I’d asked Declan once before to try contacting Franklin directly, as I’d hoped he could channel the dead detective like he’d channeled his uncle Connell. The request had angered him then, and I’d let the matter drop. So I knew his offer to attempt to reach Franklin now wasn’t made lightly. It made me love him all the more.
“So, um, how do I do this?” Declan asked. I sat on the purple fainting couch while he paced in front of me, a bundle of nerves. Now he paused and blinked down at me expectantly.
Like I know how to contact the dead. Well, there is Nonna. But she always contacts me, not the other way around. My gardenia-wearing grandmother had made her presence known to me a few times, which was always comforting. But, heck on a biscuit, why did the dead have to be so darn cryptic all the time? Did dying make you a tease, or just a terrible communicator?
“What was it like last time Connell came to you?” I asked. “No, wait. Not the last time. The first time. During the séance.”
One side of his mouth quirked up in an expression of chagrin. “I don’t remember, really. It just happened. One second I’m sitting there, wondering whether the medium was some kind of fake, looking for hidden wires and floating tabletops, and the next I’m somewhere on the sidelines in my own mind, watching a stranger make my body move and talking with my mouth.” He licked his lips. “It felt like I was going crazy.”
“Oh, Deck. Are you sure you want to try this?”
He squared his shoulders. “If it’ll help you. It’s the least I can do.”
“You do a lot,” I said quietly.
He waved that off and started pacing again. “You know what I mean. It’s the only thing I can do that’s like magic. If I can pull it off, that is.”
I stood and grabbed his hand to make him stop moving long enough for me to give him a sincere kiss. “I just had a thought. Let me check something.”
Quickly, I climbed to the loft and went to the bookshelf above the secretary’s desk that housed my altar. There it was: Herbal Practices Throughout the Ages. The book I’d found in the Honeybee library.
“What are you doing up there?” Declan asked.
“Looking for some help on how to get started.” Flipping on a wall sconce, I leafed through the pages until I found the section on using herbs to increase psychic awareness. This wasn’t a spellbook, so I didn’t expect any actual incantations, but, lo and behold, there was a list of suggestions for sending a message to the dead.
And if you could send one, I was pretty sure you could receive one.
I clambered back down to where Declan waited, his toe tapping on the bottom step. He grabbed me as I descended and swung me to the floor beside him. I held up the book.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a start. Now gather up those three tapers left over from dinner the other night and bring them outside. We’ll set up in the gazebo. I already work out there, and the energy will have a higher vibration for what we’re trying to do. I’ll meet you out there. Mungo, you’re with me.”
Declan looked after me with a bewildered expression but went into the kitchen to retrieve the half-burnt candles. I grabbed a pair of scissors and opened the French doors.
Cooling air molded around my limbs as I marched down to the herb garden. There, in the faint light from the kitchen window, I cut sprigs of lavender and parsley and braided the stems together loosely. I climbed the steps into the gazebo and set the bundle of herbs on the small circular table that sat in the middle of the purple-and-white five-pointed star painted on the floor. Mungo trundled after me as I returned to the rear of the yard, where a small stream cut kattywampus across the corner by the fence. I’d not known I was a witch when I bought the carriage house, but it turned out that having my own source of natural, moving water had been a boon for the spells I worked at home.
Tall plumes of red amaranth were silhouetted against the fence in the sparse light. I cut a single plume and brought it back to the gazebo with Mungo trotting by my left foot the whole way. His dark gaze glinted up at me, and I knew he was ready to help however he could.
Declan waited for me inside the small gazebo. A slight breeze blew through, bringing the temperature down a few more degrees before dropping away.
“Shall I light the candles?” His voice shook.
“You sure you want to do this?” I asked again.
He nodded. “Yes.” The word was terse. I had to stop second-guessing him. This was hard enough for him already.
“Okay. Go ahead and light the candles.” I placed the amaranth over the bundle of lavender and parsley. “Put them equidistant around these herbs.”
