by E. E. Holmes
Campbell went on. “This is one of the pitfalls of dealing with spirits, my dear friends. It can be terribly unpredictable. There’s still so much we don’t understand. I won’t pretend to have all the answers. But I will never stop offering myself up as the conduit between you and your loved ones, as long as you still want to speak with them.”
Applause rang through the room, punctuated by shouts of ‘Thank you!” and “Bless you!”
“Now, that’s what I wanted to hear! I’ll go sit down with my events coordinator and devise a new schedule. We’ll arrange for smaller, more private, communication sessions throughout the remainder of the retreat, to keep this short-circuiting from happening again. In the meantime, I must ask that everyone please take a moment to allow my staff to check you over and make sure you really are alright. We have a nurse on staff, if need be. We’ll end the session here today.” And, waving over his shoulder to the adulating group, Campbell slipped out the door behind the platform.
I’m going to follow him,” Finn whispered, watching Campbell disappear.
“I want to come with you,” I said.
I expected him to scoff. I expected him to insist I stay behind because it might be dangerous. Instead, Finn surprised me by saying, “Let’s go, then. Out the French doors.”
I didn’t bother to discuss his chosen route, in case he changed his mind. I grabbed Hannah’s arm and whispered to her, “Finn and I are going to follow Campbell. We’ll meet you back in the room.”
Hannah’s eyes widened, but she didn’t protest. “O-okay. Milo and I will keep an eye on the spirits in here, and see if we can figure anything out.”
“Great,” I said, squeezing her hand in encouragement. Then I hurried after Finn, who had already edged his way to the perimeter of the room and was heading toward the door.
I caught up to Finn, then stayed close on his heels. “Shouldn’t we try to follow Campbell through the door behind the platform?” I asked. “We’re going to lose him.”
“His security will notice us if we go that way,” Finn replied. “If we cut across the porch and through the entry hall, there’s a hallway behind the staircase. That’s where he’s headed.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Memorized the floor plan before we got here,” Finn said flatly.
“Oh. Right. Cool.” I should’ve guessed.
We slipped through the French doors without attracting anyone’s attention. We darted across the entry hall and made it to the passage behind the staircase without meeting a single person. In front of us, a corridor stretched out, lined with doors on both sides and lit with small but elaborate chandeliers—like clusters of sparkling grapes set into the ceiling.
“Which one?” I asked, gesturing hopelessly ahead of us.
“I memorized the floor plan, Jess, but I’m not psychic,” said Finn, with an impatient bite in his voice. “Now we search. You take the right side, I’ll take the left.”
We tiptoed down the hallway, which was thankfully carpeted, stopping every few feet to listen at each door. No sounds came from behind the first four doors, but just as I was approaching the fifth, Finn hissed, “Jess! He’s in here!”
I stole across to the very last door on the left and pressed my ear to the cool wood, so that Finn and I were staring into each other’s faces as we listened. Thank goodness for the old South’s grand constructions: The high ceilings and hardwood bounced Campbell’s voice right out to us.
“Please, you must tell me what happened in there!” Campbell cried. A few moments of silence passed, and then he said, “You can’t call that nothing! Someone could’ve been killed!”
More silence. I pressed my ear harder to the door, but couldn’t make out another voice.
“On the phone?” Finn mouthed to me.
I shrugged my shoulders in reply, not wanting to chance being overheard.
“I don’t mean to question you,” came Campbell’s voice. “Yes, I trust you—I do, I swear it! But I’m very uneasy about—”
Campbell broke off, presumably to listen again. I concentrated still harder, trying to hear the other voice. As I focused in, a wave of dizziness washed over me. Suddenly, it clicked.
“The angel!” I whispered to Finn. “He’s talking to the angel! It’s in there with him right now!”
I saw the realization light up in Finn’s eyes and he smiled. “You’re right!”
Campbell’s voice was calmer now, more subdued. “Yes, of course. As long as we aren’t keeping them here against their will. I couldn’t go on with this if I thought—” Another long pause. “Yes, my angel. Yes, thank you. You can count on me. I won’t fail you.”
