Maybe so, or maybe I was an open book. I didn’t generally analyze how any given situation made me feel. If pressed, I’d say I felt confused, worried, and maybe a little bit desperate. “My gut is telling me Sledge is guilty. But since the repeater couldn’t tell me one way or the other, I have no way of proving it.”
“And repeaters can’t talk?”
“Sometimes they do, but they’re nothing more than a broken record. Even if I could hear this one…she’s just screaming.”
Evelyn shuddered.
I glared in the general direction of the courtyard. “It’ll be out of my hands soon enough. Once Chicago’s Finest show up—”
“Then let’s grab one more look,” Evelyn said decisively. “Because that way you can at least know you’ve done all you could.”
We headed up to the apartment. No cops—yet. But my Florida Water was empty and my salt was mixed with dried catnip, scattered on the floor.
“Do you see something?”
I shook my head.
“Oh. You felt…apprehensive.”
I’ve always been one to keep my thoughts to myself, and hide them behind a generic scowl. But I’d known more than my share of empaths—it’s the most common psychic talent—and I appreciated that Evelyn was willing to tell me what she was picking up instead of silently judging me for it. “It’s frustrating, is all. There was a time when I was wading through so many ghosts, I could barely scrape ‘em off the bottom of my shoe. But then Ineedto see one….” I shook my head. “I feel pissy withJacob for not being Carl. For not packing my bag, filling out my report, wiping my ass. But even with all the preparation in the world, I’d probably still come up blank.”
“And now, even Mood Blaster has let you down,” she said somberly.
“It’s just a kid’s game,” I said, though of course, both of us knew that hardly did it justice.
“I know my SPECs didn’t do much for you last time.” Evelyn reached into her purse and pulled out the simple black case. “But maybe we can try them again.”
Back at the hotel, there’d been nothing for them to help with. But there was definitely something in the apartment bedroom. As much as I wanted to discount Boswell and second-guess myself, the luminol proved it. I was hesitant to use any tech by National—especially after I’d made Jacob promise he wouldn’t. But my mediumship was no big secret. And while Evelyn might be privy to my feelings, I could be vague about anything I “sensed” through the SPEC’s lenses.
I slipped them on. Slightly heavy at first, but easy to adjust to, just like before. I ran a finger along the rim and came to the small button, then toggled it on. I must’ve been steeled for a jump-scare involving a screaming murder victim covered in blood. But there was nothing but the closet door.
“I made some tweaks based on your feedback,” Evelyn said. “You normally run at ten hertz. I blended in a theta component at about 6.8–7 Hz—just enough under-alpha to widen your pickup without making you feel loopy. Activate it with another tap whenever you’re ready.”
I wasn’t expecting much. But when I tapped the button, the SPECs went from unobtrusive to annoying. Nothing obvious, but instead of a binaural pulse I couldn’t actively hear, I now picked up a subtle whine, one that was somehow pitched both high and low. This must be what tinnitus felt like.
The whine wasn’t even loud, but it was insistent, like a mosquito I couldn’t swat. I let a breath out slow. Disappointed, sure, but mostly in myself for expecting the tech to make the hard part easy. I should’ve known better. Ididknow better. Still, I’d wanted the SPECs to snap the repeater into focus and give me something I could damn well use.
The pitch crawled from my ears into my balance, tilting the room by a degree or two. Not dizzy, justoff—like I’d stood up too fast and forgot the part where blood follows. I blinked hard and planted both feet wider on the salt, like that could pin me to the floorboards.
And then a woman smacked into the wall beside me, howled a silent scream, and dove through the closed closet door. She didn’t make a sound, but I’d seen her clear as day. And even though her face was covered in blood, I’d know it anywhere.
It was definitely Sarah.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“WHAT WAS THAT?” Evelyn gasped.
I turned to her. “Did you see something?”
“No—of course not. I felt your fear.”
Well, it’s never wise to let a ghost catch you with your pants down. Not if you’re loose in your skin suit and it’s easy for them to try it on. “The thing is—and this is gonna sound crazy—I think it’s Sarah.”
“Youdo?”
I second-guessed myself and frowned.
Evelyn said, “Maybe we can modulate the SPECs to focus you better so you know for sure.”
