Stop it, Audrey told herself. Just stop it. Right now.
She grabbed a towel and dried her face, then calmly applied moisturizer, mascara, and lip gloss. There. That looked more like her real self staring back from the mirror, which showed nothing except her own face and the innocuous watercolors of pansies and roses that she’d bought at a local craft market, hanging on the wall behind her.
Turning away from the mirror, she went over to the closet and extracted a few empty hangers, then took off her borrowed clothing and hung it up before getting into an outfit that wasn’t too dissimilar, except that the T-shirt was white instead of gray. No need for a jacket, though, not with a cheerful sun shining down from overhead, seeming to laugh at her fears and the faint, creepy sensation she couldn’t quite get rid of.
She’d cleared her calendar, and Audrey knew it would look very unprofessional to reach out to any of her clients to see if they wanted to come in for their sessions this afternoon after all. No, she’d just have to work through next weekend as she’d planned, and figure out something to do with the free time that had unexpectedly landed in her lap.
The problem was, she’d already done most of the little chores she’d been saving for when she had some idle time. She supposed there was no reason why she couldn’t just go back downstairs to the living room, turn on the TV, and let a few hours of mindless programming do their best to erase the morning’s events from her brain.
No reason except that it felt like a very bad idea.
Again she heard the roof creak, and again she looked out the window, making sure nothing was moving out there except the leaves on the trees and the birds flying overhead. It was a mild, lovely day, typical of Southern California in late February. There was absolutely no reason for her to be jumping at every sound, her heart beat speeding up even though her senses tried to tell her that her flight responses were way out of whack.
But she’d seen that entity emerging from the mirror at the Whitcomb estate, had heard that frenzied, shrieking laughter throbbing in her ears. All those terrible phenomena had occurred only a mile or so from where she now stood.
It would have been better if she weren’t alone, but the friends she’d made in high school and college had slowly drifted out of her orbit as people got married and moved away or simply became absorbed in the minutiae of surviving everyday life. Bettina was the only one who’d hung on, maybe because her duplex was only a few blocks away from Audrey’s house…or maybe because she worried about what would happen to her friend if she were ever truly on her own.
However, since Bettina was at work and Audrey certainly wasn’t about to bother her because she had a raging case of the heebie-jeebies, she knew she needed to come up with some other way of distracting herself. Something to make her feel a little better about the nightmare she’d witnessed earlier that day.
Something to protect herself.
An idea came to her then, one she wanted to dismiss as absurd, except that she knew ritual could be soothing, even if one didn’t entirely believe in it. She’d encountered something otherworldly, and although she had no reason to believe it had followed her home, that didn’t mean she couldn’t create her own kind of shield.
Audrey wondered whether maybe she should smudge the house.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she wanted to laugh at herself. However, even if going through with the ritual turned out to be a complete waste of time, at least getting the materials together would give her something to do, would get her out of the house for a little while.
That seemed to settle it.
She picked up her purse and went out, locking the door behind her as she paused on the front porch. Her destination wasn’t far, and it had turned into a lovely day, so she decided to walk.
Glendora’s historic downtown was small, four or five blocks ranging along a street that bore the same name as the town itself. Sisters We was a metaphysical bookstore and depository for all sorts of mystical goods, ranging from various decks of Tarot cards to crystals and jewelry. Audrey had been in a few times because their book selection was actually fairly good and because she liked to support local businesses when she could. At any rate, she’d noticed that the store carried smudge sticks in various sizes, along with the abalone shells often used as fireproof bowls during smudging rituals, so she knew she would find what she wanted there.
She just had to hope she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew while she was shopping. Her clients knew that she’d done some studies into the paranormal, but she’d always described her research in the most clinical terms possible. Just because she’d written papers on neurological anomalies in those claiming to be clairvoyant didn’t automatically mean she was the type to load up on crystals and amulets and rune stones.
A scent of incense surrounded Audrey as soon as she entered the store, but something sharp and aromatic, not cloying like patchouli or nam champa. Soft harp music played in the background. She didn’t see anyone else shopping, which suited her just fine. With any luck, she could be in and out of there before any other customers appeared.
“Can I help you?”
She turned and saw Rosemary McGuire, the youngest of the three sisters who owned the store — hence the name “Sisters We” — standing a few feet away from her. She had long brown hair that fell in wavy spirals almost to her waist, and she was wearing a tank top and a patchwork silk skirt. Audrey thought Rosemary was probably around her own age of twenty-nine, but her pixie-pretty features made it difficult to tell for sure.
“Hi,” Audrey said, then faltered. So much for being in command of the situation.
Then she told herself to buck up. If she could face…whatever that was…this morning and live to tell the tale, then she should be able to handle a simple shopping transaction.
The words came out quickly, as though she’d realized the best thing to do was blurt it out and get it over with. “I need a smudge stick and a bowl.”
“Sure,” Rosemary said. “They’re over here. We have several different sizes.”
Audrey followed her to a shelf off to one side, where there was a pretty display with smudge sticks ranging from bundles of sage not much bigger than her pinky to oversized specimens that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Cheech and Chong movie. “Does the size matter?” she asked, then wanted to bite her tongue.