He peered at the small pile of plant matter. “Is that lavender and . . . parsley? Seriously?”
I tamped down a sigh. “All plants have magical energies. Among their other uses, these increase psychic awareness. The number three seems to be important, too.” Four elements, four directions, four archangels for spells, but three candles and three herbs to contact the dead. It made me think of the Rule of Three the spellbook club lived by.
I shook my head. Concentrate, Katie.
“Okay, we have three candles and three energetic herbs, and we should have three people in order to have a real séance.”
His shoulders slumped. “Well, so much for that.” But he seemed a little relieved.
“Mungo?” I asked.
The little dog jumped up to one of the mismatched chairs that sat around the table.
Yip!
I grinned at Declan.
“You’re kidding,” he said.
“Nope. He’s adorable and a real snuggle bunny, but at heart he’s a wolf. Believe me—he’s ready to help.” I patted my familiar on the head. “Besides, it’s not like we really have a choice.”
Mungo whined.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Oh, brother,” Declan said, but didn’t protest when I pulled away all but three chairs from the table. We both sat down.
“Okay, now hold hands.” I glanced down at Mungo, who was standing on the chair on his hind legs, front paws on the table. “Or, you know . . .”
Declan rolled his eyes. I took his hand firmly in mine and curled my fingers around Mungo’s tiny paw. He blinked up at me, almost seeming to nod. With obvious reluctance, my boyfriend mirrored my actions. However ridiculous he felt, at least his nervousness appeared to have abated.
“Now we have to chant.”
“Chant? God.”
“Remember at Ursula’s séance? How we chanted for the murder victim to come to us from beyond?”
“Hrm. Yeah. Okay.”
“How about something like, ‘We call upon the spirit of Franklin Taite to move among us. We beckon you with the light of this world, and ask you to grace us with your presence.’”
We practiced a few times, until Declan had memorized my off-the-cuff summons to Franklin Taite.
“I think we’re set,” I said, watching him carefully. “If you want to stop, we can at any point. Just break contact.”
His nervousness had returned, but he murmured, “Okay,” and closed his eyes.
I exchanged a look with Mungo before following suit. Quickly, I ran through the most burning questions I had for Franklin.
Has Dawn been cursed?
How can I help her?
Where is the gris gris, and what do I need to do with it?
I also wanted to know why Franklin had been killed and by whom, not to mention getting more information about being a lightwitch. But first things first. Dawn was still alive, and therefore my priority.
As Declan cleared his throat to start chanting, I decided I’d just have to play it by ear.
“We call upon the spirit of Franklin Taite to move among us,” I murmured, and Declan joined in, also keeping his voice low. “We beckon you with the light of this world, and ask you to grace us with your presence.”
As we repeated the call to Franklin’s spirit, I reached out mentally and immediately sensed the regal canine presence that was Mungo. Then there was the something that Declan projected, unlike the power current I usually associated with magic. It was subtle and mysterious, and I found it downright sexy in the split second it took to recognize it. Then I moved on, reaching out with my intuition and intention to welcome Franklin Taite’s spirit.
Something stirred in my consciousness. Was that Franklin? I felt my blood zinging through my veins, my heartbeat concentrating in my temples. Mungo stirred beside me, and I cracked an eye to take a look. His eyes were wide open and trained on Declan.
My boyfriend’s eyes were clamped shut in concentration as he muttered the chant, now under his breath. The cords in his neck stood out, and everything about his body language screamed determination in the face of fear: shoulders hunched forward, brow furrowed, teeth clenched.
Relax. Allow. But I didn’t want to say anything out loud, break his concentration.
Whatever had fluttered at the edge of my senses veered away. I couldn’t say why, but I didn’t think it had been Franklin. It could have been anyone—anything, really—once Declan had opened to the other side. The thought speared alarm through my solar plexus.
What have I asked Declan to do?
I let go of his hand.
