Serafina and the Virtual Man - By Marie Treanor Page 0,6

was sending pleasant little tingles through her stomach. Then he spoke, his voice deep, quiet, and oddly stirring. It also sounded bewildered.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Are you dead?”

****

Sera had encountered several poltergeist-type spirits before. Two of those seemed to have formed merely from the negative energies of very much alive if troubled teenagers. Another had been all that was left of a very unpleasant dead man’s spirit. The Ewans’ poltergeist had something of the feel of the latter, but she’d never encountered such focused fury before.

Sera wasn’t normally scared by any supernatural being, but this one’s pure hatred made her skin crawl. It whirled around the room, no more than air, battering at anything it came in contact with, desperately trying to form, to strengthen.

It fed off fear, of course. She could control her own, but the Ewans, who’d been living with it for months, had more than enough for all of them. To calm them, she addressed the being aloud.

“Settle down and tell me the problem, or we’ll get nowhere,” she said, keeping her voice cool, amused.

The rushing air lessened, as if she’d surprised it. She’d certainly surprised the Ewans, who were gawping at her openmouthed. Good. Just for a moment, they’d forgotten to be afraid.

“What are you doing here?” she asked it, again aloud, although she kept the question in her mind too, directing it toward the furious consciousness of the spirit.

A blast of fury battered against her mind. No words. Just concepts. Anger. Hatred. Death.

“You’re dead,” Sera observed, and the anger battered her again. Enraged to be dead. “You can’t stay here. You have to move on with the rest of your spirit. Find peace.”

Ridicule, more fury, a blast of air in her face as though it would hurt her if it could. It didn’t want to disperse and wouldn’t just because she told it to. Her words were still more for the Ewans.

The poltergeist huffed around the room some more, a bit like an angry toddler.

“Oh, bugger off,” Sera said and forced the thought into the spirit’s consciousness. The malevolence evaporated, disappearing like air from a pierced balloon.

The Ewans huddled together on the opposite sofa, stared at her in growing wonder, doubt, and hope.

“Is it gone? Is that it? Is that all it took?” Petra babbled.

“Oh no, not quite,” Sera said. “It’s still around and will come back constantly stronger unless we disperse it for good.”

“How do we do that?” Dale asked, frowning in irritation as if she hadn’t done her job to the standard he expected of his hirelings.

“We need to deprive it of food—the negative energy it’s living off. I’m afraid that’s you two, largely, although it has a sizable amount of its own anger and hatred to keep it in place. If it stops growing, I can force it away.”

“How?” Petra demanded with more despair, Sera suspected, than any real desire to know.

Sera winked at her. “I’m stronger than it. Tell me, did someone die in the house recently?”

The Ewans shook their heads in perfect unison. Too perfect?

“No one’s ever died here,” Dale said. “We built the house only about four years ago.”

“Then I wonder where your angry spirit came from?” Sera mused.

“Could he have died on this land some time before the house was built?” Dale asked.

“Maybe,” Sera allowed. “But he didn’t make his presence felt until five months ago? Did something happen around that time? Some major event that affected either of you deeply?”

They looked blankly at her, at each other. They shook their heads. For Sera, there was just a little bit too much innocence there, and yet if they were lying, they were bloody good at it. Besides, what was the point if they wanted their poltergeist sent about its business?

“Not that I can think of, no,” Dale said. “My friend and ex-partner died in October, which was a horrible shock, if not entirely unexpected. But this stuff was already well underway by then.”

He shifted in his seat. “You don’t think our grief could have made this thing even stronger?”

Sera shrugged. “It’s possible. Look—”

“Where’s your friend?” Petra said suddenly.

Good question. “Probably taking readings elsewhere in the house,” Sera said comfortably. “It’s all useful information.”

But Dale would not be distracted. He strode toward the half-open door, and Sera hoped profoundly that he wouldn’t find Jilly anywhere she shouldn’t be. In a house full of electronic wizardry, it was a pretty vain hope.

****

Jilly stared at the stranger in front of her. Typical. The first man she’d met in ages whom