Page 23 of Home Is Where the Witch Is
The motel room was absolutely spotless. In fact it was probably cleaner than when the recently deceased inhabitant had moved in and, given Maude Merriweather’s exacting standards, that was saying a lot. The bed was crisply made and looked inviting with brand new throw pillows. The carpet was a fresh as a daisy, and the white gauzy curtains billowed into the room on a slight breeze.
Didn’t it take a long time for law enforcement to process crime scenes? Or was that something that only happened on TV, too? Rosie felt her heart sink, because she wasn’t sure what all was left for Ivy to actually work with. She turned to look at the woman with an apologetic expression but was surprised to find Ivy looking more than a little relieved.
“This is okay?” Rosie asked for clarification, earning herself an emphatic nod from the medium.
“Definitely. So much better than working a regular crime scene. Please pass my thanks on to the thoughtful soul who had it all cleaned up, will you?”
“Will do,” Rosie said, stepping inside the room and moving over so that Ivy could join her before she closed the door. She’d managed to talk Maude into letting them have twenty minutes in the room, after saying her ‘cousin’ was a medium. Though she’d been quick to say she ‘didn’t hold with all that mumbo-jumbo nonsense,’ the older woman had handed over the key wide-eyed.
And here they were. The air in the room felt denser than she’d expected; a thick and invisible blanket of energy seemed to be dominating the atmosphere. Ivy walked straight into the room as though she were checking in, her face schooled into a blank expression that masked any emotion.
“He’s here,” she said quietly a short while later. “It’s quite faint, but I can definitely feel a male presence.”
“Can we do anything to make it stronger?” Rosie asked hopefully, happy to lend some of her power to the cause if it’d help.
“Maybe.” Dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt with cute sandals that Rosie had been eying since the moment Ivy had stepped through the portal in her living room, Ivy looked like a regular woman. But when she held out her hand and disturbed the dense energy in the air with a deep humming sound, Rosie knew all bets were off.
“Aata Taylor,” Ivy intoned, her voice soft but insistent. “I’m here to connect with Aata Taylor. A connection born only from light and kindness—andonlylight and kindness can be returned to me. Aata, if you’re here then please step forward.”
The energy in the room was moving. Rosie could feel it swirling around them, as though Ivy had managed to stir it into action. But there were no disembodied voices, or rapping sounds, or even so much as a ghostly whisper. Ivy closed her eyes and extended her hand, palm up, like she wanted to invite Aata to take it.
“Aata, I can feel you’re here. Please step forward so that we can help you.”
The women waited another minute or so, but aside from the shifting energy and the sensation that there was indeed a presence other than theirs in the room, little else happened. Rosie’s patience was running thinner directly in proportion to her need to go take her afternoon Momma-nap.
“For Pete’s sake, Aata,” she snapped, swiping beads of sweat from her brow before leaning on the wall by the door for support. “It’s hotter than Satan’s balls in here! If you got somethin’ to say, let’s hear it.”
A split-second of terse silence filled the room before Ivy fixed Rosie with a wide, cheeky grin.
“Direct,” she approved. “I like it. Every thought about becoming a medium?”
Rosie snorted. “And deal with stubborn dead folk all the time? No ma’am.”
“Fair enough,” Ivy agreed with good-humor, before she made a face. “Not sure what’s holding him back, but if he doesn’t want to step forward then there’s not much we can d—argh!”
The red-head was startled, hands flinging out on either side of her as though she was preparing to catch something.
“What?” Rosie looked around the room slightly panicked, but couldn’t see a thing.
“Seems your dude has a sense of humor,” Ivy replied wryly, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans in a business-like fashion.
Rosie peered into thin air, hoping that if she just looked hard enough the ghost of Aata Taylor might materialize before her eyes. “You mean he’s stepped forward?”
Ivy smirked, shrugging a shoulder. “Technically, he leapt forward and scared the bejesus outta me, but sure—let’s go with the less embarrassing version for the record.”
Rosie straightened herself, taking a deep breath. “Aata, who killed you?”
Ivy snorted and Rosie glanced at her. “What?”
“You can’t just ask them who killed them,” the medium explained, her expression becoming more sympathetic. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” Rosie frowned.
“Because in my experience they can never remember the exact moment of their death.”
“Well that’s just plain rude,” Rosie said, annoyed. This was already proving to be difficult, and they weren’t any closer to solving the murder. “Look Aata, we got maybe ten minutes left in here, tops. What were you going to tell me backstage at the Ordeals?”
Rosie watched Ivy’s face, waiting to see whether her reaction would give anything away. First, the medium looked like she was listening intently, her hazel eyes unfocused and staring off into space. Then she switched to being more present, her gaze directed straight to Rosie in a way that was more than a little unnerving.
