Happy Medium: (Intermix)

by Meg Benjamin

  Emma blew out a breath. She still needed to talk to Ray. But now she needed to find some firewood. In September. In South Texas.

  No business like show business, right?

  ***

  Ray had stayed upstairs deliberately, although his conscience still gave the occasional kick. He figured he’d wouldn’t have much to say to Gabrielle DeVere that would be helpful under the circumstances, and he didn’t want to get Emma into trouble.

  There were lots of people around. The dining room was warded. She’d be safe without him.

  He did some repairs on the window frames and some more cleanup on the floors, stuff that he’d have to do anyway before they could start sanding them down. All the while he kept listening to the noise from downstairs—the sound of voices as the lights were set up, the crew linking up the generator they’d brought down from Houston. Occasionally he heard a female voice that sounded like fingernails on a blackboard. DeVere, of course. The woman had no volume control—she was mostly set on eleven.

  Around four he checked the lengthening shadows spreading across the front lawn, feeling an itch across his shoulder blades. Given his choice, he’d grab Emma and go back to Rosie’s house. Let Gabrielle DeVere try facing the succubus on her own. They deserved each other.

  He slung his hammer into his tool belt and started back down the hall. The noise downstairs seemed to have diminished. Maybe Gabrielle had taken herself off to some other location, giving him a chance to get Emma away from the house.

  In fact, the house seemed largely empty when he came down the stairs to the main hall. The production trailer was still parked in the driveway with the maze of cables snaking toward the back door, but he didn’t see any of the men who’d been working around there earlier.

  With any luck they’ve decided to knock off for the day. But of course his luck so far had been uniformly lousy and he didn’t necessarily expect it to change.

  He stepped through the door to the dining room and saw Emma kneeling in front of the fireplace, arranging a pile of wood across the andirons. Her red hair had begun to come loose from the severe ponytail gathered at the back of her neck. Her suit jacket was draped across one of the dining room chairs. Her skirt hugged her hips, and she showed a bounteous expanse of leg as she leaned forward.

  His heart gave a quick thump. At least Emma was one part of his luck that was anything but lousy. He cleared his throat.

  She started, nearly losing her footing as she turned toward him. He reached out to steady her. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing deeply, then dropped a fireplace lighter back on the mantel. “You didn’t exactly. I’m just . . . really jumpy.”

  “Any particular reason? Other than the obvious?”

  She took another breath, steadying herself by leaning against the table. “I gave Gabrielle her opening monologue, you know, the thing I was writing last night.”

  He nodded. “And?”

  “She started reading it aloud in here and a candlestick smashed on the floor.”

  He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I guess it could be a coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t steady.”

  “I was looking at it when it happened. I’d swear I saw the damn thing hop off the mantle on its own.”

  His jaw felt tight suddenly. “We’re both on edge. Maybe you thought it hopped off but it just fell.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide. Then she shook her head. “I heard her,” she said softly.

  Ray froze, his hands flexing into fists. “Heard her how?”

  “She . . . gets inside my head, I guess. Anyway, she whispers things.”

  His hands flexed more tightly. “What kind of things?”

  “Mostly how useless I am, how ugly.” She shrugged. “Stuff like that. It took me a while to figure out it was her, but I know it now. This time she offered to fix it for me. To make you want me even though I’m such a loser.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then reached for her, drawing her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his. “You know that’s not true, right? You know she’s just trying to shake you up. You know I want you just like you are now.”

  She rested her head against his collarbone for a moment. She smelled like roses and musk, pure Emma. “I know. I mean, I know I’m not Angelina Jolie, but I’m not as hopeless as all that. But that’s not exactly the point.” She leaned back to look at him again. “The thing is, I was in this room when she did it. She talked to me here.”

  “The room is warded, Emma,” he said slowly. “I pounded nails in every doorway.”

  “I know. I watched you do it. I know she shouldn’t be able to come in here. But . . . well . . .”

  “She did.” He closed his eyes again. Great. He’d been fairly sure the dining room would be safe. Now it looked like that had been wildly optimistic.

  She put her hand on his arm, staring up at his face. “I’m sorry. I could still be wrong. I hope I am.”

  “We should probably assume you’re right and go from there.” Where they’d go next, he wasn’t entirely sure. “Where is everybody?”

  “Dinner break. Gabrielle decided her dress wasn’t right, so Willis, the director, took her back to her hotel. I figure it’ll be another hour or two before they come back.”

  “Why are you putting wood in the fireplace?”

  She grimaced. “Gabrielle wants a fire. She thinks it’ll make the room seem more spooky.”

  “What it’ll mainly do is make the room seem like an oven, but I guess that’s not a problem for her.”

  “Apparently not.” She stared down at the wood, then shook her head. “What do we do now, Ray? If it can get into this room, how do we stop it?”

  He took a deep breath, trying to bite back the frustration that made his gut clench. “There’s one thing we can try, although it may not do much good.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold locket. He’d picked it up this morning, but he hadn’t known exactly why he’d put it in his pocket instead of leaving it on the upstairs table with his tools. Now he did.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Smash it. Maybe that’ll be the key. Maybe it’s the charm that’s binding the succubus to this place.”

