Page 94 of Tempest

“Don’t know, don’t care. I got what I wanted.”

Clover's shoulders open the door, ending further questioning. I walk in behind her, the room we enter dark and silent.

She curves around me and shuts the door, leaving us in utter black.

“Um. Clover?” I ask.

In answer, her flashlight app flicks on. “Can’t risk turning on any lights. Someone could be bored and looking out their window. It’d be my luck to have some dumbass at Meat House notice a light at Anderton Cottage when no one is supposed to be home. I’m daring when it comes to pissing off my brother, but I’d really rather do it only when necessary. He considers being an asshole as qualifying for a good mood.”

“Don’t I know it.”

I stiffen, thinking I’ve given too much away, but Clover doesn’t blink, instead routing our way deeper inside. My flashlight app joins hers, and soon I can make out worn-down wingbacks framing a thick wooden coffee table and long maroon-colored couch.

A free-standing fireplace with stonework up to the thatched ceiling is next. I walk around it, admiring the stones that had to be stacked by hand a long time ago.

Clover’s light darts across an entire wall of bookshelves with an archway in the middle, leading to another room. She pauses on a wooden staircase in the corner leading upstairs.

“Where do you want to do this?” I whisper, overcome with a desire to stay quiet and unnoticed even though no one’s here.

“This coffee table should work.”

“Really?” I stop in surprise. “I figured you’d know of a secret room or the actual spot they died in.”

“The records of this cottage are sparse. The second floor is a modern addition, and so is the kitchen. As far as I can tell, this main room is the only original survivor of renovations.”

I nod along, as my own research brought up the same thing. But knowing Clover, she would have found a work-around and unearthed any secret crawlspaces Anderton Cottage swallowed up. I’m not sorry to admit I’m relieved that all we’ll be doing tonight is sitting around a coffee table calling for a ghost that doesn’t exist.

What was I so afraid of?

I shoulder off the duffel and assist Clover in taking out her supernatural wares. I spot a few crystals, candles, incense sticks, all tools I expect from her.

Then she pulls out a Ouija board.

“Wait, seriously?”

Clover pins me with a look across the coffee table before she squats down and centers the board. “Be useful and light some candles.”

“You know the Ouiji isn’t real. A million articles prove that we move the draggy thing through muscle memory, not spirits from another realm.”

“I’m well aware of non-believers, thank you. And no, I don’t think it’s the answer to summoning Sarah’s daughter. What I do believe is that it adds to the atmosphere, centers our concentration, and, if an Anderton so chooses, will be useful in their communication to us when they use our bodies as vessels.”

I give her a dead-eyed stare. “I hate you.”

“You’ll hate me less if you stop being obnoxious and entertain my spiritual whims long enough to grant you an escape.” She sits on her haunches, pleased with herself. “Light the insense, please.”

I do as she asks, finishing off the triangle of wax candles, setting the incense stick in its holder and lifting the lighter to it. While I’m doing that, Clover takes a plastic bag out of the duffel, tears it open, and starts distributing what looks like salt around us.

I don’t even want to ask.

A scent hits my nostrils, saving me from speaking. Pine. Woody and earthy.

My heart shoots up into my throat—it can’t be him he’s not here—until a less recognizable scent hits the back of my nose. Citrus?

Clover notices my nose wrinkle. “Frankincense. One of the oldest magical resins harvested from trees. It’s been used for over five thousand years in rituals for cleansing a sacred space or purification.” She lifts her chin in my direction. “Look it up in one of your science articles if you don’t buy what I’m saying.”

I laugh under my breath, proud of my friend for holding on to her passion and maintaining it despite constant push-back. “I don’t have to. I believe you.”

The smell, in such an unfamiliar environment, calms my nerves.

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