“Dad,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to stay with Aunt Trudy and Hannah. I’ll be fine at home. I’m not afraid.” I watched Mrs. Wilson do a pirouette across the front room rug and inwardly shuddered. “I’ll call Jason. We can stay here and play video games or something.”
“I thought Jason had to help his dad?”
My shoulders fell. “Oh, I forgot.” Playing video games with Jason sounded so much better than being forced to hang out with my aunts and my wannabe psychic cousin.
“I didn’t expect these sales to come through so quickly. I have to make sure the town psychic is there to approve and reinforce the wards and sigils before the new owners can sign. And I need these sales. We need these sales,” he said pointedly. Of course we did. Dad had said it more than once, even with his high sales, my medical bills and Mom’s funeral expenses after the car accident had far exceeded anything he’d thought possible. “I have to go to the office and do some paperwork. I’ll be home by nine o’clock. We can still watch a show.”
“But why do I have to stay with them? What if Aunt Elena starts in on the paranormal investigation stuff?” Of all things, that was the last thing Dad would want me talking about. He hated psychic stuff. “You never even wanted me to go to Mom’s office to see paranormal artifacts when she was alive—” I let that last word die in my mouth.
Mrs. Wilson stopped dancing, her eyes bouncing from me to Dad.
Dad stiffened and shoved a file into his tattered briefcase. “I don’t want you home alone so soon after the accident. What if something happens? What if you fall and need help getting up? That’s part of why they moved here. To be close to family. To help.”
I was injured, not helpless.
“I talked it over with Trudy. She says they’d love to have you. And—if Elena discusses her . . . work . . . well, maybe learning more about what’s behind the paranormal will help put an end to your concerns.”
“But—”
Dad held up his hand. “No buts. Dr. Midgley told me you thought you talked with your Mom’s spirit.”
“But I—” My voice rose a notch.
“I’m your father and he thought I should know.” Dad’s voice rose over mine.
I itched with betrayal and my face grew hot. I thought that shrink was supposed to keep my secrets. “But you hate psychics,” I spat.
“It’s what your mom would’ve done.”
We both stood there, equally shocked that we were yelling at each other. I felt tense, like I was locked in some kind of hunched fury. He was right, though, and I knew it. Mom would’ve said, “Gather information. Information is power.” Dad did hate psychics, but he loved Mom. So did I.
Still do.
Dad put his hands on my shoulders. His body seemed to go limp and all the fight went out of his voice. “Look, son, I want you to get better. Not just your hip—all of you. As much as I don’t like what the psychics did to our world—to the very essence of our existence . . .”
Uh, oh, I felt an antipsychic lecture coming on—like the ones he used to give Mom at dinner when she talked with nonstop excitement about meeting with a psychic about some occult object that was supposed to be imbued with power.
But Dad just sighed and shook his head. “Like them or not, psychics are a necessary evil. And I suppose PIs are, too. Maybe Elena will remind you that you can’t see or hear ghosts if you’re Untouched. And you are Untouched.” Without another word he snatched up his leather briefcase and headed out the front door.
Mrs. Wilson’s eyebrows drew together in concern. “No wonder you won’t talk to me. He won’t think you’re a psychic; he’ll think you’re insane.”
I started to talk, then stopped myself. I would not respond to my hallucination.
“Don’t worry, child. He’ll come around.” Mrs. Wilson gave my shoulder an icy pat that felt way too real to be a hallucination. “And after tonight, I’m sure you will, too.”
Well, of course, no sooner had Dad left then Aunt Trudy called claiming she had a migraine. Personally, I think she drank too much at Hannah’s party. But she told me that I was to go and spend the evening with Aunt Elena and Hannah to help with the investigation. “Meet them at Elena’s office at six o’clock,” she’d said.
That was the last thing I wanted to do. Go on a ghost hunt. Besides, Dad had gone to work, so how would he know if I stayed home or not? I flopped back on the sofa and grabbed the controller, etched with a Third Pentacle of Jupiter and Sixth Pentacle of Mars, both pentacles inscribed with Hebrew and a verse from Psalms. One could never be too cautious when using electronics. Spirits loved traveling through wires, which is probably why the city still used gas lamps and petrol for all of our ground transportation. We even had backup gas lamps at school in case of an “incident.” Our homes and offices had electricity, but it was monitored. One refrigerator, one washing machine, one dryer, and one TV per household. And every electric machine was required by law to be etched with the Third Pentacle of Jupiter. More seals were better, but also more expensive. I flipped on the TV and selected the gaming option.
Mrs. Wilson plopped down beside me and watched intently. “My boy Jamie used to play those games.”
I tried to ignore her, but my fingers stiffened on the remote.
