Chapter 32
I groan and rub my head where it collided with one of the nightstands tucked at the back of the room.
Wind continues to whip around us, and the air is full of salt and crushed herbs. All the candles have been snuffed out.
Sitting up, I brush my hair out of my face and adjust my glasses. A few feet away, a flashlight pops on and I see Theo illuminated in the dim glow. He’s massaging his shoulder.
“Is everyone okay?” He has to yell over the roar of the wind.
He casts the light on Matt, Taylor, and Nadya, each of them assuring him they’re fine. Taylor and Nadya are huddled beside the closet, and Matt is on his feet near the doorway.
“Arden?” I call out.
Though they don’t answer, Theo’s flashlight finds them.
They’re still sitting on the floor in the exact same spot they held during the séance. I look at Theo, wide-eyed. How did that blast of power not knock Arden over too?
My heart hammering, I climb to my feet. I’m the closest to them. I need to help, even if I have no idea what to do. Last time, they snapped out of it on their own, but my gut tells me that this spirit has a much stronger hold on them.
From everything they were saying, I’m convinced it’s not Mercy Harlow. It’s her best friend, Harmony. And I don’t know what that means for us. And for everything we had planned to do tonight.
Fighting the wind to reach Arden is like slogging through thick mud. I say their name softly as I crouch in front of them.
It’s only then that I realize the wind isn’t touching them. Its fingers yank at my hair, and my face is battered by salt and bits of herbs, but Arden is as undisturbed as a statue trapped in a bubble.
I don’t see why until I’ve reached out my hand and rested it on Arden’s elbow. At the same time, Theo says my name, and his flashlight settles upon Arden and me. The beam of light illuminates the undulating shadow bearing down on us.
My fingers close around Arden’s arm, and suddenly, I’m not in my room anymore.
Instead, I see two girls in colonial dresses, huddled together on the porch of the Harlow Homestead giggling.
A stern man grabs one by the arm and drags her away from the house.
The same two girls are arm in arm as they traipse through a dense copse of trees.
Then they’re leaning against the well from Theo’s slideshow, poring over a thick book.
There’s a stolen kiss between them. A heated argument.
It’s the first time I can see their faces fully, and I realize the angry one is Mercy Harlow.
Each of the moments flashes by like a silent film. At first, they’re bright and full of light, but as they progress, the scenes darken.
I try to let go of Arden but my hand won’t budge. It’s like I’ve lost control of my own body. I can’t even be sure if I’m still in my own house.
Is this what being possessed is like? Arden never mentioned visions or memories. Just this feeling of another presence pushing against them. But I’m alone in my head, except for these visions.
Or maybe they’re memories?
A final image overtakes me.
The edges of it are black as night, like the darkness is closing in.
Mercy stands before a small bonfire beside the well.
I can’t hear anything she’s saying, but I see the way the words are flung from her mouth.
Shot like bullets. As she speaks, she throws items into the fire.
First various plants. Then what looks like an animal skull.
The other girl keeps trying to stop her, but Mercy shoves her off.
Her face is a tapestry of pain and anger so strong I can feel an echo of it at my center.
She says one last phrase and then drops a set of mushrooms in the flames. Immediately, she’s thrown back, away from the fire, and her head bounces off the corner of the stone well. The other girl drops down beside her. I can tell she’s calling her name. She shakes the body gently, then harder.
Agony writhes over her face as realization sets in. Gathering Mercy’s body carefully in her arms, she cradles her friend, rocking her back and forth, pressing kisses to her face. Completely unaware of the blood pooling in the folds of her skirt.
Arms encircle me and I’m jerked back. I hear someone saying my name, but for the briefest second, reality blurs and I don’t know if I’m Amity or Mercy or Harmony.
Warm, calloused fingers brush tears from my cheeks. The touch is so familiar it pulls me back to myself.
I’m staring into Theo’s moss-green eyes. I can feel Taylor’s arms hugging me to her. “Are you okay?” they ask in unison.
