He looked as calculatedly pompous in person as he had online. His thickly lined eyes swept the party from behind his ridiculous glasses, his face expressionless. His thin arms crossed tightly in front of his deep V-neck tee, through which I could see writing tattooed across his chest.
Everyone watched the guest of honor in silence except for the musicians, and I half expected a footman to materialize from beside Raziel to announce His Royal Highness to all the peasants. Instead, a young woman with deep brown skin and a shaved head pushed him gently from behind. His movement broke the hush, and the babble around us started up again. Raziel moved down the steps toward the bar, waving to Yuri and Penelope as the bald woman smiled at the crowd.
I turned back to Kit, expecting to find her glaring at Raziel, but her gaze was fixed on the woman he’d been with.
“Shit,” she muttered. “Shit, shit.”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She finally looked at me, her brown eyes wide with panic. “I’m not ready for this.”
Without another word, she bolted toward the street. I moved to follow her, but Graham grabbed my arm.
“Stay,” he said. “I’ll get her home and come back.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a break from all this. And you should stay here and try to network or whatever.” He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head forward, indicating something behind me. “Start by talking to her.”
I turned around to find Raziel’s companion making a beeline for our table through the crowd with a cocktail glass in her hand. Stephen gasped audibly, and I kicked him under the table.
“You’re Mackenzie Clair, right?” she asked when she reached us. Her voice was strongly accented.
“I am.”
“I’m Amari Botha, Raziel Santos’ manager.”
“Oh.” I shook her hand, then laughed. “This is kind of awkward… I’ve never introduced myself to someone who already knows my name before.”
“Get used to it.” She grinned, revealing dimples in both cheeks. “Your show is very popular and growing every week. You’ll be a household name before you know it.”
In an effort to hide my discomfort, I sipped my champagne. In Donn’s Hill, psychic gifts were so normal that even the local sheriff’s department didn’t bat an eye when the only “evidence” I had to back up my tips were based on a conversation I’d claimed to have with the murder victim.
But I hadn’t been living in Donn’s Hill long enough to forget what the rest of the world thought of psychics and mediums. Most of what the average person knew came from campy horror movies. Based on the video comments Kit kept telling me not to read, half our viewers only watched our show because they were hoping we’d do something that proved we’d been faking things all along. Very few people were true believers, and they usually kept it to themselves. Publicly believing in religion was one thing. Believing in ghosts? That was something else entirely. Best-case scenario in which I’d become a household name: I’d be a very famous freak.
“This is Stephen Hastain.” I gestured to my tablemate, who was currently making a big show of rubbing his shin beside me.
“Pleasure to meet you. And… did I see Kit over here a moment ago?” Amari asked.
“Yeah…” I eyed Amari, trying to read her expression. It definitely didn’t match the panic on Kit’s face. If anything, she was too relaxed. Too casual. “She wasn’t feeling well. She went home.”
“Oh.” Disappointment flashed across Amari’s eyes. She cleared her throat, and I waited for her to continue.
She didn’t.
“Do you know Kit?” I asked.
Amari flashed her dimples again. “We met in L.A. last spring. We promised to keep in touch, but I’ve done a bad job of it.”
I stared at her. Kit had been in Los Angeles earlier that year; that much was true. She and Yuri had gone to meet with the executives at ScreamTV about the contract for Soul Searchers, successfully negotiating an additional season with the network. That was all she’d talked about when they got back. Well, that, and how angry she was that she’d missed getting to see me banish a poltergeist for the first time.
I racked my brain for any memory of her talking about someone named Amari. She had never mentioned her, and given the way she’d nearly vomited all over the cocktail table the second Amari walked into the room, it was odd that Kit had never uttered her name to me before.
Odd… and irresistibly intriguing. I wrestled a grin off my face as I forced myself to stop imagining the grief I was going to give Kit about it later. Once she felt better, of course.
“Well,” I said, “welcome to Donn’s Hill. Have you been here before?”
Amari shook her head. “It’s been on my list of places to visit for a very long time. I was thrilled to receive the invitation from Mrs. Bishop.”
I glanced at Penelope; she and Yuri were having an animated conversation with Raziel. She waved her arms at the buildings around us, no doubt explaining how much work they’d put into restoring them.
