Surviving Ice (Burying Water #4)(91)

I’ve caught Ivy glaring at the woman through dinner several times. I’m guessing we share the same feelings about people like this. Right now, I’m wishing she’d stop biting that sharp tongue of hers and say something.

“So, Esme, any interesting readings lately?” Dakota asks, seemingly oblivious of the discomfort around her table as she slides a mouthful of scrambled tofu into her mouth.

I’m so uneasy under this woman’s gaze that I don’t even taste what’s on my plate.

“Not as interesting as what I’m reading right now.” Her eyes never lift from me.

Shivers run down my back.

This is bullshit. She can’t see the dead bodies piled up around me.

She can’t.

The pain in my jaw tells me I need to stop clenching my teeth.

“So, what exactly is a psychic medium, Esmeralda?” Ivy asks in that dry, disbelieving tone that I love even more right now, skipping the tofu and going straight for the chicken she threw onto the grill for me.

“Oh, it’s so much,” Esmeralda answers in a soft, breathless voice. “You can be psychic and not a medium, but you can’t be a medium and not a psychic.”

“There’s a difference?”

She smiles kindly at Ivy. As if she can see the same doubt pouring from her as it does from me. “A psychic reads your energy to understand your past, your present, and your future. Your friend Dakota has that intuitive ability.”

“Yes. Auras,” Ivy murmurs, her dark gaze flipping to Dakota, who simply winks.

“Yes, exactly. For example, I can see that you have been wandering for years but you’ve only just found an anchor. No . . .” She squints. “Two anchors. Or rather, one of your anchors has found you.”

Ivy pauses, her fork in her mouth. I can see the tension in her jaw.

Esmeralda’s eyes twinkle, as if she knows she’s hit a mark. “That’s a psychic. Now, a medium has the ability to read your spirit energy to see your past, present, and future.”

“Sounds like the exact same thing to me.” Ivy has regained her cool composure. “Do you charge double for that?”

Esmeralda reaches across the table to seize Ivy’s small hand. “Someone from your past who has left you recently, who loves you, approves of these anchors, both the new and the old. Very much so.”

Ivy’s complexion goes from pinkish to deathly white in seconds as the blood drains from her face. I watch quietly to see how she’ll react.

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t even pull her hand away. Her mind is too busy working through the woman’s words, deciphering them. Making sense of them.

And I suddenly want to get the hell away from this woman.

That’s of course when she turns her attention to me. “Now you are something else. Are you being chased?”

“No,” I answer without missing a beat.

She frowns, as if disappointed in my answer. And not because she thinks she was wrong; because she knows she’s right. “Yes . . . Yes, you are. Ghosts from your past that need to be faced. It wasn’t your fault. You know that, and yet you haven’t forgiven yourself for it yet, after all these years. She knows, as well. She has forgiven you. So have the others.”

I shove a piece of chicken in my mouth to give myself an excuse not to answer, shooting her with a warning look. She gives me a slight nod in understanding and then purses her lips, signifying that she understands. That she won’t push anymore.

But it’s too late. Her words have already infiltrated my mind. I wouldn’t have cared if she’d brought up the pile of human scum that I’ve dispatched on Bentley’s orders. Those lives don’t keep me up at night.

At least, they haven’t before. Now that I doubt Bentley’s motives, that’s starting to change. I’m beginning to wonder if all my assignments have had more to do with money and less to do with saving lives. I push those worries aside, though, because if that’s true, then I’ve become nothing more than an unwitting murderer.

But how the f*ck does this woman know about my ghosts?

The small, round face that has lingered in my mind for almost six years. She would have been twelve now.

Dakota and Esmeralda chatter easily through the rest of dinner, while both Ivy and I stew in our own inner turmoil. I push my food around until Ivy stands and collects her plate—her food uneaten—and swipes mine out from under me. “We’re heading out,” she announces. “Thanks for dinner.” With a heavy sigh, she adds, “It was nice meeting you.”

Esmeralda beams, her gaze shifting between the two of us, settling on me once again. “You know what you need to do, Sebastian.”

“Excuse me?” An eerie chill skitters down my back. Just hearing my name on her tongue bothers me.

She nods. “You know.”

I want to grab the woman and shake her. What do I need to do?

Punish Scalero for the crimes he’s committed?

Punish Bentley for what he’s allowed to happen?

Turn myself in for what I’ve done?

Tell Ivy everything?

“Okay, see you guys later!” Dakota waves and continues with her conversation.

I trail Ivy to the kitchen in a daze, where she scrapes the food off the plates and dumps them into the dishwasher, kicking the door shut on her way by.