by Lyla Payne
The ghost has disappeared by the time I get myself looking presentable. It’s not strange by now, to have him come and go. Henry’s been a regular visitor for over a month now and shows no signs of being in a hurry to tell me just what in the hell he wants from me.
“I’m going to see a real, live medium today, Henry. So be prepared to be vanquished when I get home.” He doesn’t reappear to give me a look about the entire idea. I don’t stop to wonder if the difference between a real, live medium and myself is simply that she cops to her particular brand of weirdness in public.
“Grace, we’ve discussed this whole talking to yourself thing.”
I tug on a cardigan before glancing up to acknowledge my cousin standing in the doorway, noticing a slightly cool breeze drifting through my window. South Carolina might be about to get a break from summer after all, but more likely than not it won’t be permanent. Not yet. “Have we discussed your propensity to lurk in doorways, because you know that’s rude.”
She steps inside the room, a slight smile curling up the corners of her mouth. It’s more than I usually get out of her, so maybe the head-shrinking appointments are going well. She’s only been to two.
“Yes, well. I can’t help it if I’m walking down the hall minding my own business and hear you in here chatting up a storm.” She pauses, hands drifting mindlessly to her bulging belly. Her fingers knead softly as her bright green eyes study me with more exasperation than concern. “I wish I could go with you today. I don’t like the idea of you going to visit one of these crackpots on your own.”
My eyebrows go up. “And by crackpot, you mean someone who claims to be able to see ghosts?”
She sinks down on the edge of the bed, picking at invisible lint on the quilt. When her eyes meet mine again, she rolls hers. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, it kind of is, but you know I believe that you see ghosts, Grace. I’ve seen at least one myself, and all our lives I’ve been the one to believe in that kind of thing, even more than you.”
“But…”
“But as long as there have been people in this world who want to see and believe and hear, there have been people willing to help them do that for cash, real or not.”
“I’m not paying her to exorcise the house, Millie. I just want to know if there’s some kind of support group I can join. Maybe a union.” I pause, the panic welling up in my throat a bit of a surprise. “This whole thing is kind of overwhelming when I sit and look at it for too long, and at some point I’m going to stop moving so fast and it’s going to tackle me.”
“You’re doing fine. Aside from the talking to yourself.”
I swallow. “Half the people in town have heard the rumors about me seeing spirits. The other half think I’m a closet drunk.”
“And eighty percent of all of them put together love you as much as they always have, and if you opened up a ghost-talking business tomorrow half of them would come visit you.” Amelia shrugs, fingers back on her bump, a frown on her face. “You’re not like those people in tents at carnivals.”
“And I’m not interested in doing this for cash. I just want to know if there are rules, that’s all. I mean, so far the ghosts have been nice and mostly polite, but what if there’s another kind? What if something goes wrong, what if they can hurt us?” She doesn’t answer. I don’t know whether I expected her to or not, but it would have made me feel better if she’d jumped in and called me crazy. Again. “She’s got an office and everything. I’ll be fine.”
“What’s her name again?”
“Daria.”
“Right.” She struggles for a moment or two to get off the bed before I take pity and haul her up with both hands. “I could just put the Back Soon sign in the library window.”
I’m shaking my head before she gets the first half of the sentence out of her mouth. “Nope. Mr. Freedman’s on another vacation and we can’t leave the library unmanned. Again. You know how people freak out at the tiniest change in routine around here.”
“Fine.”
I follow her into the hallway and watch as she makes her way down the stairs, holding on to the banister for support. I’m not looking forward to my trip to Daria’s den of psychic madness or whatever it’s called, and I do wish that Amelia or someone could come along.
But I’m a big girl and I’ve got on my big girl panties, mostly because all of the cute ones are in the dirty clothes basket. Amelia has to cover the library, Beau’s at some much-dreaded tea with his mother, Mel and Will are both working, too, but maybe Leo would want to come.
Maybe not, but it can’t hurt to ask.
The day is cool, like the air outside my window promised a few minutes ago, and I take a couple of deep breaths on the way to the car. The air smells fresh in a way that it hasn’t in weeks, missing the heady scent of summer flowers and bushes whose blooms have long since shrunk away from the blasting humidity.
I slide behind the wheel of my beater Honda, wondering if it’s time for a new car as I dial Leo’s number and listen to the ringing. There’s no point, I suppose, not in a town where I could walk or bike anywhere. I have Amelia’s new Ford SUV for my infrequent trips to Charleston.
Then again, just the thought of me getting on a bike bubbles a laugh up from my middle. Dollars to donuts I’d be flat on my face and full of scrapes before I make it a block.
“Hello?”
Things have been so weird between Leo and me lately, with Beau being accused of ruining Leo’s sister’s future and all, and even though we sorted all of that out with the end of the court case a few days ago, my heart sort of speeds up when he answers my call.
“Hey, Leo. It’s Gracie.”
“Yes, I know. There’s this thing called caller ID now?”
“Shut up, smart-ass.” I’m smiling, and it feels good. Maybe the sea of my life is really going to calm down and it will be smooth sailing in all aspects from here on out. “I’m off to visit a medium named Darli. Want to come so I have someone to make sarcastic remarks to?”
