CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MOIRA
Summer descended upon Boston all at once. One day, there was still a chill in the air, and the next, the students were out in full force in board shorts and sundresses, and all the neighborhood bars had their windows thrown open to the world. Moira spent her free afternoons working in the nearby community garden, or meeting up with old friends from RISD for mimosas and oysters, or strolling down the main thoroughfare of Jamaica Plain with Rhys on one arm and a bouquet of flowers under the other.
Saturdays remained dedicated to sessions with David, who, true to his word, had helped her hone her psychic intuition to a fine point. He hypnotized her with swinging pendulums and guided her through visualizations, all with his trademark mix of brashness and the weird but wonderful sense of closeness that had started to develop between the two of them. She was becoming less frightened of the phantoms she saw lurking in empty seats on the T, or of the strong senses of emotion she picked up from the various establishments she walked into. When a mournful ghost child tugged on her skirt in the supermarket, she didn’t even cry out. She was getting stronger. Braver.
On the second Saturday in June, Rhys had a fire at work (some professor had spilled an entire cannister of – strictly forbidden – coffee in the special collections room) and got pulled back to the library. Moira expected David to cancel on her, but instead, he asked her to meet him somewhere entirely new.
“What are we doing on Newbury Street?” she asked, striding alongside him in platform wedges that made her legs look miles long. David was wearing Ray Bans and a breezy linen shirt that practically screamed ‘I summer in Capri’. “I thought you hated crowds.”
“I do,” David said, weaving through the throngs of tourists queuing up for fancy brunch or window shopping at overpriced boutiques. “But crowds mean energy, and energy means ghosts. Consider this your final exam.”
“Oh, we’re giving out grades now?” Moira quipped. “In that case, I’d say you’re currently hovering at a B minus in spiritual self-defense.”
“Give me a break,” David said, but he was smiling, that crooked grin that Moira had come to associate with jokes, and verbal sparring, and everything that felt quintessentially David. He placed a light hand between her shoulder blades as they weaved to avoid a woman with a stroller, and Moira was surprised at how easily she ceded to him, how they fell into perfect step with one another. “I figured we’d get a little lunch, do a little people-watching, and see if we can spy any ghosts. Nice way to spend a Saturday, right?”
“The stuff dreams are made of,” she said sarcastically, but found to her surprise, that the prospect of spending an entire afternoon alone with David Aristarkhov, once the makings of her personal hell, now didn’t sound bad at all. It almost sounded, well, enjoyable.
“Are you charming me?” she said suddenly. If he was laying it on her, she would shove him into the nearest trashcan and train herself right back home.
He raised his eyebrows at her over his sunglasses. “Right now? No way. Trust me, if I was trying to charm you, you’d know it. While effective, that little party trick isn’t exactly subtle.” His grin broadened. “Are you feeling charmed by me, Ms Delacroix?”
Moira snorted, and David laughed, and that was that. They fell into an easy rapport of chatter, sometimes discussing things as mundane as the wares in a nearby shop window, or the fragrant blooms on an overhanging tree, and it all felt impossibly, magically normal.
Moira, who had heard plenty about David’s flair for trying to buy people’s approval, wondered if he had booked them some eye-wateringly expensive restaurant for lunch. But instead, to her delight, he led them to a food truck parked on the curb outside a jam-packed bookstore. It was so pedestrian; she didn’t think he had it in him.
David ordered two carnitas tacos while Moira pushed up on her tiptoes to read the chalked menu. Seeing the trouble she was having, he snagged a paper menu from just inside the truck and passed it to her.
“Coming right up,” the man operating the truck said with a big smile. “And what will your wife be having?”
The tips of David’s ears turned pink. “What? Oh no, no you’ve got us wrong.”
“You’re blushing,” Moira needled.
“I’ve been on Nathan’s boat; I’m sunburned. Listen, we’re not… I’m gay, and she’s–”
“Got standards,” Moira put in, rescuing him from the awkward interaction despite the pleasure she took in watching him flounder.
“Ouch,” David said, pressing a melodramatic hand to his heart.
“Come on, now,” Moira said as she sifted through her coin purse stitched with butterflies for the proper number of bills. “You’re not my type.”
“That’s right, you prefer brooding former emo kids.”
“Be nice,” Moira chided, but she was giggling so much it undercut any bite in her words. “An al pastor burrito for me, please.”
“Two waters, as well,” David said, bumping her aside with his hip and using his height to swipe his card before she could pay.
Ten minutes later, they were seated on the steps of the Boston Public Library, enjoying their Mexicali and the sunshine.
“Cities are spiritual vortexes,” he narrated, his green eyes watching passersby closely. “They draw in life, but they can also trap death. The more crowded a location is, the more likely ghosts are to be drawn to the energetic signatures of the living.”
“Do you reckon the ghosts don’t know they’re dead?” Moira asked. “So, they go on gathering in the usual places, acting like they’re alive?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s possible they’re stuck in a loop, repeating actions that came easily to them in life. Waiting for the bus, tending to children, tidying up the house… Following the path of least resistance, if you will. So,” David said, cleaning his hands with a napkin and polishing off the rest of his water, “do you see any ghosts around here?”
