Pen Pal(44)

“Really? We’re just going to act like this conversation never happened?”

She turns to level me with a cool stare. “I was under the impression that wallowing in denial is where you’re most comfortable.”

“Ouch. That was harsh.”

“I’m not one to sugarcoat things.”

I say drily, “Gee, I couldn’t tell.”

We gaze at each other across the room, until I finally give in.

“Okay, even if I did go along with this insanity—which I’m not, I’m just saying if—what then?”

Her expression softens. She sets the mug in the drain rack next to the sink and returns to her chair. “Then we attempt to contact the spirit to see what it wants.”

“You’re back to the séance thing again.”

“Correct.”

We gaze at each other across the table as I attempt to retrieve my brain from outer space where it went for a nice rest from this ridiculous conversation.

“Or maybe I should just go see a therapist. That seems as if it might be money better spent.”

“Oh, there won’t be a charge, my dear. She could do it as a personal favor.”

“Who’s she?”

“My sister. She’s a medium.”

By this point, that new tidbit of information doesn’t even faze me. “Of course she is. And how does one get into that line of work?”

“Well, you’re born into it, aren’t you? It’s a gift.”

I repeat doubtfully, “A gift.”

“Something that comes naturally, like your artistic ability.”

“Only with dead people.”

“Exactly.”

“And she can guarantee this non-spirit who isn’t haunting me will leave after that?”

“Oh no. That’s entirely up to the spirt. And there’s always the chance that…” She chews on the inside of her cheek.

“Don’t leave me hanging. I’m strung out enough as it is.”

“Well, not all spirits are friendly ones. Some of them are vengeful and full of rage.”

I chuckle. “So they used to work at the DMV.”

Her blue eyes glitter. Her voice drops. “This isn’t a joke, my dear. One must exercise extreme caution when dealing with beings from another realm. They’re very unpredictable. If provoked to anger, they’re quite capable of violence.”

The shiver of fear I felt earlier returns, skimming over my flesh and leaving goose bumps in its wake. “How can a ghost be capable of violence if it doesn’t have a body?”

“The same way it can rearrange furniture or knock something off a shelf.”

“I don’t understand.”

She gathers her thoughts for a moment. “A spirit is energy manifesting itself, akin to an electrical storm gathering force until it discharges a bolt of lightning. When a spirit is upset, that emotion—that energy—is transformed into a physical outcome. Hence your open cupboards and drawers.”

She glances upward. “Or your flickering lights.”

I stare at the ceiling in trepidation, half expecting to see a grinning green goblin floating over my head. “So…theoretically speaking, not that I believe any of this…the spirit who lives in my house is mad?”

She replies softly, “I’d say the spirit who lives in this house is bloody furious.”

When I look at her, startled, she adds in an offhand tone, “Or spirits, plural. This house is very old. There’s really no telling how many restless souls are lurking about. Could be dozens.”

“Dozens? You’re saying I’m living in hell?”

“Hell is a state of mind, my dear. Reality is simply what we believe it to be. Each of us make our own truths, even ghosts.”

That statement is the most unsettling thing she’s said so far. “Okay, but I still don’t believe in ghosts. Wouldn’t that put a damper on a séance?”

Fiona lifts her brows. “Do you suppose God is affected one way or another if people don’t believe in him?”

“I mean…maybe his feelings get hurt?”

She sighs. “I can’t make cookies without sugar, my dear.”

“Great. Now you’re speaking in code. Also, you totally can make cookies without sugar. They’re called sugarless cookies. Diabetics eat them all the time.”

She regards me balefully. “My, what a wonderful chat we’re having. I’m so glad for this chance to get to know you better.”

“Ha-ha. Back to the cookie thing. What did that comment mean?”

“It means your skepticism won’t interfere with a medium’s ability to connect with a spirit, but I’m afraid it would cause you to interpret anything you might experience as a byproduct of indigestion or some such. You’d rationalize it away.”

I think about that for a moment. “That does sound like me.”

“Just as I thought. So perhaps you should take a while to mull it over.” She smiles. “See if any more pranks from your ghost might open up your mind.”

“Pranks? I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Well, from what you’ve told me, so far it seems your spirit has been acting relatively well-mannered…”