“Mac.”
I was underwater. Someone called my name from outside the pool, but I didn’t want to come up yet. It was so peaceful sitting on the bottom like this. How dare they interrupt this moment?
My mother’s silhouette shimmered through the water. She was at the edge of the pool, watching me, making sure I was okay. I felt so safe with her standing there.
Something wet and rough scratched at my forehead. What was it? The pool was empty, except for me.
My eyes fluttered open, and all I saw was fur. I smelled a floral perfume mixed with a less pleasing scent: cat breath. Striker was licking my forehead, cleaning me with such vigor that it felt as if my skin was being scraped off.
“Mac!” Graham’s pale, worried face appeared behind Striker. He helped me sit up a little bit and stuffed a pillow behind my back.
Striker settled onto my lap, having apparently decided my face was clean enough.
I was in a narrow, high-ceilinged living room with gray walls, lying on a floral-printed couch I didn’t recognize. Graham was perched beside me, on the edge of the cushion. All around me, tall vases and statues took up most of the floor space. “Where am I?”
“You’re in my apartment,” Graham said. “You passed out in the hallway in front of Kit’s door. You don’t have a fever. Do you faint often?”
Do I faint often? It was a good question. Before I’d come to Donn’s Hill, the answer would be a resounding “never.” But since coming here, I’d fainted twice in one week. I pressed my wrist against my forehead, trying to confirm my temperature. Kit’s door. Why was I…?
The memories of the flying books came flooding back into my mind, and I gasped. “Kit! I need to see Kit. There’s something in my apartment. I don’t know what to do!” The words flew out of my mouth at auctioneer speed.
“Something’s in your apartment? What is it?” Graham’s eyebrows knitted together behind the thick black rims of his eyeglasses.
“I don’t know. I think it’s a…” A thought struck me. “You asshole,” I spat.
“Me? What?”
I struggled to sit up straighter. What a jerk! He was probably just eager to rent the place before anybody figured out it was crawling with ghosts. “Why didn’t you tell me my apartment is haunted? Isn’t that something you should have disclosed in the lease agreement or something?”
“Haunted!” His face registered shock. “Mac, don’t be ridiculous. This house isn’t haunted.”
My head was pounding, and images paraded through my mind. I remembered Kit saying she checked the building out before moving in. I thought about the sopping footprints in my motel room, the drowned-looking man in my nightmare, and the wet spot on my floor as I fled my apartment just moments ago. Could they all be connected? Poltergeists don’t haunt places—they haunt people, my brain sang, always helpful in a crisis.
Fantastic.
“Can you please call Kit?” I asked Graham. My cell phone was sitting upstairs in my apartment, right on the window seat, and I had no desire to go back up there yet. “I need her help.”
Graham let me borrow his phone, and I was able to reach Kit. Unfortunately, she couldn’t help me very much from where she was.
“I’m in L.A., remember?” she said.
As soon as she said it, I remembered that I’d already known she was out of town. In my panic, my brain had dumped that information. She and her dad had gone to Los Angeles to talk to ScreamTV about their show’s contract.
“When are you coming back?” I asked.
“Saturday.”
I sagged into Graham’s couch. It was only Wednesday. I couldn’t wait that long to go back to my apartment.
After I told Kit what happened, she said, “Ooh, I wish we were there!” Her excitement surprised me. “It would make for such a great episode. We haven’t had a poltergeist since season two.”
“Your client was MaryBeth, right? Were you able to help her?”
“Yeah, we had to bring in a specialist. It was Gabrielle, actually.”
“I already have a ghost, Kit. I don’t need her help to summon one.”
“No, she can help you get rid of it. She banished the one that was following MaryBeth around. That was a couple of years ago, and we haven’t heard anything from MaryBeth about it coming back.”
It didn’t make sense to me. Gabrielle was a medium, so shouldn’t her specialty be bringing spirits into our world, not getting rid of them?
I should’ve read that damn psychic book. Or called her three days ago.
“Okay, I’ll call her. I have her number…” I remembered that her business card, like my cell phone, was in my apartment. I’d tucked it inside my purse, which was now guarded by a book-wielding poltergeist. “Actually, do you have it?”
Kit gave me Gabrielle’s phone number then made me promise to tell her how it all went. “Don’t leave out a single detail!” she ordered.
I dialed Gabrielle’s number and bit my lip as I waited for her to answer. When she finally picked up, I skipped all pleasantries.
“I need your help.”
“What’s going on?”
“There’s some kind of presence in my apartment.”
She asked me to describe exactly what had happened. I told her about the books flying around my apartment, and about how the entity seemed to have followed me from the motel.
“I think it’s a poltergeist,” I concluded.
Gabrielle muttered something in Spanish that I couldn’t understand, then said, “I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.”
“So what do I do?”
“Don’t worry. It’s possible to banish an unfriendly spirit, and the process is a simple one.”
“Do I need to find a priest, or a vat of holy water or something?”
Across from me, Graham lifted an eyebrow. I turned away from him, wishing I’d stepped out into the hallway before making this insane phone call.
“You watch too many horror movies. Just meet me at my greenhouse in ten minutes.”
