Caught up in her inner tumult, Robin had forgotten the fire she’d started to build. Now Martin noticed the unlighted logs in the fireplace. He reached for Lisa’s fighter and knelt rather awkwardly on the hearth beside Robin, sparked the lighter and ignited the newsprint between the logs. Flames licked up the paper, casting orange light on his face.
There was actually something attractive about him, Robin decided: the way he came alive when he was interested in a subject, the take-charge confidence he’d been showing all evening.
Martin turned beside her, meeting her eyes. Robin looked away quickly, flustered.
A voice came suddenly from the doorway, raised in irritation. “Okay, just stop it. It’s not funny.”
They all turned. Cain stood under the archway, looking frazzled. The others looked around at one another, mystified. Cain’s voice grated in annoyance. “The pounding? On the pipes?”
Patrick sat up from the couch. “We all’ve been here in plain sight of each other. Nobody’s been doin’ any pounding.”
Cain looked to Robin for confirmation. Robin nodded, unable to speak.
Martin rose from the hearth, brushed soot off his hands. “What exactly were you hearing?”
Cain glanced back at Robin, then to Martin. “In the ceiling. Loud. Rapping. Knocking—”
Patrick raised his eyebrows at Martin. “Funny, didn’t you just say spirits communicated through knocking?”
Lisa’s voice came suddenly from the table, breathless. “You guys—”
They all looked over. The planchette was moving under her hands.
Her eyes were wide. “He’s here.”
Robin felt a jolt of excitement, mixed with unease, doubt, a flood of paranoia again. A prank? A ghost? What were they doing?
Lisa looked up at her from the slowly circling pointer—and under the excitement, there was something helpless, even a little frightened in her eyes.
Robin bit her lips. Go, she told herself. Just go back upstairs now.
And then the longing to be part of something, something extraordinary, won out.
She sat abruptly across from Lisa, reached out to the moving planchette. Touching it was like an electric shock—there was something so clearly alive there, her breath stopped in her throat. She looked at Lisa in disbelief. Lisa met her eyes, nodded. She felt it, too.
In the doorway, Cain made an exasperated sound. “Oh Christ.” He turned to leave.
The planchette suddenly jumped, spelling quickly, urgently. Robin stared down at the unfamiliar letters. Lisa sounded them out one by one under her breath, groping at the words. Latin, Robin realized. Lisa spoke the whole sentence out.
Cain froze in the doorway.
Robin wondered about the phrase. A legal term? Something about evidence? She remembered that Zachary had been studying law, too.
Patrick snapped his fingers at Cain impatiently. “Well? What’s it mean?”
Cain glanced at him. “Exonerating evidence. I was writing a paper about it—just now.” He looked at Lisa again with blistering suspicion.
She stared back at Cain defiantly. “He said it. I didn’t.”
Martin spoke up, more to himself than the others. “Telepathy again.” He reached for his legal pad, made a note.
Lisa pressed her fingertips into the pointer, raised her voice. “Zachary, was that you knocking?”
There was a puff and whoosh and a rush of orange light…as a log caught fire in the hearth. Everyone turned toward it startled.
Then the indicator leapt to life. Robin could feel the urgent tug under her hands. Much faster than the night before, and more confident. Almost—cocky.
Robin’s eyes widened; she felt a prickling on her neck. Lisa looked at her from across the board. Robin leaned forward, intense. “Are you Zachary Prince, who died here in 1920?”
The pointer was still for a moment, then spelled more slowly.
“That’s the inscription from the yearbook,” Lisa said softly to the others.
Robin felt a deep chill. There was something wrong here, a creepiness under her fingers, almost heat, like anger. How different it felt from the playful teasing of the night before.
“Zachary, how did you die?” Lisa asked. Robin felt another shock of heat under her fingers as the pointer moved quickly.
Robin flinched, and saw Patrick grimace. “That’s harsh.”
Martin stepped abruptly forward, stared down at the table. He directed his voice toward the board. “If you’re a ghost, what is a ghost?”
The pointer stopped, still now. Robin couldn’t feel a thing under her fingers. She looked across at Lisa.
Martin spoke again, more demanding. “Explain what you are.”
The pointer was completely still. Martin leaned over the board, agitated. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
Shadows danced on the walls from the firelight; then the pointer started to move. Random, teasing circles. Finally, it slid quickly from letter to letter.
Martin colored. Cain looked sharply at Lisa, then at Robin. Robin started to shake her head.
Martin cleared his throat, forced himself to speak politely. “I…would like to talk to you, please.”
Robin flinched as the pointer jerked to life, spelling almost violently.
Martin paled, stunned.
Robin gasped, pulled her hands off the pointer. Cain advanced on the table. “That’s enough, Marlowe.”
Lisa stiffened. “I’m not—”
“I know you’re doing it.”
“I fucking am not.” Lisa shoved the board away from her.
“She’s not,” Robin protested.
Silence fell in the room. The logs snapped in the fireplace as flames ate at the logs. Patrick and Cain circled the shadows around the table, the board.
Robin bit her nails, stared down at the black letters, focused in on the burn marks along the edge of the board. Charred. There was something ominous about the black now, something that didn’t make sense.
Stop now, she told herself. I don’t like this game.
Cain stopped across from her, met her eyes. He seemed about to say something.
Robin suddenly put her hands back on the indicator. Lisa looked at her, slowly reached out to the wooden piece. A garnet in one of her rings caught the light, glowed briefly like a drop of blood.
Robin drew a breath and asked tightly, “Zachary, why are you angry at Martin?”
The pointer circled, slid almost sullenly from letter to letter. Lisa sounded the words out, frowning.
Robin and Lisa looked across at each other, then at Martin. He stared down at the board as if mesmerized.
“What does that—” Robin began.
The planchette jerked under their hands, scraping violently across the board. Robin and Lisa could barely hold on.
Lisa gasped and stood, pushing herself away from the table. Robin sat frozen, staring down at the board. Martin’s face was very still.