Spirit Talk: (Book One of The Fiona Series) Read online

  Fiona made a pot of tea while they waited and told her grandmother about her attempt to get a message for Ginny. She described how the man’s voice surprised her because she’d forgotten momentarily that she’d asked for a message for Ginny.

  “That’s good practice,” Mary enthused. “What an interesting message. I’ll call her right now and ask if ‘bread in the cupboard’ means anything.”

  Fiona pulled the screaming kettle off the stove and poured the boiling water into the tea pot, holding the strings of the teabags so they wouldn’t get sucked in. She asked uneasily, “Won’t she think it’s weird that we’re asking?” She could feel the pores on her face opening slightly as she bent over her task.

  Mary chuckled. “Ginny’s been my best friend for years. If my being weird was a problem, I’d have known by now.”

  After blowing on her forkful of meat, Fiona took a cautious bite and listened nervously to Mary’s end of the conversation. She was unable to decipher Ginny’s reaction from her grandmother’s words. After a few minutes, Mary returned to her chair and looked at Fiona quizzically. “You made someone else cry,” she announced wryly, picking up her fork.

  “Oh, no!” Fiona exclaimed. “How?”

  Mary proceeded to explain that Ginny’s husband, who had passed away three years previously, didn’t like it when Ginny put loaves of bread in the refrigerator. He claimed it made the bread lose flavor and texture. Ginny countered that refrigeration helped the loaf stay fresh longer. It was one of those silly disputes that couples quarrel over, usually amicably. “Ginny started crying when I told her the message you received.”

  Fiona clasped a hand over her mouth. “Is this normal? For the messages to upset people so much?” She felt shocked that the silly phrase was significant for Ginny.

  “They’re not upset,” Mary explained thoughtfully. “It’s more like they’re overcome with surprise and relief that a loved one is still around them. This is really delicious, by the way.” She chewed enthusiastically. “It tastes like a beef stew my mother used to make. She could feed the whole family with it, which wasn’t easy.”

  “Thank you,” Fiona said. “What about Nicole’s messages? Were those spirits just anonymous, or were they her dearly departed?”

  Grandma Mary poured tea into her floral teacup then added a spoonful of sugar and a long splash of milk. She took a sip, then put her cup down gently in its saucer. She drank tea with every meal. “That, my dear, is the question all mediums ask themselves.” She emphasized her words by pointing her spoon at Fiona.

  “Who they are communicating with?” Fiona asked.

  “Exactly. There are many, many spirits around us, some loving, some indifferent, and some are downright nasty. They have different methods of communicating. Not only do mediums have to try and hear messages, they also have to attempt to ignore what’s either nonsense or, worse, destructive.”

  Mary’s expression had grown serious and Fiona shivered as a ripple of trepidation passed through her. “But you also run into trouble when you try to edit the messages,” Mary continued. “You might leave out the one important part because it doesn’t make sense or sounds like it might be too harsh. For example, you might have ignored ‘bread in the cupboard’ because it sounded like nonsense.”

  Or ignored ‘red bear on the stairs,’ Fiona thought.

  Mary gazed up at the ceiling like she was searching for the right words. “I think the spirits of our loved ones surround us and protect us from the evil ones as much as they can.”

  “How do you know the difference?” Fiona asked. “How do you know when someone…” She hesitated, her voice catching on the words. “How do you know when it’s someone evil?” Fiona couldn’t quite believe she was having this conversation. If there was anything that truly frightened her, it was the thought that demons and the Devil might really exist. She deeply regretted reading The Exorcist in seventh grade. She also regretted the times she and her friends had played with the Ouija board at sleepovers. Fiona heard spirit voices at those times that the other girls couldn’t hear and it had frightened her badly. The other girls wanted to be frightened and Fiona did not.

  “You can feel it,” Mary whispered. The lamp on the counter flickered as the furnace chugged on. “You’ll always know. It’s unmistakably different.”

  Startled, Fiona glanced nervously around the kitchen. Just then, the shop’s doorbell rang, making both women jump.

