Opposition

by Eliza Lainn

  “Sort of. I don’t know…doesn’t it feel weird?”

  “How so?”

  “We’ve got a conveniently placed evil psychic stirring up trouble? And instead of just doing it, he goes to the front desk to tell them he’s doing it? Doesn’t that seem weird to you?”

  “Well, yeah, when you put it like that. But why would he want people to know what he’s doing?”

  “That’s our new why question.”

  “Great,” Rose grumbled, throwing herself facedown onto my bed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We spent the rest of the day trying out our theories on natural causes to explain away the weirdness of 309. While lying in bed, I could easily hear Rose’s footsteps as she walked down the hall. And when the AC unit rattled on, it caused a draft in the room that would bang the armoire door shut if you left it open just a smidge. We marked those off our list.

  We marked items disappearing too. The most likely options were that the guests misplaced their things, or the maids took the items and blamed them on the ghost. We could run it by Mackenzie, hopefully not offending her by insinuating her employees were stealing things—in fact, Rose and I believed the former, rather than the latter, explanation was the truest.

  That left us with the blood coming from the armoire, the gunshot, and the bed being jerked.

  Despite how loudly we banged doors in the hallway, it could never be mistaken for a gunshot. The best we had for the blood and the armoire was that maybe someone spilled Big Red or something inside it. And the bed being jerked seemed impossible, considering it took two of us pushing to budge the heavy thing an inch.

  No matter what we came up with, it didn’t quite seem to work out.

  “We didn’t have any better luck,” Bronte mumbled as we all headed to the restaurant for the séance. “We set up the equipment and spent all day monitoring it, but the most we got was when Oliver accidentally moved in front of a camera.”

  “Did you leave it rolling?”

  “Yeah. If anything happens during the séance, we’ll get it.” Then she patted at the case at her side. “And we brought a camera to record the séance too.”

  “How did Cyril and Oliver do?” I asked.

  Bronte smiled. “Oliver was very enthusiastic. A guest nearly caught him moving a camera, but I managed to distract her before she saw it. Thank God she’d been on her cell phone when she turned the corner. Oliver was doing some heavy lifting—the camera was completely suspended in the air.”

  We stepped into the atrium, our feet clacking against the white polished floor. A few guests lingered here and there, none glancing in our direction as we headed for the Salt & Whiskey. Most of them were either up in their rooms, ready to call it a day, or had just headed out for some nighttime entertainment.

  “Sounds like a close one,” Rose chuckled.

  “Tell me about it. They wanted to come tonight, but Cyril managed to convince Oliver to stay. I think. They looked like they were talking a lot.”

  “Yeah, that’s what happened,” Noah murmured, stepping around Bronte to hold open the restaurant door.

  Inside, we had the same setup as dinner the previous night. Except that the table lacked any kind of placement settings for food. Instead, the empty table was completely bare save for a few candlesticks offering small dancing flames.

  My eyes locked on the tiny flames, and I felt a stab of frustration and shame. I still hadn’t been able to remember what I’d said to command the fire against Nathan Elgin. And I was starting to wonder if I ever would. Despite the time and effort I put in, I wasn’t getting anywhere.

  “Left the lapdogs in your room, I see,” Sebastian said, coming up to us. Seth flanked him, once again the quiet, reserved coworker instead of the excited, bounding boy we’d glimpsed briefly last night.

  Noah brushed past him, heading for an empty chair.

  “Mr. Adair,” Rose said, holding out her hand, “glad to see you today. Is your investigation going well—we didn’t see you around 309 much today.”

  He shook her hand coolly. “My preparations were of a more literary nature.”

  I caught the flicker on confusion at the corner of Rose’s eye, but she masked it well. If I hadn’t known her for years, I doubt I would have picked up on it. “Glad to hear you’re preparing. I don’t suppose you’d care to share your plan? So that we can keep out of your way?”

  He smirked another impish grin, and his hazel eyes crinkled. “Nice try, Ms. Fisher, but no.”

  “Oh no, Mr. Adair, believe me, if I were trying to do something, you wouldn’t realize I’d already succeeded until it was too late.”

  Bronte sniggered.

  Actually.

  Literally.

  Sniggered.

  Darling Bronte, who wouldn’t even kill flies in the apartment because the felt sad for them, sniggered.

  Rose batted her eyelashes at Sebastian. “Food for thought,” she shrugged, then looped her arm through Bronte’s and they marched toward a corner of the room to set up our camera next to the one Zach’s team was assembling.

  Sebastian watched them go, warring with himself to keep the shock from his face.

  I shrugged. “Shouldn’t have called them lapdogs.”

  “I was under the impression Ms. Fisher didn’t have heightened perception.”

