The Fourth Power

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Heather loved her brother, dearly, but sometimes he could be a bit of a dramatic. It was a quality he inherited from their mother—though he wasn’t nearly as bad as her. Like Heather, he looked like a combination of their parents, though he’d gotten green eyes from the Stable side, and she’d inherited the Warrick brown. People usually accused him of being too quiet and wished he’d talk more. Heather never had that problem with him. If anything, she couldn’t get him to shut up.

  “What are people going to think if I suddenly show up in town with a kid?” he insisted.

  “That you kidnapped her,” Heather answered wryly. “Obviously.”

  “You’re not funny.” He paced to the front glass doors of the lobby and frowned. “Do you think this is a good idea? This Martin guy is an outsider. Troy doesn’t even do séances with the three of you, and he’s dating Viv.”

  “That’s because Troy didn’t need convincing to believe that spirits are real. He believed Vivien when she told him.” Heather gave him a pointed look as she silently added, unlike some people I know.

  William had needed to see to believe, even though when he’d been really young, he’d had some experiences that were written off as imaginary friends. They had gone away, and her brother had spent his life denying their family’s legacy. He’d hated it when people mentioned it. Though he’d gotten better and he was trying to be supportive, she noticed he sometimes fell back on old habits. It was difficult for him to talk about ghosts with people outside of their trusted circle.

  “I’m sorry for not believing you and for all the shit I gave you growing up about it,” William said.

  Heather could sense he was sorry for a lot of things she wouldn’t let him say. She didn’t need magic or a ring to tell her that much. She knew her brother.

  The inability to speak freely about their feelings was one trait they had in common. They both kept their emotions close and didn’t speak of them often. Though William had been blessed with an expressive face so people often took his quiet in stride. They tended to think Heather was just a bitch because apparently her expression didn’t reveal what she was thinking. “If we had been a normal family, you would have given me shit about something else. It’s what siblings do.”

  William nodded, accepting her answer before changing the subject back. “Why can’t Troy babysit the girl?”

  “I’m going to need you to man up here, bro.” Heather patted his shoulder a couple of times. “Troy can’t do it because he’s not you.”

  “Why does he have to be me?” William arched a brow. “It’s not like I know anything about boy bands and lip gloss.”

  “Wow, yes, because that’s what all preteen girls are into,” Heather drawled.

  “What? See, I told you. I don’t know. What does this kid even like?”

  “Construction sites and pizza,” Heather answered.

  “I know about construction sites,” William said, more as if to himself than her.

  “I’d hope so since that’s your job.” Heather laughed. “See, you’ll be fine. Just take her for pizza and don’t come back until I call you. If anyone asks, just tell them you have an illegitimate daughter from a one night stand.”

  “You’re still not funny.”

  “Debatable,” Heather teased.

  “Why did you say that it needs to be me who babysits her? There are like a million high school girls looking for that kind of work. What are you not telling me?” He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look stern.

  “Because Jan is like I was.” Heather met her brother’s gaze. “She sees spirits everywhere, Will, just like I did. No, worse than I did because she didn’t have a grandma Julia to help her understand that not all ghosts are her friends. They’re not all bad, but the ones who don’t move on usually have some kind of damage in their souls—tragedy or pain or confusion, or something they did that keeps them from wanting to move on to face a final judgment. They latch onto her, influencing her.”

  Heather took a deep breath, knowing she could make her brother understand.

  “She’s been going at it alone,” she continued. “That’s why I need to convince Martin that what his daughter is going through is real. He’s a good man and a great father, but he’s at his wit’s end. He’s homeschooling her with online classes. I know it looks like she’s thriving, but that isolation is only cementing these spirit friendships. Trust me. If I had not met Vivien and made a friend in middle school, I would have been that weird old lady wandering around talking to herself that parents shy their kids away from.”

  “You are a weird old lady that parents shy their kids away from,” William answered, feigning seriousness.

  Heather scrunched up her face but ignored the brotherly jibe. “I need you to do this because she’ll be comfortable around you. She is used to construction-types after being raised by a single father around job sites. Also, because you’re not going to get freaked out if she starts talking to someone who isn’t there or looks like she can’t concentrate because a ghost is chattering in her ear. You went through it with me. You’ll be perfect with her.”

  “I was terrible to you when you were her age,” he said.

  “You’re the only one I trust who can do this.”

  William nodded. “Since you put it like that. Yeah, of course.”

  “Thank you.” Heather sighed with relief.

  “Poor Jan,” William said. “She’s lucky to have found you. If anyone can help her, it’s you.”

  “I hope so.” Heather wasn’t so sure. She’d been trying to think of what advice Julia had told her as a child to make her feel better. It hadn’t been words exactly, but a feeling of acceptance and a grandmother’s love. If she wanted to give that same feeling to Jan, she needed to help her father understand what was real.

  “So this Martin guy? Anything you want to tell me? Viv says that you’re—” William began.

  “And this conversation is finished,” Heather cut him off.

  William laughed. “I see Vivien knows what she’s talking about, per usual. You’re blushing.” In a singsong voice, he taunted, “Heather has a boyfriend. Heather has a—”

  “Shut up.” Heather strode away from him.

