Chapter 1
My phone rang as I was walking Bestia in the park. These days only one person had my number, and I didn’t need to check the screen to know who the caller was. “Mum?”
“Alba, I-I’m sorry.”
I froze in the middle of the walking path. Something was wrong; I could tell from Mum’s panicky tone. “Did anything happen after I left?”
“I…didn’t think things through.” Mum paused, her voice cracking. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“You’re starting to scare me. Are you okay?” I swayed on my feet, my blue eyes fixed on my small-sized Papillon. He sat on the overgrown lawn, staring at the ball in my hand while the breeze raked its shivering fingers through his white and beige fur. I threw the ball, and Bestia ran off to fetch it with a happy yap. “I can make it back home in ten minutes, or are you already in the shop?”
“Your dad came over to see you earlier, and—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!”
“But—”
“Dad’s dead!” It was a bleak August morning with no sign of sunshine, and the wind cut my skin with cruel precision. “He’s been dead for over seventeen years.”
Why wouldn’t Mum just accept the truth?
“I called an ambulance as soon as…”
Ambulance? As soon as…?
Realisation struck me like a hammer, cold and hard. My legs buckled. “Mum, what have you done?”
“You know how this is.”
“No, I don’t. I am not…” Crazy like you? I managed to hold back those words, but not the sudden wave of anger that pierced through my fear and made my voice hoarse. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t talk to dead people; I don’t have your so-called gift.” It was more like a curse, really, a madness that pushed Mum to the edge. I took a deep breath. “You planned this all along, didn’t you?” Why didn’t that surprise me? “You waited until I’ve left the flat to…to…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Are y—?” The sound of a siren blaring in the distance cut Mum off in mid-word. Her breath hitched. “You’re coming to the hospital, aren’t you?”
“Why should I?” My left hand fisted, and I felt the nails dig into my palms. “You never think of me when you—”
“Alba, please?” The shrieking siren grew louder in my ear before it abruptly died. Suddenly, the only thing I could hear was the weeping wind beating me. Then, Mum muttered, “I need you.”
I rubbed my itchy eyes but didn’t answer.
“Please.”
A knock sounded in the background. The sharp bang felt final, like a punch to my guts.
“The paramedics are here,” Mum said, pitching her voice louder than she’d probably intended. “I need to hang up.”
I looked down at Bestia, who’d dropped the ball at my feet and was now staring up at me, his tail thumping. My shoulders slumped. “I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” Mum said and ended the call.
I picked up Bestia and headed home, hugging him to my chest. He licked my face. When I woke up this morning, I thought it was going to be a good day—a day for celebration. I was wrong.
I turned seventeen today. Happy Birthday to me!
*
Mum and I lived in a block of flats relatively close to the tube station, the shops, and London’s West End. The council flat was tiny, though, and had loose tiles in the kitchen and mould in the bathroom. No matter how much bleach I used to clean the place, a musty, stale smell always lingered in the air. Mum’s room was smaller than mine but always tidy. She had a thing for order, and everything had to be in its right spot.
Not today.
Today, Mum’s room looked as if a hurricane had raided past. The duvet and the pillows were crumbled on the floor, fighting for survival under a pile of shoes, books, and clothes that had been vomited directly from the cupboard. Yet, the scarier room in the flat was the bathroom where toiletries scattered across the vinyl tiles, and the shampoo bottle leaked green goo onto a towel. And the bathtub… I didn’t dare look at it for longer than a split second because it was filled with red-tinted water. If I’d had any doubt what Mum had done to herself, I knew now for sure.
I grabbed my rucksack. It was black, like my clothes, nails, and combat boots. I favoured the colour; even my dark blonde hair was dyed black. I pulled the purse out. I had one pound, twenty-two pence to my name. Not enough for the tube fare. I rushed back into Mum’s bedroom, Bestia following me. He yapped and whimpered, sensing my distress. I searched the room, but it was impossible to find Mum’s handbag in the chaos. Perhaps she’d taken it with her.
“How am I going to get to the hospital without money?” I frowned down at Bestia, who cocked his head as though wondering too. At least Mum had given me a key to The Mystical Cauldron. “I’ll have to pop to the shop to see if Mum left any money there.”
Bestia woofed.
“Good boy.” I slung my rucksack onto my back and headed for the door. I opened it and gestured to Bestia to get out. He rushed past me, yapping happily.
Crossing the landing, I knocked on Mr Thompson’s door. I heard barking before the door swung open.
“Alba, is everything okay?” Mr Thompson held onto his cane for support. He was still in his dressing gown, his white hair messy. At his feet, Reyna looked up at me with interest. “I saw the ambulance earlier.”