“You have a greenhouse?”
“In my backyard. See you soon.”
She hung up, and I turned around to hand Graham back his phone.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve got to get over to Nine Lives.”
“Well, you’re not walking over there. Not after fainting. Come on, I’ll drive you.” He grabbed his keys out of a little glazed bowl by the door.
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t want Graham witnessing it.
On the other hand, whatever Gabrielle was about to help me do, it would almost certainly require going back into my apartment. I didn’t hate the idea of going back in there with an extra person as backup.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Whatever is in my apartment… it’s not safe.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go with you no matter what, but seriously, Mac, whatever happened up there to scare you wasn’t a poltergeist.”
“What’s with you? Do you not believe they exist?” I asked.
“I never said I don’t believe in ghosts. You can’t grow up in this town and not believe in ghosts. There’s just no way you’ve got one roaming around your apartment. Trust me.”
“I guess we’ll see,” I said.
Graham drove me to Gabrielle’s shop in his beat-up, banana yellow Geo Metro. Together we walked into her backyard where she kept a small greenhouse. The building had a stone base from which metal eaves curved up gracefully, giving the impression of a flower petal. Through the clouded glass, I saw plants and trees stretching toward the light. I felt a sudden urge to take up gardening, despite never being able to keep even bamboo alive on my desk at work.
Gabrielle was waiting for us inside, surrounded by tall potted trees and long tables covered in leafy herbs. It smelled wonderful, like a walk-in diffuser filled with calming essential oils. The fear I’d felt in my apartment melted away, chased off by the scents of rosemary and chamomile. I wanted to stay in here forever, and never have to face whatever was waiting for me back home.
Near the door, several bundles of some kind of herb were drying on a low shelf. They looked almost like cigars—if cigars were green, wrapped in red string, and had tufty bits of leaves poking out of them. Gabrielle was lifting them up one by one, rolling them between her fingers and sniffing their ends.
“What are they?” Graham asked.
“Sage sticks,” Gabrielle said. “They’re aptly named. Smell.”
She held one of the bundles out between us. I stepped forward and sniffed it.
“Smells like sage, lavender… and something else.”
Graham leaned in and took a whiff. “Cedar, I think. It smells like the old chest my grandmother used to keep her sheets in.”
“Very good,” Gabrielle said, nodding. “These bundles are used in a process called ‘smoke cleansing.’ It’s been used since ancient times for the purpose of ridding a dwelling of negative energy or unwanted spirits.”
Unwanted spirits. I remembered what Yuri had said, about how they probably seldom encountered a friendly spirit because the homeowners weren’t interested in getting rid of it. Thinking of Yuri made me feel guilty for not telling Gabrielle about my new gig with the Soul Searchers, like I’d kept something important from my own mother.
“Hey, I meant to tell you something. I was working with the Soul Searchers last weekend—”
“Yuri told me. I’ve been waiting to call. I’m sure he’s given you plenty of homework.”
My shoulders relaxed, and I smiled. “You know him pretty well, I guess.”
“We’re old friends. I’m very happy you’ll be working with them. I think it will be good for all of you. Now here, take this.” She handed me a sage bundle.
I pocketed it and looked around for Striker, who I found attacking a small pot of mint on a shelf at the back of the greenhouse. She opened her mouth wide to chomp on a long sprig then broke it off and swallowed it. It must have tasted good because she purred loudly and rolled around on the rough wooden plank, nearly knocking a few pots off the shelf in her ecstasy. I pulled her down and cradled her in my arms.
Graham shook his head. “Typical cat,” he said.
I looked down at Striker, who stared up at me with blissfully crossed eyes. Those aren’t the words I’d use to describe her.
“Is this your familiar?” Gabrielle asked.
“My what?”
“Your familiar.”
I immediately thought of cartoon witches riding around on broomsticks with black cats at their sides. “That’s a real thing?”
She nodded. “Did you know that many of the women who were put to death for practicing ‘witchcraft’ were actually psychics? Their powers didn’t come from devil worship as so many people around them feared. They were just misunderstood cases of clairvoyants, mediums, and the rare telekinetic.”
I stared at her. “So if this was a few hundred years ago, people like you would get burned at the stake?”
“People like you, as well. Most of the superstitions about witches are based on pure nonsense, but there are some things that are still true about psychics and mediums today. Whether we call them ‘familiars’ or ‘pets,’ all of us tend to have at least one animal companion.”
Striker wound between Gabrielle’s legs, and the older woman picked up the cat. They stared into each other’s eyes for a few silent seconds.
“Yes,” Gabrielle said. “This is a very special cat. She’ll lend you strength today, and you’ll likely need it.”
I hated to leave the soothing scents of the greenhouse, but Gabrielle shooed us outside. The four of us headed back to my apartment. When we got there, I stood back and allowed Graham to open the door.
We found the room in the same state of disarray in which I’d left it. Paperbacks were scattered across the floor near the turret and a small puddle of water shimmered in the middle of the room. Striker trailed into the apartment with her shoulders hunched and her belly low to the ground. When she sniffed at the books, her tail puffed out to twice its normal size.