  Mary looked at the clock on the wall. “He’s early! Can you go down and let him in while I set up? His name is Martin Bankston.” Mary crossed the kitchen and hurriedly washed her hands at the sink, then smoothed her hair.

  “Sure.” Fiona quickly gathered their bowls and utensils and put them in the sink. She’d have to clean up later and put the leftovers in Tupperware. “Do you want me to write down messages again?”

  “Definitely,” Mary said, “and over the weekend I want you to get familiar with the cards. We’ll do practice readings on Ginny.”

  “That will be so cool!” Fiona called as she hurried to greet the new client, energetically bounding down the steps to the shop. She didn’t think to turn on the bright overhead light because she knew her way around the counter and chairs and to the door by heart already. She had her hand on the front doorknob when Grandma Kate said loudly in Fiona’s left ear, “Don’t!”

  Fiona’s hand froze on the knob as she looked through the glass at the man standing on the top step. He was medium height, not as tall as Henry, and wearing a dark winter coat. It was the kind of coat a man would wear to a dressy affair or a funeral. He was sporting a black bolero hat like Fiona’s father used to wear. The man’s eyes beneath the hat’s brim were very dark in the dim light. Ignoring her grandmother’s warning, Fiona unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  “Good evening,” the man said, a smile slowly traveling across his face, which seemed to be stiff, possibly with cold. His words sounded oddly formal. His smile revealed white, even teeth. “I’m Martin Bankston,” he said. “I’ve come for a reading.” Fiona expected him to extend his hand but he did not.

  Fiona moved aside so she could open the door all the way, allowing him to pass into the shop. “I’m Fiona,” she said. “My grandmother is Mary. She’s upstairs and waiting for you.”

  “I was going to say,” Martin grinned, “I wasn’t expecting a young woman.” He plunged his hands into his coat pocket and rocked back a little on his heels, openly appraising her. There’s something creepy about this guy, Fiona thought.

  Fiona turned away and began to walk toward the stairs, wishing she’d turned on the bright overhead light. She felt skittish in the near-darkness with this stranger walking so closely behind her. All at once, she realized how unwise it was to see new clients in the apartment at night.

  She hadn't given it a second thought before, probably because the clients she’d met were people her grandmother knew. Now, though, Fiona realized how vulnerable she and Mary were. This man could murder them, and no one would hear them scream. In the wintertime in Fireside, folks had their windows shut tight and sometimes sealed to keep out drafts. Fiona thought of her mother’s warning not to sit near men on the bus and she almost laughed as she imagined Theresa’s horror if she could see her now.

  From right behind her, making Fiona jump a little as she climbed the stairs, Martin said, “You don’t have to be afraid of me.” At his words, a spasm of fright flew up her spine. It was as if Martin Bankston had heard her thoughts. Fiona was used to guessing people’s thoughts but she wasn’t used to having it happen in reverse.

  When they entered the living room, Mary had lit the candles, arranged the deck of cards and the crystal ball on the lace cloth, and placed the pad and pen on Fiona’s chair. If Mary was uncomfortable, she hid it well. Fiona relaxed.

  Fiona introduced Martin to her grandmother and took his coat and hat. The coat felt unusually bulky in Fiona’s arms, as if it were made of something heavier even than wool. Reluctantly, she asked him if he’d like s
omething to drink. She felt inexplicably hostile toward him and she tried to shake it off. He was a client and she would have to get used to reading for people she didn’t like.

  “No, no, I’m fine,” he said. “I just ate my dinner at the hotel.” He sat down at the far end of Mary’s couch and looked at Mary with naked curiosity; most clients looked at the cards and the crystal ball.

  “You’ve come a long way to see me,” Mary said smoothly. “Tell me, what do you need to consult about?” As she spoke, Mary leaned forward and handed Martin the deck of cards. He took it and began to shuffle expertly.

  Fiona wondered if he was a “serial seeker,” someone who went from psychic to psychic until he heard what he wanted to hear. His hands against his dark trousers were very white and looked like they’d feel smooth if she were to touch them, which she definitely did not want to do. They looked like they’d be cold, too.