Somehow, Rosemary managed to maintain her serious, yet earnest expression. “Not really,” she replied. “It depends on how often you plan to smudge your house. Obviously, you’ll run through the smaller ones faster, so I tell the people who smudge a lot that they might as well get a bigger one to start. Same goes for the abalone shells — it’s not like they’re going to get used up or anything, but obviously you want one that’s proportional to the size of the smudge stick you’ll be using.”
“Um…a medium one should be fine,” Audrey said. Since she hadn’t done much study on the subject, she hadn’t realized that smudging was something you had to do on a regular basis. She supposed she’d been hoping that she could do it once, and that would keep the bad juju away permanently. “And a matching bowl.”
“Do you have a white candle?”
“Candle?” she repeated, feeling a bit confused. Was that part of the ritual?
Rosemary gave her a patient smile. “You need something to light the smudge stick. Some people use a lighter, but the ritual has more strength if you use a candle to light the stick, and then keep the candle burning a bit after you’re done smudging to let the positive energy linger a little while longer.” She paused, head tilting as she studied Audrey, the tiny diamond in her nose piercing glittering in the sunlight from the display window at the front of the shop. “I can show you, if you want. Izzie’s coming in to spell me so I can take a late lunch.”
“Oh, no,” Audrey said hastily. “I should be able to figure it out.”
“It’s really not a problem.” A pause, and then Rosemary added, “You’ve been around something today, haven’t you? Som
ething…dark.”
Audrey wanted to protest, but that cold, crawling sensation had returned. Now it felt as though the hair on the back of her neck was starting to lift. “Maybe,” she allowed. “I’m still not sure exactly what it was. But I thought it couldn’t hurt to surround myself with some positivity.”
“It’s a good idea,” Rosemary said. “But if you’re a beginner, you want to be careful. I really think I should help you.”
“Help with what?” That was another woman’s voice, just a bit deeper than Rosemary’s. She came around the corner of some freestanding bookcases and paused a few feet away from where Audrey and Rosemary stood, head tilted in the same inquisitive way as her younger sister. At least, Audrey guessed this must be Isabel, the oldest sister, even though she’d only seen her name and hadn’t met her before this. Like Rosemary, she had wavy brown hair, except she had it pinned up in an intricate mass on top of her head that managed to look effortlessly boho and probably would have been ridiculous on Audrey if she’d ever attempted such a look.
“Smudging,” Rosemary said. “She brushed up against something pretty nasty today, and we want to make sure it doesn’t follow her home.”
Isabel studied Audrey for a moment. Then, without asking permission or saying anything at all, she reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “What were you doing at the Whitcomb mansion?”
“How did you know that’s where I was?” Audrey demanded, then realized by asking the question, she’d effectively prevented herself from protesting that she’d never heard of the place. As for Isabel being able to deduce her activities from earlier that day just by touching her shoulder…well, Audrey figured she could put that aside to ponder later.
The sisters exchanged a glance. “Glendora’s not so big that it has an abundance of haunted mansions,” Isabel said. “Not that the Whitcomb place is precisely haunted…it’s much worse than that.”
“How much worse?” Damn it, was that a slight quaver in her voice? Probably. Well, Audrey couldn’t do anything about it now, although more than ever she wanted to curse Michael Covenant for not telling her up front exactly what he was getting her into.
“Let’s go to your house,” Isabel suggested. “We’ll make sure the place is cleansed, and then — ”
“And then we’ll tell you about the Whitcomb mansion,” Rosemary finished for her.
“What about the store?”
“Oh, it’s not a problem,” Rosemary said. “I already told CeeCee that she needed to come in.”
Audrey could feel her brows lifting. “But I didn’t see you call or text her — ”
“No, you didn’t,” Isabel said briskly.
Telepathy? There were quite a few documented cases of siblings being able to share that kind of silent communication, although it was more common in twins or triplets, which clearly the McGuire sisters were not. Audrey itched to ask them more questions, but she knew they had more urgent matters to deal with at the moment.
From the small smiles both Isabel and Rosemary wore, she could tell they’d more than guessed at her internal questions. Giving an inward shrug, Audrey said, “Let’s go to my house.”
The sisters stood in the middle of the living room, slowly looking around, not speaking. Right then, Audrey was glad she’d gone on her cleaning spree over the weekend, because that meant the place was about as presentable as it was ever going to be.
They’d put the smudge stick and abalone bowl and candle on the coffee table, but they hadn’t shown any sign of preparing for the ritual. Instead, they’d asked Audrey to wait off to one side as they reached out to feel the house’s vibrations.
The Audrey Barrett of a few days ago might have scoffed at such a request. Now, though, she could only be glad they were here, since Michael Covenant apparently didn’t care that she’d been rattled enough to walk off the set. She didn’t even know whether he still wanted her to return to the mansion the next day, although, to be fair, she hadn’t dug her phone out of her purse to see if she’d missed any messages.
“It’s not here yet,” Rosemary said, her voice dreamy, faraway. Her eyes were half closed now, hands hanging limply at her sides.