“And what are you, Australian or something?” Stephen asked. “Your accent’s pretty thick.”
Amari didn’t miss a beat. “You should talk, Irish boy.”
I hid a smile behind my champagne glass, enjoying the banter. But Stephen’s eyes narrowed; he didn’t seem to catch the playful tone in Amari’s voice.
“That’s no answer,” he said.
Amari looked taken aback. After a moment, she said, “Johannesburg.”
“Oh,” Stephen said.
We all sipped our drinks in awkward silence. Amari stared at her martini. I stared at the cobblestones beneath our feet. Stephen stared at Amari.
After a minute, she swirled the vodka in her glass and smiled at me. “Well, it’s been a pleasure talking to you. I need to check on a few things with Raziel. Please tell Kit I said hello.”
“I will.” I gave her a farewell wave, then whipped my head around to fire a few eye-daggers at Stephen. “What the hell was that?”
“What?” His eyes were wide and innocent, like he honestly didn’t know he’d been acting like a total weirdo the last few minutes.
“The gasp? The staring? Asking about her accent in the rudest way possible? Were you trying to make her uncomfortable, or are you that good by accident?”
He laughed. “Didn’t you get the memo? Raziel Santos is a class-A arsehole. I don’t care if Penelope thinks he’s the key to year-round tourism. He’s the enemy.”
I raised an eyebrow, and Stephen rolled his eyes.
“Come on, don’t tell me you’re okay with him being here. He hates people like us. Look at his website—he calls us criminals.”
“Yeah, I saw it.” I nodded toward Amari, who was chatting with another group of people across the room. “But why be rude to her? She’s just his manager.”
Stephen laughed again. It was a bitter, harsh sound. “She’s his biggest disciple. Did you know she gave up a cushy job in Silicon Valley to follow him around like a puppy? She’s some kind of marketing genius. The only reason that gombeen has a following at all is because of her.”
“‘Gombeen?’” I repeated.
“Eh, huckster, I suppose. You know, snake oil salesman.” He bolted down the rest of his champagne, burped, and reached for another flute from a passing waiter. “Anyway, he’s the devil, and she’s the devil’s publicist.”
A heaviness was building inside my stomach. I didn’t like the pattern emerging around me: too much champagne combined with too much negativity. I patted Stephen on the arm then made my way back to the best part of the party.
Two huge buffet tables were laden with food, and I headed straight for the trays of pastries, cookies, and other bite-size sugar bombs. I scanned the offerings for any sign of Penelope’s famous lemon bars, then saw a small sign reminding me the pub had provided the catering. I settled for a plate of brownies and several light, fluffy cream puffs, my logic being that they’d combat the anxious weight at the bottom of my belly.
Across the table, Daphne and Nick piled food onto their plates. Daphne shot me a sheepish grin and nodded toward my stack of cream puffs.
“Careful,” she said. “Those things are dangerous.”
I returned the smile. “I think I can handle them. Not to brag, but I’m a snacking expert.”
“You and my husband both,” she said.
Nick elbowed her. “Which one of us put away more shrimp kabobs on the 4th of July, huh?”
The two of them laughed, which accentuated the similarity in their features. I suddenly understood why Stephen had called them twins; they kept mirroring each other’s facial expressions and punctuating jokes with the same playful tones. I wondered if they’d had those things in common to start and that’s where the attraction had begun, or if they’d picked up each other’s habits unconsciously over time. Would that happen to Graham and me? I counted myself lucky that we didn’t already look alike.
“Were you at the grand opening?” Daphne asked me.
I shook my head. “We had to film an episode that weekend.”
“Shame,” said Nick. “It was a rager.”
“If it was anything like this, I believe you,” I said.
“This is better, though. All the shops were open that night, so I hardly got to enjoy the party.” Daphne popped a cream puff in her mouth and smiled happily.
“Aren’t you losing money?” I gazed around at the sea of people crammed into the little neighborhood. It was a bigger crowd than I’d ever seen here, even during the brunch rush at the Ace of Cups. Penelope’s decision to close the shops struck me as strange.
Daphne shrugged. “Penelope only invited people who are part of the permanent community here. City council members, the Chamber of Commerce. You know, mucky-mucks. No tourists. Half the people here have never set foot into my shop and aren’t likely to in the future.”
