Before I can ask him what he means, the camera crew comes in the front door to the apartment, and my nerves are back on edge.
“Deep breaths,” Sid mumbles as he turns to greet them.
After that it’s a bit chaotic. Most of my energy is spent feeling protective of the boy, Marcus. I sit with him on the couch as the cameras and lights are set up.
“So how long have you lived here?” I ask him.
He scratches his nose and shrugs. “Not long.”
I consider what it is that I need to know, then ask, “When did you first see her?”
He blinks up at me, maybe realizing I understand. “Mom’s last boyfriend gave me a BB gun, and he used to take me out to shoot soda cans back in the hills; it made Mom real mad.” He lowers his voice and leans closer. “She threw a glass at his head one time and the cops came. Millie—the white lady—she came after that. I don’t think she likes my mom.”
Understanding filters in. “How do you feel about her?”
“My mom? She’s fine.” He scratches his nose again then starts picking at a string coming from a tear in his jeans. “I just wish she was happy, like other moms.”
The sting of his pain suddenly feels very personal. I clear my throat, not wanting to show it. “What about the spirit? Are you sometimes scared of her?”
“No, I like her. She makes me feel better about stuff.” Then he bows his head as weighty guilt spills from his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Marcus,” I say. “My mom was real sad, too.”
He sniffs and nods again. Then he leans into me, pressing his side against mine, like he’s looking for comfort.
I release a sigh to let go of some of the tension that’s winding itself into a ball in my chest. When I look up, Sid is watching Marcus and me intently, and I realize that I’m boxed in. How can I let them get rid of the spirit if it’s protecting the boy from his mom? But if I botch this job then I might be out on the street again with a dependent sister who has demons coming after her in a few days. I can’t let that happen, obviously.
So Marcus will be left to his fate.
TWELVE
After a while I feel Marcus grow limp beside me. His head rests on my arm, and soon his comic book slips from his fingers to the floor. Kara motions for me to move, and we situate him so he’s curled against the other side of the couch, resting soundly.
She whispers to me, “Come talk for a sec,” and I follow her past a camera and into the tiny hall. She leans close. “What did you see?”
I’m still not sure what her thoughts are about it all, so I ask, “What do you think I saw?”
“Is this a game show? Tell me what the hell you saw so we can get this dead circle done right and get the hell out of here with the cash.”
“What is this dead circle thing everybody keeps talking about?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s where we do a spell to get rid of whatever thing we’re casting out. We use infrared cameras and everything; it’s all very dramatic. Now tell me what you saw.”
Magic? “Messing in spells only makes things worse,” I say. “Trust me.”
She frowns, looking like she’s taken off guard by my words, but then she says, “It’s like tricks, Aidan. That’s all. We draw symbols and chant, and the people get a show. Usually it’s a simple thing that pushes the ghost, or whatever, out. Trust me, Sid can tell us how to get rid of whatever’s here. He may not be able to read much spiritually anymore, but he can sure file away info.”
“Sid tells you how to cast it out?”
“Sid knows all. He’s got so much stuff in that bald head of his it’s a wonder he can balance the thing on that short body.” She gives a quick, stiff smile then demands, “Now what in God’s name did you see?”
“A ghost.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Like I don’t know that.”
I sigh and glance around to be sure no one’s listening in. Sid is still interviewing the mother on camera, and Connor’s taking notes on a little tablet. So I lean closer and whisper in Kara’s ear, “I think the mom is abusing the kid. The spirit seems to be protecting him by tormenting the mother.”
When I move back, her hair brushes my cheek and fills my head with the smell of vanilla and coconut. I hesitate, thrown off by the rush of emotions that follow—emotions coming from her: fear, curiosity, and need.
I clear my throat and try to pretend like I didn’t just feel her insides, but I can’t look her in the face when I add, “The ghost died here about thirty years ago. Stabbed by her husband. She had a child around the same age as Marcus.”
Kara glances over to the activity in the other room. “So that’s why Marcus isn’t afraid of the ghost. The mom kept saying she wasn’t getting any sleep ’cause Marcus was having nightmares and his bed was shaking. But then when I talked to him, he said it never bothered him. I thought maybe Marcus was trying to be macho or something.”
“No, he’s telling the truth.”
She sighs and looks toward Marcus’s room.
“We should go in there now,” I say. “Before the others. I can tell you what I see, and hopefully we can figure out what to do.”
She frowns at me. “What do you mean? We do the job. End of story.”
I study her. Maybe she’s been burned too much to let herself care. “If the ghost goes, Marcus’ll be vulnerable.”
A thread of anxiety and then anger weaves through the air between us. “This isn’t a game,” Kara says. “We do the job.”
“Okay, Kara, what have you got?” Sid asks. He, Connor, Kara, and I sit at the table where the mom was being interviewed.
“Simple ghost, no cementing, no problems. It’s got an attachment to the boy, but I don’t see anything we can’t get rid of.”
I glare at her from across the table, wondering why she’s lying to him.
Sid turns to me. “What about you, Aidan?”
