Unsure where to begin tonight’s session, Kimberly stood in the kitchen, waiting for something to tug at her psyche. Sterling had gone outside to collect soil samples. The rest of the crew fanned out to conduct EVP sessions and monitor cameras.
The protestors had disbanded at nightfall, thank goodness. “They must need food and sleep like the rest of us,” Sterling had commented as they drove away. “Guess they’re not demons after all.”
She disagreed with that assessment but breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the break. Until TJ wondered aloud if a second team would show up for the night shift and put her back on edge. So far, no.
She grasped her quartz crystal and breathed deeply, grateful for a few quiet moments alone. So often people pulled at her from so many directions—the investigation, her fans, the promotional demands of the show—she felt like a drained battery in desperate need of recharge.
A few minutes alone was more decadent to her than a slice of lava cake. And healthier.
She withdrew inward, shifting focus away from all the distractions of the world, and focused her energy on her crown chakra, a lighthouse beacon she cast into the spirit world, inviting connection.
The darkened house faded away. The diffuse moonlight blurred and dimmed. Her skin prickled, goose bumps rising on her arms and legs.
A hand rested on her shoulder and pushed her forward.
She gasped and turned, eyes flying open. No one stood behind her, yet someone shared the space. She could feel the presence.
Closing her eyes again, she invited connection, determined not to break it this time.
She took several steps in the direction the hand had propelled her.
A soft heartbeat beckoned her. Concentrating on the sound, she moved forward, eyes closed, hands out.
She heard something fall directly behind her but fought the urge to look.
Expecting to collide with a wall or trip over furniture at any moment, she nonetheless allowed the heartbeat to guide her steps. The house around her became muffled, muted, as the heartbeat grew stronger. Vaguely aware of approaching footsteps, she cocked her head at a sudden intake of breath.
“Ms. Wantland?” TJ discovered her just as another object clattered to the ground.
He would record, she was sure in the quiet recesses of her mind not occupied with the beating heart drawing her nearer. She lifted a foot and placed it perfectly on the first step of the staircase.
Dimly aware of garbled, echoing voices, she continued ascending the staircase. She knew when the steps ended, turned left and pressed forward, one foot after another, until the air around her clung to her skin and throat, thick as gelatin.
She peeled her eyes open. Faith’s room. The pounding heart battered against her ears. The walls pulsed, reverberating with each bass beat. Beads of sweat collected at her temples and streaked down her face. She was pushed forward through the thick air. No, something pulled her. Both?
She dropped to her knees beside the bed, the beating so loud her head throbbed. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she thrust a hand beneath the bed. The space radiated heat like an oven, roasting her hand and arm. She groped the floor regardless, knowing the burning heat manifested on a psychic level and would not leave her physically harmed. Difficult to believe while her skin baked.
Her hand brushed past a blazing object. She clutched it, searing her hand as though she’d grabbed a hot skillet, the rhythmic beat throbbing against her palm. Fairly certain she screamed, she pulled the pulsating, living thing from under the bed.
She turned around. Her crew stood in the doorway. She wanted to reassure them everything would be okay. But her hand burned, and she couldn’t breathe or speak.
She noticed something out of the corner of her eye and spun to get a better look. Letters scrawled across the wall sent her pulse pounding. Regardless of the heat radiating from her skin, the writing sent a cold shiver rattling down her spine. Bright red as though carved into flesh, the warning scared her more than anything they’d seen in this location yet.
The walls will run with their blood.
Kimberly sat on the Johnsons’ couch breathing deeply as her hands shook. Rosie plied her with soothing tea and rubbed her temples. No one on the crew had seen the threat bleeding from the wall. She’d seen it. Felt the malice oozing from each letter.
Michael sat beside her and rested a hand on her back. “You okay?”
“Yes. Shaken, but okay. And worried for the safety of the family. This spirit is threatening them. He’s out for blood. Faith is only the beginning.”
Rosie lifted the poultice from her right hand. “I’ve never seen a spiritually charged object actually burn you.”
Sterling sat beside her and gingerly rested her hand in his palm. He stroked the angry red skin with his fingertips. His touch sent a warm tingle through her body. But also stung the burn. She winced and pulled away.
His brow furrowed. “Your skin is hot to the touch. I don’t see how you could fake that.”
