Page 40 of The Sisters of Crimson House

Before Charley could process her sister’s shift in tone, they both looked up to see Sy walking into CK’s, a bouquet of purple-red zinnias held awkwardly at his side. He stood at the entrance, scanning the people packed into booths, his gaze falling on the jukebox. The last time she’d seen his face, he’d looked genuinely afraid, his face swallowed up in the dark of the theater. Her heart raced at the memory, of him searching for her, of that thing in the dark finding her instead. Their eyes met, and she was thrown by the curiosity she saw there, the concern. His eyes narrowed the instant he spotted Miranda. He approached their booth, the flowers held up like a shield. “I’m just here to pay my respects,” he said, his voice tight. “A truce, if you will.” He looked at Miranda then Charley. A slight softening. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

“Right. One more phony in the ground means one less you have to deal with up here,” said Miranda, spooning some sugar into her coffee.

Sy visibly took a deep breath, struggling not to take the bait. “Nobody deserves that kind of suffering,” he said quietly.

“The only reason I’m not yelling at you to get out is because you helped get my sister home,” she said, taking a bite of Charley’s long-cold hash browns.

Charley had no memory of the in-between, the moment after a ghost tried to smother her on the stage of the Luciann and waking up at home. Miranda said he’d carried her to Astrid’s car, the rescue party that had come to save her.

Miranda gestured across the booth by way of introduction. “Astrid, Zavier. Sy the Skeptic Detective or whatever he calls himself these days.”

“We’ve met,” Astrid said coolly, while Zavier just looked at him over his coffee. “He has a tendency to show up places uninvited.”

He nodded at the table before returning his attention to the flowers. “I was going to bring these to Elmwood when I saw you heading in, and then I realized I should probably eat as well.”

“You want something? Go find another table,” Miranda added for good measure. Charley thought her sister hated her most days. Only now it was very clear that her actual hatred had been reserved for the man lingering at the end of their table with a bouquet of zinnias.

“Understood,” he said before turning to Charley. “For the memorial,” he added, handing the flowers to Charley, who awkwardly received them, feeling her skin tingle as their hands touched.

Her vision suddenly blurred around the edges, and as she looked at Sy, his entire body was limned in black, like an aura but one that sucked the light into darkness. A memory rushed in: Darkness surrounding her at the Luciann Theater. She struck out in fear, feeling rough hands catch hers before the darkness was total.

His hands.

They felt electric. He felt anything but. The darkness around him seemed to seep into his skin, a bizarre cold broken up by the crackling intensity she felt emanating from his skin. She blinked at him, the aura gone, just a quizzical look on his face. The table stared at her in confusion. She’d frozen in place, touching his hand. She jerked back now in embarrassment.

“You’re empty,” she said, looking into his eyes that were nearly hidden by a raft of curls.

Sy gave a quick joyless laugh. “Hungry, for sure.” He met her eyes briefly. “Giving out readings at CKs now?”

“It’s not a reading,” Charley insisted, defensive. “I could feel it just then when, you know, our hands…touched? Feel what you were feeling, that is.” Charley could feel herself blushing and glanced up at Miranda, who stared at both of them, annoyed.

“What’s this? He’s getting handsy with you?”

“No!” they both declared in unison.

“I’m actually here about her hands,” said Sy, looking like he instantly regretted opening his mouth.

“What?” Charley responded, startled. “Why?”

It was his turn to blush. It was ridiculously charming. “Hands in a scientific capacity,” he muttered.

“So you’re not just here to pay your respects then?” said Miranda, folding her arms.

“Some of the most renowned skeptics over the past century generated their most important work in the field of stigmata. I’ve got a whole chapter in the book that could benefit from further investigation.”

Both Charley and Miranda stared at him in confusion.

“Stigmata?” Miranda repeated.

“On Charley’s hand. Twice we made contact, and I saw …I don’t know what I saw.” He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory. “But at the theater, it appeared that her hand was bleeding.”

The information hit her like a physical punch. He was there when the second line formed.

“It’s not stigmata,” Miranda said, straightening and holding up her palm to Sy as if saluting him with the Seeker’s Star. She recited:

“If you seek,

then we shall find