Page 25 of Waysider
Then, before she could decide what to do, everything went still.
The revenant had disappeared, and Cass stood there alone, her chest heaving. It was so quiet that she could hear voices floating through the closest window, which must’ve cracked or loosened during the earthquake.
“Second one today,” someone on the other side of the wall said. A second person responded, the words too far away for Cass to make out.
The two voices faded. Slowly, Cass lowered her gaze back to the empty space in front of her, then to the broken wall. Her mind worked, processing what had just happened. She felt a gradual tightening in her gut, a hard knot of certainty forming.
It wasn’t earthquakes that had been rocking the entire school the past few months, Cass thought.
It was a revenant.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cal had been visiting mediums all morning.
He’d never believed in that sort of thing before. Never believed in ghosts, either, and look how wrong he’d been about that. So when Cal made the decision to stop thinking like his former self, and adapt to his new circumstances, mediums were part of his new plan.
But so far, every single one had been a fraud.
Now he stood outside his fifth shop of the day. Cal was finding them at random, since he couldn’t exactly check the phonebook, but he’d been staying close to the bus line he’d need to get back to Else & Bellows. Cal planned to be waiting in the hall when his sister’s last class ended and she walked out. Knowing Cassie, the only friends she’d make would be the local dealer and maybe one of the security guards—it was how she’d snuck out after curfew at her old school.
This would have to be his last stop for the day, Cal thought, glancing toward the sky. The sun was over halfway across and it would take him a while to get back to campus. But despite the ticking clock, he lingered on the sidewalk outside the medium’s garden apartment. Stickers on the window claimed her name was Madame Zola. This didn’t seem like a promising start, and Cal was already trying to think of a Plan B if he couldn’t find a legit medium. There was always another play, he reminded himself.
Thinking about his endgame helped. If this woman didn’t pan out, he’d keep looking. Or he’d try to find someone at Else & Bellows who could see him, like the guy at the diner.
But that was one risk he wanted to avoid, if possible.
Cal finally left the sidewalk and went down the short flight of steps. There was a small, potted plant at the bottom, and what looked like a handmade welcome mat. Cal didn’t reach for the doorknob or hesitate at the threshold—he just walked through, like he had with all the others.
Music floated serenely through the air. It wasn’t anything like the bands Cal once listened to, and instead of guitars or keyboards, the instruments he heard were bagpipes and flutes. Faint smoke coiled through the air. Cal couldn’t smell it, since he couldn’t smell anything these days, but he would’ve bet his entire savings account that incense was burning somewhere.
He took the apartment in with a single glance. It wasn’t hard to do, considering the whole thing was five hundred square feet, tops. On the left side, there was a small, dim kitchenette. A vintage couch stood in the center, with glass-topped side tables and beaded, gently-lit lamps resting on top of them. The walls were covered in tapestries, and the room was partially divided by thick curtains, which had been pulled aside and secured with rope. There was only a single window, the one he’d seen next to the door, so the apartment was filled with shadows and pockets of darkness.
But Cal could still see her—Madame Zola. She sat on the right side of the space, framed by the heavy curtains like she herself was an image on a tarot card.
She was younger than the others. Her brown skin was smooth and clear, and she sat straight, her shoulders squared. She wore purple robes covered in moons and stars. Locs were gathered at the nape of her slender neck and gold hoops dangled from her ears. She was gorgeous, Cal thought.
She was also another fake.
He stood right in Madame Zola’s line of vision, but like the rest of the mediums Cal had met that day, her eyes went through him.
“Joseph is here,” she announced. Her voice was strong, certain. Even Cal bought the act for half a second.
The woman sitting across from Madame Zola fell for it hook, line, and sinker. She leaned forward. There was a thick, Irish brogue in her voice as she replied, “He is? You can see him?”
“I can communicate with him,” Madame Zola corrected. “But our connection is weak. I will maintain it as long as I can, and act as a conduit between you two. What would you like to say to your husband, Mrs. Leary?”
Mrs. Leary’s eyes narrowed to slits. She tapped the table with her index finger to accentuate every word. “You tell that lying bastard I know about the other women, and I’m glad he’s dead. Tell him I burned his mother’s precious afghan blanket.”
Madame Zola’s expression didn’t give anything away. “I’ll pass on the message,” she said calmly.
While she continued to scam the widow, Cal went over to the kitchenette—he was hoping to get more information on this supposed medium. She might have friends or other contacts in the business. Within seconds he spotted a telephone bill on the counter, and it was addressed to Miss Laura Stag. It seemed Madame Zola was behind in her payments by several months. Scanning the other unpaid bills, Cal let out a defeated breath. But using a ridiculous name didn’t mean she was lying about everything, he thought. Maybe he just wasn’t trying hard enough, and there was still a chance he might’ve found someone he could communicate with. Someone other than his sister or a stranger in a diner.
With another fresh surge of resolve, Cal swung around and strode across the apartment. He noticed a clock on the wall and determined he didn’t have time to wait until this little con was over. Not if he wanted to catch the next bus back to Cass. So he went up to the small table where the two women sat and said, “Laura Stag.”
She jumped.
She didn’t look at him, but she jumped, as if he’d spoken right in her ear.