  She sighed. “Maybe.”

  He decided not to think about what that sigh meant. They could always be right this time, although most probably they wouldn’t be, given the direction things seemed to be heading. He laid the locket on the stone hearth and pulled the hammer from his tool belt. What had Skag said? Pound it into dust and then throw the dust in the wind. And run like the very devil.

  He could do that. He just wasn’t sure how much good it would do. Although at least it wouldn’t hurt. Probably. He raised the hammer and brought it down on the locket, cracking the metal down the middle.

  Beside him, Emma caught her breath, and he paused, staring around the room. He half expected something dramatic to happen—screams of anguish or melting faces like Raiders of the Lost Ark. But so far as he could see, nothing in the room had changed.

  He sighed. Looked like their luck was holding true.

  He brought the hammer down again and again, pounding the locket into smaller and smaller pieces. Then he dumped them on the logs.

  “What’s left should melt in the fire. If it doesn’t, we can deal with whatever is still there after they finish filming.”

  Emma nodded slowly. “Do you think it worked?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. I guess we’ll find out later.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “I guess we will. But for now, let’s just get out of here for a little while.”

  He nodded. “Let’s do that.” And maybe if we’re lucky this time the succubus will have moved on by the time we get back. But right now he didn’t think trusting to luck wo
uld be all that effective, judging from the way luck had worked for them up until now.

  Chapter 22

  Emma stood in the shadows near the door to the dining room, watching the crew ready the lighting for the séance. Sometimes Gabrielle used a Ouija board or tarot cards when she communicated with the spirits in a house, but this time she was using only the table. There might be trances involved, although preferably not among their audience.

  Gabrielle’s instruments were set up along the far wall, with the usual impressive expanse of dials and screens. They looked a little like a very low-rent version of NASA. Gabrielle claimed that they read the spectral energy in a room. Emma suspected that they were actually controlled by some device that Gabrielle had with her. Her billowy skirts could hide quite a bit. The instruments were usually just icing on the cake anyway—the séance provided the real show biz.

  Gabrielle had been right that the fire looked picturesque, particularly since the flames threw lots of dramatic shadows. Of course, Ray had also been right that it made the room feel like a furnace. Gabrielle had demanded the air-conditioning be pushed to the limit. Ray had commented that he’d be sending her a prorated power bill. The air-conditioning grates were pumping out the maximum cool air, but it didn’t do much to change the temperature in the room.

  The makeup girl hovered nearby, trying to blot away Gabrielle’s perspiration with rice paper, while Gabrielle moaned to everybody within earshot about the heat. A fan in the corner blew the warm air around. Emma fully expected that she’d be called on the carpet soon for not finding firewood that burned cold.

  The two local American Medium viewers who were taking part in the séance looked on nervously from the sidelines. One was a plumber from Seguin who wore a knit golf shirt and cargo shorts. At least he looked fairly comfortable. The lady from Alamo Heights wore a pink linen suit and was probably suffocating. Emma thought about suggesting she take off her jacket, but she didn’t think Gabrielle would like it if she did. If Gabrielle was uncomfortable, then everybody else got to be uncomfortable too.

  “Aren’t we finished with the setup yet?” she demanded of the room at large. “We need to get started. Right away!”

  Willis rolled his eyes, something he could get away with because he was standing where Gabrielle couldn’t see him. He motioned the two locals to the table, along with a couple of crew members dressed in civilian clothes. The two crew members were always seated next to Gabrielle so that they could conceal anything that wasn’t supposed to appear on camera.

  Willis turned to the rest of the crew. “Okay everyone, we’re ready to start.”

  “No we’re not,” Gabrielle snapped. “Emma, where are you?”

  Emma stepped forward quickly. “Right here, Gabrielle. What do you need?”

  “Candles. We need them in the middle of the table. The ones I brought from Houston. And the water carafe. Hurry. We need to get started.”

  Emma picked up the replacement candlestick from the mantelpiece and set it in the center of the table, along with a couple of votives from the bookcase. The water carafe was closer to Gabrielle in case she needed a drink, which seemed likely, given the heat. “Is that all right?”

  Gabrielle gave her a sulky look, then shrugged. “I suppose. Go ahead and light them.”

  Willis walked back to Gabrielle. “Ready?”

  “Of course.” She flipped her curls back behind her shoulders, having dispensed with the French twist once her side tendrils had begun to frizz.

  Emma put the lighter back on the mantel, then stepped back beside the door, as far from the fireplace as she could get. After a moment, Ray moved beside her, standing out of camera range in the hall. “Anything happening?” he murmured.

  “So far so good. They’re about to start.”

  Gabrielle leaned forward, folding her hands on the table as the cameraman moved in. Her voice took on a warm undertone that had been totally absent a few minutes ago. “Tonight we’re going to try to reach a troubled soul. A young woman died here many, many years ago but her spirit still walks these halls. We want to bring her peace. We want her story to be heard.”

