Julianne, though, she was ready to eat this shit up like buttered pancakes. “No chance in hell,” she squeaked, her jaw inches from her ankles. She didn’t rub her hands together and scream for more, but she didn’t need to because we all saw it. Joan, on the other hand, looked like she swallowed a hundred lemons.
Adam shrugged, his easy grin still growing across his face. “I’m just fucking with you. Honestly, I think Stew’s just dragging his feet. This whole thing kinda creeps him the fuck out.”
I avoided looking at Julianne, but I couldn’t quite hide my smile as she groaned in annoyance at Adam.
It wasn’t long before hurried footfalls outside the cabin caught our attention.
Joan opened the door before the boys even had the chance to knock, which didn’t faze Renard at all. He took the room in with the cool, regal gaze he used on everything.
Stew stared at his feet, his fine, shaggy black hair still wet from his shower. Renard’s wasn’t, but expensive scents wafted off of his bright aristocratically sculpted hair.
“Ladies,” Renard said formally. “Our apologies for being late.”
“No apologies necessary,” Joan crooned, gazing at Stew from under her eyelashes.
He pretended he didn’t notice, but the tips of his ears blushed bright.
Renard nudged him with his elbow as if to say, “I told you so.”
Stew shrugged away from him irritably.
“So how do we do this?” Stew asked, sounding desperate to get the attention off of them.
Julianne pulled a velvet draw-string bag out of her backpack. She untied it slowly and precisely, humming low in her throat. The sound did something to the atmosphere. Sucked all of the humor, the hormones, the lightness right out of it.
A solemn silence fell over us as we watched her pull the Ouija board out of the purple velvet. It was closed and locked, an expensive self-contained case that looked older than the cabin we sat in.
It was intricately carved, its corners and edges worn smooth with years—maybe decades—of use. The way the dark wood absorbed and reflected the light made it look like it was moving somehow, like the wood was liquid under the glaze, and it carried scents of sage and sandalwood. Its presence alone was enough to make me believe in real magic.
Julianne set it in the middle of the floor and opened it with ceremonial precision.
“Sit in a circle around it,” she said in the same low, ominous tone that she’d been humming in. “I’ll light the lanterns.”
“Why do we need lanterns?” Adam asked, frowning at the ceiling. “We’ve got light.”
Julianne huffed at him impatiently, then smiled in a way that was both creepy and patronizing.
“Artificial light repels spirits,” she said, as if she were explaining to a toddler why he can’t run in the street. “If we want the spirits to talk to us, we can’t have the lights on, can we?”
Adam’s face darkened, his lids lowered, but he returned her smile with interest. “Whatever you say,” he said. “You’re the witch.”
I don’t know if anyone else saw her shoulders stiffen. It was a small movement, almost imperceptible, and didn’t last long—but it was enough to tell me that Adam was going to pay for that comment. Maybe not now, but someday.
Julianne considered the word “witch” to be a slur against her and her family and wouldn’t soon forget about his casual slight.
We took our places on the big pentagram she’d drawn on the floor in chalk before the boys got there, carefully not to blur the markings with our movements.
Julianne lit the candles in five lanterns, which she placed on the points of the star. When she turned out the lights, crazy shadows fought for dominance over the little wooden board.
“Now,” Julianne said, her voice low and solemn. “Each of you place a finger on the pointer. Swear that you will not interfere with the spirits; that you will allow them to control the pointer.”
“I swear it,” Macy and Joan said together in the same solemn tone Julianne was using.
“I swear it,” I said, feeling silly, albeit a little uncomfortable.
“I swear it,” the boys agreed, one after the other, with varying levels of conviction.
Stew seemed freaked out already, but it could just be because Joan had taken the spot next to him and was subtly encroaching on his personal space however she could. Poor kid.
“What do we do now?” Stew asked, trying to shuffle away from Joan without moving the pointer.
“We need to warm it up,” Julianne said firmly. “Give it some easy questions first, just to open the connection to the spirit world. There’s one very important rule you should know.” She met each of our eyes, one by one. “Do not, under any circumstances, tell it your name. Don’t even ask it to name you. Spirits can harness the power of your true name and use it against you.”
“I thought that was fairies?”
“You read too many novels, Macy,” Julianne snapped. “Now. Warm up the board. I’ll go first, to show you what kinds of questions you need to ask.”
I never imagined spirits having to warm up for a performance, but I’m not exactly a spiritual kind of person. The fact of the matter was, this was Julianne’s forte, not mine.
Plus, who was I to question the witch?
Julianne inhaled deeply through her nose, then projected in a powerful voice that wasn’t any louder than a whisper, but seemed to carry all the way through the cabin.
“Spirits,” she said. “Tell me the name of the camp we are speaking to you from.”
The pointer trembled under our fingers and my heart leapt in spite of myself. Slowly, very slowly, the pointer moved from letter to letter. W-Y-T-I-P-O
“Shit,” Renard breathed.
“Watch your language in the presence of the spirits,” Julianne said silkily. “Many of them died long before your parents were born, and have old-fashioned ideas about things like that.”
Stew visibly paled and Joan nuzzled his shoulder comfortingly. It didn’t have that effect, though, since his face went bright red and his eyes widened as far as their almond shape would let them.
“Spirits, what’s the color of an apple?” he blurted out, sounding panicked.
R-E-D the board spelled out.
But it didn’t stop there.
In rigid silence, we watched as the pointer continued to move. From G to R to E-E-N-Y-E-L-L-O-W.
Julianne shot him an irritated look. “Really?”
He shrugged unhappily.
“Spirits,” Adam said with a smirk. “What did the girls eat for dinner?”
N-O-T-H-
“Stop moving the pointer, Adam,” Macy snapped. She was sitting next to him, so I guess she would know. He grinned at her, then shrugged.
“Fine, I won’t. Spirits, what did the cafeteria serve for dinner?”
M-E-A-T-L-O-A-F
“Weird,” Joan said with a shudder.
“The meatloaf or the answer?” I asked.
Macy smirked along with me. Julianne was less amused.
“Spirits,” Renard said. “Where are the Olympics being held this year?”
B-E-R-L-I-N
“Berlin,” Joan read out loud. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” Adam said, rolling his eyes.