Chapter 5
They gathered in the living room with the uneasy choreography of people pretending this was normal.
Wineglasses were carried like props. Smiles were worn too long.
Bodies arranged themselves into furniture as if seating had been assigned in advance.
Arms folded, then unfolded. Glasses lifted more often than necessary—less out of thirst than out of a need to do something with their hands.
The couch felt too soft for what was happening.
The chairs too upright. Erica noticed all of it and hated that she couldn’t stop noticing.
Elias settled on the floor beside the coffee table, not cross-legged, not comfortable, but deliberate.
One knee was up and one was folded under him, as if he’d decided discomfort was part of the process.
He’d laid out his tools with meticulous care: candles of varying heights, a deck of worn tarot cards soft at the edges, a slab of wood scarred with burn marks, and a small brass bell that looked too old to belong in a modern condo.
Erica tried not to stare at the wood. It looked used, not in the bought-vintage-and-brag-about-it way. But in the way a cutting board looked used when it had seen too many knives.
Elias clasped his hands together and smiled at the semicircle of guests. His thick lenses magnified his eyes just enough to make it hard to tell where he was looking.
“Hello, everyone,” he said, voice gentle and warm. “My name is Elias. I’m a medium—though, personally, I think I’m more of an extra-large.”
A small laugh moved around the room. Derek snorted. Beckie chuckled the loudest, shoulders bouncing. Chad’s mouth twitched, like he wanted credit for not rolling his eyes.
Erica laughed a beat late. She didn’t like that. She liked being on time.
Elias nodded as if he’d expected the reaction. “I’m not here to convince anyone of anything. Skepticism is healthy.”
Chad lifted his glass. “Finally. A professional.”
Erica shot him a warning look.
Elias’s smile held. “I’ve had gifts since I was a child. Not the fun kind, more the kind you’d like to return but can’t.”
Zach leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I exist closer to the other side than I do here,” Elias went on.
“That’s not poetry. It’s just how it is.
” He paused, then added, almost casually, “I’ve struggled with depression most of my life.
This isn’t a plea for sympathy. It’s not inspirational.
It just means the veil between this world and the other one is . . . thinner for me.”
The candle flames shifted.
Erica told herself it was air circulation, the HVAC, the building settling—anything that didn’t make the hairs along her arms rise.
Elias gestured to the table. “I’ll need a personal item from each of you. Something you carry often.”
Beckie raised a brow. “Like a lock of hair?”
“Preferably something you’re comfortable with me touching,” Elias said mildly. “The item connects you to the physical world. It grounds you. Represents you, and it keeps things from getting too close.”
Erica didn’t like the way he said close.
One by one, they offered something up.
Beckie slid off her designer bracelet with exaggerated flair, holding it out like she was presenting it at an auction. The gold glistened in the candlelight.
“Try not to curse it,” she said. “It was expensive.”
Zach dug into his pocket and produced a penny. It was old and darkened, having been rubbed smooth by fingers. He held it delicately, like it was worth more than its actual value. “Lucky,” he said, without elaborating.
Erica noticed how long he held on before letting go. How his thumb brushed over it one last time, a habit he didn’t realize he had.
Liv pulled a claw clip from the back of her head. Her dark hair fell loose over her shoulders in a soft wave that made her look younger and more exposed.
“Here,” she said.
Derek jingled his keys once and set them down. “That’s all I’ve got.”
Elias accepted each item with care, placing them on the burn-marked slab of wood and arranging them into a circle.
Chad sighed theatrically and unclasped his watch, holding it out until Elias met his eyes.
“You better not steal this,” he said.
Elias took it without comment and set it beside the other objects. Erica noticed his hands. They were steady and careful, complete with clean nails. They didn’t look like the hands of someone putting on a show; they looked like those of an artisan tending to his craft.
When Elias’s gaze met hers, it felt like he’d seen the thought. Erica’s throat tightened. She reached for the chain around her neck, fingers closing around the ring threaded through it, and hesitated.