“I didn’t fake it. Nor inflict it on myself intentionally. I’m not into self-harm.”
TJ approached her, the planchette in his hand. He held the plastic device beside her burn. “Look. The burn matches the shape of this exactly. You can’t heat plastic hot enough to burn.”
“Au contraire, mon frère,” Sterling replied, his furrowed brow showing his deep concern. “You can. The plastic would melt eventually. But skin burns at a lower temperature than plastic melts.”
“But it was under the girl’s bed,” TJ reminded him. “What would have heated it up? It’s not like she reached into a hot oven and grabbed it.”
“Didn’t say I had the answer.” Sterling rubbed the back of his neck. “Just stating the facts.”
Snickers whimpered and nudged past TJ, pushing through the people until he stood in front of her. He nuzzled her hand, sniffed carefully, then licked the afflicted palm.
“Hey, gross! Stop that!” Sterling said. He waved his hands at the dog. “Shoo! Go on! Shoo!”
Snickers jumped back a step, looking startled and confused.
“Sterling, it’s okay,” she said. “He can tell I’m hurt and is trying to help. Dogs lick wounds to help them heal.”
Sterling scowled. “Dogs lick a lot of things, most of them covered in germs. Which he will transfer to your hand, which is currently injured and thus at increased risk for infection.”
“It won’t get infected. I think he’s sweet.” She patted her lap and smiled at Snickers. “It’s okay. Come here.”
The dog rested his head on her lap and licked her hand again. She stroked his furry head.
“Really?” Sterling said. “There’s no way that’s good for a burn.”
Rosie scooted between her and Snickers. “I need to redress that anyway.”
She watched her personal assistant spread a homemade concoction over the palm. Other than a base of aloe vera, she had no idea what was in it. The gel-based goo felt cool and soothing, however, so she didn’t care. “Didn’t Ruth say Faith’s problems began with a burn that wouldn’t heal? A curling iron burn from her slumber party?”
Rosie wound a handkerchief around the slathered hand. “Sure did. But I didn’t believe that bit about the curling iron for a moment. The girl’s burn looks nothing like the barrel of a hot iron.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m not a rat. No way would I call out Faith in front of her parents and on television. Must be some reason she told them she hurt herself on a curling iron.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“Eh. I figured if it was important, you’d figure it out.”
“Now she’ll definitely be outed on television,” TJ said. “We’ll have to confront her.”
Kimberly frowned. “I don’t like that harsh approach. I think Faith nearly confided in me this morning. Let’s give her another day. If she doesn’t come to me on her own, I’ll compare the planchette to her burn off camera before tomorrow night and see how she reacts.”
“I’d prefer info sooner to later,” Michael said, “but I can see how outing publicly is a bad idea. No one say a word. We will wait for Faith to come to us.”
Rosie finished bandaging her hand and held her palms over the wound, eyes closed. “Let me know if this is too much.”
Sterling looked back and forth between them. “She’s not touching you. What would be too much?”
“Reiki,” she murmured as her hand around the burn warmed gently. “She’s using healing energy. It stimulates the immune system and encourages blood flow.”
“Ah. I’ll go make an ice pack. I think you’ll find that far more effective than dog saliva and ‘energy.’”
“Get out of here, you non-believer,” Rosie said, fighting a smile. “You’ll break my concentration.”
“That’s perfect, by the way,” she told Rosie. “I can tell you’re drawing the heat away.”
“Good. When he gets back with the ice pack, you let him put it on your hand.”
“I will.” She frowned a bit, miffed Rosie felt the urge to comment.
Rosie cocked an eyebrow. “I mean it. He’s helping the best way he knows how.”
“I know. I will.”
“Good. He’s very protective of you.”
“Hello? I can read his spectrum. I know how he feels better than anyone.”
“He’s good for you. Don’t hold him at arm’s length. Or push him away. You never know how long you have with someone so make every moment count.”
A wave of sorrow rolled off Rosie. What was that about? Had Lorenzo dumped her? No, no, no. Her stylist was so happy with him. He couldn’t have dumped her. “Rosie, what’s wrong? What haven’t you told me?”
Sterling returned with a plastic bag full of ice, which he was wrapping a kitchen towel around. “Here you go. Let’s get some ice on that burn.”
