Chapter 15
Zach didn’t lift his fingers off the planchette, but his shoulders had gone rigid. “Shouldn’t we make sure it’s really her?” he asked.
Erica looked at him, incredulous. “Zach. Did you see the ring?”
The chain still lay on the table, the ring motionless now, innocent again.
“That doesn’t mean—”
“He’s right,” Beckie cut in. She was sitting cross-legged now. Somehow, a full wineglass was on the floor beside her. “I mean, if we’re going to trust whatever this is, maybe we should confirm it’s not . . . you know.” She gestured vaguely at the room covered in blood and body parts. “That.”
Liv made a small sound, somewhere between a sniffle and a hiccup, but she didn’t open her eyes. Her fingers stayed on the board, knuckles white, like she was afraid that if she lifted them, something worse would happen.
Erica opened her mouth to respond, but the planchette moved, and all four of them stiffened.
“It’s—” Beckie whispered. “It’s moving.”
Zach leaned closer, voice low and careful. “Okay. Slow. Read it.”
The planchette slid to I.
Then T.
“It,” Erica said.
It didn’t stop moving.
S—N—O—T
“It’s not,” Beckie said.
The words came quicker now, smoother—like the board had finally found its rhythm.
Y—O—U—R
“Your.”
Erica inhaled deeply. She already knew what was coming. Some part of her always had.
F—A—U—L—T
The room went very still.
“It’s not your fault,” Erica said aloud, the words breaking through her before she could stop them.
The planchette didn’t pause.
Y—O—U
D—I—D—N—T
C—A—U—S—E
I—T
“You didn’t cause it,” Zach read.
Erica pressed her lips together, grief swelling so fast it hurt. Her chest ached, like something inside her was trying to push its way out.
N—E—V—E—R
B—L—A—M—E—D
Y—O—U
“Never blamed you,” Beckie said softly.
The planchette slowed again, deliberate.
N—O—T
O—N—C—E
A sound tore out of Erica, one that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t come apart halfway through. Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and unstoppable.
I—M
S—O
P—R—O—U—D
O—F
T—H—E
W—O—M—A—N
Y—O—U—V—E
B—E—C—O—M—E
Erica’s hands shook, but she didn’t pull away.
“I love you,” Erica whispered. She hadn’t planned to say it. It rose up and left her before she could stop it.
The planchette slid once more.
I
L—O—V—E
Y—O—U
T—O—O
Then it stopped.
Silence settled over the living room, thick and heavy and strangely gentle. The quiet felt earned, like the end of a prayer. The air felt different. It was softer now, the pressure having eased. Erica wiped her face with the back of her hand and looked at Zach.
He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “That was . . . pretty specific.”
Beckie sniffed. “Yeah. I mean. If that’s a demon, it’s got excellent manners.”
Liv finally opened her eyes. She nodded once, small and shaky, before squeezing them shut again like she was afraid something might change if she looked too long.
“So,” Beckie said after a beat, “now what?”
Erica returned her fingers to the planchette. “Joslyn,” she said, “how do we close the door to the other side?”
It didn’t move. Seconds stretched, and the calm began to fray at the edges.
Zach shifted. “Maybe we—”
The planchette slid, slowly this time.
Y—O—U
D—O—N—T
H—A—V—E
M—U—C—H
T—I—M—E
Erica’s stomach dropped.
R—E—F—O—R—M
T—H—E
C—I—R—C—L—E
P—L—A—C—E
T—H—E
O—B—J—E—C—T—S
R—I—N—G
T—H—E
B—E—L—L
I—N—V—I—T—E
M—E
T—O
S—E—A—L
T—H—E
T—H—R—E—S—H—O—L—D
Beckie frowned. “Didn’t we already try that?”
“We took the objects,” Erica said. “This time, we don’t.”
“Okay,” Beckie said, unconvinced. “Still feels weirdly casual. Like, shouldn’t getting rid of something that tore Chad apart like a bug be more . . . grand?”
Zach swallowed. “How do we invite her?”
“And what,” Beckie added, “she just locks this invisible otherworldly door behind her?”
The planchette slid without hesitation.
Y—E—S
“Yes?” Beckie read aloud, almost questioning it.
Then the planchette moved again.
L—E—A—V—E
H—A—N—D—S
O—N
B—O—A—R—D
Erica looked up at them. “We can end this.”
Liv nodded, relief washing over her face as she opened her eyes.
Beckie hesitated, then shrugged.
Zach opened his mouth.
The planchette jerked sharply.
I
L—O—V—E
Y—O—U
N—O—W
H—U—R—R—Y
Zach closed his mouth.
The planchette stilled beneath their fingers. Erica felt the board warm under her hands, the faint tackiness of dried blood making her skin stick when she adjusted her grip. She told herself it was just sweat or nerves. She didn’t want to think about whose blood it was.
Hurry.
The word slid through her like it had years ago, lighting up a memory she hadn’t invited in—her phone buzzing on the counter, Joslyn’s name on the screen, that last text sent from a car idling outside.
Hurry.
It didn’t feel angry or rushed. It felt familiar, her sister’s voice carried across years, easy and certain. This time, Erica didn’t question it. This time, she would listen.