  “I was in a coffee shop in Minneapolis and I overheard some women talking about a reading one of them had received on vacation in Fireside. The woman said you picked up on really specific details that couldn’t have been guesses.” Martin paused and glanced at the cards in his hands. “She claimed you told her who had stolen her watch from her desk at work.”

  “I remember that client.” Mary nodded. “I didn’t tell her who stole her watch, necessarily. She asked who did and I said I saw an image of a hand with long, red fingernails. The client said she knew exactly who that hand belonged to and that she’d suspected the woman but couldn’t prove it.”

  “Interesting,” Martin commented, still slowly shuffling. “Is that how it works for you? You see images?”

  “Sometimes,” Mary admitted. “Sometimes it’s just a strong feeling without any ‘picture.’ Rarely, now, I hear actual words.” Mary nodded at Fiona. “My granddaughter is the one who is getting clear spoken messages now.”

  Martin turned to look at Fiona. He stared at her for a long moment before speaking. “You hear words? Actual words?”

  Fiona nodded.

  “Is it always the same voice?” he continued.

  “No,” Fiona said. “Sometimes it’s my grandmother who died. Sometimes it’s a voice I don’t recognize.”

  “Do you see images?” Martin continued, interview-style, “in your mind’s eye?”

  Fiona knitted her brows and rubbed her cheek, buying time while she pondered the question. “Sometimes,” she finally answered. “And sometimes I see things in dreams and, later on, they really happen.”

  “Can I ask you a question right now?” Martin asked, sounding a little breathless. “And you close your eyes and tell me if you get anything?”

  Fiona felt nervous bubbles churn inside her. “I’m still learning,” she stammered. “I’m not ready to do readings yet.”

  Martin’s voice was oddly melodious as he remarked, “Oh, I think you are.”

  He’s so creepy! Fiona thought. And possibly evil, she added.

  Fiona looked at her grandmother, hoping for a gracious way to decline his request, but Mary just said, “You can try if you like, but you don’t have to.”

  Feeling trapped, Fiona nodded obediently and closed her eyes. Martin asked, in a quiet voice, “What color is my car?”

  “Blue,” Fiona replied immediately, “a blue four-door.”

  “Excellent,” Martin whispered. “Did you see the color blue?”

  “No,” Fiona said bluntly. Her fear was subsiding. She felt a desire to defy this man, maybe even show off a little.

  “So how did you come up with the answer?” he inquired.

  Fiona crossed her legs. “’Blue’ popped into my head. I don’t know where it came from. I did see an outline of the car, though, and the shape was a sedan, big enough to be a four-door.”

  “You didn’t hear it? From a spirit?” Martin asked. He looked excited.

  “No,” Fiona replied, but now she was hearing a voice. It was a female’s voice, except the woman wasn’t speaking words, she was moaning. Startled, Fiona lifted her hand to her right ear. The pad and pen in her lap clattered to the floor.

  “What’s happening?” Martin demanded. Now he looked almost angry.

  Fiona straightened up and opened her eyes. “A woman is…making strange sounds. It’s like a moan.” She looked directly into Martin’s black eyes. The moaning turned into a word and Fiona’s eyes widened in surprise. “She’s saying ‘Martin.’”

  Martin reared back like a snake coiling. His face had grown paler and he no longer possessed his earlier air of a man in control. He looked at Fiona almost fearfully. Then, however, he quickly grew calm again. Fiona watched, fascinated, as an expression of delight then slowly spread over his face.

  “It stopped,” she mumbled, wiping a tear from the side of her eye. She hadn’t realized she was crying.

  “Mr. Bankston,” Mary said, “I think Fiona needs to rest. She’s still so new at this. I’ll finish the reading. If you would like to cut the deck once to the left, and then again, I’ll read the cards for you.” Mary was sitting up straighter and no longer appeared to be relaxed. The flames of the candles were bending in different directions, as if there were multiple drafts flowing through the room.

  Martin, not taking his eyes off Fiona, grinned. “That’s okay. I think I’ve gotten all the information I need.” He shifted his position on the couch as he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out what looked to be a business card.

