I bare my teeth in a grin that promises retribution, but it doesn’t even faze Alyssa. She’s getting too much joy out of my discomfort.
It’s moments like these that remind me why I’m so drawn to her—her easy confidence and lack of jealousy only add to her allure. Except that in this one instance, I wouldn’t mind a bit of possessiveness. Anything to put some space between me and Natalia.
“Mother,” Corinne snaps, drawing the woman’s attention away from me. “I’m going to need you to focus.”
Anything negative I’ve ever said about Corinne, I take back as she rolls her eyes, making it clear she’s onto her mother’s antics and won’t allow it to go too far.
“Who are we calling upon?” Corinne asks Alyssa.
“I don’t have a name, but any spirit of a young, dark-haired girl who visited my dream who wants to come through.”
Corinne smacks her lips together, staring at Alyssa like that’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. She’s obviously less than happy with this spirit request.
“That is a little too broad. It could bring about spirits we don’t want,” Natalia says, and Corinne appears to agree when she nods at her mom.
“I’ll know if it’s her when she comes through,” Alyssa says, and Corinne huffs in response.
“I know this isn’t preferable,” Alyssa says, speaking directly to Corinne. “But I have to know if the girl from my dream is dead. I don’t have a name. Only a description.”
Corinne sucks her teeth for a moment, considering Alyssa before placing her hands on the table for her mother and Alyssa to take hold of.
“God, Goddess, Mother Earth,” Corinne begins, launching into an over-the-top dialogue with the air.
She’s calling out to the spirit world, asking for a dark-haired woman connected to Alyssa’s dream to come forward. Aside from her animated voice, she’s not overly theatrical. If anything, I expected more of a show from her. I’m surprised to find that my skepticism of the woman is waning. Every second I spend in her presence, it decreases a little more.
Now that I know abilities like Alyssa’s aren’t fantasy, I have to recognize that it’s likely that Corinne isn’t the fake I made her out to be. While I was grappling with Alyssa’s truth, I made Corinne the villain in my head, and now I’m not so sure I was correct in that assumption.
She’s a no-bullshit straight shooter, which I appreciate from the men I encounter, so why should it be any different with her?
Generational patterns are hard to shake, and I vow to do my best to have it end here and now. Not every detective is good, and not every person who questioned power dynamics, gender roles, and social tensions in Salem was a witch.
Corinne is allowed to be hard-nosed and blunt; it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with her. She’s not a criminal just because she questions and defies the norms.
After several tense minutes, nobody shows, and everyone in the room is quiet and contemplative. Just when I think the entire séance will be called off, Natalia charges ahead, spouting off in a language that sounds like a cross between pig Latin and Martian to my untrained ears.
Natalia’s sitting there, swaying back and forth like a palm tree caught in a hurricane, and I’m half expecting her to jump up from her seat and break into the “Thriller” dance. This is the kind of spectacle I was anticipating from Corinne, but it would appear that the circus acts are reserved for Natalia.
As quickly as her wacky behavior started, it’s over, her body going slack. She’s completely still for well over a minute, and I’m about to check for a pulse when her eyes pop open and she’s back to normal.
“Someone is here to speak,” she says, voice shaky. “Are you open to conversing with a Chelsea?”
Alyssa and I share a glance, both of us shocked to hear that name.
Alyssa bobs her head. “Yes. Can she show herself to me?”
Upon Alyssa’s request, Chelsea must’ve appeared, because Alyssa’s eyes widen fractionally, her shoulders straightening as she looks over Natalia’s shoulder at what appears like nothing to me.
I watch in fascination at the one-sided conversation.
“Interesting,” Alyssa says. “Is Sierra with you?”
My head moves back and forth between the empty space and Alyssa, curiosity over what’s being said about driving me crazy.
“Shit. Tomorrow?” Alyssa rubs at her forehead. “Where were you going the night you were taken? You were dressed up.” She listens intently to whatever is being said before saying, “Wow…this runs deep.”
“What runs deep?” I ask, and am immediately shushed by Natalia.
“Chelsea is sharing very important information with us,” she says, eyes trained on the blank space where Chelsea must be.