  “Oh, she doesn’t. But she doesn’t need to see the ghosts in order to be friends with them.”

  “Women,” Seth sighed heavily.

  Sebastian and I both looked down at him.

  “Saw it on a movie once,” he shrugged, then headed toward the table himself.

  “Shall we?” Sebastian asked, holding out his arm.

  “I’m going to ask you something and I’d appreciate honesty, Sebastian, because I think it could be bad.”

  His arm fell back to his side. “What is it?”

  “Psychics. Something tells me you have more experience with a wider variety of powers and abilities than I do. That’s fine—I’m not going to poke about how you have that information. But I do want to know if you’ve ever met a psychic capable of hyping up a ghost. Making them go berserk, almost.”

  He frowned. “Once. It didn’t end well. But I haven’t seen him in a while—our paths crossed during a case once. What does he have to do with anything?”

  “I think he hyped up Roger Whitaker.”

  “Interesting,” Sebastian mused thoughtfully.

  “What happened when you met him?”

  “He agitated a ghost. Turned it violent. It devolved into a Type 2 and it took five of us to bring it down before it killed anymore people.”

  My stomach twisted into a knot. I felt jittery, loose, as his words registered. Three realizations struck like lightning. Five. Devolved. Killed.

  Five. He did work with other psychics, most likely collecting them on cases.

  Devolved. Ghosts could become monsters.

  Killed. And they killed people once they did.

  “The effects here aren’t as poignant as what I’ve witnessed before,” he said, his tone almost soft.

  I jerked out of my thoughts, looking up at him. He watched me with those eyes of his, alert and focused. “I think we’ll be able to stop Roger before he successfully kills someone.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” I asked. It took concentration and effort, but I managed to dispel the concern from my face. “At the séance? I was surprised to hear you’d be coming.”

  He shrugged. “Madam Amara, from my research, has had success summoning spirits. I figured this was as good a place as any to deal with Roger, should he arrive. Shall we?”

  I moved with him, matching his slow pace. “And Seth?”

  “He knows what to do should things turn violent.”

  We came up to the table. Then he stopped and turned toward me. “I need you to promise me you’ll give me the first crack at Whitaker, should he appear.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I have a plan. And it hinge
s on how quickly I can get control of the situation. If I have to worry about you and your cohorts getting in my way, my attention will be split and I could lose my opportunity.”

  Considering we hadn’t come up with a plan? “Sure thing. Go head. I’ll tell Rose.”

  “Thanks.” He moved off to join his brother.

  I slid into a spot between Rose and Bronte. They both leaned in. “What did he want?”

  “I promised to give him the first shot at Roger, should he show up tonight and turn violent.”

  Rose sighed, her eyes flickering to Noah. “I was afraid of that. We didn’t really come up with a plan to deal with him, should we actually find him. I’ll add it to the list of things we need to work on.”

  “Good thing we graciously allowed him to go first then.”

  Nodding reluctantly, Rose leaned back in her seat.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Madam Amara breezed into the room, followed closely by Mackenzie. The former had changed her clothes yet again, this time for dark-toned colors, and wore a massive gold and jade pendant about the size of a poker chip. The latter wore her manager's uniform, the sharp lines of her vest contrasting with the white of her shirt.

  As they entered, the lights in the room began to dim. I looked up, surprised, then saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I saw a server shaking her head, hands on the light switch behind the bar. Once the lights had reached a suitably spooky level, the server left through the kitchen.

  Madam Amara took her place at the head of the table. Mackenzie sat on her immediate right. With the lights dimmed and only the faint firelight, sharp shadows lined their faces.

  The grown-up version of holding a flashlight under your chin, I supposed.

  She looked solemnly over the table, like a judge presiding over a sentencing. Her hand strayed to her necklace, giving it a comforting caress before her hands fell demurely back into her lap. Mackenzie, on the other hand, looked as if she had a million other places she wanted to be. As the manager, she probably did.

  I followed Amara’s eyes as she took in the groups seated along the rectangular table. Apparition Investigations took up one side, with Mackenzie seated beside Noah. Obscurity Consultants and Zach Birmingham’s team took over the other.

  Underneath the table, I rubbed my sweaty hands over my jeans. We had at least five psychics at this table. If Amara could perceive ghosts, that would tip us over to six. I wasn’t sure how seances generally worked, but I bet it dealt with perception. And we had a lot of firepower at this table.

  Granted, if something did happen, one of us could throw up a forcefield and the other one had telekinesis. And there were two ghosts waiting upstairs for us to come back safe and sound. We were going to be fine.

  Probably.

  “Let us begin,” Madam Amara breathed, her words ending on a sigh.

