My lips part, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier, especially since Aunt Estelle said she’d explain everything—even now. “You want to have a séance?”
“Yeah, but done the right way. Séances are dangerous, as you know.”
“I do.”
“So?” he asks. “What do you think? Want to try it?”
My lips curve into a smile. “Yeah. I do.”
Chapter Fifteen
So much for my house not being haunted.
“This brings back memories,” I say as I set a white candle in the middle of the coffee table. “Of when I worked as a medium, I mean, though I’m not wearing my uniform, if you could call it that.”
“You had to wear a uniform to tell fake ghost stories?” Ethan asks, sitting on the floor across from me.
“Hey, the stories I told were never fake. Which is why I got fired.”
“What kind of uniform did they make you wear?”
“A Victorian-styled black dress.”
“That’s not cliché at all.”
“Right?” I smile and pick up the lighter. “Oh, I should probably put Romeo back in his cage. When I ask for a sign and he knocks something over, I’m going to be disappointed.”
“Good thinking.”
I light the candle and go into my room, feeling a little bad when I pick up Romeo, who’s sleeping on my bed, and stick him in the hammock in his cage. He goes right back to sleep, at least. I leave the door cracked and rejoin Ethan in the living room. He grabbed a few things from his Jeep just in case things go sideways. Two canisters of salt and an iron fire poker are on the floor next to us, and he clicks on an EMF meter.
“That’s almost insulting,” I tell him, raising my eyebrows. “I don’t need that to know if there are spirits around.”
“Don’t get cocky now,” he shoots back with a grin.
“This is my specialty. Remember, I used to do this for a living.”
“And then you got fired.”
“Yeah, for being too good.”
Ethan laughs. “Then I expect this to work.”
I put my hand on the coffee table and lean forward. “I will knock, but I cannot guarantee who will answer,” I say in what’s supposed to be a spooky voice, another thing Madame Violet criticized me for.
“Good thing I’m prepared.” Ethan looks at the salt and fire poker, which he said can repel ghosts since they aren’t fans of iron, and can stop them from entering a room. Though in my experience, nothing can really stop a ghost. They can walk through walls, after all.
“Do you want me to turn off the lights?” I ask.
“It would be more romantic that way.” He puts his hands palm-up on the table and slides them forward.
“Oh, so romantic.”
“If you don’t need them off, then no. Keep ‘em on.”
“Okay.” I put my hands on top of his, telling myself not to appreciate the roughness of them or wonder how they’d feel against my breasts. Closing my eyes, I let my mental shields drop and slowly count backward from ten. I might not know how to do magic—again—but I know enough about spirits and the danger of a séance that I’m not taking any chances.
“In a circle around us, I cast white light. Protect us from evil, keep us safe through the night.” The last word leaves my lips, like it has a hundred times before, but I feel something this time. I blink open my eyes and swear something just shimmered around us.
“You said you didn’t know any spells,” Ethan says, eyeing me.
“That’s not a spell. It’s something I made up as a kid to help me sleep when I was scared. But maybe it is a spell, one that my aunt taught me and one I can’t remember for some reason.”
“It sounded like a spell.”
“It felt like one too,” I confess and slip one hand off Ethan’s. I pick up the letter Aunt Estelle had James give me and close my eyes again, sinking further away from what’s in front of me and into the spirit world. I’ve never let myself go as far as I think I can because I’m terrified I won’t be able to come back. The whole thing confuses me as well, and it’s just not something I’ve ever been willing to risk.
“Estelle Fowler,” I say quietly, concentrating on the letter. “I would like to talk to you—”
“About your car’s extended warranty,” Ethan interrupts. If I could kick him under the table, I would. I open my eyes and glare at him.
“Maybe I should break the circle and let the ghosts possess you.”
“Fine. Sorry,” he says, brown eyes glimmering.
“Estelle Fowler,” I repeat, gently rubbing the letter between my fingers. “If you can hear me, please give me a sign. I really need to talk to you.” The candle flickers and both Ethan and I hold our breath.
“Anything?” he asks quietly after a few seconds have passed.