Chapter Thirty-Four
THIRTY-FOUR
SAM AND I ARE STANDING outside Daisy’s room when an indignant sneer startles us both.
“This had better not be some kind of fucking prank,” Missy growls from behind us.
“Oh, goody,” I mumble, turning around. “Missy’s here.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Look, I, uh, I haven’t really had a chance to talk to you since… you know.” I rub my hands down my arms. “But I just, like, I know what it’s like to lose someone, and I don’t want to say some stupid shit that doesn’t matter and doesn’t help you, so I guess… I know it sucks.” I shrug.
Her eyebrows only lose a microscopic amount of tension, but I take it as a win and turn around to knock on Daisy’s door.
When it opens, Missy pushes past us, but I linger in the doorway, the anticipatory pressure in my chest making me hesitate.
Daisy’s room is dark, the cloud lights above her bed twinkling against the night sky, their reflections matching those of the candles arranged in a circle on the floor and along the edge of her desk and windowsill, casting shadows against the collaged walls. A Ouija board sits in the center.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam mutters, their eyes wide.
Daisy ignores their protests.
Despite my better judgment, I step over the threshold.
“Not to be mean, but this is fucking weird,” Missy says, bending down to touch the wooden board.
“Not yet!” Daisy yelps. Missy snatches her hand back.
Daisy’s relieved chuckle is off kilter. “We don’t want to disturb the space until we’re ready to begin, okay?
” She claps her hands together before placing her palm on Sam’s back and giving them a little shove.
They stumble forward a few steps, and Daisy shuts the door, walking into the circle of fire.
“Come,” she says as she curls her hand upward, “join me.”
Her voice is low, a melodic lilt at the ends of her words, almost as if she’s singing. Or praying.
Despite my earlier protests, I’m drawn to her. To the circle. To the flame.
I grab Sam’s hand and drag them with me.
“W-wait!” Sam digs their heels in. “I don’t know about this, guys! Do we really understand what we’re getting ourselves into?”
“Sam, just relax and let Daisy explore her mystical powers.” I wave my hand in the air as I say the last part, my fingers wagging. Sam forces a smile that looks more like a grimace and takes a step closer.
“You all believe in this stuff?” Missy asks, sounding bored.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But if you don’t, then why are you even here?”
She glares at me. I glare back.
“Well, clearly I didn’t have what it takes to find her myself before she…,” Missy trails off. I know she isn’t mad at me. She’s mad at herself. It’s a feeling I wish I didn’t relate to.
“It’ll be fine, Sam!” Daisy cuts in impatiently.
We all take a seat in the circle, our legs crossed beneath us. We do as Daisy instructs, linking our pinkies and resting our hands down, relaxing our bodies.
Despite Missy’s stubborn, apathetic demeanor, I clock the tremble weaving through her fingers.
Daisy closes her eyes and tilts her head back, the candlelight dancing across her face. “Let’s begin,” she murmurs.
I shudder.
“Universe, we come to you today, open and willing to communicate with those who are in between.” She sounds strong as she demands that the spirit world listen. Beside me, Sam’s grip tightens.
“Friends, tonight we will open our minds to the other side, allow our bodies to be vessels for the messengers who seek to claim them—”
“Wait, wait, wait, ?me estás jodiendo? I never agreed to be no damn vessel!” Sam pulls their hands away and stands, muttering, “Demasiada gente loca aquí,” as they yank at the ends of their hair.
“Sam, sit down!” Missy barks.
More reasonably, Daisy says, “Sammy, it’s chill, I promise. This isn’t my first time doing this, and I’m okay, right? You’ll be fine, I swear.”
My eyes dart between Sam and Daisy and Missy.
The tension in the air is unmistakable, vibrating over my skin.
But Daisy seems impossibly calm. Almost serene.
Like this is a thing that belongs to her.
She claims that her tarot reading wasn’t right, but that hasn’t stopped me from thinking about it—wondering about the way she always seems to know things, how she found the key in Alastair’s office without even trying.
It hasn’t stopped me from considering if maybe—if I have my own kind of power—is it possible that she has some too?
“Sam, it’s okay.” I give them what I hope is a reassuring look, even though my insides are undulating like a ship in a storm.
Reluctantly, they settle back into their spot and put their hand in mine.
Daisy’s shoulders relax, a soft smile playing across her lips. “Okay, let’s start over.”
Once again we link our pinkies. Daisy makes her call to the universe. We sit, connected, not only to one another but to whatever lies beyond the earthly plane.
“Fiona,” Daisy says, and Missy’s hand, damp with sweat, tightens on my own. “If you can hear us, we’re here to support you, to help you, to listen to you. Please, what do you need? Use us, use this board to tell your story.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, like I should be able to hear her speak. Like I should be able to see her here with us, even though we’ve never met.
Daisy releases our hands and meets our eyes. “Okay, now that we’ve stated our intentions, we must place our hands on the planchette.”
I hold my breath. When our fingers graze the smooth wood of the heart-shaped piece, gooseflesh puckers over my arms. Sam’s gone pale, Missy’s usually perfect nails are chipped and bitten. When I look at her face, she averts her gaze.
