Page 25 of Down and Dirty

Just what I didn’t need. A homicidal seven-year-old haunting the people under my roof. An intervention was in the making, but keeping the young boy pinned down when he could vanish into thin air was going to be like using cooked spaghetti as a crutch to walk with. Neither would work.

A knock sounded on my door, and I hurried to answer it.

Karlee Hartman stood on the other side. Her big doe eyes met mine and she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt as I pulled the door open. “Karlee, you’re early.”

“I hope that’s okay.” Her timid voice shook. This was only the second time I’d met Karlee. The first time was when she’d wanted my references. That had made me chuckle, but I’d given them just the same.

She was a smart girl. Gifted even. The supernatural team that hovered around her and nearby proved that. She had everything from monks to a shaman surrounding her.

Her blonde hair was braided and hanging over her shoulder. Her pink sundress was perfect for her young age. She looked fresh and hopeful, the complete opposite of how I’d felt last night.

I pulled the door open wide. “Come in, and we’ll get started.”

I led her into the sitting room where I had a table set up. It was my favorite place in my house, where crystals sat and peaceful vibes emanated out of each and every corner.

I’d kept the entire house saged but this room even more so. After every single reading, I’d do it again just to make sure I didn’t have lingering ghosts.

She sat and twiddled her fingers as she glanced around the room.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked, trying as I might to ease the young girl’s fears.

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.”

Her fingers stilled, and she blew out a nervous breath. Her gaze never left me as I walked around the room, lighting my favorite-smelling candles before sitting down. Most times, spirits just came with the person, and Karlee was no different. I pulled out my pad of paper, the kind I liked to doodle on when connecting. It was a personal habit, but not a crutch I needed to use to connect.

With pen in hand, I sat down with my book and opened up to an empty page. “Is there anyone in particular you’re wanting to hear from today?”

Karlee licked her lips. “My sister—”

I held up my hand. “As little details as possible, please.”

“Right, I forgot.” Karlee’s cheeks tinted pink.

I took a deep cleansing breath and began to draw circles on my paper. “Let’s start with messages from your guides. They seem to be anxious.”

“Of course.” Her voice cracked as she answered.

I spent the next thirty minutes answering and giving life suggestions that they wanted her to know. About her health, wealth, career, and love life. The last of which seemed to surprise her.

It was only then, when I had Karlee more settled and relaxed, that I opened the floor for anyone who wanted to come through.

I didn’t see spirits like some psychics, just standing around and hovering over my shoulder or in my mind. I liked them orderly in a single file line, and they knew it. They weren’t allowed to talk until they reached the podium, and then the spirits were restricted to only relaying information that could help. I wasn’t here to scare my clients. No doomsday messages would ever reach their ears, only things to look out for and suggestions to keep them safe. I wasn’t a fortune teller, and these spirits couldn’t make me be.

“Your mother’s name was George?” I asked skeptically.

“Yes.” Karlee’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward. “No other psychic has ever gotten that right.”

I went on to give her messages from her grandmother, mother, and a childhood friend that had died from cancer. I could tell Karlee was torn between being disappointed and hopeful.

Things happened all at once after that. A woman stepped up to the podium. The familiar face belonged to the dead woman in the cave whose face I couldn’t shake from my memory. She stood behind the microphone just as Keaton stepped into the room.

“Karlee, what are you doing here?” he asked.

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