Audrey wanted to ask, Yet??, but didn’t think it would be a good idea to disturb the other woman’s focus or trance or whatever it was.
“No,” Isabel said. Just like her sister, she had her eyes nearly shut, her clean, elegant features utterly still. “Its energies were disrupted by the TV crew, I think.” Her eyes opened then, and she fixed Audrey with a bright blue stare. “You’re lucky.” A glance at her sister, and she added, “It’s safe to begin now.”
Rosemary nodded. From a pocket in her voluminous skirt, she produced a blue Bic lighter, so prosaic that Audrey couldn’t help smiling a little as she looked at it. She placed the white candle on one of Audrey’s soapstone coasters, then lit it. Once it had a good flame going, Rosemary picked up the sage smudge stick and passed it over the tip of the flame several times. It caught, and a wisp of smoke rose from it. Within a few seconds, it was releasing more smoke, enough that Audrey had to fight to keep from coughing.
“Air, fire, water, earth. Cleanse, dismiss, dispel,” Rosemary chanted, going to each corner of the living room. Isabel followed, murmuring the words as well. Since Audrey didn’t quite know what she was supposed to do, she stayed where she was. Once they were finished with that room, however, Isabel gestured for her to follow them.
“We have to do the whole house,” she said in an undertone, and so Audrey went with them as they walked from room to room on the first floor, then trailed in their wake when they made their way upstairs, where they repeated the ritual in the master bedroom, the guest room, and the office, which had once been Audrey’s childhood bedroom.
Throughout all of this, Rosemary’s voice never flagged, although Audrey reflected it was a good thing the house really wasn’t all that big. A place as huge as the Whitcomb mansion would take forever to cleanse.
Although I have a feeling it would take a lot more than a few sticks of sage to clear that place out, she thought as she followed the sisters back down to the living room, where Rosemary carefully tamped out the smudge and laid it in its abalone bowl. The white candle was still burning, and she paused for a few moments, hands cupped around it, eyes closed, before she blew it out as well.
“There,” she said, opening her eyes to look at Audrey and her sister. “I think that should do it.”
Isabel nodded, although her response wasn’t exactly reassuring. “For now, at least.”
“‘For now’?” Audrey echoed.
“You should do that every morning,” Rosemary said. “And probably every time you go out someplace where you’re surrounded by a lot of people. Crowds can really sap your psychic energy.”
“It’s all right,” Audrey told her. “I don’t have any concerts or Lakers games on the docket right now.”
“Maybe not, but it’s still good to be careful.”
She nodded. “Can I get you some water? Now that you’re done with the smudging, maybe you can tell me what’s really going on at the Whitcomb mansion.”
Rosemary and Isabel exchanged another of those glances, and once again Audrey got the impression that they were sharing some kind of nonvocal communication. Right then, she wished she had access to the equipment she’d used at the Rhine Institute, because she would have loved to get a look at their brainwaves while they were engaging in such activity.
“You told me you would,” she added, an edge creeping into her voice. “I’m kind of surprised I never heard anything about it, considering I’ve lived here all my life and never heard any of my friends mention anything being wrong with the house.”
“Oh, the various owners did their best to make sure word never got out,” Isabel said. “Or rather, the thing living in that house made sure.”
“Then how did Michael Covenant find out about it?”
“We don’t know,” Rosemary replied. “It
could be that the current owners’ desperation was stronger than the entities’ desire to stay hidden.”
“‘Entities’?” Audrey repeated. That didn’t sound very reassuring.
“You should probably sit down,” Isabel said. “And thank you for the offer of some water, but we’re fine.”
Audrey nodded and began to head toward the armchair to the left of the sofa, only to be interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Startled, she looked over at the two sisters, but they only lifted their shoulders. Obviously, whatever might be living in the Whitcomb mansion, it probably wouldn’t waste time by doing something so polite as ringing a doorbell.
Shooting them an apologetic smile, Audrey went to the door and opened it.
Standing on the doorstep was Michael Covenant.
Chapter 5
Even though the day had warmed up considerably, he still wore his black jacket. Unsmiling, eyes fixed on hers, he said, “We need to talk.”
“Yes, you do,” said Isabel, who’d appeared behind Audrey’s left shoulder. “It seems as though you haven’t been entirely truthful with Ms. Barrett.”
Judging by the way his jaw set, Michael wasn’t very happy to see her. “What are you doing here, Isabel?”
“Giving Audrey some much-needed help,” Rosemary chimed in as she came over to stand next to her sister. “Since you left her high and dry.”
“I can explain,” he began, and Audrey cut him off.
“Yes, I think that’s exactly what you should do.”
“Alone,” he said, gray-gilt eyes narrowing.
She really didn’t think he was in a position to be demanding anything, but she knew she ran the risk of him leaving if she didn’t agree to a private conversation. Maybe she should have simply told him that their professional association was at an end, but if he came at her with his entertainment lawyers for breach of contract, she’d be in a world of hurt. That kind of lawsuit wasn’t the sort of thing her friend Bettina could help her with, and she knew she couldn’t afford to hire an actual attorney.
Unquiet Souls Page 6