  The flames might have leaped higher for a moment, but Emma decided it was her imagination.

  Gabrielle extended her hands to the crew members on either side. The two locals at the other end of the table looked somewhere between excited and mildly uneasy. They linked hands with the crew members and with each other.

  Emma folded her arms across her chest. She was uneasy enough for everybody, and they hadn’t even started yet. She resisted the urge to grab hold of Ray’s hand. That would probably not be a good idea during a séance in the dining room. She even moved a little away from him so that they wouldn’t connect by accident.

  “Remember to keep holding hands. No matter what may happen. This was a very unhappy woman in life. We don’t know what she may do.” Gabrielle dropped her voice to a near whisper on the last sentence.

  This time the flames definitely leaped.

  You have no idea.

  Gabrielle stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “I’m getting some interference here. Another spirit wishes to speak with us. Is there a Shelly? A Sheldon? Is there someone here who knows a Shelly?”

  The plumber licked his lips. “I had an Aunt Shirley, but . . .”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “No. This is Shelly or Sheldon or something else like that.”

  “Sherry?” the woman in pink said faintly.

  “That could be it. What about Sherry?” Gabrielle leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.

  “She was my cousin. My Aunt Anna’s daughter.”

  “And she’s crossed over now?”

  Pink suit nodded slowly, her eyes widening. “Oh yes.”

  “I see her holding her hands over her chest. Did she have chest pains?”

  The woman nodded more quickly. “She had breast cancer.”

  “She wants you to know she’s here. She’s with you. Sherry’s with you.”

  The woman blinked several times, biting her lower lip.

  Emma dropped her hands to her sides, keeping her expression blank. She wasn’t entirely sure how Gabrielle found the information about her guests, but she was sure it wasn’t by way of spirits. More likely by way of Google. Still, it always gave the guest participants a bit of a thrill. And made Emma feel like crap for being part of it.

  The plumber, as it turned out, had a brother-in-law who’d died of diabetes complications. Given that the plumber seemed to be the least suggestible of men, it took Gabrielle a bit longer to draw that particular story out, but she finally gave him his Message From the Beyond. When she’d finished, she turned back to the room at large.

  One of the crew members dimmed the lights slightly. Beside Emma, Ray shifted, his expression grim.

  “Amina?” Gabrielle called. “Is that you? Are you here? Are you with us tonight?”

  Emma drew in a long breath, waiting. Ray moved restlessly again.

  “Amina?” Gabrielle sighed, drawing out the suspense. She peered down the table. “Maybe it’s not Amina I’m hearing but Nina or Dena? Does anyone know a Nina or Dena?”

  “Gina?” the plumber asked hesitantly.

  “Possibly.” Gabrielle’s eyebrow went up. “Do you know a Gina?”

  “My wife’s name is Gina.”

  “Has she passed over?”

  The plumber blinked, then shook his head. “Oh no. No, ma’am. She’s still here.”

  Gabrielle looked like she was gritting her teeth. “Then she’s probably not trying to contact us, is she?”

  “Guess not,” the plumber mumbled.

  “Amina,” Gabrielle called again. “Speak to us.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Emma dug her fingernails into her palms. Ray seemed to be holding himself very still beside her.

  One of the lights went out ove
rhead with a soft pop.

  “Keep filming,” Willis muttered. “It’s okay.”

  Something thumped heavily against the table, sending the candle flames shuddering. “Amina?” Gabrielle called.

  The woman in pink glanced around the room, her brow furrowing, then she zeroed in on the crew member beside Gabrielle, narrowing her eyes. Apparently, she had some suspicions about where that thump had come from. The plumber slid back in his chair away from the table edge.

  “She’s here,” Gabrielle said briskly. “She’s with us.”

  “Bullshit,” Ray muttered.

  Emma shook her head slightly. The crew member might have thumped the table, but he hadn’t made the light go out.

  The candle flames fluttered picturesquely. Emma managed to keep from glancing toward the crew member standing next to the fan.

  Willis directed the camera toward the instruments at the side. One of the gauges was swinging impressively far to the right.

  “Amina, we want to help you,” Gabrielle crooned. “Tell us how we can help you.”

  The camera turned to the instruments again. Suddenly, all the gauges dropped back to zero. And stayed there. Gabrielle frowned thunderously.

  “Hang on,” Willis said. “Camera problems.”

  Everyone turned to stare at the camera operator, who was looking at the camera and frowning. “What the hell?”

  Gabrielle drummed her fingers on the tabletop, narrowing her eyes.

  “Okay,” the operator said after a moment, “rolling.”

  “All right,” Willis said. “Start again in three . . . two . . . one.” He pointed to Gabrielle.

  After a moment, she cleared her throat, fixing her gaze on a corner of the room. “I think I see her now. Yes. Yes, I see Amina. She’s touching her throat. What is it, Amina? What do you want us to know?”

  Gabrielle raised her head so that her curls cascaded prettily, staring somewhere above the plumber’s shoulder. He glanced back, then quickly down again, scrunching into his corner of the table.