When I unlocked my front door and we stepped inside my dark house, I was immediately on edge even though I didn’t know why. I’d done a damn good job of convincing myself my house wasn’t haunted but I still had the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it was the mere chance that I could have been wrong, that maybe spirits did exist and one was busily existing in my upstairs bedroom. One that also happened to be incredibly attractive and charming, even if he was long dead. The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded…sexy, attractive, and flirtatious ghosts? Give me a break.
Not wanting to focus on the ridiculousness that was believing Drake Montague was haunting my house, I instead focused on the Ouija board still wedged beneath Trina’s arm. Weren’t Ouija boards considered dangerous? Wasn’t that the general consensus among all those ghost hunters and people with psychic abilities? But I figured whatever reputation the innocent-looking board had, it didn’t matter to me because I didn’t believe in things that went bump in the night.
“Do you know how to use that thing?” I asked Trina, who was already starting for the staircase. I’d barely even removed my key from the lock.
She glanced back at me and nodded, looking like an overexcited little girl about to open a birthday present. “Yep, everyone does.” I shut the door behind me and slipped the key into my pants pocket before facing her again. She was perched in the middle of the staircase, her hands on her hips. “Stop lollygaggin’ and hurry it up, Peyton!”
“Why are we going upstairs?”
She took the last two steps and then turned around to take stock of me again, tapping her foot impatiently, apparently because I wasn’t right behind her. “We need to attempt to contact your spirit at the location where you first noticed activity,” she recited as if she’d memorized the sentence.
“Okay, I guess that makes sense,” I responded as I reached the top step, and she smiled encouragingly.
“The footsteps you heard were in the master bedroom, isn’t that right?”
“Yep, they were,” I grumbled as I followed her into the master bedroom and watched her place the Ouija box on the ground, followed by the bottle of wine. Then she placed her glass directly in front of her and mine across from it, before patting the ground in an attempt to get me to sit down.
“Aren’t these things supposed to be dangerous?” I asked cautiously as I watched her open the box and place the board on the floor, then the heart-shaped wooden indicator directly on top of it. Then she produced something spherical that was wrapped in what looked like muslin.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“That’s my candle,” she answered and unwrapped the muslin cloth, which looked as if it was thick with Vaseline or something equally off-putting.
“What’s all over it?” I asked, frowning.
“Abramelin oil,” she answered.
“What oil?”
“It’s a special oil that amplifies the cleansin’ and purity powers of the white candle.”
“Why is that important?” I asked, dumbfounded as I watched her place the discarded muslin to the right of the candle while she propped the candle up on a small pedestal and then lit it.
“Whenever you attempt to contact the dead, you must do so with the utmost care because, to quote Mr. Gump’s mama, ‘you never know what you’re gonna get.’ ” Then she smiled at me knowingly, as if impressed with her borrowed quote.
“Great, that’s reassuring to know,” I grumbled, reminding myself that I was more than relieved that I didn’t buy a bit of this mumbo jumbo nonsense…not even for a minute. Trina didn’t say anything more but reached for the bottle of wine, pulled a wine opener from her jeans pocket, and popped the cork. She filled my glass to the brim and then hers.
“What’s that for?” I asked, pointing at the wine.
“That’s for us to develop a little liquid courage,” she answered with a smile.
“Oh,” I answered as I lifted my glass. “I figured it was an offering to the ghosts or maybe another way to protect us from that thing,” I finished, glancing at the Ouija board.
“But you don’t believe in ghosts?” she asked casually as she lifted her glass and tilted it toward me in a silent toast.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“Then why would you be concerned that this thing could be dangerous?” She had that same blasted look of self-assurance that her brother always did.
I frowned, not entirely sure I was as comfortable with this mumbo jumbo as I was trying to convince myself. “Just making conversation.”
She giggled then held her glass up, apparently for a more formal toast. “To Peyton’s ghost!”
I didn’t say anything but couldn’t hide my smile as I downed a sip of the cabernet and relished the burn in the back of my throat. Yep, nothing quite like getting one’s intoxication on in order to ignore the current events of the evening.
“Now we have to cleanse the room,” Trina announced.
“What does that mean?” I asked, frowning as I imagined us cleaning the windows and sweeping the floors. Needless to say, after a long day of construction, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to become Holly Homemaker.
“It means that you need to close your eyes and imagine a bright white light startin’ from within you.” She closed her eyes and smiled as she continued. “The light is so bright and beautiful, it’s difficult to contain, so imagine it spillin’ from inside you and envelopin’ the whole room.” She opened one eye and frowned at me. “Close your eyes and imagine the light, Peyton.”
“Oh, sorry,” I responded, immediately doing as she instructed.
“The light is ensurin’ that we are safe, that anythin’ that would hurt us is forced from the room.” Then she fell silent for a few seconds so I opened one eye to find her staring at me. “Are you imaginin’ the white light?” she demanded.
I immediately slammed my eyes shut and nodded. “Yes.”
“Is it cascadin’ out of you, into the room?”
“I’m not sure I’d categorize it as cascadin’,” I started as I tried to decipher exactly what that meant. “Maybe more filling the room?”
Trina exhaled what sounded like frustration. “Is it bright?”
“It’s so bright, I’m imagining myself wearing sunglasses.”
“Peyton!” she chided as I opened my eyes and found her frowning at me. “This isn’t funny. We’re dealin’ with the unknown; it’s not somethin’ you should take lightly.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
She offered me a quick smile, which I figured was to let me know that I was forgiven. Then she grasped each of my hands in hers. “Spirit, I light this candle to bless this sacred place. Let the light of the flame radiate protection to all four corners of this room. Please release any negative energies from this space. With a ray of white light, I ask that this area be cleansed and neutralized.” She took a deep breath. “Now rest your fingers on the planchette but make sure you don’t push it. We just want the energy from our fingertips, not anything else.”
“The plant what?” I asked, at a clear loss.
She pointed at the small wooden piece sitting motionless on the board. “The wooden marker.”
I simply nodded and rested my fingers on the wooden pointer thing, er, the planchette. Then I glanced over at her to make sure I’d done it correctly. She simply nodded. “Now what?” I asked.
“Now we summon the spirit or spirits who dwell here.” She cleared her throat. “I summon the spirit or spirits of this house. Speak with me through this medium. If you are here, please respond by movin’ the planchette to ‘Yes.’ ”