  “He better treat you right, or I’m going to have a talk with him,” William stated.

  Heather walked faster, not dignifying that with a response.

  “I love you, sis,” he called after her.

  “Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” she answered.

  Lorna and Vivien had set up a card table on the stage with four chairs. The cloth, candles, and book were already placed on top of it. She noticed Lorna had brought the food bag with her so they’d have sugary snacks to replenish with afterward. It was a big step up from being on the floor. Heather was glad. In recent years, her back had begun to protest sitting on the hard surfaces.

  Summoning Julia seemed like the safest bet. She would be able to answer any of Martin’s questions and wouldn’t pose a threat. Plus, she was already a strong spirit and wouldn’t be hard to call forth from the great beyond.

  “I was just telling Vivien I think we need to rethink this cloth,” Lorna said as Heather came down the aisle toward the stage.

  Heather glanced to where Julia often manifested but didn’t see the ghost. “Why’s that?”

  “It didn’t work to contain the spirits last night,” Lorna ran her hands over the cloth, smoothing it down.

  “It doesn’t work on Julia, either,” Vivien said. When they’d séanced Julia so everyone could see her, her grandmother had manifested outside of the circle. She’d actually possessed Vivien’s body for a short while, making her dance burlesque.

  “Julia?” Heather called out to the spirit. “Can you show yourself to me, please? I need to talk to you.”

  She looked around, but Julia didn’t appear.

  “It’s important,” Heather insisted. “We’re going to try to introduce you to someone tonight. I need you to behave and take it easy on him. He’s new to
all of this, but he needs our help.”

  Still, no sign of her.

  “You always said if we could help a neighbor, we should,” Heather insisted. “He has a daughter who is like us. We need to help her.”

  “Where is she?” William had pushed the velvet curtain aside and looked in. He glanced toward the wall to hook it back, but the curtain holdback was broken and she needed to replace it.

  “I don’t know,” Heather answered with a shrug. “I don’t see her anywhere.”

  William glanced around, but he wouldn’t be able to see their grandma either. “I need coffee. You want?”

  Heather nodded. “Yes, please.”

  “Coffee?” William yelled so the other two would hear him.

  “Latte, thank you, baby,” Lorna answered.

  “Cappuccino extra shot,” Vivien called.

  “On it!” William ducked back out.

  “Last night was…” Heather shook her head as she walked toward the front of the auditorium. She didn’t need to say it. Last night had been a surprise. It was evident that there had been too many ghosts, and they’d essentially busted out of the circle. They had done a handful of séances, so it’s not like they were experts by any stretch of the imagination.

  “I’ve been worried about Jan,” Lorna said. “Do you think anything negative came over, like with Glenn?”

  “It felt different,” Vivien assured her. “I thought the sensation I experienced with Glenn was because he was a jerk, but there had to be jerks there last night and it was nothing like that first time. Last night felt like a crowded bus station—a bunch of people with no choice but to be there, but also in a hurry to leave.”

  “William has agreed to babysit her while we do this. Making Martin aware of the supernatural will better equip him to help his daughter if anything does happen.” Heather went up the stairs and peered at the stage. Examining the properties was a habit that her mind couldn’t break as she looked for mars and chips in the black floor paint. She didn’t find any.

  “He’ll do a good job,” Lorna said.

  “So, what kind of treat did you make for us tonight?” Heather asked, nodding at the food bag.

  Lorna gave a tiny laugh.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t bake this time,” Lorna said.

  “That’s fine,” Heather said. “Did you grab something from the bakery?”

  “Not exactly.” Lorna covered her mouth.

  “What am I missing?” Heather asked Vivien.

  “I baked,” Vivien said. “Chocolate cake.”

  “She insisted,” Lorna said.

  “I wanted to help.” Vivien grinned.

  “You did help,” Lorna said. “I’m sure it tastes great.”

  Curious, Heather went to check the bag. She pulled out a glass cake pan and lifted the blue silicone lid. Specks of brown crumbs had been dragged through the white frosting to create the effect of muddy snow, and there was a divot in the center.

  “Did you drop something on it?” Heather asked, trying not to laugh.

  “Maybe,” Vivien mumbled.

  “Now you have to tell me,” Heather said.

  “I was reaching for a toothpick to make sure it was baked all the way, and a bottle of maple syrup fell from the top cabinet,” Vivien explained.

  “Did syrup get into the cake?” Heather asked. “That might taste all right.”

  “No. The bottle just bounced and then fell on the floor when I tried to catch it. The glass broke, and syrupy shards went everywhere. Since I was barefoot, I had to yell for Troy to bring me a paper towel. By the time we got everything cleaned up, I was over the whole baking thing, and so I just dumped some frosting on it—”

  “While it was still warm, thus the crumbs,” Lorna inserted.

  “—and called it good,” Vivien finished.

  “I’m sure it tastes great,” Lorna said.

  “You said that already,” Vivien answered.

  “Well, that’s all that matters.” Lorna smiled.

  “I feel like you just patted me on the head.” Vivien laughed.

