Page 64 of Real Fake Hauntings

Leah and Miriam whispered to each other in excitement, Jim nodded approvingly, and I studied the old woman closer as we stepped into the room. She was on the short side, her spine curving slightly, and wore a black flowing dress. A dark-purple turban hid her hair and heavy makeup lined her face, but a flash of recognition surged through me once she sat down and the overhead light hit her better.

“Dorsey?”

The woman stiffened. “Madame Mystique.”

It was Agnes Dorsey, the old biddy owner of the Dorsey House Bed and Breakfast. The one who had bought dark magic potions from Bagley, stolen my tea, and left my first one-star review.

TWENTY

I gave Veva a what’s going on look, but she simply shrugged and smiled faintly before sitting at the table.

I swallowed this new bit of information and took a seat between Miriam and Jim. The last time I’d seen “Madame Mystique” had been when Ian, Dru, and I had laid siege to a locker room, waiting for what we thought would be Johnathan Smithe, the man who’d attempted to take Grandma’s spellbook from me.

Instead, we’d found Agnes Dorsey buying a dark magic potion to help her sleep. I’d told her I’d make her a better one, but she hadn’t bothered to come get it.

Hmm. Could the pentagram and possibly murder suspect be one of her bed and breakfast guests? Smithe had been her guest, so why not this one? Maybe Dorsey aimed to collect the criminal visitors of Olmeda like collectible cards. Maybe there was some kind of underground competition between bed and breakfast owners of who got to host the most paranormal criminals.

“I’m sorry, Madame Mystique,” I said in a contrite tone. “I was unaware that this was your passion.”

“It is not a passion,” she said with a small theatrical sniff that made me wonder if she was related to Brimstone and Destruction. “It is a calling. The spirits!” she suddenly exclaimed, making us all jump. “They demand to be heard. Veva, the lights, please.”

Veva reached over to light a candle in the middle of the table, then stood to close the door and switch off the overhead light.

The room beyond the table fell into thick darkness as the candlelight flickered against our faces. The shiver of excitement and unease returned, traveling down my spine and forcing me to squirm in my chair.

Once Veva had returned to her seat, Dorsey began speaking in that commanding yet cracking tone. “We sit today in the master bedroom of Florence Carter, right underneath the attic where she abandoned her stepdaughter, Mary Elizabeth, to live and die on her own.”

We all made “o” with our mouths and turned to look at the ceiling. A breeze fluttered my hair.

“Oh, my God,” Miriam exclaimed, eyes wide. “Did you all feel that?”

Jim shook his head. Veva smiled placidly. I scowled, knowing perfectly well ghosts didn’t produce breezes. Not mine, at least.

“Mary Elizabeth’s spirit remains trapped in this house,” Dorsey said with heavy sorrow. “It is she who will help us contact other spirits, for she is lonely and wishes to hold conversations with friends.”

I lifted a hand.

Dorsey eyed me with distrust. “Yes?”

“If the stepmother left her to die, wouldn’t Mary Elizabeth avoid this room?” I asked tentatively.

“It is the closest we can get to the attic, and there are no remains of Florence left behind after her death.”

“Why aren’t we doing this in the attic then?” Jim asked, showing none of the awe on Miriam and Leah’s faces.

“There’s no space in the attic for the table, Jim,” Dorsey snapped.

“We could sit on the floor,” Jim grumbled under his breath.

Dorsey sniffed again, then closed her eyes in concentration. “I will now introduce everyone to Mary Elizabeth and any spirits present, so they are not afraid of us.”

“Why would the—” Jim began.

“So they are not afraid of us,” Dorsey repeated louder. After a pause, she continued, “Dear spirits, I will be your guide today. I am Madam Mystique, and with me are the heart-bound friends, the man who spends his days among make-believe monsters, the wolf’s mate”—I sputtered, then choked on my own saliva—“and the diviner. We are not here to make trouble but to contact any spirit who wishes to communicate with the living.”

“Ooh,” Miriam whispered in awe. “I think I felt something.”

Dorsey nodded. “Mary Elizabeth likes you. She feels a connection with you.”

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