  “Ladies,” Martin said silkily, looking down at the card, then placing it on the table, “I work for a group of individuals who are very interested in people like you.” He leaned back, relaxed again. “They pay people like you to stay at their facility so they can study the process that gives you your…abilities.”

  Fiona and Mary exchanged glances. Fiona wondered if she had heard him correctly. “A group of individuals?” Mary repeated, sounding incredulous.

  “Yes,” Martin responded. “A group of very wealthy individuals who would like to understand why and how people like you and your granddaughter are able to access a side of reality that, shall we say, most people cannot access.”

  “We’re not interested in being studied.” Mary chuckled, “although it’s very flattering.” Her laughter, though, turned into a coughing fit. Martin watched her very carefully as her body shook.

  Fiona watched, feeling helpless. She wanted to force her grandmother to get better through the sheer ferocity of the love she already felt for her. I’ll pray for her tonight, she thought.

  “You might want to consider it,” Martin said, making a very obvious survey of the modest apartment. “The individuals I work for make sure the participants are well-compensated for their contributions. They also provide any medical care the participants require. The facility is located in a very comfortable mansion in Deer Grove, about an hour north of Minneapolis.”

  Fiona, still feeling slightly disoriented, asked, “Do you work for the government?”

  Martin’s laughter boomed, and he slapped his knees. “The government? No, Fiona, these individuals are not associated with the government.” He shook his head a little as if relishing the absurdity of her question. He then patted the business card on the table, sliding it a few inches toward Fiona before standing up.

  “I strongly suggest you consider at least a visit to our facility. All your expenses would be paid, and you would have very comfortable quarters during your stay. Afterwards, you would be given a considerable sum of money in exchange for your efforts and your silence.” Martin locked eyes with Fiona.

  “You would be required to sign papers promising never to reveal anything about the facility to anyone.” Martin then smiled benevolently. “I’m sure you understand the need for secrecy.”

  Fiona was speechless. This was when she normally would have jumped up and retrieved the client’s coat and hat, then followed him downstairs and locked the door behind him. Fiona felt oddly paralyzed, though, and continued to sit and stare. There was a distant roaring sound in her ears that made her th
ink of the time she’d fainted in high school. She could not look away from Martin’s face. It was like he had hypnotized her. Has he hypnotized me? she wondered.

  Mary, who had finally wrestled the coughing fit under control, stood. “Thank you, Mr. Bankston, for coming so far out of your way to visit us.” She crossed to the coat rack and took his coat and hat off the hooks, handing them to him. Fiona observed that Mary had to struggle to lift the coat. “There will be no charge for this evening,” Mary stated, “since you did not receive a reading from me.”

  Martin snickered softly as pulled his wallet from his coat and extracted a small stack of bills, then handed the stack to Mary. “This trip was very much worthwhile,” he crooned. “I spend months, sometimes years, searching the country, sometimes the world, for people like you and Fiona. My bosses will be very pleased.”

  Mary, sounding suddenly stern, replied, “Mr. Bankston, my granddaughter and I are not interested, but we thank you again for coming all this way. I’ll see you out now.” She handed the money back to him and led the way down the stairs.

  Beginning to follow Mary, Martin stared at Fiona from the doorway. “Your grandmother,” he whispered, just loud enough for Fiona to hear, “isn’t going to be around forever.” Fiona opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

  When Fiona heard the bell on the front door tinkle as her grandmother closed the shop door, she ran to her bedroom and peered out the window to watch Martin head toward The Fireside Hotel. He strolled rather slowly for someone walking alone on a dark street on a cold night. Fiona quivered and pulled on the sweater that was hanging on her desk chair. She wanted to watch Martin for as long as he was in sight, but she was afraid he’d turn and see her in the window.

  Back in the living room, she saw that the door to the stairs, which was usually left open, was closed. Grandma Mary had also dragged a chair from the kitchen and tilted it to rest underneath the doorknob. Anyone trying to get in would find it impossible to do so.

  When Mary turned, Fiona saw that her grandmother was pale. “That was odd,” Mary said, her voice a little unsteady.