A cold something tingled up my spine. What was this being he was talking to? Because I was damn sure it was no angel.
“What are you doing?” cried a wary voice suddenly.
With my heart in my mouth, I leapt away from the door and bumped right into Talia.
“Damn it, Talia, you scared me!” I growled. “Keep your voice down!”
I took her by the arm and pulled around the corner. Finn followed.
“Let go of me!” Talia hissed, yanking her arm out of my grip. “You didn’t answer my question!”
“I was… we were just… I came to talk to Campbell. My security is very concerned; he was expressly forbidden from that room—a room that just happened to explode.” I cocked my thumb over my shoulder at Finn, whose face wore its usual curmudgeonly expression.
“Quite right,” said Finn. “My first duty is to Ms. Taylor. Not to Campbell’s rules.”
I jumped in before Finn could go on. Were security guards supposed to address their employer’s acquaintances directly? “We were going to knock,” I said to Talia, “but then Mr. Campbell started shouting at someone, so…” I shrugged as though to suggest that eavesdropping was the natural next step.
Talia looked at Finn and dropped her guard a little. “Oh yes, I’m going to have to talk my security down off a ledge too, I think.”
“So is that why you’re here? Security?” I asked.
Talia snapped her head back toward me and glared as though she found the question impertinent. “None of your business,” she spat.
I gave her the haughtiest look I could muster. “You know, you might be used to being the queen of the castle in Hollywood, but no one here is intimidated by you. Everyone here has as much wealth and influence as you’ll ever have, so you can get down off of that high horse. Your fame means nothing to me.”
I looked over at Finn and snapped my fingers at him. “Let’s go, Finn. I have a massage appointment in the spa.”
Finn stared at me blankly for an instant, too shocked—and perhaps hurt—by my behavior to so much as answer back. In the next instant, the light of recognition glimmered in his eyes. I was not Jess Ballard, the woman with whom he had an extremely complicated relationship, I was “Ms. Taylor,” child of luxury and privilege, ruler of her own little kingdom.
Finn inclined his head at me before following me down the hall at a swift march. “Well done,” he said, after we’d put a little distance between us and Talia. “Very convincing. Quintessential entitled prat.”
“Thanks,” I murmured back. “Now don’t distract me, I’m trying to pull off a dramatic exit.”
“Are we really going to the spa?” he whispered.
“No, of course not.” I hissed. “I don’t even know where the spa is. Just keep walking like we know where we’re going.”
We marched straight down the hallway. Only as I turned the corner back to the entryway did I glimpse Talia standing in the hallway, staring blankly after us. In that moment, she looked very small, and very alone.
Finn trailed behind me as far as the front doors, but instead of heading up to my room, he charged straight out onto the porch, down the steps, and out onto the grounds. I decided to follow him. If Hannah needed me, she could always have Milo buzz into my head.
“Where are we going?” I asked, jogging to keep up with Finn.
> “To one of the blind spots. I don’t want to be overheard,” he replied.
“Blind spots?”
“From the security cameras. Iggy sent me a satellite photo with all of them marked off. There’s one just over here.”
“So he’s all set up at the Boarding House?” I asked breathlessly.
“Yes. He’s got the all the tech set up in his room. He couldn’t be happier with the arrangements, given how haunted the place is. He’s not even off-put by the Lafayette twins. Catriona ordered that they put a Casting on themselves—and on the boarding house—so that all appears a bit more normal. In fact, our biggest challenge with this case may be getting Iggy to leave when we’re finished.”
Finn parted the curtain of Spanish moss on an enormous tree that branched out over the garage. He took a seat on a small stone bench on the garage’s far side; from this vantage point we could no longer see Whispering Seraph. I sat down beside him; the bench was about a foot lower than I would’ve liked it to be, and our knees jutted out awkwardly, causing them to brush together.
