“Maybe he should.” His fingers intertwined with mine, and he brought my hand to his lips. “Tessa, there’s something—”
“Here we are!” Vivian’s voice startled me as she entered the room.
I jerked my hand out of Derrick’s, feeling silly for getting caught—or maybe it was just fear. Whatever he was about to say had felt important.Altering.But I wasn’t meant to hear it. If his fortune told me anything, it was that he was destined for great things, not a lousy witch who could barely support herself.
Vivian paused when she saw Derrick, her eyes narrowing at our odd expressions. “I’m going to need another glass.” Plunking the tray down on the table, she headed back to the kitchen, only making it a few feet before she froze. Her hands lifted, fingers trembling in the air.
“What is it, Viv?” A sense of foreboding curled my stomach.
“We’re not alone.”
I glanced at the clock perched on a nearby shelf. It wasn’t midnight. It couldn’t be Ella.
Vivian confirmed my thoughts. “It’s not Ella. It’s someone else.” Slowly, she angled her head toward Derrick.
He shifted in his chair. “What’s happening?”
Vivian’s eyes became glassy and her skin drained of color. “Detective Chambers, there’s someone here who wishes to speak with you. Her name is Sophie.”
Chapter 20
Derrick stumbled to his feet, tipping his chair and backing away from the table. “Sophie?”
The way he said her name with such devotion mixed with fear made my heart ache. Secrets were buried in that tone—secrets that even death couldn’t hide. Vivian heard it too. She glanced my way with the question in her eyes.
“Sophie was the first victim.”
“I see. Detective, it’s rare for those who have crossed over to reach out from the other side. In these circumstances, it’s best if we let them communicate as they wish. If you take your seat, we can get started.”
Derrick eyed his fallen chair as if it might bite the moment he reached for it. The sound of it hitting the floor had prompted Abrams to step through the beaded curtain.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, taking in the scene.
We stood around the table, afraid to move as the room plunged in temperature. I shivered, recognizing the same chill that announced Ella’s arrival—except this time, I was truly scared.
“It’s Sophie,” Derrick said, picking up his chair. He lowered himself into the seat.
“Impossible.” Abrams’ skin turned gray.
Candle flames flickered, bouncing shadows against the wall. The forms circled us like giant monsters waiting for their meal. Our frozen breath hung in the air, while above our heads, a chandelier swayed, creaking on its rusty chain.
“Sit down, Abrams,” Derrick instructed. His voice was tight, leashed with an intensity that made my pulse pound.
Vivian lit the wick of a white pedestal candle, then reached for a bundle of sage. She burned the end until a stream of smoke and a strong odor wafted in the air and placed the sage into a clay pot. A line of smoke curled lazily from the rim.
Beside me, Derrick remained seated, his body rigid. I reached for his hand, and he flinched. His resistance stung.
Along the wall, the candles extinguished one by one, plunging the room into darkness. I gripped the edge of the table, hoping it would ground me in the blackout.
Abrams choked out a mangled cry and pushed away.
“Don’t move,” Vivian said, striking a match. The hint of sulfur reached my nose as she re-lit the candle in the center of the table.
“Stop this!” Abrams snapped. The sharp planes of his face glowed in the candlelight, his lips curling in a sneer. “I won’t commune with spirits, it’s unnatural. Sophie is dead. Let her be.”
“Sit,” Derrick ordered.
Abrams bent forward, his fists balled on the tabletop. “You aren’t seriously entertaining this?”