Everything slams into me at once. The séance, the ghosts, Arden.
Could I see all those memories because Harmony and Mercy were fighting over my friend’s body? Is Arden being possessed by two ghosts?
We need to stop this. Now.
I spot Matt crawling toward Arden and I shoot out a hand. “Don’t touch them. The spirits are in them.” I find Theo’s gaze. “We have to burn the satchel. I think it’s the only way to release Arden.”
“Spirits?” Theo’s eyes are owl-wide.
“Mercy and Harmony.” The emotions that swarmed me while seeing their memories cling to my bones. Harmony’s grief at the loss of her friend. Mercy’s pain at being rejected. But the most visceral is Mercy’s loneliness and anger. It’s like a fire licking at my insides.
“That wasn’t Mercy talking through Arden, was it?” Theo asks.
“That was Harmony.” I search out the shadow still looming over our friend. “That”—I gesture to it—“is Mercy.” All the hurt she was shouldering must have twisted her into something sinister.
Searching the pockets of my cardigan, I find the satchel under the pile of salt and mint leaves I shoved in there because it felt like a good idea at the time.
I offer it to Theo. If anyone here should get to release a ghost, it’s him.
He’s the one who always believed. Even when there was no easy proof.
“Hurry.” I don’t know what will happen if Mercy and Harmony possess Arden for too long.
His hands search his pockets but come up empty. “I need a match.”
The candles are long extinguished, and the ottoman was blown onto its side by the wind. I don’t see the matchbook Matt used to start the séance anywhere.
“On the floor maybe?” I pull out of Taylor’s hug and kneel. The wind seems to blow right at me, slapping my hair against my face and forcing me to squint.
When I glance at Arden, it seems like the shadow has lengthened. Its edge almost grazes my foot. I scoot back, dragging Theo and Taylor with me.
I grasp Theo’s arm to get his attention. “Keep your flashlight on that shadow,” I instruct him. “And don’t let it touch anyone.”
Then I crawl away in search of matches.
My head spins from the endless wind and the slamming pace of my heart, but I make myself focus. Arden needs me. I can’t be afraid right now.
Ghosts aren’t real, I lie to myself. This is all in my head.
A broken piece of glass slices into the palm of my hand, and I feel another piece dig into my knee.
Swearing, I fist my hand and use my knuckles for balance.
That matchbook has to be around here somewhere.
Matt set it on one of the baking trays. I flip the one closest to me, but there’s only salt underneath.
The second tray is toppled against the ottoman, sheltering nothing but some broken candle votives.
The third one is a few feet out of reach. If the matchbook isn’t under it, I’m going to have to go downstairs. Mom has at least three lighters in one of the kitchen drawers for electricity outages. But something tells me that shadow has no plans to let any of us out of this room.
I try not to think about the salt literally being rubbed into my wounds as I skitter across the floor to the tray. I flip it over and my heart heaves in my chest at the sight of the open matchbook.
“Amity.” Theo tosses me the satchel. I yank it from the air like some kind of professional athlete and drop it on the tray. Then I strike three matches at once.
Only for them to blow out. It’s like the wind is directed just at me now, battering my limbs, tearing at my hair and glasses, and swirling around my fingers.
When I chance a glimpse at Arden, I see the shadow stretch in my direction.
Shit.
My hands are shaking so hard I can barely strike the next match. It fizzles out as soon as it catches flame.
The next few do the same, until I only have two matches left.
I curve my body around the matchbook to try to protect it from the wind. But that means turning my back on the shadow. I swear I can feel it creeping closer to me with every breath I take.
Then suddenly Theo is beside me. He puts his arms around me and pulls me close, so my hands are sheltered between our bodies.
His eyes meet mine and he nods.
I strike the next match. I don’t let myself hesitate before lowering the flame to the pouch.
