Page 63 of Real Fake Hauntings

“Perhaps you should.”

Hey, Ian, are we like boyfriend-girlfriend mates or like our lives are connected forever and my soul will shrivel up and die if we’re ever separated mates?

I didn’t think so. “It seems a little tacky. We’ve been dating for only a few weeks.”

“You’re scared.”

“Of course I’m scared—I would die of shame if I ask and it turns out I’m reading a lot more into it than there is.”

Veva studied me intently. “No, that’s not it.”

I tugged at the neckline of my T-shirt, feeling suddenly hot. “I’m not scared of my boyfriend.”

“Commitment scares you.”

I scowled at that. “I’m not interested in anyone else. Nor do I have plans to be,” I added for good measure. The idea of kissing anyone that wasn’t Ian was repulsive.

A smile played with the side of her mouth. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do.” She patted my arm. “Come for a reading the day after tomorrow. It’ll help clear your mind.”

Someone chose that moment to knock on the front door, and I was glad to switch my attention to something else. Seance, I reminded myself. I was here for fun and games, not relationship advice.

Even if I’d been the one to bring it up.

“We all have our times of failure,” I murmured as I followed Veva into the entrance. “It’s what we learn from them that propels us forward.”

Veva opened the door. “Welcome, Jim.”

A tall, lanky man entered the house, and I recognized him immediately—Jim, the owner of the haunted houses.

“Hello, Veva,” he said politely, then his gaze found me and his eyes narrowed. “You.”

I lifted my hands in surrender. “I didn’t steal any of your workers.”

Last time I’d seen Jim, he’d hunted me down the street to yell at me about the cemetery tours and warn me I better not steal his haunted house workers or else.

He harrumphed but took off his coat. “Where do we put these?”

Veva indicated a set of iron hooks on the wall, and I hurried to divest myself of my jacket as well.

After making the introductions with Leah and Miriam, Veva checked the grandfather clock in the entrance and said it was time to start the seance.

We followed her up a lovely set of steps all the way to the third floor. The carpeting and wallpaper followed the deep-plum-purple theme.

“Madame Mystique,” Veva announced as we filled the third-floor landing, “we are ready when you are.”

“I am ready,” an old woman’s cracking voice intoned from one of the rooms.

“This way.” Veva led us into a room that must’ve been a bedroom at some point judging from the huge dark mahogany wardrobe on one side, the equally dark two chests of drawers, and the matching vanity table and mirror, currently hiding under a black cloth. The dark drapes were drawn closed over every window, and the dim chandelier ceiling light created a multitude of shadowy spaces.

I shuddered even as I excitedly cataloged every piece in the room. Creepy. Awesome.

Someone had removed the bed and instead a big table surrounded by wooden chairs dominated the center of the room.

“Welcome,” the old woman said from the head of the table. “I am Madame Mystique, and I will be your medium tonight. Please take your seats.”

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