jokes, about how stupid séances are, and how it’s all bullshit, just rapping tables and sliding panels and fake beards, but no one laughed or even looked at him.
We all sat down on the blanket in a circle.
Wink lit the candles.
I MADE EVERYONE hold hands. I looked very grave and said that if they let go during the séance bad things would happen. Which wasn’t true, I just wanted to see if they believed me, and they did.
Midnight was on my right, his fingers strong and sturdy, like Thief’s. Thomas was on my left. He had long, elfish fingers that were warm, almost hot. I waited until Buttercup and Briggs and Zoe were clasped and ready.
Nothing happened.
I asked Poppy if she was present.
Nothing happened.
The house creaked and moaned and the Yellows breathed and twitched and fidgeted and Midnight squeezed my hand.
Nothing happened.
I called out to Poppy again. I told her I was ready and listening.
Nothing happened.
The candles flickered and the wind picked up outside, but I wasn’t cold. I was warm suddenly, warm like I had a fire burning in me. I held my breath and pictured myself as a cavern, deep and open, a vessel that needed to be filled, just as Mim had taught me.
Nothing happened.
a
n
d
t
h
e
n
My head flipped back. My mouth opened and my eyes shut and my tongue fluttered and the words . . . poured . . .
I thrashed and whispered and shouted and the words poured and poured.
I was Autumn Lind with the kitchen knife, and then I was Martin, screaming and screaming, the blood gushing out, gushing right here in this room, tell my children I love them, tell them, tell them, and then I was Autumn again, choking and shaking as my neck snapped in the noose . . .
I thrashed and screamed and then the words . . .
s
t
o
p
p
e
d.
I brought my head upright again, opened my eyes, relaxed my shoulders. Midnight and the Yellows were shaking and I could feel their fear in the air, crackling like static during a thunderstorm.
And right on cue, it started raining outside, like I’d commanded it, like I’d called it down from the night sky, the rain tore at the broken window and splashed inside and hit me on the cheek and I was the Queen now, bow down before me, this is how it was meant to be, this was how it was supposed to be, all of them watching and waiting on my every word, breaths held . . .
I yanked my hands free from Midnight and Thomas, one swift move, and got to my feet.
“God, you’re all such losers,” I said, first thing out of my mouth, and they all just stared and stared, as if I hadn’t called each of them a loser countless times in the past, hundreds, thousands, millions.
I looked down at myself, touched my hair, stroked my bony knees with my palms. “Can you believe this shit? Feral Bell. Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”
They stared and stared and I just let them, let them take me in.
“Poppy . . . Poppy, where are you? Are you okay? What happened to you?” Squeaking, pathetic little voices.
“I’m dead,” I whispered. And then laughed. “Dead. I’m dead and this house is my tomb and I want you to burn it down. I want you to burn the Roman Luck house to the ground.”
The rain pelted in and the lightning ran slick across the stars and I stood there with my hands on my hips and all of them watching my every move, frozen with fear, their pitiful faces stretched and open and so, so terrified.
They asked me questions, so many questions, who did this and who did that and what about the letters and what about the clues and oh, they were so sorry, so very sorry . . . and it bored me to tears, so finally I put my hands on Thomas’s shoulders and straddled him, one skinny leg nestling up to each hip, knees squeezing in. I kissed him, I kissed him deep, I writhed my body and swung my hair and he kissed me back, I wasn’t sure he would, but oh yes he did, he pulled his other hand free and put both on me while they all just stared, and then I whispered in his ear, Remember the night we did it in the rain, in the wet grass by the Blue Twist? The cold drops hit our bare skin and we shivered like ghosts