Heat touched my cheeks as my eyes flicked toward Daphne’s shop. Gold ink on the window spelled “Visions” in flowing, vintage script. I’d never been inside or visited any other parlor in The Enclave. Whenever Graham and I came here, we made straight for the pub. The other buildings didn’t have any food, so I didn’t really see the appeal.
She noticed the chagrined expression on my face and laughed. “Don’t feel bad. Readings aren’t everyone’s cup of tea.”
“I’d like to try it sometime,” I said honestly.
“You’re welcome anytime. First reading’s on the house.”
“Thanks,” I said, following them away from the buffet and toward another tall cocktail table. “I’ve heard you’re great. Both of you. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to do the show this weekend.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Nick said.
“We’d do anything for Yuri,” Daphne added. “He’s the reason we moved here.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Nick nodded. “I met Yuri a few years ago at a paranormal expo in Vegas. I was finally starting to get some traction, but I was still unknown. He did me a solid and introduced me to some of his contacts. Really helped me get ahead.”
“Six months later, Nick’s career took off, and we used the first big check to move here,” Daphne said.
“Best decision you ever made,” said an unfamiliar voice from behind me.
The muscles in Nick’s face tightened, and I turned to follow his gaze. A short, skinny kid who barely looked old enough to drink the champagne in his hand stood uncomfortably close to me, and I quickly sidestepped to put some space between us. He stepped forward, filling the gap and crowding the table.
Daphne’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Mac, this is Kev—”
“Fang,” the newcomer interrupted. He saluted me with his champagne flute then turned to my tablemates. “I hate to steal you away from this lovely young woman,” he said, despite being at least five years my junior. “But I need your help. The old hag is complaining about The Enclave to the town council.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Neighborhood drama. Sorry, Mac. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
The adult person who’d decided he wanted to be known professionally as “Fang” pressed his palms together and bowed toward me before straightening up and scuttling after Nick and Daphne.
Left on my own, I people-watched for a while. The air had a good energy, and the music was just loud enough to give the party some energy without forcing you to shout to be heard by the other people at your own table. I returned to the buffet one more time, snagged more cream puffs, and nibbled my snacks until Graham found me.
“Kit get home okay?” I asked. Kit’s apartment was in Primrose House too, on the floor below mine. Having your landlord walk you home when you were drunk and angry was just one of the many unofficial perks included in the rent.
“Yeah, I got her settled on the couch.” Graham stole a cream puff, popped it in his mouth, and sighed. “I’m worried about her.”
“Me too.”
“Have you talked to Raziel yet?”
I shook my head. “But his manager came over wanting to talk to Kit.”
“Kit?”
“Yeah, there’s some history there.”
“Well, that explains why she bolted.” Graham nodded toward Amari, who’d joined Yuri and Penelope at Raziel’s side near the bar. “Do you think that’s the real reason Kit was angry they were coming? Because she didn’t want to see his manager?”
“Could be. But Stephen hates Raziel too. Maybe he’s just that awful.” I stuffed the last brownie into my mouth, finishing my thought around the gooey chocolate. “Let’s go find out.”
I grabbed Graham’s hand and dragged him through the crowd, stopping in the shadow of the huge statue of Donn that watched over the party from his position on the bar.
“Ah, here he is now,” said Penelope, tilting her champagne glass toward us. “This is my nephew, Graham Thomas. He’s one of our most popular local artisans and is responsible for this incredible tribute to our town’s namesake.”
My heart swelled, and I squeezed Graham’s hand. If you’d have told me on my first day in town that I’d want to hug Penelope Bishop, I’d have laughed you right out of the county. Donn’s Hill does strange things to people, I decided.
Graham’s hand tightened in mine. “Thank you, Penny.”
“Lovely work,” said Raziel. “I especially like your interpretation of the guardian of Hell that’s protecting the buffet.”
He lifted his chin toward the food where a three-headed puppy with large, circular eyes appeared to be begging for scraps. It was one of Graham’s latest pieces and the first that’d ever hinted at his weird sense of humor.
“So whimsical,” Raziel continued. “Well done.”
The stiffness melted out of Graham’s features. He relaxed into his familiar, slouching posture against the bar and smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
I hid a smile of my own behind my glass, grateful Kit wasn’t here to witness me having a pleasant conversation with a person she hated so much.
