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Valebrook’s lips pressed into a firm line, but he hadn’t pointed a finger and shouted, Fraud! at her yet, so she’d carry on.
“We welcome you to our table, spirit. Can you give us the first letter of your name?”
A first letter was always easy; Mrs. Bunton-Talmadge stared at the board intensely, and likely she subconsciously pushed the pointer, hoping to communicate with someone specific. The ivory drifted and halted beneath the E.
Bridget smiled. “Thank you, spirit. Your friends at the table can be referred to by numbers. To my left—” she nodded at Mrs. Bunton-Talmadge, “—is number one, her husband number two, and so on. Spirit, for whom at this table do you have a message?”
The pointer drifted again, stopping at the number one.
Mrs. Bunton-Talmadge gasped. “It must be my great-aunt Euphemia! The letter E!”
Bridget sent up an internal cheer. “Spirit sister Euphemia, are you with us?”
The pointer drifted to Yes. Mrs. Bunton-Talmadge shrieked with pleasure.
“Do you have a message for your grandniece?”
“It had better be a solution for those blasted rabbits,” Mr. Bunton-Talmadge muttered. “I can’t stand—”
Bridget shushed him, gently—she hoped. The pointer was moving again, gliding placidly from letter to letter on the board. She hazarded a glance towards Valebrook, gratified to see the tension in his mouth had eased, his eyes wider now as he watched the movement.
“U…,” the woman said as the pointer paused for a moment. “S… E…”
The pointer jerked, lurching across the board and stopping on a single word. The ivory vibrated beneath her touch.
No.
The candles flickered in an unseen, inexplicable wind, and the fine hairs on Bridget’s nape stood on end. Something about the room felt different in a way she couldn’t define, like the air was thicker, coating her lungs. Mrs. Keenan wasn’t hiding behind the screen with her bellows and a block of ice, so what could explain it?
“Who is here?” she said, her voice tight.
The pointer moved again, but unlike before, the movements were lurching and defined, stopping at a letter for only an instant before shooting to the next.
“F… R… E… E…” Mrs. Bunton-Talmadge recited. “Y… O… U… R…”
The pointer whipped across the board, and when it stopped on the final letter, Bridget blinked in disbelief.
“Free your dead,” Mr. Bunton-Talmadge said, looking smug. “Even I could spell that.”
Bridget’s pulse thundered. She’d never once seen the board behave this way, even under her grandparents’ manipulation. “Spirit, give us your name?”
The ivory flew across the wooden surface again, with the same message.
She shot her gaze to Valebrook; his eyes bulged, his mouth gaped. He was as unnerved as she felt.
“Who?” she croaked. “Whose dead?”
Y…O…U.
Her heart lurched and slammed against her ribs. “I don’t understand,” she managed. “Who—”
The sliver of ivory shot across the board, free of everyone’s hands, and collided with her chest before tumbling to her lap.
Her eyes burned, her breath coming so quickly she feared she was wheezing. She’d never summoned anything, and now this spirit had a message specifically for her? With trembling fingers, she lifted the ivory from her lap and turned it about in her hands.
It was cold as ice.
CHAPTER 10
