SOMETHING IN COMMON
Robin frowned. “What did you have in common?”
She felt a malevolent heat coming through her fingertips, a feeling of pure rage. The pointer flew across the board.
ADON OLAM
The words were unfamiliar, but before Robin could ask, the board went on, the indicator making vicious sharp sweeps.
The pointer began to race violently on the board. Lisa gasped.
Martin suddenly stepped forward under the rafters, spoke tightly to the board. “Haim ata Qlippah?” The pointer stopped rattling instantly. Robin’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar language, with the one familiar word.
“What does that mean?” Cain demanded. “What the fuck are you saying?” Patrick growled simultaneously.
“Shut up!” Martin snapped, startling both of them. The pointer was moving, forming incomprehensible letters. Robin felt a different energy through the wooden piece—a cunning. Lisa sounded out the letters one by one.
Martin stared down at the board, not moving.
Cain grabbed Martin’s arm. “What’s with the Hebrew? What did you say?”
Martin pulled away from him, “Just wait.” He spoke to the board. “What do you mean? Explain what you are.”
The pointer moved. This time the words were recognizably English, but mystifying.
Robin read out the sentence, which seemed eerily familiar. Martin had gone very still. “Explain,” he said tightly. The pointer moved again.
Martin had stopped reading and was just watching the board, fixated on the emerging letters. Lisa and Robin sounded the words out haltingly.
Patrick moved closer, staring down at the letters forming. Martin spoke harshly. “Go on.”
Robin felt someone move beside her and was surprised to see Cain at her elbow, staring down at the board as intently as the rest of them.
They looked at one another in the candlelight. Martin hadn’t taken his eyes off the board. He demanded skeptically, “Power to do what?”
The whole energy of the attic room had changed. Robin could feel it—the intense, curious focus of the five of them, and a sense of almost conspiratorial intimacy from the board. She felt vaguely that they were being lulled, that whatever they were talking to was working toward something. The thought made her cold with fear.
She jumped slightly as Martin leaned forward intensely. “Let’s see what you can do, then.” The pointer moved, and spelled:
The five of them were deathly silent. Patrick spoke first, his voice sounding far away. “Move the table.”
Robin looked down with the others as the pointer spelled out the next sequence.
They all looked around at one another. The darkness shimmered with candlelight under the slanting attic beams.
Robin wanted to say NO, to stop whatever was happening, but she, too, was lulled, almost hypnotized.
Martin reached down and put his hand on the table. Patrick placed his big palm flat on the surface. Then Cain reached out and touched the edge.
The table suddenly slid five feet across the floor.
Robin and Lisa sat frozen in their chairs, empty space between them. The boys stood stupefied, motionless, not breathing.
Martin came to life, marched across the empty space, grabbed the edge of the table, and dragged it back between Robin and Lisa. Robin noticed through the dreamy edges of her shock that he had to use his entire strength to move it, it was that heavy—yet moments before it had slid across the room as easily as if it had been on wheels.
Martin spoke loudly to the air. “No more circus tricks. What can you really do?”
Across the table from Robin, Lisa’s eyes were dilated, her hands clasped in her lap. Robin saw something jolt in her face, a grimace that was almost a sneer, and then, just as quickly, a look of confusion. She put her hands back on the pointer as obediently as a child.
No, Robin thought. No more.
She shoved her chair back, about to get up, and then felt a push in her head, something feeling around the edges of her mind, whispering, trying to get in. Robin felt a stab of revulsion. She pushed back, and the presence was gone.
She looked down in a daze and was jolted to see her hands were back on the moving planchette. What’s happening?
The guys were crowded up against the table, Martin and Patrick sounding out the letters.
The pointer kept moving.
The words were so utterly unfamiliar, the others were sounding the letters out one by one, but Robin could hear Martin speaking the whole sentence under his breath. “Ze ma she-uchal leharot lecha—”
Cain noticed, as well. He turned on Martin. “What’s happening?”
Martin stared down at the board, breathing shallowly, mesmerized. Robin thought with clarity, It’s getting at him. It’s almost got him.