  Darkness blanketed her features. With the room drenched in shadow, it was difficult to see much beyond the light of the candlesticks. Their tiny flames did the best they could, but they could only illuminate so much. That left nearly everyone in the dark.

  Her eyes fluttered shut. And for a moment, no one even breathed. The room was completely still. Completely silent.

  As she raised her hands up, beckoning us to make a circle with our hands around the table, I wondered why seances always had to happen in the dark.

  Rose and Bronte both squeezed my hands as Madam Amara took in a deep breath, then let it out with a soft sigh. “We are here today to speak with you, lost soul.”

  Her voice barely rose above a whisper. But in the stillness, the blackness of the room, it was enough. Her voice carried, grew, swelled to fill the whole room. She spoke softly, her voice calm and alluring. Nothing at all like Zach Birmingham’s mad yelling yesterday.

  “We wish to help you. To learn about you. So that we might be able to find your peace.”

  We sat, listening, waiting. Across the table, I could see Zach’s lips moving, whispering soundlessly. Mackenzie kept glancing over her shoulders. And the Adair brothers remained perfectly still.

  Bronte squeezed my hand.

  I turned to look at her. She was staring at something behind the other side of the table. A fixed point. Leaning forward, I looked past her to Noah. He was staring at the same place.

  I guess Roger Whitaker had shown up.

  “Help us to understand. Please.” Madam Amara’s voice shook with emotion. “Please help us to understand what troubles you.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  The voice cut through the stillness. A voice I hadn’t heard before, something new. It was male, full of panicked fear and desperation. The voice you’d expect a deranged gunman to have—which, I suppose, made sense if he was going around shooting people.

  Seth jumped slightly in his seat. It was a small enough movement, easily mistaken for just shifting in his seat from sitting still for too long. But I knew that he heard the voice behind him. And that Sebastian had as well.

  “It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.”

  Madam Amara’s eyes slowly opened. She stared straight ahead, at the flame closest to her. “He is here.”

  Everyone except for Bronte, Noah, and Sebastian turned to look at her. Zach Birmingham, his crew, and Mackenzie were transfixed. Even Rose watched her in fascination, staring at her with the same fixation as when Say Yes to the Dress was on.

  “It’s not enough.”

  “To the spirit who’s joined us, we welcome you to this space and ask that you reveal yourself to us. Give us your name so that we might help you.”

  Her voice subtly changed. It became mesmerizing, hypnotic. And when Roger spoke again, he sounded calmer. “I’m Roger Whitaker. Please…please help me.”

  I watched Amara closely. I had heard the change in her voice. It wasn’t as potent as my commands, but there was power layered in her voice.

  For a split second, I thought she might have name invocation, like me. But no, she’d asked for him to give his name. So, she wasn’t commanding him through that. And I was feeling affected too. As I glanced around the table, I realized I wasn’t the only one. Everyone seemed calmer, relaxed.

  She was influencing our mood.

  “Roger, we want to help you. Please tell us what troubles you. Please tell us how we can help.”

  Roger. She’d heard him give his name.

  She was a psychic.

  “It’s not enough. I need more.”

  “More what, Roger?”

  Bronte squeezed my hand again, pulling my focus from Amara. I followed her line of sight. She was looking up, her neck bent back at an uncomfortable looking angle.

  He was right on top of us.

  “More. I need more. They want more.”

  “Roger,” Amara sighed serenely, “please tell us what you need. Maybe we can help you find it. But please, you must help us understand.”

  Her eyes weren’t focused on him. She could hear him, but she couldn’t see him.

  He didn’t answer.

  I froze, straining to hear. For a few painfully long beats, he was silent.

  Then he spoke. “It…it might be enough.”

  I glanced over at Bronte again, furrowing my brow in confusion. Her neck was still bent back, staring up, but now her eyes began to widen. Then her head snapped over to Amara.

  The calm compliance of his voice was shattering. I could hear an edge seep into his tone, though what emotion fueled it, I couldn’t tell. “It’s beautiful…expensive.”

  Bronte’s head jerked back to look at Roger.

  “Gold…” Roger breathed.

  “Oh no,” Bronte whispered.

  Sebastian was up, knocking his chair backward in his rush to get to his feet.

  The moment his hands were ripped from the circle, the small flames went out. And we were plunged into darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Everyone started shouting. Some in fear, in confusion, and some in panic. The ones who could see the ghost wer
e the panicked ones. And that only caused my own panic to skyrocket.

  “Amara, get down!” Sebastian shouted.

  The table legs scraped against the floor as someone bumped into it. The clack of chairs falling back echoed through the darkness, mixing with the stuttering curses flung about by Zach and his team.