His eyes flew open, bleary and unfocused. For a second he didn’t seem to be home in his own body. But then he blinked and looked at me with clear, if confused, eyes.
“What did you do that for?” he asked.
“Did you feel him? Did I ruin it?” I leaned forward as Mungo slid his paws away from us and dropped down to sit on his chair with a look of mild disgust at our human antics.
But Declan shook his head. “I don’t think so. I tried to concentrate as much as I could.”
“I know, honey. Thank you for—”
“Hellooo!” Margie’s voice came floating over the fence. “That you, Katie?”
Instinctively, I blew out the candles, but we weren’t doing anything that would look suspicious. Well, maybe the bunch of herbs on the table were odd, but she probably wouldn’t even have noticed that.
“Of course it’s me,” I said. “Who else did you expect would be hanging out in my gazebo?”
She laughed, and her face appeared above the four-foot fence that separated our backyards. “I thought you might want to come over for a drink. The kiddos are in bed and . . . Oh, is that Declan?” I could tell she was trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “I’m so sorry. You two are having a nice, intimate evening, and I come barreling over to interrupt. Please forgive me!”
“We’re just sitting out here,” I said, directing an apologetic look at Declan, who still looked a little shaken despite our evident failure in summoning Franklin’s spirit. “You’re welcome to join us.”
“Well, thank you kindly, really. That is just so sweet. But I don’t want to be a third thumb, and, besides, I don’t want to be that far from the kids, especially Bart. You know?”
“Of course,” I said. “Maybe I could come by tomorrow night? Or the next? Deck here is going on his forty-eight-hour shift tomorrow morning, and I’ll be at loose ends for a couple evenings after work.”
“Oh!” Her tone turned upbeat again. “Well, I don’t want you to get lonely. How about in two days? I have a church thing after camp tomorrow.”
“It’s a date,” I said.
“All righty, then. I’ll just leave you two alone. There’s an Everybody Loves Raymond marathon I wanted to catch tonight, anyway.”
“Good night, Margie,” Declan called.
“G’night,” she responded, already halfway back to her house. “See you soon, Katie.”
“See you,” I said with a wave.
“She’s lonely, isn’t she?” Declan said.
“When Redding is gone,” I said.
“I’m glad I don’t have to leave you to your own devices for that long,” he said. Then he took my hand in his own again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t contact Franklin. I tried, but there was just nothing. Nada. Zilch.”
Not quite, I thought as I squeezed his fingers. “No worries. It was a long shot, anyway. It was very sweet of you to try.” I could feel the disappointment coming off him in the dark. He felt like he’d let me down. “Really,” I said. “And it’s okay with me if you never think about trying to contact anyone who has crossed the veil again. Connell was a fluke. Let’s just leave it at that.”
He made a sound of agreement.
I suddenly yawned so wide, I thought I’d crack my jaw. Quickly covering my mouth with my hand, I let the weariness of a day that felt chock-full of failure wash over me. “Time for bed,” I said.
“Really?” Declan asked with surprise. Because I required so little sleep, I rarely went to bed before he did and was always up well before dawn.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m exhausted. Long day at work, not to mention trying to track down a voodoo queen. I’m about to fall asleep.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be in a little later, if you don’t mind.”
“You okay?” I asked as I rose to my feet. Mungo jumped to the floor with a little thump.
“Sure. I just . . . want to think a few things through, is all,” he said.
I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “All right. I’ll be inside if you need me.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t give me a squeeze or kiss me back, either. But, hey, we all need our space sometimes, and no doubt he really did have some introspection to wade through.
Inside, I shed my workaday clothes, which I felt like I’d been wearing for days, took a quick shower, and donned my version of pajamas: yoga shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank. In the dark kitchen, I drew a glass of water from the tap and looked out at the gazebo. Declan was sitting in the same chair, thinking goddess knew what.
Perhaps he’d tell me in the morning, before he went into the firehouse and I left for the Honeybee. In the meantime, I was going to get some shut-eye.