“I’d almost forgotten . . . He’d get home from school, toss his backpack there by the door, then flip on the Atari until homework and dinner.” She gave a sigh that almost made me feel bad for her. “Oh, I miss my Jamie.”
Translucent tears glistened on her cheek and she sniffed. “Ah well.” She reached toward me, sending shivers shooting across my skin, and I leapt off the sofa. “We must live in the present. The here and now, right? Why don’t you be a good boy and turn on Wheel of Fortune for me?”
That was it. She’d nearly touched me again. I flipped off the video game and flipped on Wheel of Fortune. Maybe I did need to go back to Dr. Midgley. What would he say if he knew I was putting on a television show for what he called a hallucination? I touched Mom’s amulet for luck and tried to clear my mind. She would want me to go. I headed for the front door and grabbed my jacket.
“Have a good evening, Alex,” she called. “Be careful out there—”
I shut the door on her. I couldn’t take it. I could not hear ghosts. I could not see ghosts. I could not feel ghosts. I was tested at ten like everybody else in the world and it was determined that I am not a psychic. I had to be nuts. So I’d go and be nuts with some paranormal investigators and they could prove to me that I was hallucinating.
With a shove, the garage door creaked open. I took my bike from the corner, praying my leg would still pedal, and, with a few pumps, I shot down the sidewalk. My hip hurt, but I could still ride.
I slowed as I reached the wrought-iron gates of Lafayette Cemetery No. 1. Dad had promised to take me to visit her grave when I was ready. I still wasn’t ready.
Guilt gnawed at me, but I pushed it away and headed downtown. Historic brick buildings surrounded me and the last winds of summer sent goose bumps coursing along my arms. I shivered then pedaled harder. I needed to get there and have their equipment show nothing while I saw some ghost and proved that I’m a crazy hallucinator instead of a crazy psychic. Crazy hallucinators could be fixed, right? This was all some sort of accident-induced psychosis and I simply needed time to heal like Dr. Midgley’d said.
I hopped off my bike, walked it across a well-worn street of the French Quarter, inhaling the sweet, warm, mouthwatering smell of beignets. Dad, Jason, and I needed to make a trip to Café Du Monde. I hadn’t had a beignet in months. I scanned the numbers until I found the 900 block. Above the office hung a wooden sign inscribed with gold lettering: Elena’s Paranormal Investigation Services. I’d probably passed this storefront hundreds of times, but had never imagined my own aunt would set up shop here. I peeked through the wide glass window. Gold leaf-furnishings, unpacked boxes, and stacks of paranormal gear lined the glass storefront etched with glittering sigils.
My heart pounded against my ribs. I didn’t even want to see my old friends, let alone hang out with family I hardly knew. Maybe I should find a coffee shop and get a mug of hot chocolate. I’d call Dad, tell him where I was, and then I’d go back and see Dr. Midgley.
The same Dr. Midgley who’d told Dad my secrets. Told him I’d seen Mom.
I held on to Mom’s Nazar Boncuğu, wishing I’d died right along with her. The amulet slipped through my fingers and found a resting place against my chest. I was either crazy or seeing ghosts, and I didn’t need Dr. Midgley to find out. I’d have to do it on my own. So, I stretched my hand toward the door.
“Alex?” Hannah’s cool voice glided up next to me, and I turned to face her. Her lips were set somewhere between a smile and a frown. “I’m surprised you actually came.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” I growled without meaning to.
She pushed open the door to Aunt Elena’s office, paranormal kit in hand. “I suppose it’s always good to have a skeptical Untouched on the team. That way when you see our evidence for the first time and you pee your pants, I can catch it on tape.” She grinned evilly.
I followed her in, bike in tow, aiming daggers at the back of her head. Pee my pants? Really?
Aunt Elena sat at a circular table toward the back of the store poring over some notes. “Alex, why don’t you put your bike there?” She motioned to a spot on the wall between a bookcase and a stack of boxes, then gestured for me to sit in a chair beside her.
I leaned my bike against the wall. “I’d rather stand.”
“We’ll be waiting until the rest of the team arrives.” She glanced at my left leg. “Your hip might feel better if you sit. We’ll be on our feet a lot during the investigation.”
“My hip’s fine.” It wasn’t. It still hurt. Not the intense, nearly unbearable pain I’d had right after the accident. Or the equally excruciating pain after the surgeries. This was bearable, but persistent. A pain that wouldn’t let me forget.
Aunt Elena’s expression commanded me into the chair. “Sit, Alex. Save your leg.”
I huffed and flopped into the seat.
Hannah set her investigator case on the table and flipped the lid open.
“All ready to go?” Aunt Elena asked.
Hannah studied the instruments, eyes bigger than an owl’s and bright with excitement. “I think so. New batteries. The wards are government certified and the sigils are sound. Everything checked out when I tested them.”