“Right then,” Finn said. “Tell me everything you can about what happened in the session.”
I explained everything, from Campbell’s rhetoric, to the responses of the crowd—both living and dead—to Grayson’s appearance in the window and his shielding of Talia. As I proceeded, Finn’s expression grew darker and darker, until it seemed as if a cartoon rain cloud had gathered over his head.
“And then Kyle lost his shit, and the place exploded!” I finished.
Finn stood up and began to pace agitatedly. “So Campbell isn’t delivering the spirits’ entire messages. He’s only relaying the comforting and amusing bits. No wonder the spirits are angry.”
“Yes, but I don’t think Campbell realizes that’s what he’s doing,” I said.
Finn stopped pacing and scowled at me. “How could he not know? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if he’s not hearing the whole message in the first place,” I said. “Look, we’ve already figured out that Campbell can’t hear the spirits himself. Remember, it was the angel thing who could hear Milo, and who relayed Milo’s message. Campbell was just repeating what the angel told him.”
“Right, so…” Finn said slowly, as though waiting for a punch line.
“So the angel is editing the messages!” I cried. “For whatever reason, it doesn’t want Campbell to get the whole message either.”
“But what’s the point of that?” Finn asked. “Why would the angel want to do that?”
“Not a clue,” I replied. “We have no idea what the thing even is, let alone what its motives are.”
Finn paused for a moment, then asked thoughtfully, “So what kind of information is it omitting? Is there a pattern to it?” he asked, ever logical. He sat down beside me again. “Tell me exactly what he left out, spirit by spirit.”
“Well, with Harold, it was pretty obviously about dollar signs. Harold wanted his wife to stop blowing her money in general, but his biggest concern was the amount Marigold is shelling out to stay here. But when Campbell delivered the message, he conveniently left out the retreat’s fees.”
“Okay,” Finn said. “That’s a pretty obvious motive, in that it keeps Campbell in business. Although, what an angel would want with money, I can’t properly imagine. What else?”
“Next was Milo,” I said. “He delivered Milo’s message almost word-for-word. The only thing he left out was the part about forgiveness. Remember the script we wrote for Milo? He said that if Hannah forgave herself, he could move on. But Campbell skipped that part, even when Milo insisted.”
“Hmm, okay,” Finn said. “In a more roundabout way, that’s also about money, isn’t it? If Milo stays around, you and Hannah will want to keep communicating with him—and that means more retreats and more money in Campbell’s pocket. And what about the last one? Kyle, was that his name?”
“Yeah. His message got twisted way more than the others. That poor kid really hates his parents—he flat-out blamed them for his death, and for missing out on the rest of his life. But Campbell—well, the angel—ignored all of that and spouted some bullshit about Kyle missing his parents and regretting the car accident. Understandably, that’s when Kyle lost it.”
“So,” Finn said, “the angel tells people what they want to hear—or at least just enough to keep them coming back for more. And the more cash they shell out, the more Whispering Seraph can keep expanding!”
“But how much more could Campbell possibly want to do to this place?” I asked. “It’s palatial! It’s the definition of luxury itself! Yoga, spas, swimming pools, gourmet food, the works! I mean, here in this heat, this retreat’s even got a giant fire pit!” I said, gesturing to the circular stone structure about a dozen yards away. Its sunken center was already stacked high with firewood. “For God’s sake, who the hell wants to roast marshmallows when it’s eight hundred degrees out? But you can, if you want! Because this place has everything!”
“And I’m sure it costs a small fortune to keep this all running,” Finn said. “But even so, he’s not finished. He’s got permits on file with the county to expand further. And he can’t do that without a substantial stream of income.”
“So the angel wants him to keep building?” I asked.
“So it would seem,” Finn replied.
“Well, the angel better come up with a new game plan, or else start recruiting some new guests. Kyle wasn’t the only angry spirit there today—and he certainly won’t be the last to lose his cool if this keeps up!”