* * *
Yip!
Mungo’s bark brought me wide awake, heart pounding, hand reaching for Declan beside me in bed.
He wasn’t there.
Mungo barked again, bouncing on the bed and facing the doorway to the hallway on quivering legs.
A tall figure was outlined in the dark rectangular space.
“Deck?” I asked in a small voice, already feeling foolish. Who else would it be? But what the heck was wrong with Mungo?
But when he didn’t answer, I started to get scared. I reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on.
“Declan! Are you trying to scare the living daylights out of me?” I slumped back against the headboard, blinking in the bright light. “Mungo, hush.”
My familiar turned and glared at me. He bounded up on my stomach.
“Ooph. What is wrong with you?”
He got right in my face. Yip!
I jerked back, scared all over again, and looked up at Deck. “What the . . .” The words died on my tongue. The man looking down at me was my boyfriend.
Only, not.
“Deck . . . ?”
A knowing smile broke out on his handsome face, and one eyebrow rose suggestively as his eyes ran up and down my prone and barely clad form. “Aye,” he said.
Even a single word was enough to alert me to what had happened. I grabbed the sheet and covered myself. “Connell, you stop that!”
Mild disappointment mixed with amusement across the clean-cut features of the man I loved. “Ah, lassie. Don’t yer know how long ’tis been since I’ve seen anythin’ so grand?” The heavy Irish brogue made his words seem playful, but I wasn’t so sure.
“What are you going to do?” I asked in a small voice.
“Do? Och, Katie darlin’. ’Ave I managed ter frighten you again, and in so wee time? I’m only lookin’. Wouldn’t ’urt yer for the world.” He sighed, examining the sheet draped around me as if he could see right through it. “Oh, but it’s not a sin to look, now, is it? Most lassies would be flattered by the attention.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I have quite enough attention, thank you very much. And from the man who you’ve displaced from his own body.”
He actually looked a little sheepish.
Throwing off the sheet, I reached for my robe and cinched it tightly around my waist. Connell watched with appreciative eyes the whole time, but I ignored him. I’d be damned if I was going to cower, half-naked, in bed while some dead jerk possessed my boyfriend.
I turned to him and put my fists on my hips. “Now, why are you here?
He considered me, then moved across the room. I ducked out of his reach, still not trusting his motives. He lifted the curtain, and looked out onto the street. “Things ’ave changed so since me day.” Looking back at where I now hovered by the doorway, ready to run out and go to Margie’s if I needed to, he added, “I do see the world from where I am, t’be sure. Watchin’ and guardin’ yer man here. Trust himself ter choose work that can git a man killed. Admirable, t’be sure. Foolish, as well.”
“Why are you here?” I asked again. “And what do you mean ‘from where I am’? Where are you when you’re not”—I waved my hand—“inhabiting your family member’s body? And do you know how hard it is on Deck when you show up like this? How utterly awful it feels for him?”
He smiled a sad smile and folded his arms over his chest. “In answer to yer last query, I wasn’t tinkin’ o’ that, I must admit. ’Tis only that—” He waved his hand. “You don’t know how lucky yer are ter be corporeal.” He looked so sad when he said it, but then Declan’s face lit up with another of Connell’s oversized grins. “An’ in answer to your first question, ’twas yer who opened ’is psyche up ter me. A wide-open invitation, if yer will. Candles an’ parsley and the like. Now tell me, how could I refuse ter come for a nice visit?”
“So when Declan tried to get in touch with Franklin Taite to help me, he opened himself to the other side, and you stepped through.”
He made a face. “Not exacly ter the other side, as yer put it. Only ter the place I inhabit.”
Which brought me to my second question: “Are you saying you’re not dead?”
“Hmm. Not so much. But not alive, either, Miss Katie.”
He smiled at the confusion that must have been on my face. “’Tis a purgatory of sorts. An in-between place. Me kind don’ exactly die.”