through the garden gate. Eloise didnât call after her. She just let her lovely lost girl go.
THE BURNING GIRL
There was a small, angry girl sitting on Eloise Montgomeryâs couch. The girl had a wild mop of tangled hair, was thin as a wisp. She had about her the look of neglectâdirt under her nails, the hem falling on her dress. She smelled of smokeânot cigarette smoke, but of things destroyed by fire. Eloise ignored her, because there was something different about this one. Maybe it was the rageâwhich was electric. Eloise could feel it as she pushed the vacuum around the living room, looking at the girl out of the corner of her eye.
âTry to stay away from the angry ones,â Agatha had warned her. âAnd those seeking revenge. Theyâll shred you.â
Eloise often found Agathaâs advice difficult to follow. Maybe Agatha was tougher than Eloise, more in control of her abilities. Because Eloise hadnât been able to turn away anyone yet, not in ten going on eleven years of Listening, as sheâd come to think of it. Though it was more than that, of course. More than Listening.
âThe dead have no regard for us at all.â More words of wisdom from Agatha Crossâpsychic medium, mentor, friend. Agatha was a little bitter about the whole psychic thing and didnât mind admitting it to Eloise. âWe must protect ourselves from them . Or theyâll use us right up.â
Eloise got what Agatha was saying, but it didnât ring quite true to her experience. There was more to it than that, wasnât there? She didnât know what exactly, but it was more than them showing up with their demands. There was another layer.
Eloise moved from vacuuming to dusting. From the end table, she picked up a picture of her daughter Amanda and her grandchildren, Alfie and Finley, who were living in Seattle.
Just looking at the photo made her heart clench. Eloise loved her daughter, and she knew that Amanda loved her, too. They werenât estranged, exactly. It was just that Amanda wanted to be as far away from Eloise and her âabilitiesâ as she could possibly get. And she didnât want her children to be exposed to it at all. Eloise could understand all that. But still, it was an ache in her chest. One of many. Eloise could help her visitors with their problems. But she couldnât help herself, it seemed.
The girl was smoldering.
âWhatâs your name?â Eloise asked. Most of them didnât talk to her. But she had a sense that this one wanted to be known. She had a flare for the dramatic.
You can call her The Burning Girl , the voice said. That voice in her head that wasnât a voice. Sheâll be around for a while.
The girlâs hair had turned to flames, and her skin glowed as if there were embers burning inside her. Eloise tried to look away, but the girlâs fury was magnetic, her mouth opened in a silent scream.
Eloise put the photo down and backed away, trying to keep herself from disappearing down the black maw of the girlâs throat.
Agatha had instructed Eloiseto make her mind hard like a concrete wall when she didnât want to get pulled into someoneâs thrall. But Eloise hadnât mastered that trick yet. And then Eloise was gone, sucked away like water down a drain.
â¢ââ¢ââ¢
The room Eloise found herself in was dark, lit only by the moonlight washing in through the pane glass window. The girl wasnât burning now. She was small and sweet like any child. There was another bed beside hers, where a younger child slept peacefully, breathing even, mouth agape.
The Burning Girl lay awake, waiting. Eloise felt how her throat was dry, how her heart was pumping with fear; she could feel the girlâs tension. She held her body in a tight ball, all the muscles clenched. She was listening for footsteps in the hall. The girl knew he would come for her and that there was nothing she
THE BURNING GIRL
There was a small, angry girl sitting on Eloise Montgomeryâs couch. The girl had a wild mop of tangled hair, was thin as a wisp. She had about her the look of neglectâdirt under her nails, the hem falling on her dress. She smelled of smokeânot cigarette smoke, but of things destroyed by fire. Eloise ignored her, because there was something different about this one. Maybe it was the rageâwhich was electric. Eloise could feel it as she pushed the vacuum around the living room, looking at the girl out of the corner of her eye.
âTry to stay away from the angry ones,â Agatha had warned her. âAnd those seeking revenge. Theyâll shred you.â
Eloise often found Agathaâs advice difficult to follow. Maybe Agatha was tougher than Eloise, more in control of her abilities. Because Eloise hadnât been able to turn away anyone yet, not in ten going on eleven years of Listening, as sheâd come to think of it. Though it was more than that, of course. More than Listening.
âThe dead have no regard for us at all.â More words of wisdom from Agatha Crossâpsychic medium, mentor, friend. Agatha was a little bitter about the whole psychic thing and didnât mind admitting it to Eloise. âWe must protect ourselves from them . Or theyâll use us right up.â
Eloise got what Agatha was saying, but it didnât ring quite true to her experience. There was more to it than that, wasnât there? She didnât know what exactly, but it was more than them showing up with their demands. There was another layer.
Eloise moved from vacuuming to dusting. From the end table, she picked up a picture of her daughter Amanda and her grandchildren, Alfie and Finley, who were living in Seattle.
Just looking at the photo made her heart clench. Eloise loved her daughter, and she knew that Amanda loved her, too. They werenât estranged, exactly. It was just that Amanda wanted to be as far away from Eloise and her âabilitiesâ as she could possibly get. And she didnât want her children to be exposed to it at all. Eloise could understand all that. But still, it was an ache in her chest. One of many. Eloise could help her visitors with their problems. But she couldnât help herself, it seemed.
The girl was smoldering.
âWhatâs your name?â Eloise asked. Most of them didnât talk to her. But she had a sense that this one wanted to be known. She had a flare for the dramatic.
You can call her The Burning Girl , the voice said. That voice in her head that wasnât a voice. Sheâll be around for a while.
The girlâs hair had turned to flames, and her skin glowed as if there were embers burning inside her. Eloise tried to look away, but the girlâs fury was magnetic, her mouth opened in a silent scream.
Eloise put the photo down and backed away, trying to keep herself from disappearing down the black maw of the girlâs throat.
Agatha had instructed Eloiseto make her mind hard like a concrete wall when she didnât want to get pulled into someoneâs thrall. But Eloise hadnât mastered that trick yet. And then Eloise was gone, sucked away like water down a drain.
â¢ââ¢ââ¢
The room Eloise found herself in was dark, lit only by the moonlight washing in through the pane glass window. The girl wasnât burning now. She was small and sweet like any child. There was another bed beside hers, where a younger child slept peacefully, breathing even, mouth agape.
The Burning Girl lay awake, waiting. Eloise felt how her throat was dry, how her heart was pumping with fear; she could feel the girlâs tension. She held her body in a tight ball, all the muscles clenched. She was listening for footsteps in the hall. The girl knew he would come for her and that there was nothing she
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