I promise.”
“Pinkie swear.”
Emma smiled for the first time, if a bit wryly, and held a hand across the table so her little finger could hook briefly with Jessie’s. “Pinkie swear.”
Jessie hadn’t realized she was so tense until she felt herself slump. She managed a smile in return. “Thank you. We all have to deal with our own baggage, you know. That’s just part of mine.”
Emma leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I’ve a feeling I’m going to regret that promise. I thought I heard you last night. Did you have a nightmare?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe. I have them sometimes.” She was gazing almost absently at Emma, and was surprised to see a fleeting reaction cross that familiar face. She wasn’t sure what it meant, and for the first time she wished she wasn’t trying so hard to keep Emma’s thoughts from slipping through her walls.
“About?”
“I don’t remember what they’re about,” Jessie said. “By the way, this house? Definitely haunted.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.
Emma recognized a deflection when she heard one, but she was too interested not to follow. “Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen half a dozen of the dearly departed in various places, especially downstairs. Judging by the clothing, from more than one era, going all the way back to Civil War days.”
“So all the way back to when at least parts of this house were built.”
“Yeah. A couple of spirits in more recent dress, but I didn’t recognize them. Probably not surprising.”
“And they didn’t…communicate with you?”
“Not so far. Sometimes spirits don’t need help from the living; they just don’t want to leave, for whatever reason. But if it’s any comfort, they seem totally benign.”
“You used to say the place was haunted, but it was something you just felt; you never said you saw anything. You see ghosts all the time now?”
“I see them. But here…they’re clearer than I’ve ever been ableto see them before. Maybe because I grew up here; I don’t know. Still, it’s a little surprising, because I’ve never been unusually strong as a medium
and
because my walls are still up.”
“Walls you learned to build at this Haven place you told me about, where you work.”
Jessie nodded. “It’s a sister organization, privately run but also linked, unofficially, to a unit inside the FBI, and what those people don’t know about psychic abilities isn’t worth knowing. Neither the mainstream nor the fringe element has a clue, believe me.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. Way more things in heaven and earth than most people can possibly imagine. Things being studied and used in the field by the Special Crimes Unit and by Haven. And the first thing we’re taught, whether Haven operative or SCU agent, is how to build or use our walls—or shields, some call them. So we have some sort of control over our abilities and can protect ourselves.”
“Protect yourselves from what?”
“Negative energy. Usually from other psychics, bad guys. They’re as likely to have psychic abilities as the good guys are, maybe more so.” As her sister continued to look questioningly, Jessie went on. “It’s all based on energy, the energy the human body and the human brain produces. Think of psychics as having a receiver they can tune to certain frequencies. On one frequency, maybe you tune in spiritual energy, and so you see or hear spirits. On another frequency, maybe you tune in the energy of someone’s thoughts.”
“The way you do mine.”
Jessie nodded. “According to SCU research and experience, the reason no telepath can read a hundred percent of the people aroundthem isn’t because of anybody’s shields or even the strength and control of the telepath, but because every human mind is unique: tuned to its own frequency. And a psychic’s…range…of frequency is naturally finite. Limited, like any other sense, and varying from psychic to psychic. I can read you sometimes, but not
“Pinkie swear.”
Emma smiled for the first time, if a bit wryly, and held a hand across the table so her little finger could hook briefly with Jessie’s. “Pinkie swear.”
Jessie hadn’t realized she was so tense until she felt herself slump. She managed a smile in return. “Thank you. We all have to deal with our own baggage, you know. That’s just part of mine.”
Emma leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I’ve a feeling I’m going to regret that promise. I thought I heard you last night. Did you have a nightmare?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe. I have them sometimes.” She was gazing almost absently at Emma, and was surprised to see a fleeting reaction cross that familiar face. She wasn’t sure what it meant, and for the first time she wished she wasn’t trying so hard to keep Emma’s thoughts from slipping through her walls.
“About?”
“I don’t remember what they’re about,” Jessie said. “By the way, this house? Definitely haunted.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.
Emma recognized a deflection when she heard one, but she was too interested not to follow. “Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen half a dozen of the dearly departed in various places, especially downstairs. Judging by the clothing, from more than one era, going all the way back to Civil War days.”
“So all the way back to when at least parts of this house were built.”
“Yeah. A couple of spirits in more recent dress, but I didn’t recognize them. Probably not surprising.”
“And they didn’t…communicate with you?”
“Not so far. Sometimes spirits don’t need help from the living; they just don’t want to leave, for whatever reason. But if it’s any comfort, they seem totally benign.”
“You used to say the place was haunted, but it was something you just felt; you never said you saw anything. You see ghosts all the time now?”
“I see them. But here…they’re clearer than I’ve ever been ableto see them before. Maybe because I grew up here; I don’t know. Still, it’s a little surprising, because I’ve never been unusually strong as a medium
and
because my walls are still up.”
“Walls you learned to build at this Haven place you told me about, where you work.”
Jessie nodded. “It’s a sister organization, privately run but also linked, unofficially, to a unit inside the FBI, and what those people don’t know about psychic abilities isn’t worth knowing. Neither the mainstream nor the fringe element has a clue, believe me.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. Way more things in heaven and earth than most people can possibly imagine. Things being studied and used in the field by the Special Crimes Unit and by Haven. And the first thing we’re taught, whether Haven operative or SCU agent, is how to build or use our walls—or shields, some call them. So we have some sort of control over our abilities and can protect ourselves.”
“Protect yourselves from what?”
“Negative energy. Usually from other psychics, bad guys. They’re as likely to have psychic abilities as the good guys are, maybe more so.” As her sister continued to look questioningly, Jessie went on. “It’s all based on energy, the energy the human body and the human brain produces. Think of psychics as having a receiver they can tune to certain frequencies. On one frequency, maybe you tune in spiritual energy, and so you see or hear spirits. On another frequency, maybe you tune in the energy of someone’s thoughts.”
“The way you do mine.”
Jessie nodded. “According to SCU research and experience, the reason no telepath can read a hundred percent of the people aroundthem isn’t because of anybody’s shields or even the strength and control of the telepath, but because every human mind is unique: tuned to its own frequency. And a psychic’s…range…of frequency is naturally finite. Limited, like any other sense, and varying from psychic to psychic. I can read you sometimes, but not
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