the rocking chair and the skeleton closet, Henry wandered over to the closet door, smirking in anticipation as he nudged it open. But as I peered over his shoulder we both saw it was empty.
"What the hell?" I asked, a chill going through me.
He tilted his head, inspecting the back wall of the closet. Then he leaned in and tapped the ceiling with his fingers. Pushing his hand through the flaps he had discovered, he stepped back as the obviously plastic skeletons dropped down.
"All parlor tricks," he said softly, reaching out and rubbing my shoulder. My heart leapt up into my throat. We gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, and then parted, making ourselves busy in different parts of the room.
Having not had any luck we made our way into a different skinny hallway. It was pitch black beyond where even the strong beam of his flashlight couldn't penetrate.
"I'm not going any farther that way," he said. "I don't like the looks of those ceiling beams." There were a few hanging precariously low, as if they could drop any moment.
"Well, then, I'll go," I said, shuffling around him.
He caught my arm to stop me from going further. "It could be dangerous," he pleaded. "You never know if the ceiling might collapse, and I bet there are weak spots in the floor."
I stood in front of him, acutely aware that our lips were merely inches apart. I wondered if I was the only one. But as his eyes became heavy lidded, and his breathing sped up, I realized my answer.
"Theo was right, I can take care of myself," I said gently, not taking my eyes off of his mouth.
"I don't want anything to happen to you," he whispered, moving closer to me. "That's all I meant. I care about you."
I could almost feel his lips on mine.
"Heads up!" Alex yelled from the left. Henry dropped my arm and we pulled away from each other, as if caught in an embarrassing scene. Alex didn't seem to notice how flustered we were.
Theo was on his heels. "We found the dining room. Should be a good spot."
We followed them back down the hallway, and up a short set of stairs. The remains of an old kitchen sat at the top. I paused and looked inside. Gutted spaces where the old appliances had been ripped out left bouquets of blackened electrical wiring. The black and white tile on the floor was cracked and peeling, sticking up in some sports.
"This way," Theo gestured, and Henry and I followed them through a door into the dining room. A narrow room that had probably once been grand, there were high-backed chairs around an elongated mahogany table. Two dust-layered, silver candelabras sat in the center of the tabletop. I brushed dust off of the back of the chair standing at the end.
I battled dizziness, my head pounding, but I figured I was so close now...I hadn't come this far just to quit. I would drive myself nuts with maybes.
Besides, I didn't hit my head that hard. My stubbornness continued to win out.
Alex was making jokes, as usual. He carried a plastic skull he had picked up somewhere and used the mouth as a puppet, adopting a Cryptkeeper voice.
"Welcome kiddies," he said. "Would you like to dance to death?"
"He is such an idiot," Theo whispered to me.
An oversized, muted portrait of a man hung above the huge fireplace. I had never seen a fireplace so wide. A pile of ashes remained at the bottom from some long-ago fire. It smelled awful and I wrinkled my nose, turning away.
Each one of us took a seat at the table, with me at the head. The bleeding from my forehead had stopped, and I stuffed the red tissues in the side pocket of my purse. I set the purse on the table, unzipping the main section, and started to take out the supplies I had borrowed from Corinne. Four white candles, to represent us; one red candle, to represent whatever we were contacting; a small mirror, to act as a portal; and different pieces of metal. Finally, I pulled out the s茅ance book, which had a photo I had printed out of the orphans tucked inside between the pages.
Henry picked up the picture and looked at it, reading the caption.
"'Orphans at Dexter House, 1926, with John Dexter the third.'" He nodded towards the ugly portrait above the fireplace. "I'm guessing that's the same guy."
I looked over the picture, too. Dexter was