Finn nodded. “I’ll report back to Catriona tonight, but if things continue this way, we may be forced to shut this place down through Castings. That will mean breaking our cover, but this pot is properly ready to boil over.”
This was exactly the kind of situation Finn hated—unnecessarily dangerous and unpredictable. I could see his Caomhnóir instincts kicking into overdrive. I knew I had to choose my next words carefully, or else he’d pull us out of this place faster than a parent removing a tantrumming child from a black-tie wedding.
“I agree we should let Catriona know everything that’s happening, but let’s not panic. If we shut the place down, we may never find out what this angel is, or what its agenda may be. I think we should proceed—but cautiously, of course.” I added these last words in reaction to the look on Finn’s face; I had to head him off before he interrupted. “We can monitor things closely, but we’re only just starting to dig. It would be a shame to give up too soon.”
Finn chewed his lip pensively. “You’ve properly Warded your room?”
“As soon as we got here,” I replied calmly.
“And you’re carrying your Casting bag at all times?”
In answer, I patted my purse, where my little black velvet bag bulged with all the materials we would need for any and all Castings.
Finn narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re humoring me.”
“I like to think of it as trying to work together,” I said. “I’m becoming reasonable and cooperative in my old age.”
Finn actually smiled. Not a grudging, involuntary smile, but a genuine grin. “Alright, then, points to you, but only because I was raised to never disrespect a pensioner.”
I smiled back. “Thank you. And I’m serious, I’m not humoring you. We’ll be really careful. And if things get out of hand, we’re out of here. I don’t owe anything to the Durupinen, whatever Finvarra might think. I’m not risking my life for them.”
“You didn’t owe them anything the last time you risked your life for them, either,” Finn pointed out.
“I didn’t risk it for them. I risked for Hannah and Savvy and—”
For you. I risked it for you, too. And I would’ve lost everything if your words hadn’t brought me back, my soul whispered. My mouth, however—after a potentially traitorous hitch—continued on as if my soul had remained silent.
“For my friends.” I finished. “Some of whom happen to be Durupinen. That’s not
the same thing.”
Finn didn’t notice my awkward pause, or if he did, he didn’t let on. “Fair enough. But I know you—and by now the Durupinen know you, too. You won’t let Campbell take advantage of the people here. You won’t let these people suffer if you can stop it. And you’ll probably risk your life in the process.”
I smiled as innocently as possible. “Not on purpose.”
Finn laughed—a free, raucous sound—and then jerked his head in the direction of the main house. “Let’s head back to your room. We need to coordinate with Hannah and Milo, and decide what our next move is.”
17
Discovered
YOGA. GROSS. An hour designed to remind me just how uncoordinated, non-athletic, and un-Zen I truly am. Why couldn’t I just go hide in my room?
Unfortunately staying in my room wasn’t an option, so here I was in Whispering Seraph’s yoga studio, with my arms over my head, struggling in vain to balance on one foot while the other was fighting valiantly to stay tucked behind my knee. The instructor looked so calm that she could have fallen into a light doze, yet it was all I could do to remind myself not to curse out loud.
“Ouch. SHIT! Oh, sorry!” So much for not cursing aloud.
My apology was addressed to the woman beside me as I nearly toppled onto her. Giving up in earnest, I sat myself on my mat and began massaging my now-cramped calf. The instructor took a break from her lovely dream state to throw me a dirty look, which I returned earnestly.
“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about me, honey,” the woman said, flopping down beside me. “I ain’t no nun. I’ve heard a cuss or two in my life—just don’t expect me to admit to any myself. My poor mama would roll over in her grave.”
I smiled up at Marigold Jackson, whose foundation was starting to drip from her face. The spirit of Harold was nowhere to be seen—perhaps he shared my opinion of yoga. “Thanks, I replied. “I’m just no good at this kind of thing. I don’t even know why I’m here, to be honest. Well, I don’t mean here,” I clarified, gesturing grandly around to suggest all of Whispering Seraph. “I guess I just don’t see how yoga is supposed to help.”