No Humans Involved (Otherworld 7)

Becky looked at the security crew. "Any volunteers?"

"I will," I said.

All heads turned my way.

"Oh, come on," I said. "What will film better? A security guard jumping that fence? Or me?" I turned to Angelique. "Unless you want to."

She backed away as if I'd suggested she desecrate a grave. "Oh, no. I couldn't. My dress--"

"Then it'll have to be me." I pulled off my sling-backs and handed them to the nearest guard. "Now, which of you boys is going to boost me over that fence?"

SO I snuck into the neighbor's yard and swiped dirt from behind their pool house. By the time I got back, my feet were filthy, my hair had twigs caught in it and I was sure there was a dirt smear or two on my face. But I got my round of cheers--and my laughs--and some footage of a cute young guard washing my feet in the fountain.

"Okay," I said, putting my heels back on as I leaned against the obliging guard. "Time for the seance. Angelique? You're up."

TANSY LANE

THE MEDIUM HAS TWO PRIMARY TOOLS at her disposal, and neither has anything to do with summoning spirits. The tools are knowledge and statistical probability. Or, as they're often called, warm reading and cold reading.

Cold reading uses statistical probability to make random guesses about a person or an audience. For example, if I say I see the spirit of a man, someone you've lost, it's a given that you've lost a male friend or relative in your lifetime. If I say his name started with J--first name, but maybe a middle or nickname--there's a good chance you can find a dead male relative with that common initial. Then I'll throw out "details" supplied by your dead relative, talking fast, shaping my responses by reading your reaction, and soon you'll be convinced I am indeed speaking to your dearly departed second cousin Joey...who, by the way, misses you, but is happy and in a good place.

Then there's warm reading, which uses prior knowledge. Maybe you chatted to one of my staff on the way into the show--they're so helpful and friendly. Maybe they overheard you telling your companion about the person you wanted me to contact. Or maybe you wrote it on that questionnaire you sent in, the one that was supposed to be anonymous. However it happened, I know that you, in seat D45, are praying that your second cousin Joey comes by with a message. Well, he has, and he misses you, but he's happy and in a good place.

When summoning a specific spirit, though, like Tansy Lane, you can't use statistical probability, so the tool Angelique needed was knowledge--memories of what she'd heard about the case. Which posed a problem, considering she'd been born after Tansy died. If she'd gotten the spot after me, she could have built on my "revelations." Without that, she was in trouble.

"Tansy? Is that you?" Angelique squinted as if straining to see in the dark. "She's having difficulty passing over. That's common with traumatized ghosts."

After two minutes of this, Becky told the cameraman to stop filming. I took a seat on a stone bench and waited my turn. At this rate, it wouldn't be long.

"I think I see her," Angelique was saying. "Her hair...it's light. No, maybe dark..."

A whisper rushed past my ear and I spun, nearly falling off the bench. I fought the urge to look around and kept my gaze straight ahead. The whisper seemed to circle me, a pss-pss-pss that made the hairs on my neck rise.

Fingers brushed my arm. I narrowed my eyes, withdrawing into that most primitive response--mentally stopping up my ears, squeezing my eyes shut and repeating, "I can't hear you. I can't hear you." As silly and immature as it felt, there was nothing else I could do with people all around me. Just ignore it and hope it went away.

Someone slapped me. A smack across my cheek so hard I reeled, gasping. Fury followed surprise as I pictured my mother's face above mine, heard her voice: "Don't look at me that way, Jaime. I was only getting your attention"--even as her slap still burned.

My hand went to my cheek.

As I looked up, I saw all eyes on me and realized I'd gasped aloud. Even Angelique had stopped and was glaring daggers at me.

"Sorry. I thought I..." I shook my head. "Never mind. Sorry."

"Oh, my God, your cheek!" Becky said. "There's a mark. Brian, get the camera over here."

Damn it. There was nothing more unprofessional than derailing a colleague's seance. Angelique's glares turned lethal. Worse yet was Grady's frown, one that said he hadn't expected such dirty tricks from me, and would need to be wary from now on.

"It's not--" I rubbed my cheek. "Something stung me. I'm so sorry. Please, Angelique, continue, with my apologies."

"Actually, I was just going to ask Angel to take a rest," Becky said. "But maybe you can give her a hand instead. Help her pull Tansy out of limbo."

"I'm not sure I should interfere..."

Angelique wheeled, frustration blazing in her eyes. Her first big shot and she was blowing it. Damned if she was going down alone.

"Oh, Jaime," she said, gripping my hands. "I would be honored if you'd help. Unless you think you can't. I'd heard you've been having some trouble lately..."

I laughed. "I'd love to know who told you that. Let's see what I can do."