Moira glanced out to the street before them, and the tiny park and stately church beyond. There were people jostling around as far as the eye can see.
“I don’t know, David. This place is pretty crowded.”
“Exactly. Think of it as a spooky little game of Where’s Waldo. Just give it a shot for me, alright?”
Two months ago, David asking her to do anything ‘for me’ would have been enough to make her eyes roll back in her head. But now, she found she did want to try for him. He had tried for her, after all. It was only fair.
“Fine, but you’ve got to give me a hint. How many ghosts do you see right now?”
“In my direct line of sight? Four.”
“Goodness gracious.”
“Don’t focus on the numbers, just focus on the energy. Block out all the noise and hone in on what you want. You can do this.”
What I want.Moira didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about what she wanted. She was usually too focused on other people’s needs, always placing her own desires dead last. If you talked to her mother, it was her best quality. If you asked Rhys, it was her worst.
What do I want?
Moira closed her eyes and quieted her mind. Right now, she wanted to be strong. She wanted to look right through the veil and see, truly see, what was in front of her. She was done running from herself.
I want to see what’s really out there in the world.
When Moira opened her eyes again, she did so with a medium’s deliberateness. She scanned the bustling groups of people slowly, parsing faces and posture, and then let her gaze drift to the margins of the crowd, where some figures stood stock still, or paced in idle circles. One of them, a woman Moira could at first only glimpse out of the corner of her eye, began to take shape. She wore a mournful expression and a high-necked Edwardian gown. Her skirts drooped behind her, tarnished with mud and debris.
“I see her,” Moira breathed.
David perked up at that. “Who? Tell me.”
“The woman in the park. It looks like she’s waiting for a cab, or a carriage.”
“Waiting for someone who isn’t coming,” David said with triumph. “I see her too.”
“Will you hold still for me? I want to try something.”
David looked wary, but he did as he was told. Maybe he was finally learning to trust her.
Without looking away from the woman, Moira reached out and settled her hand on David’s knee. Bolstered by his energy and his psychic prowess, the watery outline of the woman firmed into a deliberate shape, and little details, like the pale-yellow color of her hair, and the tear tracks on her face, coalesced. The woman looked around more and more fanatically, and then, as though making some awful decision, she rushed headlong into traffic.
Moira tore her eyes away from the scene moments before a car trundled right through her. When she looked back, the woman was gone.
“Repeating the same thing over and over again,” Moira said. “You were right.”
David wasn’t looking at the ghost. He was staring at Moira with open wonder. “How did you do that? Did you just–”
“Siphon off a little of your power to give myself a boost? I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” David said. His hand hovered over hers for a moment, then he seemed to think better of it and tucked it away into his pocket. “That’s a gamechanger.”
“Haven’t you ever worked with another medium before?” Moira asked. It was the first time she had referred to herself as such out loud, and the word still felt awkward in her mouth, but she could get used to it.
David shook his head. “No. My father used to tell me that opening myself up to other people was a recipe for disaster. He said I was too volatile.”
“Your father was wrong about a lot of things.”
“He sure was,” David said, and then, swung the lens of the conversation away from himself and back towards Moira. Typical. “Does this mean you’re actually thinking about using your powers? Not just smothering them into silence?”
Moira thought about it long and hard. She had spent so long abiding by her mother’s rules, she wasn’t even sure what they were supposed to be protecting her from anymore. A life lived in close proximity to death was a complicated one, but that didn’t mean it was wicked or wrong. Maybe her mother had just been trying to protect her daughter, and now, Moira was old enough to protect herself.
And more than anything, that curiosity burned hot and bright at the heart of her. She was tired of averting her eyes and keeping herself small. She wanted to unfurl her wings and see how far she could fly.
“I think so,” she said. “I want to learn everything I can about them, for sure. And maybe, when I’m ready, I can use them to help other people.”
“Just don’t steal my clients,” David said, but he was grinning wide. Proud. He was proud of her. Moira shouldn’t care about something like that, but she felt warm and fuzzy all the same.
“To the victor the spoils, Mr Aristarkhov.”
“So, what comes next in these lessons? What do you want to learn? Say the word and I’ll make it happen.”
What do I want?
She wanted to be fearless and heedless and maybe a little dangerous.
“I want you to teach me how to channel the dead.”
“Oh my God!” David said, clapping his hands together in pleasure. “I was waiting for you to say that. We’re going to have such a good time. You’re going to be an absolute psychic terror when I’m done with you.”
Moira grinned back at him. She liked the sound of that.
“Are you coming to the gala next week?” she asked, bumping shoulders with him.
“I never miss it. Wayne notices who shows up and who ditches. Gotta keep a good face on, you know? Are you coming?”
“Of course. Can’t leave Rhys to manage the sharks by himself. You should sit at our table with us. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“Deal,” David said, sticking out his pinky to her. Moira was amused by the childlike display, but she hooked her little finger through his all the same and gave a determined shake.
She could feel his delight as clear as day, and it bloomed in her chest like a flower.