It was ninety-four degrees in the room, yet when Elanora had commanded them all to sit, they all followed orders like a bunch of sweaty sheep. No one dared speak up.
The opening remarks had been short and not sweet. Elanora had stoically addressed their dehydrated audience with an explanation of her family’s “gifts” and how they used those gifts to serve.
Gabe’s pores were so efficient at sweating that a fine mist was rising from his dark skin where he stood in the corner waiting for Elanora to give him an order.
The rest of the audience was a mix of bored journalists and the overly excited public, including her neighbors. Mrs. Penny was drinking a martini in one corner next to Lily, who was fluttering an oversized Spanish lace fan in front of her shiny face. Mr. Willicott sat with his back to the action and facing a wall while Fred kept scooting his chair closer to Elanora.
Bella sat pretty and perky on a chair in the front row and made faces at her cameraman like she was a kindergartner.
Kellen stood against the wall, looking relaxed with his arms crossed. But Riley could feel some kind of anxious energy emanating from him. Nick was next to him. The two painted quite the attractive picture in humid candlelight. And one of them was all hers.
Wander nudged her under the table, and Riley realized she’d missed a cue. Her grandmother’s talon-like hand was reaching for hers. The feathers in Elanora’s hair were long and checkered, swooping backwards and nearly tickling Gabe’s broad chest.
“Sorry,” Riley murmured. She took Wander and Elanora’s hands with her own sweaty palms and pretended she was somewhere else doing anything else in the world. Her forearms were already stuck to the table. She’d probably lose a layer of skin peeling them off.
“Maybe we should reschedule for a cooler evening, Mom?” Blossom suggested. Riley vowed to give her mother the best Christmas and Mother’s Day presents.
Relief rippled through the crowd as brows were mopped.
“We will now begin,” Elanora announced, ignoring the perfectly reasonable suggestion and closing her eyes. The hope was snuffed out all around them, and the temperature felt like it had risen another five degrees. Riley shot Nick a look.
He shrugged and mouthed, “You’ve got this.”
She did not have this.
She couldn’t parade herself in front of cameras and whip out a party trick to make people believe she was a respectable psychic. Hell, regular people didn’t know what a respectable psychic was.
The candle flames barely flickered in the thick, still air. The lights in the room seemed to get lower, and a whisper stirred up in the audience. They got brighter and then flicked on and off as Bella gasped audibly.
Elanora opened one judgmental eye.
“Mrs. Penny!” Riley hissed.
The woman shrugged and stepped away from the light switch. “What? I was just adding atmosphere.”
“We do not require your atmosphere,” Elanora said. “The spirits bring their own. We will now open ourselves to the souls who have passed on.”
Her grandmother squeezed Riley’s hand in a crushing grip, and Riley reluctantly closed her eyes.
Okay. Fine. What’s up, spirit guides? Any chance you could set off the carbon monoxide detectors and get me out of this?
The pastel clouds came into focus in her mind. Unfortunately, it wasn’t any cooler in her vision place. The clouds seemed to be pooling and melting like ice cream in thick, colorful drips.
“Sorry about the heat, guys,” Vision Riley explained to the clouds. “I was really hoping to give you guys a night off.”
Her grandmother began to speak somewhere far away.
“There is a man here who has something to say. I’m getting an ‘H’ and an unprecedented amount of body hair.”
Vision Riley smirked at the idea of her ornery grandmother “getting an unprecedented amount of body hair.” Maybe Elanora would be less terrifying with a nice mustache, she mused.
There was a faraway gasp, and a woman tearfully said the name “Harold?”
Riley listened as Elanora relayed Harold’s lawn fertilizing process to his widow. The woman had probably come in hopes that Harold would express his love from beyond the grave. Instead, he was lecturing her on lawn care. Sometimes it was better not to get the messages from beyond.
“I’m getting a scent of lemons. Very clean,” Wander said, her voice rising in the room. “Furniture polish.”
“Oh my God. It’s Aunt Esther!” someone in the crowd announced.