“Mum…has taken ill.” I swallowed the lump of saliva clogging my throat. “I’m heading to the hospital now. Can Bestia stay with you until I’m back, please? He cries and doesn’t eat if left by himself.”
Reyna barked. She was a pure-bred Papillon who had a short fling with a mutt; Bestia was the result.
“Of course,” Mr Thompson said. “You know Reyna and I love having him around.”
I pushed Bestia into Mr Thompson’s flat with my foot and dashed off, shouting. “Thank you. I’ll do your laundry tomorrow, I promise.”
Clouds gathered in the sky, and the pavement was wet and slippery from last night’s rain. The soles of my cheap boots were thin and not good for running, but my strides were long and hurried. It was Saturday, and I rushed through streets bursting with shoppers, making it to The Mystical Cauldron in fifteen minutes.
The shop sat between a supermarket and a fast-food restaurant, its window displaying an array of crystals, candles, and oil bottles. I pulled the key out, opened the shop, and rushed in without bothering to close the door. It was dark inside, and the shelves were crammed with ritual jewellery, tarot cards, and chakra gifts. A spicy scent teased the air, and it took me back to my childhood, to a simpler time when I thought Mum was all-powerful and would never do wrong. Unfortunately, life isn’t always kind, and I grew up and had to leave my naïve beliefs behind.
I checked the cash register first, an old thing that should’ve retired centuries ago, but it was empty. I eyed the door to the back room, and my jaw clenched. That room was where Mum conducted her other business—séances for the gullible. How many people still believed in ghosts today was a wonder, and Mum took advantage of their desperation. It helped pay the rent, but it was still cruel.
“S-sorry, can you help me?”
I whizzed around, startled. A woman stood a step inside the shop, inches from the doorway. I hadn’t heard her walk in. “Yes?”
“I…heard you have…special skills?”
I shook my head. If this woman didn’t see I was a teenager and, obviously, not the person she wanted, she wasn’t in the state of mind to think clearly. “Sorry, we’re closed today.”
“Please.” The woman took a tentative step forward. She was tall and thin, her hair a strawberry blonde that emphasised her pale skin. Her jacket looked made of cashmere and had no holes like my black T-shirt. She held a crocodile handbag against her chest, and her dark eyes looked puffy. “My husband passed away two weeks ago, and I need to speak to him.” She pulled a purse from her handbag. “I’ll pay double your normal rate.”
“I…” I needed money desperately. Unless I walked to the hospital, which would take me an hour; if I was lucky, it might not rain. I studied the woman. Her expensive clothes said she could afford wasting money on a séance—not that I knew how to conduct one, even if I’d watched Mum when I was little. This woman probably couldn’t tell, anyway. “Okay.”
I was such a hypocrite.
Her body slumped, losing its stiffness. “Thank you.”
Pushing down the self-reproach knotting my insides, I led the woman to the back room and turned on a small lamp atop the console table. There were no windows, and shadows beat all four corners of the room. A black rococo cupboard with motifs of angel wings and pentagons took over the far end wall, and a round table with five chairs stood a few yards before it. I pulled one of the chairs out and gestured to the woman to sit. I sat across from her and eyed the objects on the table: seven candles of different colours, an incense holder, a variety of crystals, a bowl of salt, a pendulum, and a crystal ball.
Now what?
Trying to set the mood for the séance, I lit up three candles with the matches I found on the nearby console table: one white, one violet, and one light grey. I remembered Mum telling me those colours enhanced the psychic powers, not that I believed her. Still, it was a start.
“Try to relax.” I took a few calming breaths, too. “Focus on your breathing as you think of your husband, visualise him in your mind, and decide what you’d like to ask. Choose a couple of yes-and-no questions please, and tell me when you’re ready.”
The woman placed her trembling hands on the table and took a brief moment to think. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” What the heck was I doing? I still had no clue. “What’s your husband’s name?”
“Ben. Benjamin Abrams, and I’m Esther,” the woman said, her voice a soft gasp in the silent room. “We were married for eleven years.”
I lit up an incense stick, which cast off a lemongrass scent, and reached for a black tourmaline obelisk on the table. I sucked in a shaky breath. “We ask the protective power of this crystal to shield us from beings that would do us harm.” I rotated the tourmaline in my hand. “Please, keep evil away and allow only the spirit we call today to join us.” If I continued with this charade, I’d be as bad as Mum. Could I do it? I looked at Esther. Her body leant towards me, her eyes bright. I guessed she needed this, even if it was a lie. “Do you have a photo of Benjamin? An object that belonged to him?”