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath, still trying to decide what to do. “It’s a ghost. And it’s attached to the boy.”
“So you and Kara agree?” This seems to make him almost giddy. “Wonderful.”
I clear my throat and add, “Except . . .” Kara is giving me an impassive look, but I can feel her fear, and it makes me pause. What’s she afraid of? Me or Sid? “Well, I also think there might be something the mother needs help with.”
“What’s that?” Sid asks.
Kara’s fear grows thicker, and I’m second-guessing saying anything at all.
“Apparently she has a bad temper,” Kara finishes for me.
Sid laughs. “We’re not social workers. We’re here to fumigate. That’s it.”
Kara gives me a see, I told you so look, but the air around her is shivering.
Sid nods, looking satisfied that we’re back on track. “So this is a basic job, guys. A simple block is all we need, or if we’re feeling generous, we can send the thing into the afterlife. For the cameras, the dead circle will include a few chants and some dramatic questioning to the spirit. I’ll have Kara do the smudge for this shoot. She’s always so much more graceful at it than you, Connor, no offense.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Connor’s mouth. “None taken.”
Sid turns to me. “Your job, Aidan, is to make sure it’s working. The dead circle will be in here, so you’ll sit in the other room and make sure the spirit is done away with. Do you think you can manage that?”
I nod, my heart sinking. I could probably help the boy by protecting the woman’s spirit. I could lie, saying it’s done. Except that Sid’ll hear about it from the Reese lady, and it would hurt the ghost-hunting business—which apparently pays all the bills. I won’t be on Sid’s good side anymore after that, that’s for sure.
I need to focus on the goal—my one goal—to keep Ava safe. Nothing else. And I need Sid to help me with that for now.
“Wonderful!” He smiles and pats my shoulder. “Kara, you get the boys in here. Aidan, you and Jax can make a space for the circle. And I’ll collect the supplies from the van. Let’s get this done.”
Connor shows the camera guys where the angles should be while the rest of us follow directions. Sid goes outside with a small vial of something clutched in his hand. I watch for a while as the cameras begin recording. The others hold hands and chant things that sound vaguely like a section of the Apocrypha in really bad Latin, something about the levels of the heavens—it’s obvious they have no clue what they’re saying. Kara stands in the center of the three boys, lighting the smudge and waving the herbs before each of them, and then she walks the circle to mark it with the smoke.
There’s a small shift in the air after that, and I catch Sid from the corner of my eye pressing what looks like an oil-coated finger to the jamb of the glass slider, his lips moving.
He pauses and glances at me then shoos me away, into the boy’s bedroom.
When I enter, the white energy is thinner, greyer. There’s less fight in the spirit now. She’s weak, searching for her little boy.
I close my eyes and sink to the floor, my back against the dresser. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
Anguish washes over me like a thick black wave, and I’m not sure if it’s hers or mine. It tugs me down, pulling me toward something, like a precipice, and I realize I’m feeling her leaving, sinking away to the place beyond, where the dead belong.
“You’ll be free there,” I say, even though I’m not completely sure of that.
And then she’s gone, slipping away into the mystery that is death. And I’m not sure how to feel. Because now Marcus is next in line to become a victim of this cursed place.
THIRTEEN
When it’s done, I keep my mouth shut and follow orders as we clean up. No one asks me if I felt like the chanting worked. Sid’s talking to the mother and son outside, telling them someone will be back in a day or two for the afternoon shoot where they do the “post interview” about how it feels since LA Paranormal Investigative came and saved them from the wicked ghost.
My stomach hurts—I can’t look at the boy. I avoid his eyes whenever he glances my way.
When everything’s put back into place, Sid waves me over. “You’ll ride home with me.”
And so while all the others are piling into the van with Connor, I follow Sid to a bright orange Mustang convertible, black top up, with a white pinstripe along the side and white-rimmed tires. This wasn’t one of the cars in the garage. I can’t help being impressed.
“Wow.”
“You like old cars?” Sid asks, smiling at me over the hood.
I nod and open the door, slipping inside. It smells like new leather and Armor All.
“I just got it back from the shop,” he says. “I hardly ever drive because it makes me terribly anxious, but this gem of a machine can’t just sit in a shop forever. I had the interior completely restored.” He points at the black dashboard. “Except for the instruments. Got a Bose stereo system and Gizmo-Nav. All digital gauges.”
“Wow,” I say again. It’s completely beautiful. All the green lights and dials and perfectly placed instruments. “It’s really nice.” And expensive. I look over at him as he starts the engine. “So this YouTube gig pays well, I guess.”
For a second I worry that I overstepped, but Sid just smiles like a kid at Christmas and says, “LA Paranormal is the top paranormal investigation agency in Southern California, soon to be the best in the whole country.”
I nod, unsure what to say in response. It’s odd being connected to something that’s so public, and a little nerve racking. I’m so used to hiding—living in the shadows, not letting anyone know anything about me.
