“C,” Brandon read, scribbling it down and looking back toward the board to make sure he didn’t miss any more letters. But it was moving slower this time, looping around the board, until it finally spelled out:

CAWDOR KINGSLEY

“Whoa,” Brandon muttered. “This thing must think it’s talking to Delilah.”

As soon as he’d said it, Brandon wished he could take it back. Maria’s mouth was set in a straight, tight line. He’d hurt her feelings.

Then her arms jerked to the left so fast Brandon was worried she’d get hurt for real.

Lily moved too. It looked like the board was dragging her.

The planchette was pointing to the word “NO” in the far corner of the board. Then it moved back toward the center, only to jerk back again to the “NO.” It moved there two more times. Then three.

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

“All right, we get it,” Brandon said. “You said ‘no,’ right?”

The planchette was still moving. Back to the alphabet this time. More Spanish.

LO QUE ES SUYO ES TUYO

Brandon rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out what that could mean. He’d taken a year of Spanish in middle school before he transferred to Acheron and started French. The first sentence, the one with “usted” in it, had meant something like You will have what you most desire. And “lo que es suyo es tuyo” meant something like That which is his is yours. Well, it could be either “his” or “hers.”

The planchette was still moving.

LO QUE ES SEGUNDO SERA PRIMERO

That was a little easier to translate—That which is second will be first—but it still didn’t mean anything to Brandon.

“All righty, then,” he muttered. “Thanks, spirits, for your ever-so-clear words of wisdom.”

He waited for one of the girls to shush him, but neither seemed to have heard. Lily’s eyes were fixed on the planchette, but they looked empty, vacant. Across from her, Maria’s entire body trembled except for her hand. Her hand, resting on the planchette, was perfectly still.

This was all getting a little too intense for Brandon.

“Hey,” he said, leaning over the board. The planchette started to move again, slowly this time, in plodding figure eights. “Hey, ghostie, hey, Casper, buddy, what about me? Why does Maria get all the love? I’m doing all this work writing down your fancy foreign poetry. Don’t I get a fortune cookie of my own?”

The girls didn’t bother to chastise Brandon this time either. He wondered if they could speak at all.

That idea scared him. He was about to suggest they stop playing when he heard a strange sound from above.

Brandon looked up.

He was the only one. The girls were both bent over the planchette. It had come to a sudden stop in the center of the board.