Now we’d moved to training, which Lori had insisted on before any more detective work.
“Before we get to fire,” Lori said, “let’s talk about what you already do. Seeing ghosts. Right now it’s involuntary—they show up when they want, you see them whether you like it or not. But you can learn to control the door.”
“There’s a door?”
“Think of it like a dimmer switch. Right now yours is stuck on high. We need to teach you to turn it down when you need to, and up when you’re ready.” She set a small hand mirror on the table between us. “Try closing your eyes. Imagine your ability as a light in your chest—bright, open. Now picture yourself turning it down. Dimming it. Pulling the energy inward.”
I closed my eyes. Pictured a light. Pictured a dimmer switch. Pictured the Costco lighting aisle, which was probably not what she meant.
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Normal. Keep going.”
I breathed in, breathed out. Something shifted—a tug behind my sternum, not painful but strange, like a muscle I’d never used?—
And then a voice that was absolutely not Rosaria’s said, directly in my left ear: “Excuse me, do you know if the library’s still open?”
My eyes flew open. Next to the bar—hovering, really, about two inches off the ground—was a thin, elderly woman in a housecoat and reading glasses, translucent and faintly blue around the edges. She was clutching a spectral stack of books against her chest and looking around with the polite confusion of someone who’s wandered into the wrong building and is too embarrassed to leave.
“Oh no,” I said.
“There’s someone,” Tammy said, squinting at the spot near the bar. “I can see the edges. Blue aura, confused energy.”
“I had them due back on Thursday,” the ghost continued, shuffling in a small circle. “But I can’t seem to find—everything looks different. Did they move the drop box again?” She stopped shuffling and peered at me through her spectral bifocals. “Can you see me?”
“I can see you.”
“Oh, wonderful. Do you know what happened to the drop box? It used to be right on the corner. I’ve been looking for it all week and I can’t—well, I can’t seem to find much of anything lately.”
I’d accidentally tuned into a dead woman’s overdue library books instead of tuning Rosaria out. Perfect.
“I opened the door the wrong way,” I told Lori.
“You opened it wider, yes.” Lori didn’t look concerned, which was both reassuring and annoying. “Close it now. Same exercise. Pull the energy in.”
“They charge ten cents a day, you know,” the ghost added, adjusting her glasses. “It adds up. I’m very responsible about returns. I’ve never had a late fee in forty years and I don’t intend to start now.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, pictured the dimmer switch, and shoved it down as hard as I could. The ghost’s voice faded like a radio losing signal—“—forty years, not a single late fee, and I won’t have people thinking—“ and then she was gone.
I opened my eyes. The spot by the bar was empty.
“Well,” Tammy said, “at least we know someone’s worried about their library fines.”
Jill had pressed herself flat against the back of her chair. “Was that—did you just—was there aghostright there?”
“Lady in a housecoat worried about overdue books.” I rubbed my temples. “I don’t think she knows she’s dead.”
“They often don’t,” Lori said. “But you shut it down. That’s progress.” She pushed the candle closer to me. “Now. Let’s talk about your other gift.”
She folded her hands on the table the way she did when she was about to explain something she’d explained a hundred times. “Different people, different abilities. Jill moves things. Tammy reads auras. I heal. And some people manipulate energy—heat, cold, light.”
“Like a thermostat,” Tammy offered.
“Your hot flashes,” Lori said, ignoring Tammy. “They’re not just hormonal. You’ve been running hot your whole life, haven’t you? Quick temper you learned to swallow? Passion you tamped down?”
I thought about thirty years of biting my tongue. Smiling through Rosaria’s insults. Agreeing with Sal when I wanted to throw things. Swallowing every argument, every frustration, every spark of anger until I was so compressed I couldn’t remember what it felt like to burn.
“Maybe,” I said.