“But unlike this car, old things aren’t always worth much in this world,” he says. “Most times old things are left, forgotten. Ancient is not a positive term in this time.” His words are simple, just an observation, but the tone in his voice makes it seem like he’s mourning something. He’s not readable at all right now, almost as muddy as inside the house, but I can see in his body posture, in the set of his jaw, that he’s feeling a sort of anxious longing, and it puzzles me.
“I like old things,” I say, unsure why I feel the need to add anything.
“Yes, I’ve heard,” he says. “Eric mentioned you were quite handy with all things ancient.”
I glance out the window, not sure if I want to delve into this stuff if it means talking about me and my talents. “I just sense when something old is important from the energy.”
“You know, Eric’s found me several things I’ve requested. When I asked him how, he mentioned you because he thought that I might be able to help you. He thought you seemed . . . lost.”
My pulse speeds up.
“Are you lost, Aidan?”
It’s suddenly harder to breathe.
He clears his throat and says in a very important voice: “For whatsoever from one place doth fall, is with the tide unto another brought: For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.” He smiles wide. “Edmund Spenser knew his truth.” He turns to me, intent. “Why do you think you can do these strange things?”
I pick at a fingernail, unsettled. I don’t trust people. Ever. Why do I feel this need so strong—the desire to trust this strange man—especially when everything in me rings with warning at the same time?
“Any thoughts?” he asks, insistent.
I’ve held secrets for so long, I’m not even sure how—if—I should let go.
“Maybe you’re a part of it all—did you ever think of that?” His voice is soft now, inviting.
Something clicks in my gut, but I’m not sure what it is. We’ve stopped at a light, and when I look up, he’s studying me intently again.
“Time is like water, like a stone, or anything else in nature,” he says, his eyes nearly glowing now from excitement. “It has form; it has rules. Time is a part of the energy you feel more than anything else. Like the frame of a house, it holds things in their rightful place.” He pauses and then adds, “You’re a part of this order, Aidan. More than you realize.”
I swallow and stare at him, my eyes stinging. A faint memory of Ava’s dream comes back to me, what Mom said about time: The father’s place is another time . . . But I have no idea what the hell it means.
I do understand what Sid means about time, though. Like everything is held together by it.
A flame sparks to life in my chest, something coming to the surface, and I realize . . . everything I see, everything I sense, is linked to what Sid just said. Somehow. And my mom’s dark spells . . . maybe that’s why they felt wrong and twisted. Why the grimoire won’t let me read its pages. Those things are a crack in the boundaries of nature, a fissure in the order. And I’m a part of that order.
Sid drives on, and we sit in silence for a time, like he’s letting everything sink in.
We reach the house and pull into the garage, and I’m not sure I can get out of the car yet. I’m still working through it all in my head, still wrestling with the idea of being connected to something larger than myself. It’s the truth, though. I feel it in my gut.
And my gut rarely lies.
Before I can open the door to get out, Sid says, “I’m glad you’re here with us now, Aidan. You fit right in. The light of kids like you is vital to keep humanity connected to the spirit world, and now you’ll be one of them. A beacon to reveal truth.”
I can only nod. I’m still not sure I want to give in to this whole thing—being part of a team. I just want to keep Ava safe. What he’s saying is all very “Kumbaya.”
Then he adds, “I could tell you weren’t on board a hundred percent with the results of the job. I know things were unclear for you. Soon you’ll begin to understand what our role is.”
/> I drop my hand from the door handle and decide to just say it. “The boy needs help, and we ignored it. Because of the money.”
Sid smiles, surprising me. “So clear. Such conviction. That’s good.” He sits back and studies me. “But it’s also shortsighted.”
“How’s that?” It’s shortsighted to give a shit?
“Each of us is here for a purpose, Aidan. Your role, mine, the role of LA Paranormal, is to create balance, nothing more. Having a gift doesn’t give you the right to mess in the affairs of the heart—in that realm you’ll lose and likely drag others off the cliff with you.”
He must see I’m not buying it, because he asks, “If we’d helped the boy, where do you think it would have ended? We could have dug deeper, discovered all the darkness there in that place, and called someone to help. But then what? Marcus would go into the system and be passed around. Just like you.”
My chest tightens.
“You, of all people, would never wish that on a kid. We all have a role to play. And when we stray from that, we get others in trouble.”
FOURTEEN
The next day I wake to the commotion of the morning routine taking over the house. Out in the hallway, everyone’s arguing about turns in the bathroom. Holly’s pissed because someone used her lotion—she’s yelling at Lester in Spanish about how she hopes it rots his toes off.
I lie there and listen to it all, to Ava’s breathing, thinking about the things Sid said in the car last night. I fell asleep with everything roiling in my head, trying to piece it together. Am I really a part of a larger order? Could my abilities be that important? It feels unreal to even think about it like that.
I look over at Ava and study her sleeping form curled around her violin. There’s sheets of music on the floor, ones she wrote by hand. Her talent is obvious in the complexity of the notes, but I don’t really understand any of it. She’s a genius, always has been. In music, in mind, and in her ancient soul. And she needs me to save her.
But I am no genius. I don’t even go to school. I don’t know about anything except demonology, really. What I need is cleverness. Like Sid has.
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