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  When she was settled, Ned handed her a refilled glass, then set the bottle on the floor. “Think we could harness our electrical energy and save money on the electric bill?”

  Abby laughed. “I think we’d have to keep a small army in the basement to get enough power. Or if one or both of us managed to generate enough, we might be a menace to society.”

  “Okay, we’ll table that idea for now. Tell me about the Psychic Faire.”

  Abby filled him in about the scope of the event, and her encounters with the first two mediums. After she’d described Bertha, Ned asked, “So were they for real, or faking it?”

  “Do you know, even with this thing we’ve got, I couldn’t swear to it one way or the other. Maybe it’s not binary—you know, you have it or you don’t, period? Maybe there’s a whole range in intensity or degree. As for mediums, it might be that some people who have just a little parlay that into a hobby or trade, like reading palms at fairs. They make enough right guesses to keep going, or they get very good at reading people’s expressions and picking up clues. And then there are the ones who are for real.”

  “Like this Christine, who’s coming here tomorrow? You think she’s genuine?”

  “Yes, I do. She was the last medium I saw, out of three—Sarah saw three different ones, but she didn’t notice anything memorable about any of them. Christine looked tired, and kind of distracted. She’s a palm reader, so when I sat down she explained what she was going to do, and then she took my hand, and blam!”

  Ned smiled. “Another term to add to our growing vocabulary—the ‘blam’ effect. I take it there was a strong connection when you touched?”

  “Yes, and it surprised both of us. She dropped my hand fast. Then she asked if anything like that had happened to me before, and I said yes. But she said she’d felt something like it in the past, but never quite as strong. She looked really rattled—not scared, just unsettled, and I don’t think she could have faked it. That’s why I wanted to talk with her more, outside of the fair. She agreed. You want to be here to talk to her with me?”

  “Only if you think it won’t scare her away. If you seem to be hitting it off, you can always call me in. But let me add something. What you said to Kevin reminded me of one of the basic principles of scientific research: you have to have a reasonable sample size. So if Christine has this ability, we need to include her, assuming she’s willing, and doesn’t run away screaming from us.”

  “I don’t really expect that. What’s reasonable in terms of sample size?” Abby asked, sipping her wine. She was getting pleasantly drowsy.

  “It depends. But definitely more than a handful of family members. We need data.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been a datum before . . .” Her eyelids were drooping.

  Ned noticed, and relieved her of the wineglass. “I think we need to get you to bed.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

  “It’s kind of up to you. You touch me, and I’m putty in your hands. My brain melts. But of course, if it’s in the interests of research . . .” Abby struggled to stand up.

  Ned stood as well, and offered her a hand. “We can call it research, if you want.”

  “Research it is, then.”

  Chapter 11

  Over breakfast the next morning, Ned asked, “What’re you going to say to Christine?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it,” Abby told him. “It’s not like I have a script. Since she and I have both acknowledged that whatever it is actually happened, we can jump over a lot of the preliminary ‘getting to know you’ stuff.”

  “You said she didn’t seem upset by it?”

  “More startled, I think. But I’m pretty sure she recognized it for what is was.”

  “Which is?”

  Abby blew out a breath in exasperation. “We have really got to work out a vocabulary. This isn’t a ‘seeing.’ It’s more like a ‘feeling,’ but that sounds really odd. Maybe a ‘contact’? How about we put up a white board in the kitchen or somewhere and write down the terms that occur to us, and then we can agree on a few? It would save a lot of confusion.”

  “So what’s the header? Psychic Phenomena?”

  “That sounds both pompous and old-fashioned at the same time. Can’t we simplify things? If you see a spirit, call it a ‘Seeing.’”

  “It works for the visual aspect, but what about a contact experience?” Ned countered. “A ‘Touching’ sounds kind of odd.”

  “Ned, what’s wrong with a ‘Contact’?”

  “Okay, that’s neutral enough and includes all the senses, I guess. What other categories are there?”

  “Smelling, which I haven’t encountered yet, but I’ve read about it. Please don’t try to label anything a ‘Smelling.’ Hearing—ditto. No, I don’t hear disembodied voices, but I’m still new at this, and I’ve read that some people do, so it could still happen. I do hear voices, but only when they’re attached to seeing the people speaking. For the moment I’m going to ignore things like ectoplasm or rapping—I think the jury is still out on the validity of those, despite well over a century of attempts to prove or disprove them.”

  Ned looked like he was getting interested in the conversation, Abby thought. Ned leaned forward. “What about those changes in temperature that are supposed to be associated with the appearance of a spirit? Like you suddenly feel cold? Where does that fit?”

  Abby shrugged. “Since I haven’t experienced that, I can’t exactly describe it. How can you tell it’s not just low blood sugar?”

  Ned smiled. “I guess you can’t, until that spirit appears at the same time. If it doesn’t appear, it’s up to you to decide. Anything else?”

