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“Right,” said Darla. “Several times, I’ll wake up and find him asleep on the sofa in the living room. He says that the ‘two old ladies’ in the attic won’t let him sleep. When I ask him about it, he says they scold and pinch him when he’s in bed.” Her face paled. “The other night he told me that one of them said he belongs with them, and that he’s going to be with them forever. And now, Kevin’s starting to yell at him, calling him a baby. I put a stop to it, but…”
Darla opened the door to Johnny’s room and I felt flattened by the energy rushing out of it, as though we’d opened the door to a wind tunnel.
“Holy crap,” I said, motioning for her to move to the side as I stepped into the room. The room had an odd shape, with a slanted ceiling on one side like Georgie and Mary’s room, and a large column stood in the center of the room.Load-bearing,I thought.
There was no door on the closet, nor secret passage inside, but the energy was dank. Dank and dangerous. As I stuck my head inside, I thought I could hear someone sayingCome here—we have candy and toys for you.Jumping back, I turned to the others.
“Did you hear that?”
They shook their heads, though Bree gave me a look asking what the hell was up.
“Your son, Johnny—you say he’s sensitive? Psychic?”
Darla hesitated, then nodded. “I think he is. I’ve noticed it before, that he can pick up on things I’m thinking, or he’ll know something he’s not supposed to know. And once he told me that his grandma came to visit. She’s been dead since before he was born, but he described her perfectly.”
“Then you need to keep him out of this room—off this floor entirely,” I said. I circled the room and at one point, I paused, thinking I saw a shadow cross the opposite wall where there shouldn’t be any shadows. “Show me the attic space, please.”
We moved back into the hall and I stood stock still, staring at the pocket door that opened into the attic. I had no desire to face whatever was in there, but Darla and her family needed help and I could probably make things better, at least to some degree.
As long as it isn’t a vampire, I thought, reaching out to open the door. Another shock resonated through my fingers. “All right, stand back.” I motioned for them to all get out of the hall and onto the steps, then opened the door and stepped in. Immediately, a massive force tried to blast me out. Two old women were sitting there, in rocking chairs, wearing high-necked, ankle-length dresses. Their eyes blazed as they continued their assault.
Before I could stop myself I blurted out, “Holy fuck, knock it off, you two!”
The women froze, looking straight at me as though they hadn’t expected me totalkto them. The taller one—she had brownish-gray hair in a messy bun on the top of her head, and she was wearing a dress consistent with the early 1920s—stood, an indignant look on her face.
Her partner—sister—whatever they were to each other—was petite and so prim and proper that she made my head hurt. She wore a long black dress with a high neck and she had a silver bun atop her head, perfectly coiffed. They radiated so much hatred that I couldn’t get a good read on them other than their chaotic anger.
I brought up a barrier between them and me, drawing on the energy of the smoky quartz of my pendant. Their fury died down and I was able to examine them closer without the blinding rage that they were sending my way. I managed to get in a moment or two of observation before they realized I wasn’t being affected by their attack.
They were ghosts, all right, but more than ghosts. There was an odd corporeal quality to them that my mind went to zombies, but I didn’t know if zombies actually existed. They weren’t vampires, I knew that much. No, they were spirits but…
The one with the silver hair stood. She was clutching something in her hand and I strained, trying to see what it was. The brunt of the power was coming from whatever it was.
“Bree,” I said, motioning her over. Puma shifters had heightened eyesight. “What’s she holding—there, in her left hand?”
“Needles—it looks like knitting needles and some sort of item that she’s knitting. There’s something on one of those needles.” Bree glanced at me. “That’s her anchor.”
“And I’ll bet that there’s a chest in the basement containing those needles and whatever she was knitting. We need to find them.” I turned to Darla. “We need to go down to the basement.”
“Won’t they try to stop us?” she asked, fear crossing her face.
“I don’t know. I can’t keep this barrier up while also searching for the anchor that keeps them tethered here, but if they attack us, I’ll do everything I can to stop them.” I turned to Bree. “Do we know who they are?”
She shook her head. “I doubt it. Darla? Do you know who owned this place?”
“We bought it from the bank. It had been foreclosed on. The previous owners left after a year and quit making payments on it. They were a young couple with a baby, so…” Darla hesitated. “I do know there have been at least five families to own this house, but I don’t know anything about who they were or if there were more.”
We headed downstairs, shutting the door on the two old ladies. I wondered if we could find the anchor that kept them there before they found a way to stop us.
CHAPTERNINE
Georgie absolutely refusedto go down in the basement with us. “I can’t. I can’t do it—the place terrifies me.”
“That’s all right,” I told her, accepting a flashlight from Darla. She handed one to Bree, too. “You can stay up here. It’s probably not a good idea for all of us to go down there, in case something happens.” I turned to Darla. “If you’d lead the way?”
Darla reached for the knob and, before she could take hold of it, the door swung open. She glanced at me and I motioned for her to step behind me. Bree shook her head and moved into the front. I let her take the lead—she was stronger than I was and had faster reflexes.
Bree glanced around. “Do you have a doorstop? It occurs to me that something might try to trap us while we’re downstairs, and Georgie’s not strong enough to go up against a psychic force trying to hold the door shut.”