“Come again?”
I sigh. “I want to talk to someone else who claims to communicate with ghosts and this woman is supposedly the real deal, according to the Best Psychic Directory.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that’s a thing.”
“My application is still pending. Do you want to come or not?”
The pause on the other end of the line goes on a beat too long. “Why aren’t you taking your boyfriend?”
“He’s busy with family stuff today.” I don’t add that I wouldn’t invite Beau to come along with me on a medium visit, anyway. He’s pretty tolerant of my quirks, but I’d rather not remind him that I’m super weird on a regular basis. “Besides, you know there’s no one I’d rather do strange shit with than you.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure if that’s sweet or oddly insulting.” Now I can hear the smile in his voice, too. “It just so happens I have no plans this morning, so if you really want the company, I’m in. But…are you driving? Because I don’t want to smell like funk tonight. I have a date.”
“Oooh, really? Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Whatever. I’m driving into town now.” I put the car into reverse and back out onto the street, then into first gear and pull toward town. “Where are you?”
“Westies. I’ll wait out front.”
We hang up and I dangle my fingers out the car window, enjoying the rush of the wind against my skin and tugging at the ends of my hair. It takes less than five minutes to pull up in front of Westies where Leo waits with his guitar.
He leans down to peer through the open passenger-side window, dark bangs hanging toward the eyelashes framing his bright blue eyes. “Is there room for this in the trunk or is half your wardrobe still in there?”
“Um, probably toss it in the backseat.”
Leo shakes his head, stows his guitar in the back, then opens the passenger door and folds his lanky frame into the front s
eat. His nose wrinkles as I put the car back into gear, hit “start” on Siri, and let her start navigating us to Daria’s Hole of Hokeyness. “It really does smell in here. Why don’t you get this thing detailed?”
The thought makes me snort. “What a waste of money. It’s a car, not my armpits.”
“Well, we can only thank God you clean those once in a while.”
We ride in silence for a while. Siri pipes up every couple of minutes advising me where to turn, and we’re only about ten minutes away from our destination, which is actually just called Daria’s Readings and Investigations, LLC. Boring.
“So, who did you get to go on a date with you? Did someone new move to town and it hasn’t made the papers yet?”
“Nah. I’ve been working on Taylor Nash for awhile and I finally wore her down.”
“Taylor Nash…the writer for the Creek Sun?”
“That’s the one.”
I search my mind as I navigate the remaining directions to Daria’s, coming up with a pretty black girl in her twenties with dark skin and sparkling eyes. Great body. She’s definitely one of those girls who doesn’t consider a trip to the gym optional. It’s on the tip of my tongue to make the comment that she doesn’t seem like Leo’s type, but I manage to stifle the sentiment. For one thing, Leo doesn’t really have a type, and for another, it’s none of my business. I don’t even know why I’m still thinking about it.
“Well, are we going in or are we sitting here in this gravel parking lot?” Leo raises his eyebrows, something in his gaze that makes me think he could guess what I was thinking about without much effort at all.
“Yes. Let’s do that.”
Chapter Three
Gracie
Daria’s place of business is tiny and a little run-down; it looks more like a shed than a house and the sign over the door is missing several letters. In reality, we’re visiting Dala, which has a certain ring to it, I suppose.
My palms are sweating for some reason, slipping against the cheap brass doorknob as I give it a twist. I’m thinking now that inviting Leo was a dolt move, because I want to get all of the information I can and he’s going to make fun of me for the rest of my life.
I cast a glance sideways at him as we step into the foyer and rethink my assumption. Leo loves giving me a hard time, but he’s also always been someone who shrugs and lets people be who they are. The questions about Leo—why he doesn’t seem inclined toward a career, why he’s such a drifter, even though he still lives in the town where he grew up—resurface in my mind.
“Hi, can I help you with something?”
A women appears from the other room, and I give her a quick once-over. She’s wearing jeans and a Gamecocks T-shirt, her short, dirty-blond hair cropped close to her head, and in general she doesn’t look anything like I expected a medium in the South to look.
I manage to recover the tiny remaining pieces of my dignity—most of them have long scattered—and look her in the eye. “I’m Graciela Harper, we spoke on the phone earlier.”
“Oh, yes.” Recognition sparks in her dark gaze, which travels to Leo and lights with a different sort of interest. “And you are?”
“Leo Boone,” he says, stretching out a big, tanned hand that engulfs her. “A pleasure.”
“Likewise.”
My gaze narrows, irritation swelling for no particular reason other than the fact that I’m here now. I want to ask my questions, get my answers, and get out of here. I’m planning to text Beau when I get home and see what time he wants to get together tonight. “Where can we go to talk?”
Daria’s lips pinch together and Leo strangles a slightly exasperated sigh.
“We can talk in my office, if you’d like, or on the couches. Would either of you like any coffee?”
“With milk, please,” I request, following her through a doorway and into a reception area. There are two ratty couches, a pockmarked coffee table with more stained rings than coasters, and a plant in one corner that looks more desperate for a drink of water than Moses was in the desert.
“Black for me,” Leo requests, folding himself onto one of the couches and loosing a cloud of dust in the process.