  Abby thought for a moment, then said slowly, “One thing that troubles me, at least based on what I’ve read, is the idea that all these spirits—maybe even all the spirits that ever were—are waiting somewhere just to be called in by a single medium to say ‘hi’ to their relatives. I know this sounds like a silly quibble, but doesn’t it get crowded? How do the spirits know where all their relatives are, at any one time? They are singletons, aren’t they? Not multiple clones, where one copy of a spirit follows each relative? Can they split themselves up and reassemble themselves, do you think?”

  “Abby, I have no idea. In any case, that would indeed be crowded, but if the universe is infinite, I guess it’s possible. Still, I know what you mean. It’s awfully handy, isn’t it? You find a medium, and you gather a group of people together, and the right deceased relatives just happen to show up then and there?”

  “Exactly!” Abby said triumphantly. “If you want to take down this bit of data, as of this moment, based on my own non-scientific observations, I’d say that the majority of mediums or seers or whatever you call them are not exactly or completely authentic. Maybe they have a small component of psychic ability, but I think they’ve exaggerated it, and people are hungry enough to contact their loved ones to accept it. I’d say maybe fifteen percent are for real. And you’ve seen it yourself: some of these people with one or another ability, like Kevin, are completely surprised when it happens to them, because they don’t know about it and they weren’t looking for it.”

  “And where do you think Christine falls?”

  “I’m not sure yet. We both felt the same thing when we weren’t looking for it, so I’m inclined to believe that she has the ability, but I’m trying to keep an open mind. Think we can talk to her without scaring her?”

  “I hope so.” Ned stood up, picking up his breakfast plate and coffee mug. “I’ve got some chores to do before company comes. Like raking leaves.”

  “Do we compost?”

  “Of course. What did you think that big enclosure out back is for?”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought. Need some help?”

  “Happy to have it—I’ve got more than one rake. What time is Christine coming?”

  “We agreed on three.”

 
“Then we’d better go attack those leaves.”

  A couple of hours later the grass was visible again, once the most recent blanket of fallen leaves had been transferred to the compost pile, but as Abby eyed the leaves remaining on the old maples on the property, she knew they weren’t finished yet. But now it was time to shower and change and see what nibbles they had on hand to entertain a medium. Abby had to smile at herself: mediums were people too, weren’t they? If there was food favored by the spirits, she didn’t know what it was. When in doubt, serve cookies.

  “Ned?” she called out. “I’m going inside to clean up and make tea and . . . something.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he answered from around the corner of the house.

  Abby went inside. The shower and dressing were easily accomplished, but finding a teapot, and cups and plates that matched each other or anything else, was a challenge. When she’d moved to Massachusetts she hadn’t brought a lot with her, since she knew she’d be living in a small and temporary apartment. Ned had never collected much, but he’d needed only a mug, one plate, one bowl, and a few utensils to feed himself. Oh, and some cookware, but he really wasn’t very interested in cooking, beyond the survival level. But now they were entertaining a guest who might prove important to them, and Abby wanted things to be nice. Which was next to impossible. Maybe she and Ned should set a timetable for finishing as much as they wanted in the house. Winter was going to put a stop to the outside activities, and Abby had already wallpapered half the rooms she intended to do. It was definitely time to get serious about furniture and lamps and rugs and stuff—including one set of matching teacups for company.

  She’d done the best she could, and had tea steeping in her one and only teapot, when she heard the front doorbell (non-electric—in fact, it was a true Victorian twist bell that she had to remember to wind every now and then). “Ned?” she called up the stairs. “Company’s here.”

  “Be right down,” his voice floated back down to her.

  Abby went to the front door and pulled it open. Christine stood there, looking uncertain. “Oh, good, this is the right place. Great house.”

  “We think so. It’s a mirror image of the one we were in yesterday, for the fair, oddly enough. Please, come in.” Abby stepped back and let Christine pass her, then shut the door behind her. “I know this is a little weird, and I hope you don’t think this is some sort of crazy kidnap attempt or we like to torture people in the basement.”

  Christine laughed briefly. “I never thought that. Whatever other gifts I may have, I’m usually a pretty good judge of character, and I don’t get a serial killer vibe from you.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. I’ve made tea. Would you like to sit in the kitchen?”

  “It’s been my experience that formal dining rooms tend to squelch conversation, so the kitchen is fine. You mentioned ‘we’ a couple of times. You share this place with someone?”

  “Yes, for the past few months. I used to live in Pennsylvania until about a year ago, and . . . it’s kind of complicated to explain. Maybe after we sit down Ned and I can tell you about it.”

  “You can tell me as much or as little as you want. And no, I’m not going to read your mind. Ever since I started doing these readings, I’ve had a much greater respect for privacy.”

  That was something Abby hadn’t thought about. “That’s very considerate of you. Come on, let’s go get that tea.”

  Abby led the way to the kitchen, where she’d set the teapot—snuggled in a cozy—and cups, along with milk and sugar, on the table in the center of the room. She’d manage to scrounge up a package of store cookies, and she hoped they weren’t too stale. “Please, sit down. Want me to pour?”

  “Go right ahead. I’d probably drop the pot.”

