Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
They all froze. Nigel’s heart leapt into his throat, and a part of him wanted to retreat down the stairs. The quiet on the third floor had lulled him into a false sense of security, as if the ghosts had gone to sleep or left on a trip. “Oscar?” he asked warily.
Oscar was silent for a moment, his eyes going unfocused as he used senses Nigel didn’t possess. “Gloria,” he said at last.
It was exactly the sort of thing a living child might do—playfully knock back on a door. But Dr. Lawson said the ghost girl had seemed to go through a transformation during the first investigation. “Does she want us to join her?”
“I think so?” Oscar swung open the door.
The heat was stifling, though not unexpected. The room was a small square with three large windows, one in each wall not adjoining the stairwell. Or rather, two intact windows and one covered in boards.
This was where Robin had fallen to her death.
An iron ladder led up to the trapdoor in the stamped-tin ceiling, which presumably opened onto the gallery deck.
Most of the room was occupied by a single, round table surrounded by seven chairs.
They were all in surprisingly good shape, the solid oak appearing as sturdy and unwarped as the day it was built.
A gold-plated candelabra sat in the center, black candles still in place.
The decades of heat had caused them to warp until they bent almost in half, wicks pointed at the table.
In front of the candelabra, covered in a layer of dust, was a Ouija board.
Anxiety squirted adrenaline into Nigel’s blood. Not because of the Ouija board, but because of those two inviting windows that a spirit might throw one of them through.
At least they overlooked parts of the roof. A fall from them wouldn’t be fatal. Probably.
Forcing his mind away from visions of Oscar plummeting out a window, he asked, “Are you sensing anything?”
“Not yet.” Oscar shone his light at the boarded-up window. “This must be where Robin fell.”
“Where she was pushed.”
“Yeah.” Oscar took a step in the direction of the closest remaining window, but Nigel caught his arm.
“Please don’t get too close. I’ll open the windows.”
Oscar looked as though he wanted to object, but didn’t. Nigel cursed and fought with the warped frames, feeling like a fool when Oscar had opened the ones downstairs so easily. He only managed to get them open a few inches, but that would have to be enough. “There.”
“Not bad for a guy who sits at a desk all day,” Chris teased. “I’ll be sure to add this to our blooper real.”
Nigel looked at the windows and winced. “Maybe I should go to the gym with you,” he said to Oscar.
“You can. But I love you and your noodle-arms just as they are.”
“Thanks a lot.” Nigel stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
Oscar kissed him back—then stopped and looked around. “Gloria is here.”
“This is where her father summoned her.” Nigel pictured seven men in old-fashioned suits seated around the table, hands joined to let their energy flow into whoever acted as the medium.
“And where the Vanderwalls used the talking board to communicate with her.” And where Montague thought she’d killed Robin, though he didn’t say that part out loud.
No need to give her any ideas. “Maybe she’s here because she wants to communicate with us? We could use the board—”
“We’re not summoning demons,” Chris said firmly.
Nigel ground his teeth. “The Ouija board is just a tool, remember? We used a talking board before and it was fine.”
“Technically we were attacked by an angry spirit,” Oscar said. “Though to be fair, it wasn’t the one we were communicating with.” He considered a moment. “We can try the spirit box or an EVP, but you know what?”
“What?”
“I’m leaning toward a good old-fashioned seance.”