Octavia looked at me then, brow furrowed as if I’d hissed an insult. One second, her eyes were empty; the next, colored with amusement.
“Sucks,” she repeated. “That’s an understatement.”
“I was trying to keep things light.” I matched her smile, releasing her hands to accept the tray of mugs Wilson balanced in his lap.
Octavia shook her head when I tried to pass her a mug. “The other one is mine.”
“It’s her favorite,” Wilson explained as I picked up a cream mug with horses and fall leaves painted across the sides.
“Of course.” My fingers got trapped under hers during the handoff. She didn’t linger above my grip, and, in fact, seemed in a hurry to break contact. Octavia was coming back to herself. Quiet and independent. I was happy for it…even though the slight ache in my belly swore touching her was as natural and necessary as breathing. While I’d stabilized her, she’d nudged me off axis.
Wilson offered me the rejected gray mug. It was a bumpy, handmade ceramic that was perfectly warm. I held it against my chest, breathing in the mellow caramel apple.
“Are you okay?” Wilson asked his sister. “Can you tell us what happened? That’s the first time I've heard you scream.”
Octavia’s neck bobbed, and her knee bounced in quick succession.
“Give her a second,” I instructed. “She needs time to catch her breath.”
“Right.” Wilson shrank in his seat. “Sorry.”
Octavia didn’t acknowledge us. She sipped her tea, gaze not straying from the cup.
I looked for Jonah. He lingered in the doorway, fumbling with a tape recorder. Perfect. He’d been one step ahead of me.
I cleared my throat twice before getting his attention. When he finally caught on, he hurried to my side, offering me the device. Jonah bent down, knowing I also had something to tell him by the slight tilt of my head.
“Can you do a post-activity sweep on your own?” I whispered.
“I’m on it.” He hurried to get his gear, the staircase groaning under his weight.
I turned on the recorder and set it on my lap.
“What’s that for?” Octavia nudged her chin toward the device.
“It’s helpful for the investigation to record conversations after something like this happens.”
“Right,” Octavia tapped her fingerson the mug.
I offered her a small smile and resisted the urge to reach for her hand. Wilson didn’t, though. Before he could make contact, Octavia stood abruptly. She paced the living room, barely lifting her feet across the hardwood.
Octavia pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes red from interrupted sleep. Her fingers tapped against her forehead, an anxiety trick I’d learned on a job with a therapist. I paid close attention to the speed of her movements. There was a slight chance of possession because that happened with the strongest of entities. And now that this was a category five, I couldn’t be too careful. Couldn’t afford to overlook a thing.
“There’s dirt in my mouth,” Octavia finally spoke as she continued to pace. “During the dream. Under my nails…maybe in my lungs. I was asleep, and I felt…like how I’d been in Kansas.”
“Kansas?” Wilson’s brow furrowed.
“There was a storm and…” She laughed dryly and brushed the back of her hand across her mouth.
I leaned forward, nodding for her to continue.
Octavia closed her eyes. “You guys being here really messed me up. All this ghost talk made the nightmare…more…”
Octavia reached for her tea, taking a big gulp. The wrinkle in her brow revealed it provided little to no comfort.
“What did you see in the nightmare?” I tried to get her back on track.
She laughed again; this one came out stronger, more assured. “I couldn’t see anything. Ifelta shoe. Your shoe…I think.”
