion, I pulled on my clothes and tried to wrestle my breathing back under control. I wished Striker were with me. She had a knack for slinking out from wherever she’d been hiding just when I needed comfort, and her throaty purr was as good as medicine.
The door opened and Elizabeth stepped back into the room, recoiling immediately and covering her nose with one hand. “Ooof.” Her eyes swept the room, landing on me as I tugged on my sneakers. “Everythin’ alright?”
“Yeah, uh… family emergency. I need to get home.”
“Is it your kitty?”
I wanted to hug this woman who worried as much—or more—about her furry clients than her human ones, and I felt bad lying to her. But it was easier than trying to explain what’d really happened.
“Yeah, it’s just…” Before I could finish answering, the pain in the back of my head swelled to a crescendo. I rested the tips of my fingers on my temples and hissed through my teeth.
Elizabeth frowned. “I’ve heard about you. Folks say you’re a psychic, and not one of these pretenders ‘round here. Is that true?”
I winced as I nodded.
“I have somethin’ that might help.” She led me to the counter in her waiting room, retrieved a necklace from a drawer there, and handed it to me.
A single black stone, wrapped in silver wire and about the size of my pinky finger, hung from a long piece of braided leather. On closer inspection, the stone looked like a small piece of charred wood, but it was rock-hard and reflected the surrounding light.
“Put it on,” Elizabeth said.
“What is it?” I asked, squinting at the crystal rod.
“Black tourmaline. Blocks negative energy. Keeps my customers’ emotions from seepin’ into me as I treat them.” She held up her wrists, shaking the black stones that dangled from each one.
“Do they work?” I asked, unable to keep the doubt out of my voice as I slipped the necklace over my head.
She arched a pale eyebrow and frowned at me. The meaning was clear; Elizabeth Monk wasted no time with nonsense that didn’t work.
I slipped the necklace on over my head. The stone rested against my sternum, just over my heart.
She watched me intently. “Can you feel it?”
“I don’t know. How long… wait.” As I spoke, the pain at the back of my skull subsided. The dull buzzing I’d been hearing since our trip to Cambion’s Camp quieted. All at once, I could hear my own thoughts again. I stared at Elizabeth with wide eyes.
She chuckled. “Good.”
“Thank you,” I breathed. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothin’ today. Come back another time, finish that massage. Stone’s a gift. I like knowin’ there’s another true Empath in this town.”
This time, I did hug her. She returned the gesture, squeezing me tightly against her tall frame and wishing me luck with the “family emergency” before I left.
My phone buzzed in my pocket as I hustled down the stairs and onto the narrow footpath. Graham, I thought eagerly, looking at the screen. But it was an unknown number. I nearly pressed the button to ignore it when a pang of paranoia convinced me it might be someone calling about Graham. Like a police officer. Or the hospital. I stopped halfway to the street and answered the phone.
“Hello?” I panted.
“This call will be recorded and monitored. I have a collect call from—”
There was a pause, followed by static. Then a familiar voice with a light Spanish accent said, “Gabrielle Suntador.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The recording continued, “—an inmate at a Driscoll County detention facility. To accept this call and associated charges, press ‘1.’ To—”
I nearly dropped my phone in my rush to press 1. “Gabrielle? Hello?”
“Mackenzie!” Gabrielle sighed into the phone. “Thank God. I wasn’t sure if you would pick up.”
A thousand questions crammed into my mind at once, but my brain was too overloaded to process them. Gabrielle was calling me. My old friend. My mentor.
And thief.
And murderer.
Not a murderer, my gut protested. Not technically. She hadn’t gone to trial yet, but I’d heard from Deputy Wallace that the charges would probably be reduced to manslaughter by the time Gabrielle faced a jury. She hadn’t intended to kill anyone, but she was undoubtedly a criminal.
“I just got your letter,” she told me. “There wasn’t time to respond to you in writing. This is too urgent. You must stop trying to reach anyone on the other side. You’ve opened yourself up in a very dangerous way.”
“I know. I wasn’t even trying to contact the other side just now, and he appeared to me again.”
The silence on the other end of the phone unnerved me.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes, yes,” she said. “I’m thinking. You’re sure you weren’t reaching out? Your mind does unexpected things when it wanders.”
I knew exactly what she was referring to. Once, I’d accidentally thought about a particular spirit during a séance. He’d just flitted briefly through my mind, but that’d been enough to summon him into the room, where he’d proceeded to wreak havoc.
“Positive," I said. “I was just relaxing, getting a massage.”
A lot of good it had done. My shoulders were back to their regular tricks, trying
to flank my ears, and the thick knots of stress and anxiety were already twisting back into place. But despite that, my thoughts were steady. Focused. I realized how desperately I’d missed having a teacher, someone to guide me through the minefield of talking to the dead.
“Do you think he’s a poltergeist?” I asked.
“No. I don’t know what he is. There has never been such a spirit in my house before. His claim that he died there isn’t true. He’s lying to you, Mackenzie.”
“Ghosts can lie?” It was one thing to hear Yuri, Amari, and my dreams tell me it was possible. It was another thing entirely to hear it come out of Gabrielle’s mouth.
“I have never known one to do so. It’s very troubling. You also mentioned his red eyes. That’s not something I have ever seen before.”
“They freak me out,” I admitted. “I keep seeing them in my nightmares.”
“This is why I’m concerned. The way you’ve described him… He might not be a spirit. There’s something familiar about this, but I can’t recall why. It’s something a friend wrote to me about a very long time ago. I saved a collection of letters and notes from my correspondence with other intuitives over the years and hid it beneath the floorboards in my attic.”
“Penelope found all your secret cupboards. Maybe she—”
“She didn’t find this one,” Gabrielle interrupted. “I didn’t include it in my list, and she would have told me if she found it on her own. The documents are all very personal. She would not have done anything with them without doing me the courtesy of letting me know, I’m sure of it. How soon can you get to my house?”
Her house. My heart broke to hear her call the Oracle Inn “hers.” It didn’t belong to her anymore. Even if she got out of prison, she’d never have that home to come back to.
“Not long,” I said. “Maybe twenty minutes if I run.”
“Good. As I said, this is urgent. I feel you’re in danger, Mackenzie. This spirit… he’s like nothing I’ve encountered before.”
The full meaning behind each of her words sank in slowly. Horace was a liar. I was in danger. And worst of all, even Gabrielle—the expert that even Yuri had always consulted when he was up against something unexpected—wasn’t sure what was happening.
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