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Authors: Alexandra Sokoloff
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and he walked out. Robin stood, her face as hot as if she’d been slapped. Be a prick, then , she thought. She was barely aware of Martin speaking impatiently from behind her.
“Doesn’t anyone else want to know what’s going on here?”
Robin turned slowly. Martin was tearing strips of paper off his yellow legal pad. He looked at Lisa, extended a slip of paper and a pen.
Lisa frowned but took the pen and paper.
Patrick strode over to the table. “What the fuck.” He reached for a strip.
Martin turned to Robin. She took the yellow strip, stood for a moment, then reached into her skirt pocket and scribbled quickly with her own purple pen.
Martin was writing, too. He folded up his paper so no one would be able to see what he had written. The others folded theirs, as well.
“Everyone put their papers down on the table,” he directed.
Patrick rolled his eyes in obligatory protest, but they all added their squares of paper to Martin’s.
Now Martin crossed the carpet to the table in front of the fire. The others followed.
How funny—he’s taken total charge , Robin thought. And we’ve let him. Even Patrick. Not such a White Rabbit after all .
Martin stopped in front of the board and looked expectantly at Lisa and Robin. Almost obediently, the girls sat across from each other again. Lisa put her hands on the planchette and Robin followed, with some reluctance.
Martin cleared his throat and then spoke rather formally. “We’d like to ask some questions.”
Patrick and Martin hovered beside the table. Robin could feel everyone holding their breath, but the pointer didn’t move.
Lisa bit her lip. “Zachary?”
The planchette didn’t move at all. Robin’s hands felt heavy and awkward on the wood. Lisa looked across at Robin in the flickering light, and Robin knew she felt it, too.
“Zachary?”
Another long beat, then Lisa shook her head. She took her hands from the pointer, looked at the boys. “He’s gone.”
“What do you mean?” Martin frowned at her.
“There was something there before. An…energy. You could feel it. It’s gone.” She looked at Robin. Robin met her green gaze, nodded.
“Maybe it’s playing hard to get,” Patrick half-joked.
“Let me try,” Martin said abruptly.
He’s really into this , Robin thought uneasily. But she stood, moved back from her chair so he could sit.
Martin sat down across from Lisa, put his fingers on the indicator. He spoke stiffly into the air. “Is…something there?”
Darkness…silence…
Nothing.
Lisa tried again. “Zachary?”
They sat for a long moment, fingers quivering on the wooden pointer.
The wind rushed the building, rattling the windows, whistling through the cracks of the wood, worrying the old bones of the house.
The pointer was completely lifeless.
Lisa looked at Robin again. “Nada. He’s gone.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
There was something anticlimactic about trooping upstairs, carrying candles from Martin’s table to light their way. The moving candlelight was disorienting, they had to feel their way up along the banisters in the darkness. The stairs creaked more than Robin had ever noticed in the daylight world.
No one spoke. After all their intimacy it was as if they were strangers again. Almost as if we’re ashamed …
Robin was dying to ask, to compare notes, to see if anyone would even acknowledge what had happened. Did it only happen to me? Her face flushed with a sudden paranoia. Are the rest of them all in on it together, setting me up?
With a flash of unease, she remembered the books on the table in front of Martin: Psychoanalysis and the Occult. Dreams and Telepathy .
Was it all going to turn out to be some horrible, humiliating trick?
Robin caught a glimpse of Patrick’s face, startlingly coarse and crude in the candlelight, and she turned away quickly, disturbed.
As they reached the third-floor landing, Martin stopped and turned, about to speak, but Patrick broke the silence first, stretching
“Doesn’t anyone else want to know what’s going on here?”
Robin turned slowly. Martin was tearing strips of paper off his yellow legal pad. He looked at Lisa, extended a slip of paper and a pen.
Lisa frowned but took the pen and paper.
Patrick strode over to the table. “What the fuck.” He reached for a strip.
Martin turned to Robin. She took the yellow strip, stood for a moment, then reached into her skirt pocket and scribbled quickly with her own purple pen.
Martin was writing, too. He folded up his paper so no one would be able to see what he had written. The others folded theirs, as well.
“Everyone put their papers down on the table,” he directed.
Patrick rolled his eyes in obligatory protest, but they all added their squares of paper to Martin’s.
Now Martin crossed the carpet to the table in front of the fire. The others followed.
How funny—he’s taken total charge , Robin thought. And we’ve let him. Even Patrick. Not such a White Rabbit after all .
Martin stopped in front of the board and looked expectantly at Lisa and Robin. Almost obediently, the girls sat across from each other again. Lisa put her hands on the planchette and Robin followed, with some reluctance.
Martin cleared his throat and then spoke rather formally. “We’d like to ask some questions.”
Patrick and Martin hovered beside the table. Robin could feel everyone holding their breath, but the pointer didn’t move.
Lisa bit her lip. “Zachary?”
The planchette didn’t move at all. Robin’s hands felt heavy and awkward on the wood. Lisa looked across at Robin in the flickering light, and Robin knew she felt it, too.
“Zachary?”
Another long beat, then Lisa shook her head. She took her hands from the pointer, looked at the boys. “He’s gone.”
“What do you mean?” Martin frowned at her.
“There was something there before. An…energy. You could feel it. It’s gone.” She looked at Robin. Robin met her green gaze, nodded.
“Maybe it’s playing hard to get,” Patrick half-joked.
“Let me try,” Martin said abruptly.
He’s really into this , Robin thought uneasily. But she stood, moved back from her chair so he could sit.
Martin sat down across from Lisa, put his fingers on the indicator. He spoke stiffly into the air. “Is…something there?”
Darkness…silence…
Nothing.
Lisa tried again. “Zachary?”
They sat for a long moment, fingers quivering on the wooden pointer.
The wind rushed the building, rattling the windows, whistling through the cracks of the wood, worrying the old bones of the house.
The pointer was completely lifeless.
Lisa looked at Robin again. “Nada. He’s gone.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
There was something anticlimactic about trooping upstairs, carrying candles from Martin’s table to light their way. The moving candlelight was disorienting, they had to feel their way up along the banisters in the darkness. The stairs creaked more than Robin had ever noticed in the daylight world.
No one spoke. After all their intimacy it was as if they were strangers again. Almost as if we’re ashamed …
Robin was dying to ask, to compare notes, to see if anyone would even acknowledge what had happened. Did it only happen to me? Her face flushed with a sudden paranoia. Are the rest of them all in on it together, setting me up?
With a flash of unease, she remembered the books on the table in front of Martin: Psychoanalysis and the Occult. Dreams and Telepathy .
Was it all going to turn out to be some horrible, humiliating trick?
Robin caught a glimpse of Patrick’s face, startlingly coarse and crude in the candlelight, and she turned away quickly, disturbed.
As they reached the third-floor landing, Martin stopped and turned, about to speak, but Patrick broke the silence first, stretching
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