The thrill of it hit Helen like a jolt, making all the hairs on her arms stand on end. And it wasn’t just that Hattie was speaking directly to her; it was the change in the air—the coldness, the crackling hum like the whole room was full of strange electricity.

She was talking to a ghost. The spirit of a woman who had lived and died here, on these lands.

“The spirit board is one of the most effective methods for communicating with the spirit world,” the book had told her, but she hadn’t dared to believe it would actually work. Not like this.

“Was it because we put up the beam?” Helen asked. “The wood from the hanging tree?”

Yes.

The planchette moved again, making Helen’s fingertips tingle. P-L-E-E-Z.

“Please?” Helen said. “Please what? Is there something you need? Something you want me to do?”

What would Hattie ask? More important, what was Helen willing to do for her? Anything, she thought right now. I’d do anything she asked me to.

Riley was watching her with a mix of awe and worry. “Helen, I’m not sure…,” she started to say, then the planchette moved beneath their fingers, gliding smoothly around the board. Helen watched as it stopped with the little window over letters, Riley reading each one out loud.

“G-O-T-O-D-O-N-O-V-O-N-A-N-D-S-U-N-S.”

Then the planchette moved to GOODBYE.

“Does that mean anything to you?” Helen asked Riley.

“Not sure,” Riley said.

“ ‘Got odono von and suns…,’ ” Helen said.

“ ‘Go to,’ ” Riley said. “It could be ‘go to.’ ”

“ ‘Go to donovon and suns’?”

“Oh my god! Donovan and Sons!” Riley said. “Maybe it’s the old mill. Is that what you mean, Hattie? The old mill in Lewisburg?”

The planchette did not move.

“I don’t think she’s here anymore,” Helen said.

“Hattie?” Riley said again. “Are you with us?”

No. The planchette held still, no longer full of the thrum of energy Helen had felt, just a piece of lifeless plastic. The damp rotten smell had dissipated. The air felt warm and thick. Used up.

Hattie was gone.

CHAPTER 18

Olive

AUGUST 3, 2015

“Mr. Barns,” Olive said.

“That’s me,” he said, squaring his broad shoulders. “But who the hell are you and what are you doing up here?”

“I was looking for you,” she said.

But now that she’d found him, she wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. Seeing him there with his gun, the strange symbol chalked on the floor, the covered mirror, she felt her nerve slipping away.

Maybe she should tell him she was looking for something, an “antique” of some kind? She looked around for inspiration but nothing seemed plausible—a chair? But what if he tried to sell her one of those chairs in the circle…?