The woman on the floor screamed, andBenedictcould hear windows breaking.
Elysium cupped the sides of his facein his hands, making Benedict look at him rather than them. "Okay,Benny. You know how this works."
Benedict swallowed hard, trying againnot to cry. He nodded once, and Elysium flashed him a smile.
Benedict closed his eyes.
The battle of wills continued to rageon, screams and thuds rampant in the house, but he didn't open his eyesto see. He pressed the heels of his palms into his ears when the screaming grew to be too much, shaking hishead when he heard Elysium cry out in pain and gasping for air whenthose horrible yowls grew closer and closer.
But he didn't open his eyes. Not until the house hadfinally gone quiet hours later. Not until his mother picked him up from thecorner and carried him out of the house. She put him in the back seat of thecar, and he waited. When she came back,Elysium was with her, one arm broken and folded to his chest and the other carrying a worn, leather-boundnotebook.
Benedict blinked out the window. Thesun peeked over the houses downthe hillside in bright wisps of pink and orange. When the house they had come from went up in flames, it wasn't wispsof orange like the ones in the sky. There were no shades of pink. Just violent, furious heat.
Gloria had not spared the womaninside—not even when she gave up her book and released thespirits she had bound to her home.
Even Benedict, at eight years old, hadknown she wouldn't showmercy. It wasn't her way.
Chapter Two
Twenty Years Later
Benedict circled the room, inspectinga fireplace almost as high as he was tall.He scrutinized the matching ceramic vases on either side,the white chesterfield sofa and chairs arranged around a marble coffeetable, and finally, the massive gildedmirror dominating one wall. The home, recently purchased, was impeccablyfurnished for the design of the estatewithout giving up the antique feeling this place oozed. Benedict Lyonliked it. He could see himself living here, if it weren't haunted.
"It's a bit much," Emmelinecommented, as though hearing his thoughts, which she couldnot do. In his life, he'd met just about every spiritualist there was andnever found one that could really read thoughts, though he had had the pleasureof meeting a few mentalists who had certainly made it look like they could.
Benedictignored her remark and paused in his inspection of the houseto give himself aonce-over in the gilded mirror. He ghosted fingers across the black wave of his hair, swept up and sprayedinto place, back from his face. He had been told his wide, red mouth hada lustful quality; he didn't see it himself,but he liked knowing it was there. His vest hugged his waist, creating the cut of a silhouette he chased withunhindered vanity. His family hadnever been inclined to fear sins, only what they left behind on the world. As long as he knew himself well enough tosee those flaws, neither his vanitynor his pride would bring him down.
Emmeline coughed, a forced sound to remind him that he was on theclock and not at home.
He spunaway from the mirror and considered the room as a whole. He had made a show of studying the last fourrooms on the first floor with the same intensity.
Mr.Whittle followed him closely but stayed breathlessly quiet, no morethan a whisper of silk trailing him throughthe house. The man, well into his fifties but fit enough to shame mostthirty-year-olds, had called through hisnetwork of associations and friends to reach out to the Lyons—a family known for being gifted. Benedict had giggled atthat term as a boy, and he still didsometimes, when no one was around to notice. Mr. Whittle and his husbandhad been hoping for Benedict's eldest brother, Elysium, or even his cousin, Theodore, who had become a flashymedium with his own TV special. Instead, they got Benedict, the runt of theillustrious ghost-hunting family.
Luckily,no one, including Mr. Whittle, had any idea just how much of apsychic dullard Benedict was.
Emmelinegroaned, twirling in frustration near the door. She got boredeasily. "There's nothing in here buttacky furniture!"
Benedict flashed her a frown. He liked the furniture.
Emmeline's dress flutteredaround her thighs, falling back into place whenshe stopped spinning. The blue cotton ballooned out at her hips, creating a bell-shape that accentuated the narrowestpart of her body just under her bust.She was far from a slim girl, that bell of skirt full of hips and thighs. Her dark hair was in a messy tie, alwayscaught in the moment before it fell to obscure her heart-shaped face.
"Thereis definitely a presence here," Benedict said solemnly,countering her outburst of boredom. He turned toward Mr. Whittle.
The manheld his hands to his chest, clutching at an invisible lump."We had to move the kids back to the house in the city," hecomplained. "It was just a few sounds and things disappearing atfirst."
Emmelinerolled her eyes and spun away from the room, turning up thestaircase and stomping away on bare feet. "If you have a house in the city,then move back to it!" sheshouted before grumbling, "Rich people…"
Mr.Whittle let out a groan of distress, sliding closer to Benedict."Please, your brother said you'd be able to clean the house—"
"Cleanse," Benedict correctedquickly, not liking the sound of cleaning any house that wasn't his own."I can sense something amiss, but there doesn't seem to beanything rooted in these rooms. May we continue upstairs?"
"Ofcourse. Please." Mr. Whittle nodded eagerly and led the wayto the second floor. "We were planning to do