Esther hurried to fish a wristwatch from the bag she held in her lap and set it down on the table.
Still holding the small black obelisk, I placed my free hand on the watch. “Today, we are here to contact the spirit of Benjamin Abrams,” I said softly, not daring to raise my voice for some reason. “If you are here, please join us.”
Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. “Benjamin Abrams, we reach out to you. Please join us when you’re ready,” I said and repeated the words three more times.
The candles sputtered.
“I-is he here?” Esther whispered.
A shiver ignited at the base of my spine. There were no such things as ghosts, no matter how many times Mum had tried to convince me otherwise. “Benjamin Abrams, please use the candles to communicate: white for yes, grey for no, and violet for I don’t know.” I waited for a moment and said, “Mrs Abrams, please ask your first question.”
She looked about as though expecting to see her husband standing by. “Are you okay, Ben?”
None of the flames moved.
Of course, they didn’t. What had I expected? Esther was going to realise I was a fraud. “Are you okay, Benjamin Abrams?” I asked.
All of a sudden, the temperature dropped. “Are you kidding me?” a male voice asked, its tone livid. “I’m dead; how do you think I feel right now?”
I just about jumped out of my skin. “Please, Benjamin, blow a candle.” My heart skipped a beat, and my eyes flicked nervously around the room. Where had the voice come from? “White for yes. Grey for no. Violet for I don’t know.”
“I do know, you silly girl.” Shadows shifted around us as though disturbed by an otherworldly presence. “I don’t want to be dead; that’s my answer.”
It was hard to stay put and not flinch as if everything was all right, but everything wasn’t all right. I lowered my chin and stared at Esther through my lashes. Was I the only one who’d heard the disembodied voice? Esther must’ve noticed me looking and raised a brow at me expectantly, confirming the voice was only in my head.
Which was concerning.
Hearing voices was a sign of psychosis, or so Mum’s therapist had said.
I scanned the room once more. Perhaps I should stop the séance right now. Tell Esther that her husband hadn’t manifested.
I didn’t. “Benjamin, if you’re here with us… Blow. A. Candle.”
The grey candle went out.
Esther gasped. “Oh, Ben. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what, woman?” I felt a wisp of air, and the blurry outline of a man began to form beside Esther. I bit my lips to stifle a cry. “I’m the one who’s dead!”
I lit the grey candle again, my fingers unsteady. I used to believe in ghosts when I was little, at a time in my life when I was lonely and had a vivid imagination. I wasn’t a child anymore. “Mrs Abrams, please ask your second question.”
“Do I give your brother that loan he asked for?” Esther asked. “I know you were upset when he came around to beg for our help to buy a house, but your death has hit David really hard and—”
All three candles went out.
Encroaching darkness filled the room, and the soft light coming from the lamp wasn’t enough to break it.
Esther’s eyes went wild. “What does that mean?”
“It wasn’t our help David asked for, but hers. Her money,” the voice in my head shouted. “I earn—earned—peanuts compared to her, and Esther also has the millions her daddy left her.”
“Y-your husband wants you to…do whatever you think is best.” My voice sounded croaky. “He trusts you’ll do the right thing.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.” The blurry shape next to Esther grew spikes. “The night I died, I was angry because Esther suggested I felt emasculated, and I had to get out of the house. It’s her fault I got drunk and fell into the Thames.”
“Benjamin drowned in the Thames?” I asked, my eyes wide.
Esther blinked. “Did he tell you?”
I nodded. “He regrets he was angry the last time you saw him.”
“My only regret is not learning to swim when I had the chance.”
“He wants you to stop grieving and move on with your life.” The voice screamed now like a banshee, and I had the urge to cover my ears. “That’ll give him the peace he needs to be okay.”
“He really said that?”
“No!”
“Yes.”
Esther cast her gaze down. “I thought he blamed me…”
“He doesn’t,” I said kindly. “He needs to go now. Are you ready?”
Esther straightened her spine. “Bye, Ben.”
“I want to stay.”
“Thank you for joining us today, Benjamin,” I said. “We appreciate your candour and wish you the best in the afterlife. Goodbye.”
Since the three candles were out, I knocked them on the table as a symbolic end to the séance. I waited.
Silence.
I sighed in relief. “Your husband’s gone.”
Esther Abrams paid for the séance and, still thanking me, left the shop with a tiny smile on her face. I stood on the doorstep and stared after her. Had I really raised the dead? My first instinct was to ask Mum, to seek her opinion. But I knew I wasn’t going to mention the encounter, not to her, not to anyone.
Because I wasn’t ready to accept that hearing Benjamin’s voice was anything other than a fluke.