Graham glanced up at the ceiling. “Doesn’t look like there’s been a leak,” he observed. “Shoot, I still need to get up there and see where those clanging sounds you told me about are coming from.”
I shivered. With each passing moment, I became more certain that all the strange events that had happened since I’d come to town were connected. Every time I’d been frightened, water had been present: the wet footprints, the water on my bathroom floor, and now this puddle in the middle of my apartment. I was sure that the same person—or entity or whatever—had caused each of those incidents. Somehow the man in the bathroom mirror had followed me here from my motel room, and he was becoming aggressive. He was dangerous. If he could knock books around, what else could he do? Start a fire? Slam the wardrobe on top of me while I slept?
I pulled myself to my full height. The time for worry and wonder had passed. It was time for action.
“What do we do?” I asked Gabrielle.
“I’ll instruct you, but you will be performing the actual cleansing. This is a valuable skill to have. We begin by opening all the windows.”
I cranked open the tall, narrow windows in the turret as wide as they would go. Graham propped open the little stained-glass window in the bathroom, and Gabrielle slid up the wide sash window above my bed. A breeze blew through the room, bringing in the smell of the woods and the faintest hint of rain.
Gabrielle organized our supplies on the kitchen counter: the sage bundle, a cereal bowl, matches, and a candle. “Place the sage in the bowl and then light it.”
I did as she asked, setting the little green bundle into the bowl. I struck a match and tried to light one end, but the sage rebuffed the flame, refusing to catch.
“It may be stubborn to light,” she said. “Use the candle.”
I moved the match to the candle, and the wick caught fire. I then held the end of the bundle over the open flame, and it lit within a few moments. The aromas of lavender and sage wafted up to me.
“For the next step, you’ll need to walk around the apartment, waving the bundle so the smoke can spread throughout each area. But don’t wave it around too forcefully,” she warned. “If you do, you’ll end up with bits of flaming sage and ash all over your floor. Make small, slow circles, and keep your bowl under the bundle to catch any embers that break off.”
“That doesn’t sound too hard.”
“Well, the physical part isn’t. Directing your mind and your will during the process is. To succeed, you must relax and keep your mind free of distractions. Keep a firm control on your emotions. Don’t allow fear to flood your body with adrenaline.”
It was a tall order, considering my skeleton wanted to jump out of my skin and run back to the safety of Gabrielle’s greenhouse. I forced myself to walk slowly around the apartment, trying to keep my wave even and regal. I kept seeing the man’s face from the bathroom mirror in my head, but I countered it by imagining my brain as a whiteboard, where a giant eraser could sweep through and wipe the image away.
Graham perched on the counter, watching me work. His long legs swung back and forth in a slow rhythm as I made my way around the room. Striker sat next to him, her tail gently flapping the counter in time with Graham’s legs. She sat straight and tall, never taking her eyes off me.
“You’re doing well,” said Gabrielle. “Keep going. Focus your will.”
On my second pass around the apartment, I pictured the smoke clinging to any bit of negative energy and carrying it out the open windows, floating away from the house and dissipating into the atmosphere.
This is silly. My resolve wavered. Would this even work? It seemed like a spell, and I’d never believed in magic.
Striker caught my eye from her place on the counter. She began to purr loudly. It was a comforting sound, and I suddenly remembered that I’d never really believed in ghosts before, either, yet here we were. I shoved my doubts to the side and continued with the ritual.
I silently commanded the entity to follow the smoke outside and to never come back. His face kept trying to invade my thoughts, but I pushed hard against him. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes for a moment, pouring my will into the image of my apartment being cleared of everything that was unwelcome.
Halfway through my third pass around the room, the space suddenly felt better. The air was hazy, and the scent of the herbs was very strong, but it seemed easier to breathe than it had before. I turned to look at the others. Graham’s thick eyebrows were raised in surprise, and Gabrielle was smiling.
“Do you feel that?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Graham said. “It’s weird. Everything is less… heavy.”
“Congratulations.” Gabrielle stepped forward, taking the sage bundle from me and stubbing out its smoldering end against the bottom of the bowl. “I believe we were successful.”
“Thank you so much.” I pulled her into a tight hug, which she returned with her free arm. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she said. “You have a wonderful gift. If you’re willing, I’ll help you develop it as much as I can.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good.” She gave me a final squeeze and walked off to pack up her supplies.
Striker jumped down from the counter and stretched. She walked around the apartment, rubbing the side of her face on edges and corners, remarking her territory.
“That was really something,” Graham said, slipping forward off the counter to stand next to me. “You’ve never done that before?”
I shook my head and blew out the candle. “Nope. I’m not even sure I did it right, but it feels better in here now. Like the space belongs to me again.”
“Well, you looked totally legitimate. I swear I felt—I don’t know how to describe it—like pulses of energy coming from you.” He lowered his voice, glancing at Gabrielle. “I honestly thought you were just imagining things earlier, but something definitely happened here.”
“I wish I’d imagined it all. That’d be a lot easier to wrap my head around.”
He smiled at me. “Are you going to be okay?”
I smiled back. “I think so. I feel a lot better. I think it’s over.”
And I really believed that was true.