My eyes are still closed when I speak to update the man next to me. “I think I’m doing it right. Granted I have absolutely zero experience with reaching out to the spirit world like this and trying to have a little chat, but it feels like I’m doing it right.”
“Then you are,” he says.
“If I were doing it right, this would be working.”
“Maybe you need to take a breath and wait,” he suggests.
“What do you know about communicating with the dead?”
“I know you look tense.”
I ignore that. “This has to work.”
“And it will, just relax.”
“I’m perfectly relaxed,” I insist.
“Really? You’re concentrating so hard that your nose is bleeding and you haven’t even noticed. Doesn’t sound relaxed to me.”
Oh no. My eyes fly open and I raise my hand to wipe my nose—hey, there’s no blood.
I turn my head and glare at the detective. “You lied to me.”
“And I proved that you’re concentrating so hard you think it’spossibleyour nose started bleeding.”
A sigh escapes my lips. “This really needs to work.”
I’ve basically been on my own since these gifts of mine started up. I know my brother would have been there for me if he wasn’t chased away by our aunt. But it didn’t work out that way.
The only person I had was myself. I’m not used to having someone I can completely depend on, someone always in mycorner. But when I told Harper who my brother was, he didn’t miss a beat. He just believed in me, believed in my brother, someone he’s never met and heard terrible things about, just because he trusts me.
And I really need that trust to be rewarded. I need to be right about this. We have to find out the truth.
Harper places his hand over mine. “It will work.”
When the room grows colder and Melody yips, Harper’s still touching me.
Before I can say anything, the darkness swallows me whole. The cabin disappears, the room falls away, colors blur, and I feel Harper’s grip tighten on mine as we’re both pulled into—something else.
I can’t see, can’t feel anything but his grip, can’t hear—until I can.
“You have no idea what you’re playing with!”
The voice slices through the void and suddenly we’re standing in an office I don’t recognize.
A man with my eyes and my chin—Jonathan, that’s my brother!—is leaning over an expensive looking desk, his face twisted with fury. Across from him, Rowan Asher sits calmly in a leather chair, fingers steepled. He looks about the same, though I’d recognize him even if he didn’t, that smug expression is unmistakable.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Rowan says, his voice smooth as silk. “All my time these days is spent studying. I’ve acquired the tools, studied the books—”
“It takes more than just buying necromancer tools to wield their power!” Jonathan slams his hand on the desk, and I feel a strange tingle of pride. “This isn’t like learning a card trick, Rowan. You’re messing with forces you don’t understand.”
Rowan’s face contorts. “Don’t lecture me. This is the power I’ve been waiting for all my life.”
“This isn’t a craft you can choose. It chooses you.”
I feel Harper tense beside me, his fingers digging into mine. I squeeze his hand gratefully. I’ve been afraid to get my hopes up, but this is a good sign. Jonathan doesn’t seem like a power-hungry necromancer. He’s concerned about something Rowan is doing.
The scene shifts abruptly, like someone changed the channel.
