Adelaide Upset (11 page)

Smith was more or less a
pocket of mist, sometimes thickening into a blot of white. He
hovered over the counter, swirling around the large candle I’d lit
for his benefit. The flame wavered and jerked, but didn’t go
out.

“
Come on,” I said losing
patience. “Swirl faster!”

Easing back into the
swivel chair I relaxed behind the front desk, prepared to wait.
Ghosts were like batteries, using up energy and then needing a
refill. Smith could barely take on the shape of his former six foot
something self, so turning solid was out of the question. I very
much doubted if he could even manage the light switch, so for now
he was taking baby steps. All he had to do was blow out the
candle.

Since I was wearing
Percy’s ring I was able to see the dash of Smith’s airy presence.
To anyone else it would look like the candle was flickering for no
apparent reason, the smudge of circling white invisible. But Smith
was not always sight unseen. He could haunt the pants off a skeptic
when he was at his strongest.

The flame moved as if
tethered to Smith, tipping in circles as he shifted around.
Eventually it wobbled and cut out, a ribbon of gray smoke to mingle
with his white.

“Good,” I said, picking up the lighter. “Now
do it again.”

After an hour the
lumberjack was back. He’d managed to form the outline of his tall,
slim frame, but I could barely make out the color of his flannel
shirt which I knew was always blue. His image was like dish water,
see-through but murky, the details lost.

“
Hurry up,” I said,
setting out the final touch: a jar of Missy’s kimchi. “Stephen will
be finishing up soon.”

I’d cleared off my desk,
putting the Ouija board front and center. Percy’s gift rendered it
useless, but that was the point. The more I ritualized my
communication with Smith, the more effort I made, the stronger he
became. So I kept the candle burning, put out some food (as if I
were trying to attract mice instead of ghosts) and then had Smith
switch off the table lamp. I made a few concessions though, leaving
on the overhead and keeping the Ouija board out of sight, hidden
behind the high check-in counter should someone walk in. The only
task left was to make Smith cooperate.

He kept his distance,
feeling trapped, as if he’d been backed into a corner. It was a
fair observation. I’d never told him outright, but I knew he knew I
could sense emotions, so this séance would be more or less a
polygraph for him. Quite undesirable for someone who wanted to keep
their secrets, as Smith did. But he was drained, needing to
participate or stay weak and unstable. And since he didn’t strike
me as the type who would willingly remain so, I knew it was only a
matter of time before he folded. Sure enough, he moved forward,
peering down at the Ouija board with begrudging
compliance.

I fingered the planchette,
thinking of my first question. Deciding to dive right in, I asked,
“Did Marks murder you?”

It was a dunk of cold
water and Smith recoiled in shock. His features began to haze,
going glassy, making him seem far away.

Afraid he’d turn into a
spray of white and disperse on the spot, I hurried to appease him,
raising my hands in the ‘I don’t have a gun’ gesture of
surrender.

“
You died,” I said
quietly. “But you’re always here with me, so sometimes I just...
forget. I don’t want to pretend like I understand it, because I
don’t. I’ve known people that died, but it’s not the same, is
it?

“
If you can’t remember,
then maybe you aren’t supposed to,” I continued gently. “Maybe
those last moments are repressed, and I won’t push you. But, Smith,
I’m not going to stop looking for answers. Stephen thinks you
abandoned him. You can’t let him think that. I know I
can’t.”

I put the planchette on the board, the
triangular piece of wood pointed and ready. “I won’t ask you
anything. Just tell me whatever you think I should know.”

He’d calmed, but a feeling
of purpose stole over him. As he reached over the counter his
movements were quick, fluid, and totally unnatural.

“
Don’t point!” I
complained, my eyes flashing. “I’m supposed to do it.”

It was a long process,
moving the planchette around the letters until Smith stopped me
with a feeling, but it was worth it. Not only did it sharpen Smith
up a bit, but it sharpened up my skills as well, helping me key
into the subtler of emotions. That was not why I insisted on
communicating the long, drawn out way though. I insisted because I
enjoyed it. It was the only time that seeing ghosts felt
fun.

S-T-O-L-E-T-A-P-E

He had a sense of fulfillment, the message
complete.

“
You died over petty
theft?”

Ring
.
Ring
.
Ring
.

“Ignore it,” I said as the phone shrilled in
its cradle.

T-O-P-R-O-T-E-C-T

Ring
.
Ring
.
Ring
.

“
Keep going,” I ground
out, thinking the person wouldn’t dare try a third time.

Ring
.
Ring
.
Ring
.

“
Just point,” I growled
after throwing the planchette at the phone. But he never got the
chance.

Ring
.
Ring
.
Ring
.

“
Damn it!” I ripped the
phone up off the desk. “
What!
” I bit into the
receiver.

“
Hello, Miss Graves. Did I
catch you at a bad time?”

It was Reed Wallace. Of
course it was.

“
It’s always a bad time
when you call,” I spit back, still seething. Smith had taken the
interruption as a reprieve, drifting out the door without a second
thought. “What the hell do you mean by calling four
times?”

“
I knew you were at work,
and, believe it or not, was worried when you didn’t pick
up.”

Again, I wanted to label
him stalker, but I wore the Tibetan ring willingly and nothing
could induce me to remove it, so I forewent the insult. Instead
muttering, “What do you want?”

“Just to touch base—”

I stopped listening to him
as the door was thrust open. Francesca strolled through, her smile
bright as the light limning her from behind.

“
Nothing new to report,” I
hurried to say. “
Do not
call back.”

Francesca was standing
over the counter before I even set the phone down. I was totally
flustered as she flicked Missy’s ramen noodles with a disdainful
finger, her eyes widening as she spotted the Ouija board under my
elbows.

