Page 95 of Tempest

“Reduces anxiety, too,” Clover adds pertly.

“I’m ignoring you now.” I close my eyes, pretending I’m back at the dorms with Hermione warming my feet.

A few minutes later, I hear Clover huff, “Okay, the circle’s complete.”

She returns to the coffee table and centers the Ouija’s planchette on the board, then plops a small stack of papers beside it with finality. At my raised brow, she explains, “Copies of the Andertons’ trial transcripts. I found them in the occult section of the library. Sarah’s daughter’s name has been obliterated on every page, of course.”

“Oh. Cool.” I lean forward, my love for historical artifacts overriding the creepy reasons we’re here.

Clover slaps her palm against the stack. “Read later. Now, we start.”

I lean back with a long-suffering sigh. “Okay. What next.”

“Place your first two fingers of each hand on the planchette. Lightly. I’ll know if you’re fucking with me and moving it.”

“Clo, I’d never do that.”

Clover pushes her lips to the side. “Sorry. I can’t be too careful when my entire life boils down to defending my beliefs.”

Guilt worms its way through my ribcage. “You’re right. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ll take this seriously from here on out. There. Fingers on planchette.”

Clover gifts me with a small smile and nods. She rifles through the duffel again, pulling out an item with a similar metallic glare to the house keys.

It gleams between us, and when I register what it is, it takes an unordinate amount of effort not to beetle away. “Clover, is that a knife?”

“Just real quick.” She opens her other hand, exposing her palm, dragging the tip of the knife across it before I can stop her.

“Clo, what the hell?”

Droplets of her blood splatter onto the Ouija board.

“It’s just a little cut! Don’t freak, Ardy. We’re summoning some angry spirits, and they require sacrifice. It didn’t even hurt.”

“That was—you didn’t tell me about this part.”

She levels me with a look over her blood stains. “For obvious reasons.”

I still haven’t collected myself.

“If it bothers you so much, close your eyes. I don’t need your vision for this part.”

I’m all too happy to comply. With my eyes closed, Clover returns my fingers to the planchette. I assume she does the same when she murmurs into the room, “Are any spirits here?”

I peek with a slitted eye. The planchette doesn’t move.

“Hmm.” Clover’s eyes bounce between where our fingers rest and the trial transcripts. “What if we…”

She dips her fingers in her blood, then smears it over the papers. They’re photocopies, but still, I can’t hide my pained grimace.

“Put your free hand in my blood on the papers.” Clover asks it of me like she’s requesting I pass her the butter over dinner.

“Clo, I am not cool with this.”

“You don’t believe in this shit, remember? And we’re practically sisters. Touch my damned blood, you pussy.”

My sigh has sound, but I do what she requests. The easier to get this over with and leave. With one side of my face screwed up, I rest the tops of my fingers on the cold, wet patch of blood.

The planchette shoots to the side under our fingers.

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