Rosie rocked back on her heels. “Excellent timing. I just finished.”
She needed to know what was upsetting Rosie. “But—”
“Later.” Rosie glanced at Sterling. “Please.”
Sterling situated himself beside her and rested the ice on her hand as if she were made of glass. “How’s that?”
Even if she hated him—and she didn’t—she wouldn’t have been able to resist the concern on his face, his tender touch, or the warmth she felt beating in his heart chakra. Her own heart skipped a beat before softening a little.
But Rosie knew her well. Her protective barrier clamped down hard on her softening heart. She fought against it. “Much better. Thank you.”
He beamed, and she thrilled at his crinkled eyes.
“Keep an eye on this,” he said. “Whatever caused the burn, if it doesn’t improve soon, I’m going to insist you see a doctor.”
She wanted to remind him that Faith’s parents had taken her to the doctor too, and nothing came of it. Only resolving the haunting, cleaning the house of the malicious entity bent on harming the family, would allow the wounds to heal. Explaining that to him would be a waste of time. He would never believe it. “Agreed. But I’m sure it will clear up.”
Snickers padded across the room, sat at her feet, and whined.
“What is it, little guy?” she asked.
The dog laid back his ears and stared down the hall.
“I think he wants to show me something,” she said.
“I think he just wants your attention.”
Snickers curled his upper lip at Sterling, then whined at her again.
“Can you show me?” she asked.
The dog yipped and scrambled backward several steps, toenails clacking on the hardwood floor.
“What’s that, Lassie?” Sterling cupped a hand around his ear. “You say Timmy fell down the well? Again?”
She swore Snickers gave him the stink eye. “He knows you’re teasing him, Sterling. Stop.”
Sterling threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes.
She stood to follow Snickers, who scampered down the hall and up the stairs, stopping every few feet to ensure she followed. He led her to a closed door. He stared at it intently, one paw lifted from the ground, nose quivering.
“What is this, boy? A closet?”
The dog whimpered, touched the door with his nose, then backed up a few steps.
She grasped her crystal and placed her bandaged hand against the door, hoping for an indication of what drew the dog.
“Do you feel anything?” TJ asked, recording the entire scene.
She appreciated the boy’s intuitive instinct and suspected he was a sensitive as well. He always managed to be where she needed him. “Nothing overwhelming.”
Snickers scratched at the door.
Sterling crossed his arms. “Maybe that’s the closet where they keep the dog treats? Tossing out the most simple and obvious possibility.”
“Dogs are very attuned to spirit activity, Sterling.”
Sterling sighed, grasped the knob, and cracked the door.
“Wait! You don’t know what’s behind that!”
He peeked through the crack. “Oh, my gosh.”
Her heart hammered. “What? What is it?”
He pushed the door open. “Absolutely nothing. Stairs. And, no, they’re not dripping in ectoplasm. Or glowing. Or covered in vines. Or anything else weird. Just stairs.”
“Where do they lead?” she asked, tentatively peering into the small enclosure. It wasn’t large enough to really be called a closet. The space housed only a ladder built directly onto the wall.
Sterling tipped his head back. “Up. They lead up.”
She glowered at him. “You’re so helpful.” She pushed past him and settled her foot on the first rung. As she reached to grasp a step above her with her uninjured hand, ready to climb, he gripped her waist.
“Uh, no. I’m not letting you climb up there first.”
“Sterling! Let go!”
He lifted her off the ladder entirely too easily, despite her attempts to hold on. “Nope. You can follow me up.”
“You can’t do that!” she huffed as he deposited her feet back on the hallway floor.
“Sorry, but I can. One of the perils of weighing all of a hundred pounds. Eat a burger and put on some weight.”
“You don’t even believe the dog has a reason for leading us here.” She smoothed her shirt and attempted to push past him a second time.
His arm shot out to block her. “True. But that doesn’t mean their attic is a paradigm of safety. I’ll check it first, and you can follow.”
Caught off guard by his nearness, she opened and closed her mouth a few times, struggling to think of a witty retort and failing miserably. Retorts weren’t her thing. She worked alone. Or at least she used to. She watched him climb the ladder until her gaze lingered on how nicely his jeans curved around his butt. She shook her head, averted her eyes, and scrambled after him, convinced Snickers would prove more helpful during the investigation than Sterling.