  Heather watched the two of them, almost jealous of the roommate fun they’d had over the simple baking of a cake.

  Lorna’s smile fell. “What is it, Heather?”

  Heather had not meant for her friends to pick up on her feelings. It was a fleeting pang that didn’t warrant a discussion.

  “Nothing.” She waved her hand in dismissal.

  Lorna and Vivien tried reaching for her to read her emotions for themselves.

  Heather stepped back before they could grab hold of her. “I’m fine. I swear. I was just thinking of Lorna’s roommate idea. It might be kind of fun, but the logistics of it are—”

  “I’m in,” Lorna stated.

  “Me too,” Vivien added instantly. “Pick which house you want to live in.”

  “Old Anderson House,” Lorna said without missing a beat.

  “Not you. Heather pick,” Vivien corrected.

  Heather thought of her home, of her son’s closed bedroom door that she touched every day. She didn’t think she was capable of leaving.

  “It’s okay. You think about it,” Vivien said, reading Heather’s wave of pain even without physical contact. “No pressure.”

  “We love you,” Lorna said. “Viv is right. No pressure.”

  “We can talk about this later,” Heather said. “Right now, we need to concentrate on easing Martin into the supernatural world and making him understand that ghosts are real.”

  “Ease?” Vivien shook her head. “I don’t think there is such a thing when it comes to this. I think all we can do is throw him in the deep end without a life preserver and hope he can swim.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Heather stood in the lobby with Martin as they watched William’s truck leave. She put her hand on his arm, letting her ring finger touch him. She felt his hesitance to let Jan go. She couldn’t blame him for that. But she also felt his desperation for answers. This was a man who had tried everything he could to help his daughter. He took her to doctors, pastors, and a priest. He stayed up endless nights watching over her as she slept, trying to figure out what was happening to her.

  The knowledge came to her, not like a vision, but as an impression. Heather could picture herself in his place, doing all of those things.

  Helpless.

  Desperate.

  Alone.

  She withdrew her hand. “It’s been so difficult for you. All those doctors. All that worry.”

  His expression registered surprise.

  “We’re here to help you now,” she said. “I promise. We can help.”

  “I don’t know what to believe.” He leaned toward the door to look down the street. William’s taillights had disappeared. “But I’m out of options on how to help her. When I think of her fiddling with my truck, of all the ways she could have been hurt or even killed, I can’t…”

  Heather rubbed her hand along his back, attempting to comfort him. The touch felt intimate as she discovered the muscles along his spine, and she withdrew her hand. “I know. Thankfully she wasn’t.”

  “It’s not just the truck, Heather.” Martin turned to face her. “She finds ways to sneak out of the house. What am I supposed to do? Bolt her in her room each night? Chain her to me so she’s never out of my sight? I don’t want that. I want to be a good father. I want to keep her safe. I want her to be happy and grow up normal and not talking to people who aren’t there. I want to be able to send her to school without worrying that she’ll start a dice game during recess.”

  Normal. The word stung.

  Heather slowly nodded. “I understand.”

  It was true. She did understand, but that didn’t mean the word didn’t hurt. How many times in her life had she been made to feel peculiar or weird? If it were just about her, she’d have let the comment go.

  “What your daughter and I can do might not be what you want for her, but that doesn’t make her abnormal.” Hea
ther took a step away from him. He was standing too close, and the smell of his cologne made it hard to concentrate. “If you want her to be safe, she needs to be able to trust you, talk to you.”

  “I want her to trust me and talk to me,” Martin said.

  “Then she needs to know you believe her.” Heather paced away from him in aggravation. A ghost appeared near the concessions to watch them. The woman had died in the fifties. She manifested sometimes but never said anything. Heather frowned at her. “Go away.”

  “What? But I thought we were…?” Martin appeared confused.

  “Not you.” Heather frowned, gesturing to the ghost only to find she’d disappeared. “Never mind.”

  “Is this what was happening the other day when we were going over the wiring? You weren’t yelling at me. Did you think someone was there with us? Talking to you?”

  Heather didn’t answer. “This séance will work best in the auditorium.”

  “Séance,” he repeated as if testing how the word felt in his mouth.

  “Yes. We are going to summon the spirit of my grandmother, Julia Warrick,” Heather said, leading the way toward where they set up on the stage.

  “Warrick? Like the name on the plaque outside?” Martin followed her.

  “Yes. My maiden name is Warrick. Grandma Julia was a brilliant businesswoman. She commissioned the construction of this and several other buildings in town, most notably this theater and a hotel. The hotel burned down.” Heather held the velvet curtain away from the door leading toward the seats so that he could pass through. “This theater was her favorite. For years she held séances here. People would come from all around to speak to their loved ones through Julia. She was a trusted medium and spiritualist.”

  Martin didn’t speak, though it looked like he had several disbelieving things to stay.

  “Aside from her work as a medium, she danced burlesque for a time, was a known bootlegger during Prohibition, a pot farmer, wrote a recipe column for the local paper and had a small stint playing piano in clubs for a jazz singer.” Heather smiled with pride. “She was a remarkable woman.”