As the fire slowly eats at the fabric, wind beats at our backs like fists. The way it hits feels almost purposeful, like it is trying to stop the fire. Trying to fight back.
Theo and I cling to each other.
Unfortunately for these ghosts, I’m ready to fight too. This is my house. I’m keeping it.
I will not let this fire die. Not until it has nothing left to feed it.
As the leather crumbles to ash and the flame reaches Mercy’s remains, I glance behind us. I turn in time to see the shadow receding like an ocean at low tide. It slithers and contracts until it no longer looms over Arden.
Then it takes a shape. The roundness of a colonial bonnet on its head. A waist nipped in above a full skirt. All of it inky blackness, viscous like an oil spill.
Theo wraps his arms around my waist, and I let him pull me to my feet. The fire’s almost done its job.
The shape floats toward us and hovers above the burning pouch. Though it never stays static for long, I swear the profile looks exactly like Mercy’s portrait.
When the last bit of flame flickers out, Mercy’s shadow begins to fade. It reminds me of those moments right at sunrise, when the sun begins to scatter the darkness from the sky.
After another second or two, she disappears.
A new gust of wind slices through the room. This one is softer, dancing with our hair and limbs rather than warring with them.
Gently, it sweeps the ashes from the tray.
I can’t help but think it’s Harmony, helping her friend let go.
No one says anything for a while.
Finally, Nadya clears her throat. “Well, that was a thing that happened.”
“I’m writing Universal a stern letter,” Taylor declares. “Because that was nothing like Casper.”
We all laugh a little harder than necessary, tension and fear rolling out of us with the noise.
Arden stretches and rubs absentmindedly at their temples.
They snapped back to themself the second Mercy’s ashes dispersed and seem to remember everything.
They’d been leaning against Matt since they stood up, but now they step away.
“I think I’m retiring from séances,” they say as they head for the stairs. “And ghost hunting.”
I can’t blame them. Being possessed twice in one summer—once by two spirits at the same time—has to be some kind of record. One I have no interest in trying to beat.
Everyone else can’t seem to get downstairs fast enough, but Theo and I linger in the big bedroom.
He wanders around righting the furniture and gathering the candles while I sweep up the mess. “Is that what your mom looked like?” I ask gently. “When you saw her?”
He shakes his head. “She was her. Only just half there.” He bites his lip. “Maybe she really wasn’t in my room that night.”
“Hey.” I reach out and tug on the sleeve of his shirt until he looks at me.
“That doesn’t matter.” I turn his arm over, so we’re both looking at his tattoo.
“All that matters is what you believe. If you saw her there, she was there.” I run my finger over the words on his forearm. “Gone doesn’t mean lost.”
He kisses my forehead, and then my lips.
I gasp when his hand travels down my arm to intertwine with mine.
“You okay?” He pulls back, and his eyes skim over me, taking inventory. Then he swears. “You’re not.”
I follow his eyes to my palm. It’s open at my side and drops of blood paint the floor around my shoes.
Theo whips his shirt over his head and wraps it around my hand like a tourniquet.
I’m failing so hard at not ogling his bare chest that I shrug out of my cardigan and hand it over. He stares at it for a second, and then looks down at himself. “Oh,” he mumbles.
He shrugs it on but it’s not much of an improvement. Since he’s much broader than me, and it’s got no buttons, it’s hanging open with his chest and stomach on full display.
“We should go downstairs and put something on that hand. You might need stitches.”
I don’t move. “What about Harmony?” I ask. “Do you think she’s still here?”
He glances around us. “Can’t be sure without my EMF reader.”
I roll my eyes.
He grins. “If she did the spell wrong, maybe breaking it freed her too.”
“Maybe.”
I trail him to the door. But as I’m about to walk through, I hear a thump from the closet.
Turning back, I pull out my phone and flick on the flashlight app.
Lying on the floor in the center of the closet is another book. One of my mom’s mass market paperbacks this time.
Hi, Again