Page 88 of Girl, Unseen

‘Remember what you said? About the real signature in this case?’

‘Poison?’

‘No,’ Luca said, ‘because Marcus wasn’t poisoned. The real signature is that she killed from a distance.’

Ella took a moment, looked around the foyer, caught a sign that saidDRESS CIRCLE THIS WAY.

Her partner had a point.

‘You think?’

‘I do think. If Amelia's here, she's not gonna be in the front row. She'd want to keep her distance, right?’

Ella could have kissed him. Trust Luca Hawkins to keep his head when everyone else was running straight for the obvious play. Of course, Amelia wouldn't risk getting caught in her own endgame - she'd want a perfect view of her masterpiece without any chance of getting paint on her hands.

‘You go hunting,’ Luca continued. ‘Me and Ross will put a stop to this show.’

‘Are you sure?’

Luca peered through the doors into the auditorium. ‘A room full of middle-aged women. I’m used to disappointing them.’

Ella tried not to laugh but failed. She leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek then took off. Somewhere in this maze of Victorian architecture, an alchemist was preparing her final transformation.

Time to crash the real show.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

Amelia perched in the dress circle while the tarps formed a makeshift cocoon that kept out prying eyes. It made a perfect view of Lydia Soulwright's final performance.

The blue canvas blotted out everything but the essentials – Lydia's simpering face, the crowd's vacant stares, those gleaming bottles on the prop table. Below, Lydia Soulwright pranced and preened about healing energies and spiritual vibrations. Half an hour ago, Lydia had told her that tonight was about enlightening and consciousness awareness, but the old fool couldn’t resist the urge to throw a little crystal ball nonsense in there.

Although Amelia had to admit, her sister-in-alchemy knew how to work a room. She weaved new-age word salad that the audience gobbled up like deep fried horse shit. They hung on every syllable - all those desperate divorcées and bored housewives aching for a glimpse of the divine in their Hamburger Helper lives.

Just drink the Goddamn water already

Such simple vessels for such profound change. The sodium pentobarbital would work fast at that dose. Three minutes to unconsciousness. Another two to complete respiratory failure. By the time the audience realized their precious medium had genuinely crossed the veil, the fifth element would be secured.

Just a sip. That's all it would take. One sparkling mouthful and Lydia would ascend to a higher plane. The ultimate disappearing act, with Amelia there to catch her soul on its way out the door.

Spirit into spirit. As above, so below.

Lydia's voice drifted up from the stage. ‘I'm sensing... someone's mother? She's showing me a garden. Roses, I think. Does this mean anything to anyone?’

A dozen hands shot up. Of course they did. Everyone had a dead relative who liked flowers.

Amelia had sat through enough of these performances during her time in the Order. Watched Lydia serve up the same cold-reading nonsense to roomfuls of desperate marks.Your loved one is at peace. They want you to be happy. They're always watching over you.

Basic fishing expeditions dressed up as profound revelation.

The psychic prowled the stage in bare feet with one bejeweled hand pressed to her temple. ‘The spirit is getting clearer now. She's showing me... a birthday. Something about a special cake?’

More hands. More gasps. More idiots paying sixty bucks to be told their dead relatives remembered their birthday preferences.

Amelia leaned forward. Lydia had been spouting nonsense for fifteen minutes straight now, so surely her throat would ache for relief soon. Lydia’s hands fluttered and dipped, then her fingers grazed the bottle tops in an accidental tease.

Come on, you hack. Shut up and drink.

Down below, Lydia launched into another spiel. Something about the Akashic records and vibrational frequencies. The crowd oohed like trained seals. Amelia ground her teeth until her jaw ached. Her scar tissue tingled beneath concealer that suddenly felt thick as paste.

---