Celeste Files: Unlocked (8 page)

Her stomach grew nauseous the closer she drove to Maxine’s. Whether the queasiness was due to sneaking Lea’s pen from the bag, an approaching vision or lack of breakfast, she couldn’t be sure. Maxine had suggested she listen to her body and use the scribble technique to keep her grounded. Since Lea’s pen was the only writing instrument she had in her car, she placed all of her energy on the most important man in her life—John. After listening to how horribly Dale had spoken to Kelly, she was thankful for John. Although she’d been upset by a few of the things he’d said last night, John had never treated her like she was incapable. He’d never tried to control her or tell her how to live her life. Instead, he showed nothing but constant support and love.

By the time she reached Maxine’s, the nausea had abated and awareness settled around her. She realized scribbling wasn’t the only thing that could keep her grounded. Her husband could, too.

Anxious to share this revelation with Maxine and to perform another reading, she rushed to the door, once again bypassed the lion’s head doorknocker, and rang the bell. “Good morning,” she said when Maxine opened the door.

“It’s a beautiful morning.” Maxine ushered her in from the cold, then took Celeste’s coat. “A little gray for my taste, but that’s okay. Come see what finally bloomed.”

“Bloomed?” she asked, and followed Maxine to the parlor.

“Yes. I’ve had this orchid since Christmas and haven’t been able to get it to bloom. The buds were there, growing bigger and bigger. But today, they finally burst to life to show off the beauty they’ve been hiding.”

Celeste looked from Maxine’s smiling face to the blue orchid. She liked Maxine, but it obviously didn’t take much to make her excited. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never been good with plants.”

“I haven’t either, which makes this special to me. I feel somewhat triumphant.” Maxine chuckled. “Silly, I know. But it’s okay to be silly once in a while and remind ourselves that, just because we’re adults, we shouldn’t neglect our inner child. When was the last time you were silly?”

“Yesterday.” Celeste smiled at the memory. “I got down on the floor with Olivia and pretended I was a puppy. I picked up one of her toys with my teeth and crawled around so she could chase me.”

“I love it. Even after the disheartening reading, you were able to separate what you saw from your personal life. That takes strength.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” Celeste said, taking a seat in the unicorn wingback chair. “But I’ll admit, even after I finished playing with Olivia, I still couldn’t stop thinking about Sandra.”

“Is Sandra your friend’s mother?”

“Yes, and I was able to get an object for a reading. I’m not sure how useful it’ll be, but I figured it was worth a try.” Celeste took the wooden pen from her purse. “It belongs to Kelly’s sister, Lea.”

“Do you suspect Lea is behind her own mother’s murder?”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t know what to think,” she said, then told Maxine about the exchange at Kelly’s townhouse.

“Ah, the list of suspects increases. Tread lightly. Remember, without evidence you can do nothing for Sandra.”

“Right. So what do you say to us trying another reading?”

Maxine pulled a notepad from the desk, then brought it to her. “Maybe you should use the pen for your scribbles.”

“Okay. It’s worth a shot.”

“Do you want me to leave again?” Maxine asked. “I promise this time I won’t sneak back into the room.”

Celeste smiled. “No, it’s okay. And I’m sorry for the way I reacted yesterday. That last reading was…different.” She shrugged. “For whatever reason.”

“You know why,” Maxine said, and took a seat in the opposite chair. “I suspect you might feel a connection to Sandra because of your mother. I’m curious about her.”

“My mom?”

“Yes, what was her name?”

“Janice.”

“Ian told me a bit about her when he first called me about you two years ago. Based on what he’d said, I believe your mom was able to speak to the dead, not just feel their auras.”

From what she’d read in her mom’s journals, Celeste had come to the same conclusion. “Maybe. We’ll never know.” Which irritated her. Why wouldn’t her mom have given her more guidance? Had her mom assumed she didn’t have the same capabilities? “It doesn’t matter now. What does is trying to piece this puzzle together.”

“If you say so.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, defensive. Back in Wisconsin, when the dead had begun to use her body to speak vicariously through her, there had been times when she’d resented her mom. She’d died. Abandoned her without making sure she’d had the knowledge she would need to understand the true potential of her gift. Or curse.

“I believe it does matter. There’s a strong possibility that you could have her talent. And if you do…” Maxine leaned forward and touched her hand. “Let’s worry about that later.”

Celeste didn’t care for the other woman’s ominous tone. “You brought it up, so maybe we should worry about it now.”

Maxine’s forehead creased as she frowned. “Celeste, I can speak to the dead, but I’ve never had those that have passed use my body to physically tell their story. Quite frankly, I hope to God I never will. You, on the other hand, have had this happen to you. It’s a gift that could be deadly if you’re not aware how to control it.”

“But with the scribbles, I can keep myself grounded, right?”

“I don’t know. Ink on a page might not be enough.”

“On the way over here, I had that queasy feeling again. I put all of my thoughts and energy into John, and it subsided a bit. Maybe he grounds me, too.”

“Maybe.” Maxine gave her a reassuring smile. “But let’s worry about that later. I’m here with you now, should anything happen. And, honestly, I would prefer if you didn’t do a reading without me. As your gift continues to return, it could grow stronger. Before your mind suppressed it, you were already at a level that exceeds my…comfort zone. If that makes sense.”

It made absolute sense. Hell, she couldn’t remember her past trances, but based on the recording she’d heard, on how she’d physically hurt herself—without any memory—she’d gone beyond exceeding her comfort zone, too.

She glanced to Lea’s pen, which sat on the table between her and Maxine. “Am I better off pretending I never saw anything? It could be I’m wrong and Sandra did commit suicide. Maybe my mind—”

“Pick up the pen, Celeste. You can’t pretend this away. Better yet, ask yourself…can I go to Sandra’s funeral and allow her to be buried without knowing the truth? If you’re right, Sandra needs justice in order for her spirit to rest.”

