“Did you sell tickets to this event?” I ask, dumbfounded by the sheer number of faces now watching me from whereI’mperched on the mantle of the fireplace, only the top half of my spirit body visible.It’s quite comfortable really, not having to worry about legs, and it’s most definitely worth the look of horror from anyone who has to witness it.
The audience I have nowfeelslike an odd amalgamation of the two worldsI’vebeen forced to straddle, andI’mstill trying to wrap my mind around it.
Aidan averts his gaze and lets out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, mate. Once word got out about there being a seance at the old Vanderbilt house, therewasn’tmuch I could do to stop it from spreading.”
Gazing out over a sea of heads, I count 10 people, and besides Aidan and his mate, I recognize none of them.Joanna is conversing excitedly with two other women, one of which seems to me emitting a large amount of magic. They watch while athird woman, also with substantial magic, draws a pentagram on the floor and marks each point with a candle. These must be the witches Joanna was referring to earlier. The tallest of them looksawfully familiar, but Ican’tplace her.I’llhave to make sure they remove the marks whenthey’redone.
The town sheriff is also here—I deduce this from the badge on his shirt, because it’s not the same man I remember from years prior—along with an older red-headed woman and a boy who looks to be related somehow, all peering curiously at the scene unfolding before them. There are two males clinging to the back wall, trying their best to stay out of the way, but their aurasdon’tfeel human.
I float over the crowd and take a closer look atwhat’sbeing done to my floor.Various sets of eyes followmeacross the room, but I ignore them.I hear the young witches conversing below me, so I hover close.
“How are you going to do this without an object?” onewitchasks. “We still don’t know who this person is.”
The tall one answers. “There are ways around that.It’swhywe’reat this house.” She grimaces as she takes in how far my home has fallen into disrepair. “The psychic energy should be strong enough to pull her here like a magnet.”
Neither have noticed my presence above them, so I continue to watch as the familiar-looking witch bends down and begins measuring the spaces between the candles with what looks to be a modern version of a seamstress’s measuring tape.It hasbuttons and is an obnoxious shade of pink.
“These angles are off, Simone,” she instructs. “If the angles aren’t precisely thirty-six degrees, the magic can’t flow properly. It’s all about balance.”
“Sorry, Calliope,” Simone apologizes sheepishly. She dips her head and brushes away part of the chalk line with the sleeve of herjacket butstruggles to draw another straight line in its place.
Calliope huffs and addresses the room. “Does anyone have a ruler or something?”
Another woman—the one without a magical signature—points to the measuring tape in her hand. “Just use that.”
Calliope raises her chin, refusing to look embarrassed, then she hands it over to Simone. “I guess that will have to do.”
The other woman shares an amused expression with Joanna and catches the eye of one of the males on the far wall. The string connecting them appears golden and shimmering.
After adjusting the pentagram to the proper parameters, Simone stands up and claps her hands together, brushing away the dust and chalk.
Calliope then moves to stand at the top of the pentagram with one of the candles positioned just between the toes of her shoes and starts instructing Simone on their next actions.
“Since thisisn’ta malevolentspiritwe’redealing with, wewon’tneed to seal the summoning circle with salt. Our intention with this is to guide the spirit back to the land of the living, then tether her in place.It’saghost’sprerogative to choosewhethertheyremainhere in our realm or move on. It is not our decision to make, but theycan’tmake that choice without some stability. Thisparticular spiritis clearly restless and unsure of where to go, which would explain whyshe’sbeen unable to control where she appears and for how long. Hopefully, our actions here today will help her gain back that control.”
Based on my first impression of the woman, Ihadn’texpected Calliope to show such empathy for the dead, but her words touch me. Eithershe’shadfirst-handexperienceguiding a ghost before, or she really is nicer than she seems. Still, I wish I could figure outwhyshe looks so familiar.
Everyone else in the room goes quiet as they realize the momentthey’vebeen waiting for has arrived. Whatever it isthey’reexpecting towitness,I’veseen it before. Summoning requires at least two witches due to the amount of magic it takes.Whenever my father required an assistant for his work, more often than not, I was the only one available.My magicisn’tsignificant—I often describe it as something akin to thepartytricks that stage magicians pretended to perform—andit’snothing compared to myfather’stalents. Icanmove an object or find it if itgetsmisplaced.
But thereisone thing that makesme unique: Icansense otherparanormalsand their powers, especially other witches. This was the one thing that made me useful in my father’s eyes, and the one thing that always got me into trouble before I died.
I’veseen enough magic in my life that I have no interest in wasting my time watching it whileI’mdead, so I turn and glide back over the heads of my guests, intending to leave the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Calliope and Simone take hands, and at once, all the candles ignite with flames.It’sright at this moment that I just so happen to be crossing over the summoning circle, and without warning,I’msucked through the pentagram on the floor.
Chapter Six
KENNEDY
Adoor appears in front of me.
It’swarped from decades of moisture, the peelingpainta robin’s egg blue. Itdoesn’tlook familiar, but something tells meI’mmeant to be here, as ifI’mbeing pulled toward it. Following my intuition, I move slowly forward as solid ground begins to form beneath my feet. A porch takes shape around me, one plank of weathered wood at a time, then a railing and spindles create a roof.
Voices seep through the crack beneath the door, but Idon’trecognize them. Trying my best to filter through them, one eventually sticks out.It’sSimone.
“Kennedy. Kennedy Chesterfield.”
She’scalling my name. I want to respond, but something stops me. Logically, in the back of my mind, I know this must be a seance.It’sprecisely what I asked of them, yet my hand freezes on the door handle.
I take a deep breath and reach for the door handle, but I feel another presencemakeitself known.It’snot like the voices on the other side of the door. Suddenly, the temperaturedrops, andgoosebumpscrawlup my arms. Ican’ttell if this new entity is friend or foe, butit’sdefinitely foreign.Idon’ttrust it.
