They went into the room where Margot made her videos. It had a small kitchenette, superb lighting, a vanity, shelves of cameras and makeup and products. A spirit was wisping around, mostly cloud but with long arms and hands with what looked like press-on nails still there. Ayanna didn’t react this time, even when the spirit said, “Kombucha is not better than Lexapro.”

She rubbed her left eyebrow, then smoothed it.

The spirit lingered over the products, tried to knock them down, her hands unable to solidify enough to make a mess.

“What do your friends think of the house?” Ayanna asked.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the spirit’s attempts at destruction, each hand going through an intended target, an almost promising attempt to dramatically flip one of the tables, which rocked for a moment, then lost energy. It shrunk down to a small blob shape and went over to a far corner of the room.

“I don’t really take a lot of visitors to this town. I mostly work here. I had people over more when I was back home, but I took a trip here last year and felt destined to live here. At least for a little while.”

So, all you have are nice things and internet comments, Ayanna thought.

“I always wonder if I would be happy here too,” Ayanna said. “Despite everything, it’s beautiful. I always feel inspired. There’s always music in the air. People looking to have some kind of fun. It’s rare to be somewhere where you feel like you’re meant to feel pleasure.”

“Exactly,” Margot said.

In the bedroom, they sat on the love seat. Ayanna listened to Margot talk more through her unusual circumstances in the house. Creaks, a lot of construction delays, bad dreams, the feeling of being watched. Guilt that she felt like wasn’t emanating from her, but from the curtains and the downstairs rug, and leaked out of the vents.

“We’ll do the cleanse, but you’re right, there are spirits in this house. My impulse here is to tell you that you’re going to have to start donating into their community. They have lived and loved and lost in this city. They want you to help the children of their descendants.” Ayanna paused. She could not read Margot’s face. Her eyes were downcast, her mouth was set into a line. “Clean out the school lunch debt, see if you can make a fund that pays all their lunches, work to help the kids not just in this neighborhood, but throughout the city.”

The longer the woman was silent, the more Ayanna knew that nothing she was saying was getting through.