“Good.” Aunt Elena swung around to me. “We’re waiting for Frank to join us. You can help Hannah with her equipment. I’d like to capture EVPs if possible. And if Hannah’s gear can confirm what we get with Frank’s then that’ll be even better.” She gave Hannah a wink. “Let’s show this town what we can do.”
A tinkling bell rang and a man with dark hair and graying temples strode in. His sleeves were rolled up, so I couldn’t help but notice the black ink tattoos covering his forearms. In artistic script were tattooed seals of protection, along with sigils in Hebrew, and a massive gargoyle that was so lifelike it looked as if it’d fly off the guy’s arm and attack me at any moment.
Whoa. And I thought sigiled T-shirts were overkill. This guy took spiritual precautions to a whole new level.
“That’s Frank Martinez. He’s famous,” Hannah whispered with awe and shoved her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose as if it would help her see him more clearly. “Not only is he a Class A Psychic, but he’s captured more EVP and infrared hits than any other investigators on the East Coast. He’s got full-spectrum infrared cameras in his bag.”
A Class A Psychic? Here? Real psychics alone were rare enough. But Class A Psychics were almost nonexistent. If I remembered correctly from my fifth-grade paranormal studies class, psychics made up less than 4 percent of the world’s population and Class A Psychics made up less than 1 percent of all of them. “If he’s a Class A, then what’s he doing here with paranormal investigators?”
“He’s a retired federal psychic. The OPI still has him consult on investigations. He believes, like Aunt Elena, that combining paranormal investigation techniques and psychic awareness is more powerful than either on its own. Most psychics don’t think that way. They’re too stuck up to work with us. But not Frank. That’s why he’s one of the best. He thinks outside the box,” she whispered. “Frank and Elena are friends. He’s glad she’s finally moved here, and has promised to go with us on some of the more interesting cases. Together we’re going to change the way the world sees PIs.”
I rolled my eyes, but didn’t let Hannah see. We’d been dealing with the Problem for over a hundred years, and she thought they were going to change things? Talk about ambitious.
“Frank.” Aunt Elena gestured to the retired OPI psychic, then to me. “This is my nephew, Alex. He’ll be assisting Hannah with her new equipment.”
Frank’s eyes washed over me and I had the unnerving feeling he knew what I’d been going through.
“He’s our team skeptic,” Hannah added with a cool toss of tangled hair. “He’s not too sure about investigators, and like a typical Untouched, he’s afraid of ghosts.”
“I’m not afraid of ghosts.”
“You should be.” Frank had caught me in my lie.
I closed my mouth. Okay, so maybe I was afraid. Mrs. Wilson wasn’t scary—if she was even real—but that shot-up janitor scared me. All Untouched were afraid of ghosts. It’s probably why we were scared of psychics. I didn’t want to be a psychic. It’d be better to be crazy.
We rode in Aunt Elena’s not-so-gently used SUV; amulets hung from the rearview mirror and sigils covered the windows and doors. And I’d thought Mom was paranoid, which I guess made sense, considering how much she knew about the occult. Still, Aunt Elena made Mom’s sigils and wards look tame.
“It’s all-wheel drive and dual purpose.” Aunt Elena had laughed when I climbed in, eyeing her amulets. “I can haul PIs, investigation equipment, kids, bicycles.” She winked at me and Hannah in the rearview mirror.
After a short ride past the library and donut shop, Frank following us in his own warded, white van, Aunt Elena slowed to a stop in front of a house Dad would have called Greek Revival style. Its wide front porch and slender columns invited us into a yawning mouth of a door.
Gazing up at its eye-like second-story windows, I cringed, not sure if the flash of shadow I’d glimpsed was a mirage from the setting sun or my imagination.
Don’t freak out. It’s just a hallucination.
Aunt Elena opened the SUV’s tailgate. “Come on, kids. Hop to it. Mr. Barrett said specifically that he wanted the investigation done this weekend and we’ve got a lot of equipment to unload.”
Black T-shirt flapping against her skinny body, Hannah leapt out of the car, obviously having trouble containing her excitement. I didn’t move so quickly. I could always blame it on my leg. I opened the car door and warm, muggy air wrapped itself around me. Ignoring the sweat already beginning to form on my back, I swung one leg out and climbed stiffly to my feet.
After we spent a frenzied hour of setting up tables, cameras, and an array of paranormal paraphernalia on the front porch, the sun had set and inky darkness filled in the evening sky.
“Frank, you have the infrareds?”
“Check.” Frank secured a large Nazar Boncuğu with a Third Pentacle of Jupiter etched in its center around his neck and flipped a switch on his camera.
I touched my own amulet and looked up to find Frank staring at me, a slight frown on his scruffy face. “I’m sorry about your mother. She was a top-rate occult academic. I read all her work.”
