“Hi,” I say and hold up my hand in a small wave. “Nice to meet you all.”
The brunette forces a smile. “I wasn’t aware you were bringing a civilian in.”
“She’s not a civilian in that sense,” Ethan replies right away. “She’s accompanied me on hunts in the last few months and fares very well.”
I’m still smiling, ignoring how off this conversation feels. Why can’t Ethan tell the truth? His family warned him not to let the Order find out I’m a witch—but why?
“Does she have any experience with spirits?” Brunette girl asks and it takes everything inside of me not to laugh. Ethan did warn me that the other hunters wouldn’t be welcoming—it’s just the way of the hunter, apparently.
“I’ve come up across them a few times,” I say, fighting the urge to elaborate on my lie. I’m not a good liar and have a tendency to overdo it, coming up with some detailed story to try and convince others that I’m telling the truth.
“She’ll stay with me,” Ethan says and drops the bag on the ground. “Let’s get started. I’m Ethan—”
“We know,” one of the teen boys says. “Dude, you’re legendary.”
Ethan’s face remains stoic and just gives the boys a curt nod. I zip up my coat, trying to fight off a chill. “And you are?”
“Zach,” the kid who said Ethan was legendary says.
“And I’m Ben,” his brother tells us.
“Mike,” the older guy says, eyes shifting back and forth. He’s the one who learned about demons after his family was attacked, but that’s all I know. Are they still alive? Did he watch them die? Find their bodies on the floor? It’s a terrible way to learn about the things that go bump in the night.
“And this is Stephanie.” Ethan looks at the brunette girl.
“Call me Steph, please.”
“So, what’s your plan?”
The two teenage boys both raise their hands, eyes lighting up. God, this is weird.
“First thing would be to canvas the area and remove any vulnerable people,” Ben starts.
“We’d pull the fire alarm if necessary,” Zach continues.
“You don’t need to be that drastic if this is just a poltergeist,” Ethan tells them. “Though, we’d first have to figure out what and why.”
“The reports of being attacked started when the construction crew began renovations on the second floor,” Mike tells us. “And the few eyewitness accounts of seeing a tall man in a white lab coat point to the spirit belonging to Dr. Hanover. His old office was knocked down to expand on an old elevator shaft that was put in years ago. A few workers who were on that project got so spooked they left without telling anyone and wouldn’t even answer calls to come back. If anything, I say it’s the place to start.”
“Good,” Ethan says, and I step back, watching him work. His face is set and the others are looking at him with respect. The boys seem eager to get out and hunt something, not caring about any potential danger. Oh, to be young and naive again, right?
The EMF meter Stephanie is holding starts to light up and buzz. I turn, able to sense the spirit right away. The spirit belongs to a child—a girl who’s maybe seven years old. She has thick brown hair that comes past her shoulders, and straight cut bangs curtaining her face.
The girl is looking right at us, and if her spirit has any sort of intelligence, she’ll notice. I lift my hand and give her a tiny wave. But she keeps walking, and Stephanie’s EMF meter spikes.
“Hey,” I whisper softly, and the girl turns at the last second before disappearing.
“You’ll want to wait until you have a voice recorder out next time,” Stephanie tells me, thinking I’m trying to communicate with an unknown spirit.
“Yeah. Next time.” I blink rapidly, getting hit with the girl’s emotions. She was asleep when it happened and didn’t see it coming. There was a sharp jolt of pain and then nothing.
Mommy!
I wince when her pain hits me. The girl is terrified, desperately looking for her mother. That’s the reason why she’s here. Her clothes weren’t too descriptive. She had on a silk nightgown—I think? Maybe it was a dress? It was solid pink, with little ruffles along the sleeves where the elastic gathers and hung down to her calf. Her hair was down and messy from sleeping, not helping me gauge what decade she died in which, in turn, would help me figure out who she is.
If her mother is still alive, then contacting her would be the only way this girl will move on. Though, part of me is certain contacting the mom would only prolong the hurt. Whatever healing her mother did—if she even healed at all after losing a child—will be ripped open when I say I’m conversing with the spirit of your dead child.