Page 113 of Séance

Hicks whirls, yanking me away from the blast zone, hunching over to shelter me from the explosion. Tiny slivers of glass pepper my arms and shoulders, but I barely feel them. Screams echo in the room, their fear leaving a sour taste in the back of my mouth.

A man peers out from the mirror. He looks like he lived in prohibition times. He’s dressed in a nice shirt and fancy suspenders, his hair slicked back. With each thud of his fists on the backside of the mirror, more glass shatters.

When he notices me looking at him, his smile widens, and the manic gleam in his eyes turns malicious. He turns to face me, and I see that half of his face is blown off, leaving behind a dripping mess of blood and gore. It must have been a shotgun blast, because the bottom of his skull is mostly gone, along with part of his jaw and mouth, leaving jagged teeth and a mangled tongue.

Lifting both arms, he slams his fists against the mirror, and the surface fractures, leaving jagged cracks that distort the reflection of the room.

The ghost disappears.

Do I think the ghost is gone?

Fuck no.

He is now very much free to roam the room.

“Are you okay?” Hicks grabs my shoulders, and his face darkens when he notices the tiny cuts and slashes decorating my exposed skin.

A bitter laugh escapes me at his worry, a single tear sliding down my cheek. I wrench myself away from his hold, unable tobear his touch. “It’s much too late to pretend to be concerned now.”

I take a step away from him and the others, never feeling more alone in my life when no one follows. At least when I was held prisoner by my father, I knew he hated me. To have the guys pretend they were my friends, then find out otherwise…

It’s soul crushing.

Part of me wishes I never met them, because then I wouldn’t know what I was missing when they took it from me.

“Don’t worry,” I say, my smile bitter. “He’s here for me, not you.”

I step back again, distancing myself both emotionally and physically from the men who so completely destroyed me.

My attention is stolen when the back wall waver like haze on a summer day. The living stop being my problem when the first of the dead steps into existence, but instead of proceeding into the room, their energy is sucked into the mirror over and over again.

I lose count of the number of ghosts that swarm the basement.

Whoever or whatever is in the mirror is consuming the energy, amassing it for a reason, and dread pools in my gut.

“Pookie?” Jameson shoves his way through the crowd, worry darkening his pale blue eyes. “Are you?—”

“Please. Don’t.” I swallow hard, scrambling to rebuild my crumbling wards. I can’t deal with him and the dead at the same time.

“It’s never a good thing when the dead take an interest in the living. Whatever happens—” I take a shaky breath, deciding to make a clean break of things with the guys, both for my sake and theirs. It was foolish to think I could have more. “Just keep anyone from touching me.”

When he takes a step toward me, I instinctively step back.

No, it’s better this way.

Jameson was the only one who believed in me, and it would destroy the last of my sanity if anything were to happen to him. As I step into the empty living room, the fireplace flares to life, the flames licking greedily up the stone mantelpiece.

People gasp before leaping back, stumbling away as if afraid they are about to be incinerated. They glare at me like it’s my fault, and I’m almost tempted to let it burn them. Unfortunately, the flames are more chilling than hot, like the fire is tainted by the afterlife.

Though one might assume it’s safe, I learned from experience that it burns skin the same. If I didn’t have accelerated healing, the skin from my fingertips to my elbows would be full of twisted scars. The candles placed around the sitting room burst into foot-tall flames, the force much like a blowtorch, forcing the crowd back another step.

“Listen here, you bitch.” Brenda stomps forward with a snarl, only to be held back by Jameson. That doesn’t stop her from struggling and yelling at me over his shoulder like a harpy. “You made your point. This isn’t funny anymore.”

Knowing only one thing will satisfy the dead, I drop to my knees in front of the stupid Ouija board. As soon as my knees hit the ground, the flames instantly calm. People take a relieved breath and relax, but the planchette resting in the middle of the board begins circling wildly.

I peer up at the now silent Brenda, who watches the board with wide, horrified eyes.

“Most people pass on to the afterlife when they die, but a few linger, fearing what lies ahead for them. The dead become trapped, and they can quickly turn vicious.” Suddenly exhausted, I rest back on my heels.

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