I sit next to him more gingerly, studying the rest of the joint while she disappears into her office. The sound of a single-cup brewer firing up distracts me slightly, but only because there’s not much to see. The walls are bare. There’s an upright piano that looks like it hasn’t been opened in at least a decade shoved up against one wall, and through the doorway to her office, I spy a messy desk and a wall filled with file cabinets.
“You need to chill out,” Leo mutters under his breath.
“What are you talking about?” I snap, forgetting to keep my voice down.
“Why are you so growly and uptight? She’s not going to be all open and friendly if she thinks you’re going to leap down her throat over nothing.”
Daria reappears with two steaming styrofoam cups before I can tell him to mind his own business, and quit flirting in the meantime. She sets them down and then perches on the edge of the couch facing ours, folding her hands on her knees and watching me expectantly.
My nerves are out of control and it has nothing to do with Leo’s flirting. Coming here, talking to Daria, who doesn’t mind telling the world she sees spirits, is crossing a line. Admitting to someone else—a stranger—that there are things going on that I can’t understand on my own. Things that make me at best a little off and at worst a case for the nuthouse. If I say it aloud, there’s no going back.
I take a deep breath. There’s no going back, anyway.
“I see ghosts. They don’t talk to me but they won’t leave me alone, either.” The words tumble out of me like an admission, like a gristly piece of pork that can’t be chewed up and swallowed.
“What do they want?” Daria asks, as though this is the most normal word-vomit that’s ever been spewed her direction.
Who knows? Maybe it is.
“Different things. It’s hard to figure out sometimes, but they lead me to whatever it is that’s holding them back from moving on or whatever.” I shrug, a little embarrassed by my lack of knowledge regarding this whole world. “Anyway they leave once I figure it out and take care of it for them.”
“Hmm.” Daria watches me, her brown eyes suddenly sharp, harboring talons that reach out and snag me, dissecting my gaze as she searches for answers of her own. “And this started recently? That’s odd. Most of us can look back and remember instances from a very young age, even if we didn’t recognize them as encounters at the time.”
“I’ve always been a slow learner.” The cup of coffee warms my fingers, spreading relaxation down my spine. “I think it’s because the first ghost was a relation. It’s why she chose me, and it somehow kind of opened a door or she started telling other spirits or something. Is that possible?”
“Anything’s possible.” She shrugs, still staring at me as though she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
I want to tell her to join the club.
Daria looks like she’s waiting for me to say something more, which makes sense, probably. I’m the one who made this appointment, not her, and so far I’ve only informed her that I’ve started seeing ghosts. Hardly a revelation in her world, apparently.
My stomach swirls, jams, and lurches back the other direction. Now isn’t the time to examine why exactly this visit makes me so nervous, but there’s no denying it does. I swallow, trying to force bravado to the surface where it belongs. “I’m here because this is all new to me. I’m not sure if there are things I should watch out for or, like, rules that I shouldn’t break. If it’s dangerous to have these…spirits around me or my family.”
Leo’s silent, no hint of suppressed sarcasm in the steady draw of air into his lungs or tenseness in his broad shoulders. Instead he shifts closer to me in a way that’s hard to see as much as feel. His warmth and support give me an extra boost of courage and I look Daria straight in her face. “All of the ghosts that I’ve see
n so far want something specific from me. They want me to find something or do something or change something, and sure, none of them are super concerned with what that means for my life or personal safety, but none of them have been scary. I guess my question is…are there scary dead people out there?”
She drops her gaze from my face to her hands, watches her fingers twist together. The mood in the room shifts from hesitant with a tinge of curious to dread. My heart pounds in my chest, my mind sure before she opens her mouth again that the purported medium is going to say something I don’t want to hear.
“There are a lot of things out there.” Her eyes, raised to mine, are a tangle of fear. “Things I don’t understand after almost two decades of dealing with the spirit realm, or other world, or whatever you want to call it. Bad things, ornery things, confusing things and yeah, evil-ass entities.”
“What do you call the…place where dead people live? Just out of curiosity?” Leo’s question sounds genuine.
“Nothing. I kind of think of it as existing on the other side of a curtain that’s old and frayed and thinning in some places. That’s where we can see them. How they get through. And if they want something bad enough—to complete unfinished business, as you know, or maybe to scare someone, let loose some frustration or cure century-old boredom—they’ll find the weak spots.” She tilts her head toward me. “The receptive people.”
“Me.”
She nods. “Took them longer to find you than most. Maybe the first one set it off somehow, but either way, I doubt it’s going to stop.”
“So, are there ways to ward off the bad juju?” Just saying the word juju makes me wince and neither Leo nor Daria miss it. I’m not here to ask about Gullah and voodoo, but the curse and its implications are never far from my mind. If we could find a way to get rid of it, I just know that Amelia would have a better chance at getting her head back on straight.
“Practice,” Daria answers. “The more spirits you encounter, the more experience you have in dealing with the ones that are more forceful. They’ll get inside you—some psychics call it jumping, the dramatic ones possession, but they can, I don’t know, fuse with you. The only way to figure out how to get rid of them is to do it, I’m afraid.”