  “Don’t worry—it’s not a precious heirloom or anything.”

  By the time Abby had filled two cups and sat down, she heard Ned coming down the back stairs. When he entered the kitchen she said, “Christine, this is . . . uh, Ned Newhall.” She wasn’t ready to try to explain their relationship, and she wanted to see if Christine picked up any signals from them. “Ned, this is Christine Pierson.” Was it her imagination, or were the two of them sizing each other up? If so, it was only a brief flash, but both seemed a bit wary to her.

  “It’s good to meet you, Christine,” Ned said formally. “Abby’s told me a bit about what went on yesterday.”

  He extended his hand, and Christine took it without hesitation. And dropped it again. “Holy . . . whatever. So it’s both of you? You must lead interesting lives.”

  Abby watched Christine’s face anxiously. She didn’t look upset. What had she been expecting? “I’m sorry—that wasn’t a test or anything. So you felt the same kind of thing with him as you did with me yesterday?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Abby sneaked a glance at Ned. He looked . . . what? Puzzled? Surprised? He shouldn’t have been, after what she’d told him. “Ned, sit down, please. Unless you want to run in the opposite direction.”

  He sat. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude. Abby told me about your contact yesterday, but I wasn’t sure if it would work with me too. We share it, Abby and I, but we thought we knew why. You seem to be a wild card.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Christine asked.

  “Which this?” Abby replied. “The touch phenomenon? Our relationship?”

  “Why don’t we start at the beginning? Abby, you just said that you’ve only been living in this area for a year, and with Ned here for less than that?” Abby nodded. “And you two share this same kind of connection?”

  “We do. That’s how we came together, the first time we met. We should tell you up front that we’re related, if you go back five or six generations. And Ned’s mother has it too, but it’s not as strong with her. Listen to me—that makes it sound like an illness or an infection. His mother is Sarah—you might have seen her at the fair yesterday, although she wasn’t one of your clients. We were there to meet as many psychics as we could in a short time. But long story short—I never knew anything about this thing until I walked into a house in Waltham and found myself in the middle of what looked like a short video of my great-great-grandparents having an argument. Only it was real, not in my head, and it was taking place in the place where it happened. I went woozy, and Ned, who was a docent, calmed me down.”

  Ned broke in. “Except I didn’t tell her for a while that I shared the same ability, although not with those particular people. We have to go back further.”

  “What is it you do, Ned?” Christine asked. “Professionally, I mean?”

  “I founded a small company which does chemical and biological analyses, primarily with DNA. We’ve done work for local police departments and the FBI, and we also do some original research.”

  Christine nodded once. “So you were playing scientist, with Abby as your guinea pig?”

  “Sort of. And believe me, I’ve apologized to Abby many times over. But I didn’t want to influence the outcome.”

  “And how long did that last?” Christine asked, her mouth twitching.

  “Not very. Although she wouldn’t move in with me for a while.”

  “Can I ask you through what family you two connect?”

  “The Reeds. There are a couple collateral Reeds buried out back—in the cemetery, not the backyard.”

  “Doesn’t ring any bells, but I’ve never done much genealogy. Do you have other ‘experiences’ individually—that you don’t share, I mean?”

  “Through other family lines?” Abby asked. “Yes, or at least I have. But I never even looked at my family history until last year, so there’s a lot left to explore.” Abby debated briefly with herself about mentioning Ellie, and how she seemed to be able to see people who weren’t kin. No, she decided—there was too much basic material to cover right now. And she didn’t know Christine well, so it wouldn’t be right to share sensitive personal information just yet. Like Ellie’s pa
rentage.

  “What do you do, Abby?” Christine asked.

  “I’m, uh, between jobs right now. I used to teach young kids, and then I worked as a fundraiser for a while. What about you? You said yesterday you had a day job.”

  “I’m a nurse. More specifically, a critical care nurse. I deal with people who are close to death, or are in a coma. In case you’re wondering, I didn’t go into this because I had this ability to ‘read’ people, but the other way around. The more time I spent taking care of people, the more I realized I had some kind of link to them.”

  “Where does the Psychic Faire fit? Do you do readings or host seances on your own?”

  “I’m curious, I guess. I’ve got plenty in my life to keep me busy, but I wondered what it would be like to work with people who weren’t sick or dying, and see if the experience was different. And no, I don’t usually do it for money. The fair seemed like a good way to meet a variety of people all at once.”

  “That’s kind of what I thought, only from the other side of the table,” Abby said.

  “Did you find anyone other than Abby who you connected with?” Ned asked suddenly.

  “Glimpses, maybe, now and then. I can’t lie or make up stories to make people happy, so I’m not exactly popular. Worst case, I just tell them that their departed friends and relatives are happy wherever they are now, and they want the person I’m talking to stop worrying about them and just be happy themselves. At the fair I just took whoever came along. Kind of a random sample, right?”

  “You could say so,” Ned said.

  “So, why did you ask me here?” Christine asked, sitting back in her chair. “You want me to do a reading for you? You want me to join your coven? You want to pick my brain?”