Liza was having a difficult time believing him. She ate a fig while staring into his eyes. “Okay, so how did your parents summon this ghost to their apartment? E-mail?”
“They used symbols, which they placed around my father’s study before the seance began. Specific symbols call specific spirits. The symbol for Hecate is three moons. One is waxing, one is full, and the third is waning.”
“Do all psychics talk with the spirits?”
“No. Most just glimpse into the future, and try to interpret what they see.”
“But you do talk to them. What makes you different?”
“My charming personality.”
“Seriously, Peter.”
“I wish I knew. My mother was a channeler; so maybe I inherited it from her.”
“What’s a channeler?”
“It’s a medium whose body is actually inhabited by a spirit during a seance. The channeler is under the spirit’s influence while inhabited. The spirit will often send the channeler back and forth in time to witness things.”
“You’ve done this?”
“Many times.”
“Tell me what’s it like.”
“It’s not as much fun as it sounds. The only thing I can compare it to is an out-of-control roller-coaster ride. I’m exhausted when the seance is over.”
“What do the spirits try to tell you?”
“The spirits care deeply about the physical world, and want to save it from the Devil, who’s intent on destroying it. Usually, the spirits reveal disasters that haven’t happened yet, in the hopes of stopping them from occurring.”
Liza speared another fig and offered him a bite. “Can you actually change the future?”
“Yes. That’s the psychic’s greatest power. It’s what makes it worthwhile. No thanks.”
“Do you channel when we’re at home?”
Peter picked up his glass of wine and took a healthy sip. He’d not been looking forward to this part of their conversation. Liza wasn’t going to like his answer. “No. Never at home.”
“Then where?”
“I channel during a weekly seance with six other psychics. We meet on Friday nights at an apartment on the West Side where one of them lives.”
A hurt look spread across his girlfriend’s face. “Hold on a minute. You told me you were getting together with some magic buddies at a restaurant, and trading tricks. That isn’t true?”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s no restaurant where magicians meet?”
“There is. I just don’t go there.”
“So you’ve been lying to me all this time.”
He put down his wineglass and nodded. Her eyes had not left his face.
“That’s so wrong,” she said.
“Everyone in the group is sworn to secrecy. It’s part of being a psychic.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Her voice was trembling. Peter had to do something, and he pulled up a photo of the Friday night group on his cell phone, and showed her. It had been taken in Milly’s living room before one of the seances. Liza studied the group and zeroed in on Holly. “Who’s
“Holly Adams. I’ve known her since she was an infant. She’s a witch.”
“Oh really. And I suppose there are vampires in your little group too?”
“Vampires don’t exist anymore. There were a few in Arizona, but they got wiped out.”
“Seriously?”
“Everything I’m telling you is true. Please believe me.”
She pointed at Holly. “Should I be afraid?”
“No,” he said.
She handed him back the cell phone. “Here’s something I don’t understand. Why did you become a magician if you already had these amazing powers? I mean, why do fake magic when you can do real magic? What’s the point?”
“It was an accident. After my parents died, I lived with Milly Adams. One day, Milly got a call from a teacher at my school. My teacher wanted to know how I could be calling out answers to questions before she asked them. Milly panicked, and told my teacher it was a trick, and that I was a budding magician. My teacher thought that was great, and asked if I’d do a show for the class. Milly was stuck, so she called Max Romeo, a magician from our group, and asked him to teach me. I became Max’s student, and fell in love with magic. I guess you could say it became my cover.”
“That’s sort of ironic.”
“I know.”
They ate the rest of the figs and the prosciutto in silence. When the plate was clean, Liza leaned forward, and dropped her voice. “Now, it’s my turn.”
“You have something you want to tell me?”
“Yes, and it isn’t good. I read something on the FBI’s Web site that you should know. Your parents were part of group of psychic children in a small English town in the 1940s that helped beat the Nazis, and win the war.”
“Really? That’s incredible.”
“Here’s the bad part. They called themselves the Order of Astrum.”
Peter felt the blood drain from his head. He stammered as he spoke. “That’s not possible. The Order of Astrum practices dark magic, and are cold-blooded murderers.”
“They weren’t always that way,” Liza explained. “In the late 1980s they started hiring themselves out, and your parents fled to New York because of it. The Order tracked them down, and did away with them. The Order has been doing bad things ever since.”
He took a deep breath. His parents were good people. This couldn’t be true.
“Are you sure this came from the FBI?” he asked.
“Positive.”
“Maybe you read it wrong.”
Liza reached across the table, and rested her hand atop his. “It was all there. Your parents were original members of the Order of Astrum. I didn’t read it wrong.”
He felt himself growing angry. What he knew about his parents’ past, he’d learned from Milly and Max. Had they known all of this, but never told him?
“Damn them,” he muttered.
“Peter, what’s wrong?”
“They’ve been holding back on me all this time.”
“Your friends?”
“Yes, my friends.”
He slapped the table with the palm of his hand. Heads turned throughout the restaurant. He suddenly was being bombarded with thoughts, and knew what every person in the restaurant was thinking. He’d never experienced anything like it before. It was unnerving, and he threw down money and stood up.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Please sit down, and tell me what’s wrong.”
He shook his head. The room was changing, the red tones and warm wood turning the color of bright red blood. The angry beast buried deep inside of him was taking over.
“I’ll meet you outside,” he said.
He stood beneath an awning and waited for her to come out. Cars and yellow cabs raced past on the rain- soaked street. He didn’t really know who his parents were, which meant that he didn’t really know who he was. It