The ring had belonged to her sister.
Her hands shook as she unclasped the chain. Zach watched her with a kind of reverence that made her uncomfortable. Liv’s expression softened. Derek’s smile faded. Chad looked away, draining his glass instead.
Erica placed the necklace into Elias’s palm.
He nodded once, as if he understood without explanation, and set it on the wood, completing the circle.
The bell went in the center and the tarot deck beside it. Then he folded his hands and looked up.
“Now,” he said, “who wants to go first?”
“It should be Erica,” Derek said, pointing with his glass. “The birthday girl.”
“Yeah.” Beckie laughed. “Birthday girl gets haunted first.”
“No,” Erica said quickly. “I just want to watch.”
Chad smirked. “Come on. It’s your party. Summon something.”
Erica forced a laugh. “Please. Someone else go first.”
Elias’s gaze drifted, not to Derek, not to Liv, not to Chad. It settled on Beckie.
“There’s energy there I’d like to explore,” he said.
Something in his tone changed—not interest, exactly, more like recognition.
Beckie brightened like she’d been chosen first in gym class. “Oooh,” she said, shimmying her chest. “I bet you do.”
They laughed. Even Liv made a small nervous sound.
“Wait, how does this work exactly?” Derek asked.
“It’s different for every person,” Elias said. “We’ll start with a prayer, then take it one at a time. If nothing comes through, I’ll use the cards.” He paused, eyes moving around the room. “Don’t offer any information. Only confirm what I say.”
He rested his hands on his knees. “It’s about to get crowded in here. Let’s bow our heads.”
Elias did, and the others followed—slowly and unevenly. Beckie and Chad stayed upright, watching. Erica lowered her head last. She didn’t clasp her hands. She left them resting on her thighs, fingers flexing once, then stilling.
She told herself she was just humoring Zach. That this was theater. That nothing was going to happen. The lie felt thin even as she formed it.
“Spirits who linger near and those who watch from farther away, I ask that you come only if invited, and speak only what is meant to be heard. Guardians of this space, stand with us. Keep this circle clear, keep what means harm at a distance, and guide only what comes in truth. We ask for connection, not disruption. For clarity, not chaos. And for protection for all who sit within this circle.” Elias lifted his head and said, “So we begin,” and then he rang the bell.
The sound didn’t fade the way it should have. It hung in the air, thin and trembling, as if the room itself were listening—waiting for something to answer.
Elias’s gaze snapped to Beckie. “Say your full name three times,” he instructed. “Once how you’d normally say it, once how it would sound at your funeral, and once like you’re introducing yourself to a roomful of people who are already listening.”
Beckie rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay.” She sat up straighter, hair falling over her shoulder like a curtain. “Beckie—” she started, then corrected herself, annoyed at her own informality. “Rebecca. Rebecca Marie—”
“Full name,” Elias said.
Beckie huffed. “Rebecca Marie Halstead,” she said once. Then again, louder, and then a third time, like she was daring the universe to answer.
Elias lowered his eyes to the slab of wood, and for a moment, nothing happened.
Erica exhaled, almost relieved, but then a flame bloomed on the board beside Beckie’s bracelet. It was neither from a candle nor from a lighter. It was just . . . there. A small, steady tongue of fire licking at the air.
Everyone flinched.
“Whoa,” Derek said.
Beckie leaned forward, squinting. “That’s a trick.”
“There better not be scorch marks on my Rolex,” Chad warned.
Elias was very still. He stared at the flame as if it offended him, and then he looked up. Fear had carved itself into his face. It was neither theatrical nor performative. It was sudden and it was genuine.
He stared straight at Beckie. “You’re lying,” he said in a voice that didn’t belong to him. It was cruel and mocking, deeper than it should’ve been.
The room fell silent.
Beckie’s smile flickered. “Excuse me?”
Elias blinked once, like he’d been yanked back by the sound of her voice. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Something came through. Let me recenter.”