Daisy gives us an encouraging smile. “Close your eyes,” she instructs, her tone taking on a new reverence. “Imagine Fiona here with us.” She bows her head. “Fiona, speak to us…”
My neck tingles with anticipation, my skin aware of every slight draft from the window, my ears straining to hear the whispering dark.
I suck in a breath. The planchette wiggles beneath our fingers.
“Whoa.” I can’t hide my shock.
“What the fuck!” Missy’s arms jerk.
Sam whimpers.
The piece begins to move in fits and starts, crossing the board like it’s thinking about it.
Yes.
“Daisy!” Sam cries. “Stop fucking with us!”
A tear weaves down Missy’s pale cheek.
Daisy’s face is luminous, her eyes unblinking as she stares at the board. “I-I’m not. I didn’t move it.”
They all look at me.
“What? I didn’t fucking do it!”
“Okay,” Daisy says, steady despite the wildness in her eyes. “We need to keep asking questions! We must stay connected!”
We place our fingers back onto the board.
“Fiona, if you have a message for us, use our hands to spell it out.”
The air in the room is dense, like we’re playing this dangerous game at the bottom of the ocean.
This time when the planchette moves underneath our hands, the hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise.
“M,” Daisy whispers as the piece settles above the letter. I can’t breathe.
“A,” Sam says, their pitch unusually low.
“U.” I think I say it, but I can’t hear myself over the pulse thundering in my ears.
The wooden heart travels to the R, and black spots threaten my vision.
The draft from the window has picked up, and the flames around us dance wildly in the wind.
My shirt flutters against my chest, like the air is not simply drifting in from outside, but like something is circling us.
“Guys. I don’t like this.” My throat is tight.
“R,” Daisy says with conviction, confirming what I’ve seen. “We need to let the spirit speak!” I look at her, unused to her harsh tone, and I blink a couple times to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Her eyes are different. It’s like they are glowing from the inside.
“Uh. Daisy. I think—I mean your—your eyes are—”
“Quiet!” she snaps. “E.”
I look at Sam, whose expression is vacant, their hand twitching under mine as the piece continues to move across the board.
The world is tilting, and I’m sinking to depths beyond my comprehension.
“E.” Daisy’s voice is guttural. Her face contorted, her eyebrows pinched together, her mouth terse as if she’s in pain. The flames from the candles are elongated and fluid, whipping in the gushes of air beating against us.
Beside me Missy’s head is tilted all the way back, her mouth open wide, her throat bobbing like she’s swallowing something too big to fit. Foam spills from the corners of her lips.
Behind her in the window’s reflection, flames like a blazing fire tear up the length of a homespun skirt.
The woman from the woods is here, standing directly behind me, her jaw unhinged, gaping with a violent scream.
No, that’s not quite right. That roaring, animalistic sound is ripping from my own chest.
This isn’t okay. We can’t do this. I can’t do this.
Our fingers are moving again.
“Guys! Stop! We have to stop this!”
Sam doesn’t respond, but when I try to pull away, their other hand slams down on mine and holds it there. I bite my tongue, copper filling my mouth.
“No!” I yank my hand, but it’s cemented down. The planchette is moving quicker now toward the middle of the board. I look up, and Daisy’s eyes are all whites.
Just like the witches in my dream.
“That’s it!” I scream, calling my power to me, sending a shock of electricity around the circle to fight against my friends who are nowhere to be found, their bodies vessels for something other, something impossible.
Amazingly, my static obeys me.
They finally release my hands, but the momentum is too strong, and the planchette goes flying across the room.
Thunder cracks overhead, an earsplitting sound that startles us all.
At once the flames around the room are reduced to tendrils of smoke that drift to the ceiling, glowing blue in the moonlight.
I’m on my knees, shaking Daisy, begging her to snap out of it, and just when I think things can’t get worse—the smoke triggers the fire alarm. It blares in time with the bright flashing lights. Disoriented, I stand, kicking the board aside.
At the piercing sound, Daisy’s eyes focus, and she grabs on to my calf.
“What’s going on?”
Behind me Sam scrambles to their feet. “What the hell?” they ask, Missy clutching their arm. She’s looking at Daisy in awe.
I’m hoarse as I search Daisy’s face for answers. “Dude! What the fuck was that?” She looks at me, but I can tell from her expression that what I fear is true. She doesn’t remember.
“Did we do it?” She sounds stubborn. Scared.
I don’t know what to say.
I help her stand, and we join Sam and Missy who stare ahead in shock. We exit the building hand in hand and find the rest of the students on the lawn.
We should have told Daisy not to use real candles, but I can’t care about the trouble we’re going to get into right now, because I know—despite all reason, despite every voice in my head saying it’s impossible—that we just contacted someone, and it wasn’t Fiona.
Whoever it was had a message only I could understand.
Later, when Daisy asks me what the spirit spelled, I tell her the truth.
But as I suspected, the letters mean nothing to her.
Sam, like always, explains it away, says that we saw what we wanted to see, that we had some sort of shared delusion.
Missy is angry. Angry that the message didn’t reveal anything to her.
Angry that we’re all going to get in trouble. Angry at the world.
And tonight as I lie in bed, I think about the last letter the planchette landed on before I ripped my hand away.
Something I should have thought about a long time ago.
A single word.
A name.
M.A.U.R.E.E.N.