Daphne’s shop, Visions, had a similar layout to Elizabeth’s upstairs. Customers entered the large sitting room at the front, which she’d furnished with wood-trimmed chairs and couches that looked like they belonged in a stately home in England. A beaded curtain separated the sitting room from the other spaces in the back, but unlike the space above us, there was no counter or computer terminal in the corner. The only sign we were in a business establishment came from the shop’s logo, applied to the window in gold leaf.
She leapt up from her seat when I entered, concern etched across her round eyes. “Mac! What’s wrong?”
I let the door swing closed behind me and shook my head. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough morning.”
“I’ve been there. Sit down. I’ll make some tea.”
She disappeared behind the curtain and returned a few minutes later with a tall, silver teapot, a pair of teacups, and a bottle of light brown whiskey. She handled the teapot with the grace of someone who did this a dozen times a day.
“Do you serve tea to your customers?” I asked.
She nodded. “It’s sort of my ritual. It helps me get into the right mindset, and my clients seem to find it relaxing.”
“Whiskey too?”
“Nope. That’s just for friends who’ve been crying on my doorstep.” She poured a healthy slug of whiskey into my tea, added twice as much to her own, then picked up her cup and clinked it gently against mine. “Sláinte.”
Grateful for something a little stronger than Earl Grey to chase the buzzing from the back of my mind, I sipped the beverage in silence for a few minutes. Soon the pounding in my head subsided and a gentle warmth spread through my body. I relaxed into the antique sofa and stretched my limbs out in front of me with a sigh.
“Want to talk about it?” Daphne asked, eyeing me over her teacup.
“I feel bad taking up your time.” On the other side of the gilded window, people streamed up the walkway toward the pub. “I’m sure you’ll have some customers soon.”
She laughed. “It’s barely noon. On Sundays, the tourists come in for the day or the weekend, and the Ace of Cups is their first stop. Brunch lasts for hours, and we don’t get much business until after two. But you won’t hear me complaining. Their two-dollar mimosas are the reason Sunday is our best day.”
“Well, I’ll take off if someone else comes in.” I sipped the whiskey-laden tea again, wincing slightly at the sting of the alcohol. “Never mind. You have a heavy hand. I’ll hide in the back.”
“Deal. There’s a bed back there. It’s all yours.”
We sat in companionable silence for a while at her window, watching tourists parade up the road toward the pub. Neighboring practitioners brought out sandwich boards that advertised their services. Stephen waved at us from across the way, where he was rinsing off his stoop with a garden hose.
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” I said at last. “Not since the cabin.”
She flinched at the c-word. “Me neither, to be honest.”
“I’m sorry. It was my fault we were all there.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. We knew the risks. And terrified as I was in the moment, I’ve always wanted to see a ghost.”
“What do you know about them?” I asked.
She shrugged, and one side of her embroidered shawl slipped off her shoulder. “I’ve picked up a few things from watching Nick.”
She delivered her words in such a matter-of-fact way that I wasn’t sure if she was serious or just sarcastic. In case it was the former, I said nothing and waited for her to continue.
“I think it’s safe to say you’re the expert here,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know.” I took a deep breath, then laughed. “Raziel got into my head. I feel stupid talking about this stuff now, like I’m some kind of fake.”
“I’ve seen what you can do. You’re no fraud.”
Coming from a woman who was married to an admitted charlatan, her words carried extra weight. Even so, self-doubt lingered in my mind.
“Every time I try to reach someone, I can’t,” I said. “And I don’t just fail. Horace barges in and—”
“Horace?”
“That’s his name. The spirit who showed up at the cabin.”
“You saw him again?” Daphne’s voice was sharp.
“Earlier this week.” For the fifth time in as many days, I related the events in Raziel’s hotel room and Horace’s request that we retrieve the jewelry box from Cambion’s Camp.
“I drove past there a few months ago,” she said. “Well, past the dirt road leading to it, anyway. I thought about poking around, just to see if the stories were true, but couldn’t stand being in the area. There’s something wrong with those woods.”
“I think we brought it back with us.” I rubbed the back of my head, where the ever-present buzzing remained despite the muting effects of the alcohol. “Do you know Amari Botha?”
Daphne gave me a terse nod, her lips pressed together tightly.
“Oh, right.” Between my headache and the stress of reliving the visit to Cambion’s Camp, I’d momentarily forgotten that Amari and Raziel were probably frequent topics of bitter conversation around the Martin house. “Well, she thinks we brought back a haunted box, like a cursed object. And this will sound crazy, but… I think whatever is in that box is following me around.”
She frowned but didn’t look as frightened at the idea as I felt. Instead, she gazed out her front window for a few silent moments. I twisted in my seat, trying to see what she was looking at, but it looked the same as it had a few minutes before. Brunchers trooped toward the Ace of Cups, and a few speedy eaters meandered back down the walkway, looking at the New Age and occult goods in shop windows as they passed.
Still watching the activity outside, she spoke at last. “Nick told me you want to know how to tell when someone is conning you.”
“Yeah. He wasn’t interested in teaching me.”
“I told him he should.” She looked at me and smiled, but her eyes were sad. “You’re new to this life. It hasn’t even been a year since you started seeing spirits again, right?”
Something about her tone made me feel uncomfortable, like she was bracing me for a blow. “Yeah.”
“I think there’s a period of naïveté we all go through. Years and years ago, when I learned I’m an Empath and started using the cards to channel that energy, I took every other claim of psychic ability at face value. I knew what I was experiencing was genuine. Why would anyone else lie?”
I fiddled with my teacup. That’s exactly how I’d felt since coming to Donn’s Hill.
“I didn’t want to believe it the first time I realized a friend of mine was duping her customers. This was back in Chicago, before we moved here. Nick told me she was full of it, but I didn’t want to listen. It’s like a bubble bursting. Nothing’s the same once you know not everyone in your community is who they pretend to be.”
“When did you find out Nick was a fraud?” The question flew out of my mouth before I could stop it, and I clapped a hand over my lips.
Daphne grimaced, but didn’t get angry. “Not until last year. I’ve been naïve longer than I’d like to admit. And you’re naïve, too.”
“Stephen told me the same thing.”
“I’ll ask Nick to help you again. You’re too suggestible, Mac. Don’t believe everything you hear.” She leaned back and cradled her teacup between her hands. “Especially if it comes from Amari.”