His hands trembled as he pressed them flat against his thighs. His breathing hitched once before he forced it slow again. He lowered his gaze, lips moving silently, like he was counting.
Erica’s grip tightened around her wineglass. Elias’s head snapped up again. His pupils looked blown wide behind the lenses.
“You’re a bad girl, Beckie,” he said, voice flat and unkind.
She recoiled. “What the hell—”
“That’s what I’ll call you,” Elias continued. “Bad Girl Beckie.”
A nervous laugh bubbled up from Derek, then died in his throat.
“Okay,” Chad warned. “That’s enough.”
Elias didn’t look at him. “Bad Girl Beckie,” he repeated, and it sounded less like teasing and more like a chant. “You do bad things to people.”
Beckie shook her head, her face draining of color.
“Stop,” Erica said.
“Bad Girl Beckie,” Elias repeated again, savoring it.
Beckie’s bravado fractured—just a hairline crack at first. Her eyes darted to Chad, then to Erica, then back to the bracelet.
She lurched forward and snatched for it. The instant her fingers closed around the gold, she screamed. The flame surged, kissing her skin. She dropped it, and tears sprang to her eyes as the bracelet clattered back onto the wood. The flame went out the second it touched the board.
Elias exhaled a long, ragged breath like something had torn free of him. He blinked and looked around the room as if waking up in a place he didn’t remember entering.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft and human again. “Sometimes things come through too strong. And I . . .” He swallowed hard. “I can’t always control them.”
“What the fuck was that?” Derek asked, trying to sound amused and failing.
No one laughed. No one made a joke. The room felt crowded in a way it hadn’t before.
Erica leaned forward. “Beckie, are you okay?”
Beckie dabbed at her eyes, laughing through panic. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Elias rubbed his palms down his thighs. “Some spirits are hostile,” he said quietly. “Some know you. Some don’t. Some are drawn to grief. Some are drawn to chaos. Some are simply opportunistic.”
“Damn,” Zach muttered, looking at Beckie. “You must’ve pissed someone off.”
Elias’s gaze slid to him. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He looked down at the board, at the circle of objects. “Could just be a chaos entity,” he added, almost to himself.
The air felt colder.
“Would you like to try again?” Elias asked.
Beckie shook her head hard. “No, I’m done.”
Elias nodded once, then lifted his eyes to the group again. Calm returned as if he could choose it.
“Okay, who’s next?”
Erica’s mouth went dry. “I’ll go,” she heard herself say.
Chad’s head snapped toward her. Zach’s eyes widened.
She didn’t know why she’d volunteered. Maybe because watching was worse than participating. Maybe because her sister’s ring was sitting on that board like a heart left out in the open.
Elias inclined his head. “Say your name.”
Erica swallowed. The room was too quiet now. She became acutely aware of every eye on her: Zach’s hopeful focus, Liv’s and Derek’s concern, Chad’s skepticism, Beckie’s lingering fear.
“Erica Hine,” she said once, then again, and then a third time—each repetition tightening something inside her.
Elias closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his expression softened.
“There’s a female presence with you,” he said. “She looks just like you.”
Erica’s breath caught.
“I’m getting a J,” Elias continued. “Over and over again. Does that mean something?”
She nodded, tears gathering. He tilted his head slightly, listening to something she couldn’t hear.
“J . . . O . . . S . . .” Elias said.
The delay felt cruel. Each letter landed heavier than the last, stretching the moment until it hurt.
“Joslyn,” Erica whispered. The name slipped out like it had been waiting.
Elias pressed his lips together, a small, solemn nod. “Yes,” he said. “She’s nodding. That’s her.”
Liv stared. Derek had gone very still. Zach looked like he might start crying from sheer relief. Chad watched Elias as if trying to solve him like a math problem.
And Erica sat there with her hands clenched in her lap and tears hot behind her eyes—because for one impossible second, her sister felt close enough to touch.