“
What have you been
doing?”

What indeed. Where did I
even begin? I was far too upset over all the secrets I was keeping
from her to do little more than shrug. I could hardly tell her I
was in contact with Reed, so it was a relief that she didn’t
mention my hurried hang up. But how the hell was I going to explain
the Ouija board?

Lucky me, I didn’t have
to. Francesca was practically bursting with news, and so, with a
cursory sweep of her eyes she dismissed everything to more swiftly
deliver the news. “I want to visit the Parlor,” she said. “For
guidance. I need a reading about Conner, things are getting
serious. He asked me to marry him.”

“
I don’t think I’m going
to say yes, but imagine the dress I could get from Botticelli’s,”
Francesca prattled as she drove us toward the Parlor. “I’m thinking
ivory, white is just so bright, almost garish really. But I’m
probably not going to say yes.”

I’d tried to escape this
trip, citing work as my excuse, but of course Francesca had already
enlisted Stephen’s help and he’d been waiting to take over at the
front desk.

My problem was secrets: I
had too many of them. As my best friend Francesca should know them
all, or at least a few, but in actuality she knew none. I hadn’t
told her that after our first trip to the Parlor I’d returned, that
I’d become friends with Nancy, or that I wasn’t quite the
disbeliever I’d been. But if Nancy greeted me in her customary
fashion, Francesca wouldn’t be in the dark for long.

I was too tense to enjoy
the soft leather seat, or Francesca’s perfume which had somehow
fused with the car after so many trips. Francesca wasn’t helping
either. She tried to play off this new turn of events as if it was
nothing, but she was far too excited. I was beginning to worry that
soon she’d be Mrs. Connor... what the hell was his last
name?

“What’s Conner’s last name?” I asked,
turning to see Francesca better.

“It’s...” A flare of panic, her hands
tightening on the wheel.

“Holy shit. You don’t even know his
name!”

“
I do,” she said firmly.
“It’s... Price. His name is Connor Price.” She paused at a
four-way, letting the herd of pedestrians cross. “But I’m more
interested in you and Lucas,” she tacked on, hurrying to change the
subject before I thought up some more questions concerning her
‘beloved’ for which she couldn’t answer. “Has he popped your
cherry?”

“
Not yet.”

“
I feel as if you’re
holding onto your virginity with both hands. Stop clinging,
Adelaide, and let it go already.”

“
I’m never letting you
play godmother to my children.”

She wasn’t the least bit offended. “You have
to have sex to have kids, so at this rate I predict you’ll die
alone. No, not alone. You’ll have cats. Lots and lots of cats.”

“
I want to have sex,
believe it or not, and I’m ready... I guess. It’s Lucas, he’s
stubborn. He won’t do it until
he’s
convinced I’m
ready.”

Francesca’s head jerked in
my direction, staring as if I’d contracted some rare new disease.
“Jeez, Adelaide, you can’t even give it away.”

“
Watch the road!” I
barked.

We skimmed past a mail
truck, too close for comfort. Francesca was forced to concentrate
as she weaved us through the tiny grid of crowded streets, driving
into tourist central.

“Go on,” I said, feeling her indecision and
desire. “Say it, I know you want to.”

“He’s cheating!” she cried, as if she
couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I mean, I know he likes you, he’s
waiting and all, like a gentleman, but he must be seeing someone
else.”

“He’s not,” I said calmly. I felt totally
sure.

She arched an eyebrow,
playing the jaded strumpet who knew better. “Why don’t you get a
reading and see,” she challenged, pulling up directly in front of
the Parlor.

I was only too happy to
see Eclipsys, a first I’m sure. It meant I was saved. She worked at
the Parlor, a friend of Nancy’s, but unlike Nancy she wasn’t
gifted. I recognized her for a fraud that first time we met, so you
could say we didn’t get off to a good start. That fact would pay
off now.

She and Francesca bantered
over the front desk, Eclipsys explaining that Nancy was with a
client. I hurried to cut in, “No need to wait for Madame Bristow,
you’ve done a reading for Francesca before. The stars are as good
as the cards, isn’t that what they say?”

Francesca’s look was
dubious. Obviously she knew I was full of shit.

“
We’ll be in room two,” I
said ushering Francesca in that direction. “You go ahead, get your
things and meditate,” I told Eclipsys. “Or whatever it is you do to
prepare.”

Eclipsys said nothing as I
pushed Francesca down the hall, a parting as brief as our greeting,
and for that I was grateful. She knew who I was and what I could
do, but as we weren’t friendly, she revealed nothing. Sometimes, I
swear, it paid to be a bitch.

“You’re being weird,” Francesca observed as
I shut the door behind her. She sat, removing a compact to touch up
her flawless face. “Weirder than usual,” she said absently,
perusing the small mirror for her reflection.

The room was disheveled, a
mess of maps and papers. The rich blue hue of the tall walls seemed
to press inward, making the already small space seem
stifling.

Eclipsys entered a short
time later carrying a sheet of paper. “It is a chart of this year’s
summer solstice,” she explained, drawing out the words with her
concocted accent. Her heritage was equally indiscernible; she could
have passed for Asian, Indian or Hispanic.

“I don’t know if you remember,” Francesca
began. “But the last time I was here you said that I was missing
something, something I needed to progress.”

Eclipsys nodded
thoughtfully, setting her dangly earrings to wobble back and forth.
“Yes,” she encouraged, absently fingering the chart. “What is your
question? Why did you come?”

“
Well there’s this guy,”
Francesca explained. “He asked me to marry him. I like him a lot,
but we’ve only known each other for a short time. I just want to
know if maybe he’s that thing you were talking about.”