“You knew my mother?” Wow. How could she have been so well-connected in the psychic world and be married to my dad?
Frank shook his head. “I met her a couple times at OPI headquarters when she gave presentations, but I didn’t know her well. Just her work.”
I swallowed my disappointment. Mom’s amulet slipped through my fingers and rattled against my collarbone. Maybe it was better he hadn’t known her. Dad would’ve probably flipped out if she’d had a Class A Psychic for a friend. And I would be even more miserable having someone around me to remind me of what I’d lost. I scratched at the nagging wound on my hip. Right. As if I needed reminding.
“Hannah, turn on your EVP meter and camcorder. We’re going in.” Aunt Elena took a deep breath. “I’ll see what I can pick up. If anyone else feels or hears anything, investigate it. We’ll handle crossing it to the other side. You kids stay together. I’ll be the floater. I’ll start with Frank. Hannah, if you or Alex need me, just holler.”
Hannah bobbed her head and grinned like a demented jack-o’-lantern.
How she could be so giddy was beyond me. What did she get out of chasing ghosts? I swallowed and shoved down the sense of swirling pressure that had invaded my chest. I had to do this. I had to prove I was seeing hallucinations, not ghosts.
Aunt Elena went inside first, followed by Frank and Hannah. I brought up the rear, closing the door with a soft click behind me.
“We’ll take upstairs,” said Frank, his voice sharp against the silence. “You two work the downstairs.”
Frank climbed toward the rooms upstairs, Aunt Elena trailing behind.
The air was silent and still, save for the faint buzz coming from Hannah’s equipment and her gentle breathing. In and out. In and out. Nope, no ghosts here. The machine would register if there were. I must’ve hallucinated the shadow in the window because the machines indicated nothing.
My heartbeat started to slow and I took in my surroundings. The house was still furnished, but sparsely. A Victorian sofa faced the brick fireplace and an old, wooden bookcase sat against one wall. It smelled of dust and mold and decay.
“This way,” Hannah said, and I followed her toward a large sitting area. She panned her EVP reader back and forth, leading us closer to an open doorway that led to the kitchen.
That’s when I felt it. A strange surge of energy, like a small riptide at the beach, tugged at me. I stopped dead in the middle of the room, the feeling urging me to a closed door.
I moved toward the door, one leaden foot following the other. It was as if my feet didn’t belong to me; a numb, dull pull coaxed me closer. Closer and closer until I reached out my hand. My fingers grazed the bronze doorknob. It barely moved.
A skeleton key stuck out from a gaping keyhole. I reached forward, hoping it was rusted shut. No such luck. It unlocked and the door squeaked open, the key coming free in my hand. I slipped it in my pocket and peered down the tunnel-like stairwell into the darkness, descending toward the bowels of the house.
“Alex . . . look at this old—” I barely registered Hannah’s voice. “Alex, where in Solomon’s name are you?”
I couldn’t go to her. Wouldn’t. Something had taken hold of me. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to go down there. Down. Into the dark. I had to find out what was there.
“Alex, come on. Let’s do this level first, then we can check out the basement.”
But I didn’t answer. Instead, I took another step into the darkness.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Fine. I’ll follow you,” Hannah snapped.
I was already on the stairs, descending into the depths of the house, when I heard breathing.
And it wasn’t Hannah.
Hannah flipped a switch on the wall behind me.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
She flicked the switch on and off, but nothing happened, so she turned on her camcorder light, nearly blinding me.
“Help me. Oh, please help me.” A hollow voice echoed through the basement walls. “Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?”
I stopped on the stairs and listened, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. I swallowed the baseball-sized lump of fear forming in my throat, the pressure in my chest squeezing tighter. “Can you hear that?” My voice sounded strangled, choked.
“Hear what?” Hannah hefted the camera up and aimed it at me.
The light blazed in my face. “Stop it,” I snapped, shielding my eyes with my hand.
She kept filming. “No way. It’s part of evidence collection. And if you see or hear anything I’m capturing it on tape.”
“Oh, please. I know someone’s there. Please. Help me. I’m trapped. Oh, no. He’s coming . . . He’s—” The hollow voice cut off.
I took a shallow gasp and turned away from Hannah and her camera. “Please . . .” My voice sounded frightened, but I couldn’t help it. I was scared. Scared of the pleading voice. Scared that I wasn’t hallucinating. Scared that all this was way too real. “Turn that thing off. It’s blinding me.”
Hannah snorted. “Oh, all right.” She flipped off the camcorder light. “Take this.” She handed me her EMF reader. “I’m going to get Frank and Elena.”
“But—” I fumbled with the EMF reader. I had no idea how to use this thing. “We’re not supposed to split up.”
Too late. Hannah sprinted up the stairs, leaving me alone in the dark basement with the terrified voice.