“And if I’m wrong?”

Maxine leaned into the chair and raised a challenging brow. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Chapter 6

CELESTE PRESSED THE wood pen against the paper and stared at it as she began to draw circles. The grain of the wood was twisted and warped, the effect almost hypnotizing. She closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate on the pen’s owner, and once again imagined that the loops and curves were energy. She pictured the ink rising from the page, then wrapping around her like a rope and dragging her into the shadows. Into the unknown.

As the ink rope yanked her, she opened her mind, saw the pen suspended in blackness. It twirled in the air as if it were a baton, then stopped and pointed down. When she reached for it, the pen zipped away, leaving a trail of red ink in its wake. Curious, anxious to see where the pen would lead her, she quickly rushed after it, grabbled the end, then let it take her for a ride.

The pen moved faster and faster. In the distance she saw the blackness turning into a foggy gray. She knew she needed to move beyond the gray and into the light. Opening her mind, welcoming the unknown she allowed the pen to take over, take her deeper into that familiar vortex until—

“There’s…to cover…bills.”

A man? The voice doubled over itself in an indiscernible echo. Celeste looked around and tried desperately to see who had spoken. For whatever reason, she couldn’t. Unlike yesterday, nothing was clear. Instead it was a blur, as if she were looking through a camera lens that was out of focus.

“Celeste, where are you?”

Maxine. She sounded so far away.
“I don’t know.”

“Is there someone with you?”

Celeste glanced to the left. A sudden sharp pierce needled its way behind her right eye as an out-of-focus figure emerged.
“Yes. I can’t tell who, or if they’re a man or a woman.”
Another figure showed itself.
“Wait, there’s someone else here.”

“What do you sense, Celeste?” Maxine asked, her voice soothing and keeping her more grounded than the scribbles. “What do you feel?”

She gasped.
“Desperation. Fear. Wait—”

“And whose fault is that?” This voice was stronger than the other had been and, although it echoed over itself, she knew without a doubt that it was a woman’s. But was it Lea’s? “Maybe if you hadn’t gambled our money away, we—”

“Me?” A dark-gray aura moved in the shadows. “You’re the one who wanted to live here and said we could afford it.” As the voice became clearer, she realized it belonged to a man. “How could you put us in this position?”

The woman moved. So strange. Celeste could see the subtle outline of her figure, but she hung in the air contorting like a wisp of black smoke in a funhouse mirror. “If you were half the man you bragged to be we would be—”

“I make good money.”

“It’s not enough,” the woman yelled, her figure becoming reddish-black.

“It never was.” He snorted, his aura turning to a mustard color. “That bitch spoiled you, and now you think you deserve anything you want.”

“When that bitch dies I
will
get what I want. Three hundred thousand dollars will not only cover the bills you’re so worried about, but—”

The man laughed—the sound harsh, cruel. “You keep telling yourself that. But you and I both know we can’t count on that money.”

The woman’s smoky black figure moved toward him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because your bitch of a mother hates me. She doesn’t want me touching her money. Remember when I asked her for a loan?” His aura turned brown. “She humiliated me.”

The woman drifted closer, her blackness touching him. “Let it go. It won’t be long before she’s gone.”

“You said that months ago.”

“It’s only a matter of time. We can get through this until she’s gone.” She caressed what Celeste assumed was the man’s face. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore,” she said, her tone seductive. “I want you on the bed and in the position. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice an eerie echo.

“Good. Go upstairs and get ready. If you’re not in position by the time I get up there your punishment won’t be easy. Do you understand?”

His aura changed colors—fading from brown into a dark red. “I understand.”

He disappeared. Celeste gasped and quickly searched for him.

“Celeste, what’s wrong?” Maxine asked, her voice filled with concern.

She ignored her mentor and placed all of her energy on the woman left in the room. The woman moved around as if locking a door and shutting off lights, then stilled.

Celeste stared at her, trying desperately to break past her barriers and hear her thoughts. The piercing behind her eye grew excruciatingly painful.
“She won’t let me in,”
she said, hoping Maxine could hear her.

“Compel her. Call to her,” Maxine ordered. “Remember, what you’re seeing isn’t real. It’s a plane of the past, present or future. She won’t know you. Hurry. Do it now.”

The woman began to move again.

“Who are you?” Celeste asked.

When the figure didn’t stop, she shouted, “I asked you a question. Now answer me. Who are you?”

The woman paused. The black smoke that made up her body undulated, twirled, then twisted into an unnatural smile, before shooting up. Celeste followed her, then sucked in a breath. The woman’s blackness coated whatever was above them. It moved, bubbled and, in some places, burst.

Celeste jumped back when black sludge dripped around her. Afraid it would touch her, infect her with the evil she sensed, she willed herself to return to the safety of Maxine’s parlor. She was met with laughter. Coldness enveloped her. She turned to run back into the tunnel that had brought her here, but slammed into a wall. She looked to the left, to the right. Nothing but stark white walls surrounded her.

Then blackness oozed and dripped along those walls, intensifying the urgency to run. But there was no escape. She was blocked. Trapped.
“Maxine,”
she cried.
“Help me.”

“I’m here. Don’t let the vision control you. It’s in your head. You can make it change. Hurry. Come back to me.”

The laughter continued. She ignored it, and searched for the pen that had brought her here. When she found it lying on the white floor, she reached for it, and her arm stretched beyond its normal length, her fingers tingling to touch it. The woman’s cackle clouded her head, but she blocked it and grabbed the pen.