Grim Shadows (Roaring Twenties #2)(30)

Hadley nodded. “I’m sure.”

“All I need is the object owned by your mother,” Aida said.

Hadley struggled to undo the bracelet’s clasp with one hand.

“Here,” Lowe offered, wanting an excuse to touch her. He bent over her wrist and used the edge of his fingernail to pry it open. As it fell in her lap, he ran a thumb over her pulse, greedy to feel the soft skin there. He swore she shivered, but she jerked her hand away and wouldn’t look him in the eye, just handed the bracelet to Winter’s wife.

“Very nice,” Aida remarked as she turned it over in her freckled fingers. “What’s your mother’s name?”

“Vera Murray Bacall.”

Aida shook her head. “All right. Give me a minute or so to sink into a light trance. I’ll call out to your mother’s spirit and try to pull her across the veil. Depending on her spirit’s strength, she might occupy my body for a few seconds or a few minutes. Just depends. I normally advise my clients to question the spirit about something only the two of them would know—just to validate their identity.”

“I can’t think of anything like that,” Hadley said.

“That’s okay. It’s more for your peace of mind. But if the information you need is as important as Lowe says it is, then you might want to ask your question straightaway. If you want to chitchat after, feel free. I’ll try to hold her as long as possible. Any questions?”

“Will you hear the conversation?” Hadley asked.

“I will. But I hear a lot of conversations—hundreds this past year alone. That’s a lot of secrets. What happens during a channeling is between you and the spirit. I don’t yap about it to Winter in bed before we go to sleep.” Her lips curled. “We have better things to do.”

Lowe laughed. He liked Aida more and more. Hadley wasn’t nearly as amused.

“All right. Try to remain quiet now,” Aida said. “Let’s begin.”

The spirit medium closed her eyes as she gripped the bracelet in one hand. For a moment, he listened to distant voices deep within the house, dishes clanking in the kitchen, and creaking floorboards above. Then he slouched so he could watch Hadley without her knowledge.

Her lily was wilting, and the sparkling pin that kept it anchored to her black waves had slipped. How nice it would be to straighten it for her. Or remove it altogether. Work the pin down, then sink his fingers into her bobbed hair while he leaned in and put his mouth against her throat. The skin would be as soft as it was on her pale wrist. Would she like to be kissed there, right beneath her ear? He imagined her making little pleasured noises in response.

In the middle of his wandering fantasy, his mind fixed on something she’d said outside. She was eight years old when her mother died in ’06. That meant she was twenty-nine. Four years older than him. An older woman. An educated society woman. And strong enough to rip a chandelier off the ceiling with—well, he didn’t know how. But the muse in his head conjured an image of her using that strength to pin him to a bed while she climbed on top of him wearing nothing but that peacock-feathered chemise—

Hadley made a small noise and grabbed his arm.

Shit.

Was she a mind reader?

“Vera Murray Bacall.”

Lowe sat up straight. Aida’s breath was a white cloud, as if she’d stepped outside in winter and exhaled cold air. Helvete. It was just as Astrid said. And Hadley wasn’t reading his salacious thoughts after all—she was just reacting to Aida, completely mesmerized.

And for good reason.

Aida’s breath changed. Her eyes snapped open.

Chills trickled down the back of Lowe’s neck and blanketed his arms.

“Who are you?” The voice was Aida’s, but the tone damn sure wasn’t.

“Is this it?” Hadley murmured to him. Her knee pressed firmly against his leg. She’d scooted closer? When had that happened?

“Do you see her breath?” he murmured to Hadley.

“Yes,” Hadley whispered. “Good God.”

Lowe cleared his throat. “Are we speaking to, uh, Mrs. Bacall?”

“Is Archie here? Or Noel?”

Archie must be her husband, Archibald Bacall, but who was Noel?

Hadley released his arm and straightened her shoulders. “No, but I am your daughter.”

“You couldn’t be . . . Hadley?”

“Yes.”

“You were so small. I can hardly believe it.”

If Hadley was emotional about this reunion, she didn’t show it. She delivered her words with the passion one might give placing an order at a restaurant. “I have an important question for you and little time. You hid four pieces of the mythical Backbone of Osiris amulet. I need to know where they are.”

“The amulet is dangerous.”

“I understand its purpose,” Hadley said. “Just tell me where you hid the pieces.”

“I didn’t hide them. I gave them away to keep them separated.”

Was she speaking in riddles or being difficult? Regardless, they might be going about this the wrong way. Perhaps it was best to follow Dr. Bacall’s original instructions. “Did you make a map of their locations?” he asked.

“A map?” The late Mrs. Bacall laughed with Aida’s mouth. “Yes, I made a map, if that’s what you choose to call it. A record of my great endeavor to keep Archie and Noel from killing each other, I suppose.”