Up close, Raziel confirmed most of the impressions of him I’d gathered from my research the day before. He had the same air about him as Penelope, where you could immediately tell he had the money to spend on big-name designer brands. Unlike Penelope, though, his style was less Upper East Side and more upscale goth. Up close, I could make out the letters tattooed across his chest: Veritas Vincat. He ignored the trays of champagne, sipping instead from a silver flask engraved with a skull.
“And you must be Mackenzie Clair.” Raziel held out a hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
For the second time that night, I was meeting someone who already knew my name. A warm flush crept up my neck as I shook Raziel’s hand, and Amari winked at me from over his shoulder. I got the feeling she was silently laughing at my discomfort. For some reason, that made me feel better.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Welcome to Donn’s Hill. How do you like it so far?”
“It’s lovely. I’m staying in the attic suite at the Oracle Inn, and it’s full of delightful surprises.” Raziel took a swig from his flask and leaned back against the counter, mirroring Graham’s relaxed posture, and abruptly changed the subject. “So. I heard you’re exorcising the infamous Franklin Cabin ghost this weekend.”
“Oh…” I was about to ask how he knew about that, since we hadn’t been publicizing it. The only people who knew about it were the psychics I’d invited along and the Soul Searchers themselves. I glanced at Yuri, who looked at me intently but said nothing. I knew immediately he’d told Raziel about the investigation, and there could be only one reason why. I gulped. “Yeah, we are.”
“I’d like to come along.”
I knew it. I pictured the scene: the nine of us who were already planning to take part in the séance, and now Raziel and his crew with all their extra equipment? It’d be way too many people. Way too much chaos.
Gabrielle hadn’t been able to make good on her promise to mentor me before being arrested for murder, but there was one thing she’d taught me at the very first séance I’d ever attended: nine was a powerful number. And when my weekend plans involved visiting a notoriously haunted cabin to summon a murderous spirit just so I could banish him into the next realm… Well, I needed to make sure I was at maximum power.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s a good idea. If we have too many people, Richard Franklin’s ghost might not show up.”
“I won’t bring my crew,” he pressed. “It’ll just be me and Amari.”
I thought about Kit and the way her entire demeanor had changed the second Amari had walked into the room. Much as I would derive some eventual pleasure from teasing her, I didn’t want to torture her. Glancing at Amari, I said, “I don’t know if you know the, uh, history between your manager and my producer—”
Raziel held up both hands to stop me from continuing. Flaming pentagrams were tattooed into each of his palms. “I get it. I don’t want to cramp your style. Just me, then.”
The weight in my belly that’d earlier threatened to ruin my evening came back. I hated having to say no to people, and Raziel was forcing me to say it again and again. “Look, you probably know this better than I do, since you’ve been in the psychic community a lot longer than me, but everyone has their methods, right? The habits that let them tap into their power? Well, part of my method is that we have nine participants. No more, no less.”
Yuri frowned at me, peering at me over the tops of his glasses the way he did when he was trying to teach me something important. I could tell what was coming next. He was about to overrule my decision and invite this outsider to the cabin with us. Again, I imagined us all there. Nine of us in a circle, cameras on tripods staring down at us from the fringes. Raziel’s tenth shape was like a shadow in my mind, a negative energy distracting me from the work at hand. It was strange; he’d been so nice to us all so far. His compliments to Graham were enough to buy him several weeks of goodwill in my book. But something deep in my gut shivered at the thought of him joining us for the séance. I knew with a certainty I couldn’t place that it’d be better to call the whole thing off than to have him there.
I shook my head at Yuri, wishing I had a pair of glasses of my own to glare at him over. “I’m sorry,” I told Raziel again. “It has to be nine. Not ten.”
A hard glint flashed into his eyes, but he smiled at me. “Another time, then.” He turned to Penelope, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and stepped away from our little circle. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d love to meet more of your local talent.”
As he walked away, Graham raised an eyebrow at me and mouthed, Are you okay?
I nodded at him but raised my hands and formed them into two birds. Caw! I mouthed back.
He grinned. I wanted to smile, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that—despite Raziel’s quick agreement to stay away from the cabin—this wasn’t over.