Page 53 of Beneath the Poet's House

“Wait, hold on a minute. I know this is forward of me, but I can’t help it. A séance in the basement of Sarah Whitman’s house when sheherself was a spiritualist? I have to come. If you told your friends you invited me, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

Forward is an understatement,she wants to say.Out of line is a much more apt description.“I can’t, Emmit, sorry, but these séances are totally Mia’s thing. She barely letmeinto the circle, so I don’t want to overstep.” Before he can protest, she continues, “I’ll call you when we’re finished. If it’s not too late, maybe you can come over then?” She bristles at her weakness, at keeping open the possibility of seeing him, of softening the blow of denying him. She realizes, too, that in the week since they’ve been seeing one another, he’s never invited her to his place.

“Sure, okay,” Emmit says, but it’s clear from his tone he’s annoyed. “I should get back to the novel anyway. I do hope you call, though. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Bye, Emmit.” She hangs up before he can say anything to change her mind. The way, last night on the balcony, he pushed her to speak of things she’d have been happy to never speak of again weighs on her mind. Shedoesmiss him; she’s felt more alive with Emmit this last week than she has in the last five years. But even as she craves his touch, a quiet voice inside her head—not Jonathan’s—warns her that she cannot trust him. And to pay more attention to those flutters of fear she’s experienced several times over the past few days.

He is not who he says he is.

Saoirse walks upstairs to get dressed for the séance but is drawn to the balcony by the twilight mist swirling around the lichen-covered gravestones. Fingering the coffin-shaped charm around her neck, she steps outside and recalls how Emmit looked last night, standing in this very same spot. It occurs to her suddenly that she recognized the expression that had come over his face when she’d shared those terrible details from her past. It was the same way he looked when she found him in the basement of the Shunned House. All glinting eyes and a mouth hardly able to keep closed around the secrets—or squirming insects—it held.

It was the way he appeared to her on the ceiling of her basement, in the vision she had of him during her first séance.

Chapter 32

Lucretia, Roberto, and Mia arrive with their usual whirlwind of controlled chaos. Lucretia places the black drawstring bag on the floor of the foyer, drops to her knees, and scratches Pluto beneath the chin. Mia drapes her long black coat over the peach settee and asks Saoirse if she can use the bathroom. Roberto kisses her on both cheeks, then holds her by the shoulders and studies her face, concern bunching his thick eyebrows.

“How are you doing?” he asks. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Saoirse lies. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Mia returns from the bathroom. “Did you tell her yet?” she asks.

Saoirse looks from Roberto to Lucretia. “Tell me what?”

Mia purses her lips at the others, then says to Saoirse, “We’re switching the ritual up. Rather than a séance, Lucretia brought her cards.”

“She’s actually great with them,” Roberto says. “I know it seems like she wouldn’t be. That she’d squeal over every card she flipped and the readings would be all ‘oh-my-gosh, you got the Death card’ drama queen central, but her mom was a professional reader. Lucretia grew up with this shit.”

“Card reading,” Saoirse says. “You mean, tarot?”

“Tarot. Oracle. Runes. Pendulum magic. She does it all.”

Saoirse raises an eyebrow at Lucretia, who smiles shyly and shrugs.

“What do you think, Saoirse?” Mia asks. “Are you down?”

“Let’s do it.” She leads them through the living room, to the hallway, and down the short flight of steps. Before she reaches the trapdoor, something hits her.

“You know, no one ever showed me the secret way into the walkout basement.” Her phone buzzes in her pocket, distracting her. She pulls it out, and a text message parades across the screen. Emmit.

Don’t forget to call.

Then, a second message, this one from her mother.

Just wanted to check in, make sure you’re seeing the sunshine beyond the shadows ... and that there’s still no word from any of Jonathan’s friends.

“You’re right,” Roberto says when Saoirse’s stuffed her phone into her pocket without responding. He walks to wood paneling along the left wall and hooks his thumbs beneath the shallow overhang. “You place your hands here, then yank up while pulling forward simultaneously.” He does so, but nothing happens. Roberto grunts. “You do have to pull up kind of hard to get it to—” He tries again but, again, nothing happens.

“What the hell?” He examines the area beneath the overhang. “That’s weird. There’s something stuck here. Like putty.” Lucretia joins him, bends to see what he’s looking at, then takes off one of her many bracelets and scrapes it beneath the wood. A long strip of beige-colored putty comes loose, and the panel immediately falls forward. Lucretia and Roberto jump to either side as it crashes to the floor. They exchange looks, then turn to Saoirse and Mia.

“What’s going on?” Saoirse asks. “Did you guys—”

“We didnotput this putty there,” Lucretia says. “It’s like the panel has gotten looser since we last used it. The putty was keeping it in place.”

“Maybe the putty was always there and you just didn’t realize it?” Saoirse asks.

Lucretia looks worried. “Maybe,” she agrees skeptically.

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