Kyle and Craig are suspiciously quiet. Maybe they aren’t sure what they saw last weekend, or maybe they’re waiting to form an opinion based on how the night goes. Whatever the case may be, the air is heavy. Craig twirls the toothpick around his mouth slowly and watches the exchange, as we all do.
Maggie’s still nowhere to not be seen and I have no clue how long I’ll have to wing it.
“Okay, well, to Viktor’s point, why don’t I try calling out to her before we use the board?”
This seems to please Viktor, and Zebulund agrees.
“Like I said, I’ve never done this before—”
“Just do your best,” Zebulund cuts in.
“I read it’s best to keep relaxed. It probably wouldn’t hurt if we’re all a little more open to things.”
Zebulund gives the okay. The other three sit stony. I swear to God, the tension is so thick I could swim in here.
Okay, here we go. I close my eyes and start speaking.
“If there’s a spirit nearby that wishes to communicate with Marty Zebulund, we ask that you make yourself known.”
I repeat it two more times. No Maggie. But I am freaking myself out a little.
When I open my eyes Zebulund is watching me closely.
“I’m sorry, I don’t see her,” I say, scanning the room.
This doesn’t seem like news to him either. He taps his fingers in a slow pattern along the tabletop and remains quiet. This idea feels stupider by the second. I hate that I’m here and Maggie is stuck bonding with his wife. His wife. That poor woman. Or maybe she prefers this life. Money is a powerful aphrodisiac. A familiar mix of rage and disgust works up from my gut.
I clear my throat and keep myself calm on the outside as much possible. Okay, acting. Acting like this isn’t a stupid waste of time. Acting like Zebulund isn’t seconds away from calling this whole night quits. I surreptitiously glance at the door every chance I get. I try a different tactic and suggest we all hold hands.
“No, come on. No,” Viktor snaps, immediately tucking his hands almost completely in his armpits.
Zebulund holds out both hands and the rest have no choice but to follow. Viktor’s hand is clammy and cold. Kyle reluctantly follows suit. I have no plan and feel very fucking stupid.
I repeat the invitation a few more times, mixing it up. Each time I mentally scream for Maggie to hurry up. Each time I open my eyes to nothing. Each time disappointment worries me.
“I’m sorry. It doesn’t seem to be working,” I say as we all drop our hands.
Zebulund leans back and lights a cigar from a little contraption hidden in the table. I didn’t even know it was there until he tapped and twirled the wood surface in a specific pattern.
“That’s cool.” I point to where he pulls out a cigar cutter.
“Thanks.”
“Oh yeah, Marty loves that stuff,” Viktor slurs. “He’s got them all over the place. Secret doors and shit.”
Zebulund puffs out a massive plume with a bunch of rapid puffs. He points the smoke right into Viktor’s face, which causes the blond to double over in a coughing fit. The door to our room is still closed. It hits me belatedly, that’ll cause an issue for Maggie.
I shoot up out of my chair. Craig jumps.
“We aren’t sitting in the same order.” I gesture to the other men, not Zebulund. “You stay there, Marty. There, now we’re in the same order.”
“Was the door open or closed?” I make a show of looking around.
“Does it matter? She’s a fucking ghost,” Craig says. “She can just go through it.”
Fuck.
“Fair point,” I say.