Martin spoke with strained excitement. “Im ata Qlippah, tochi-ach et ze.”
Robin pulled her hands off the pointer. “No.” She stood, facing Martin. “Stop it. What are you doing?”
Martin stepped back, looked around at the others, dazed, as if he’d been jerked out of sleep. “Just…asking it what it means.”
Robin stood, breathing hard. They could stop now. She knew they should, but they were so close, so close to knowing.
She sat, ground her fingers into the pointer, stared fiercely at the board. “I’m asking you. What are you saying? What do you want from us?”
She looked up at Lisa. Lisa extended her fingers and touched the piece, looking across at Robin.
The pointer trembled under their hands—then went crazy, scraping savagely from letter to letter. Robin and Lisa could barely hold on.
The words were flying so fast, Robin was registering them almost subconsciously.
The table began to rock, jumping on its legs, bucking wildly on the planks of the floor.
The girls bolted up from their chairs, springing away.
“Holy shit.” Patrick pulled Lisa backward, away from the rocking wood. Robin backed up and ran into Cain and Martin, who both steadied her. In the center of the floor, the table kept up its wild shaking dance.
The door slammed open behind them.
The table stopped dead. The five of them spun—to see Waverly standing in the doorway.
Robin drew a breath, for a stunned second thinking Waverly had seen the table shaking. But her roommate was totally fixed on Patrick.
“You cunt-hunting scum.” Waverly’s words were slurred. She was swaying slightly, drunk, as she turned a venomous gaze on Lisa. “I knew I’d find you with this whore—and the rest of this trash.”
The five stared back at her, flushed with adrenaline and anger at the interruption.
Waverly turned on Robin, blue eyes flashing fire, Southern accent thick as tar. “And you, with your tail up, panting after him. ‘Oh, Patrick, let me do your paper while I go down on you.’”
Robin felt herself flush with fury. “Get out—”
A candlestick with a burning candle flew across the room, barely missing Waverly’s head.
Waverly whirled from Robin, staring at the rest of them. “Who threw that?”
Dead silence.
Behind Waverly on the floor, the candlestick rolled against a stack of dusty old newspapers. The pile suddenly ignited, flames licking up shockingly quickly.
“Look out!” Cain shouted. He leapt to pull Waverly away from the fire and stomped the flames out.
The six of them stood in dazed shock. Then Martin turned coldly to Waverly. “You should go now.” His voice was quiet, deadly. The whole group of them stared at Waverly from their semicircle.
Waverly looked at Patrick. He stood still, as if rooted to the plank floor. She shook her head in total disbelief. “You’re really going to stay here with these freaks?”
Patrick turned on her. Robin saw something twist in his face, though his eyes were as blank as a sleepwalker’s. His voice was a snarl, strangely accentless.
“Fuck off and die, you bitch. Just die—”
Waverly staggered back, stunned, then turned and ran from the attic.
Patrick shuddered, and for a moment he looked dazed, almost sick. He strode across the floor and slammed out after Waverly.
It had all happened so fast, Robin couldn’t move. Cain and Lisa seemed equally paralyzed.
Martin walked forward almost calmly, picked up the candlestick, turned back to the table, pale and resolute. “Come on. Let’s keep going.” He straightened the candle in the holder, fumbled out matches to light it Robin saw his hand was trembling.
Cain stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Martin’s face was feverish. “Don’t let her ruin it.” He seized Robin’s hand, tried to pull her back to the board.
Cain grabbed Martin’s wrist hard, stopping him. He pulled Robin free, stared Martin down. “I don’t know what you’re after, but we’re done.”
He slid an arm around Robin’s waist. Robin leaned into him, releasing herself into his protection. Cain’s arm tightened around her.
Martin stepped sharply back, stared at the two of them, jolted, a look oddly like betrayal.
Cain took Robin’s hand and led her toward the door. Anywhere, she thought. Anywhere but here. She reached out for Lisa, touched her arm, and Lisa moved obediently with them.
Just before the door closed, Robin caught a glimpse of Martin standing alone under the rafters.
The candles flickered beside the board on the table behind him.