Eve sat on the trunk of her car, feeling a cool breeze from the lake brush along her sweaty neck. The sun sat high in the sky and pressed heat into her skin. She stared at the henge, at the runes that covered the standing stones, and pressed her lips together.

Jon and Ezra were talking in front of her, but she kept hearing the scream from her first night in Blackwood and the scream that had just pierced the air and sucked the breath from her lungs. They rang in her ears while Ezra’s mouth moved silently. His shirt was buttoned up to the neck, his long sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and for a moment all Eve could think over the screams was how hot he must be all the time.

“I know why she’s attached to me,” Eve said, and speaking made the noise fade until she could hear again. Ezra and Jon looked at her.

Gentle waves sloshed against the pebble beach as she gave them a recap of her first encounter with the North Henge and a scream, including her collision with the center stone and her missing notes the following morning.

“For the record,” she said, looking at Ezra. He sat on the curb of the parking lot and looked up at Eve and Jon, and he rolled his eyes at her. “I do not believe in magic. I’m not a witch; I cannot cast spells.” Jon opened his mouth to argue, so she held up a hand. “But. I don’t see another way this could have happened, so I will temporarily consider the legitimacy of magic.”

“This is great,” Jon said. Eve looked at him, failing to see how any of this could be great. It was bad enough she was caught up in all this bullshit; to know it was her own fault was even worse. “Now that we know how you became her tether, it’ll be easier to figure out how to untether you. We need to talk to Chelsea.”

Eve sighed and leaned back on her hands. “Sure, go for it,” she said.

“You two tried a spirit board and a seance, right?” Jon asked.

Ezra nodded. “Neither had any results.”

“That’s cause both are bullshit.” Eve tilted her head back and breathed in the lake air. She didn’t want to think about ghosts for a second. What she wanted to think about was what, exactly, she’d copied down from the henge. Something about the skin of the world? Ugh. She was going to have to retranslate the runes. With any luck, there would be a secret, ghost-be-gone clause and she could bury a rock in the sand on a new moon night or whatever, and she’d be free.

Jon tilted his head slightly and opened his mouth. He closed it for a moment and opened it again.

“Speak,” Eve said.

“Have you considered that you made it not work, Eve?” he asked. She narrowed her eyes. “Listen, I think—hold on before you get mad—that you might be more powerful than you realize,” he said. “We already know you bound Chelsea’s spirit to you.”

“Allegedly,” Eve said.

“And we don’t know the results of the spells and curses you sell, but I’d guess they’ve been more effective than you intended.” Eve glowered at him, but he was undeterred. Was she getting less scary? Or were Jon and Ezra simply too enthusiastic and earnest to be dissuaded by it? Eve didn’t like either option.

Jon continued, “My point is, if you went into your attempts to communicate believing they would fail, it’s possible you made them fail. Chelsea appears to be more than capable of communicating outside of this specific instance. So the question is, why can’t she now?”

“How would I do that?” she asked, pursing her lips.

“Good question,” Ezra said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “I don’t know much about this kind of thing.”

Jon rubbed his hands together and grinned at them, warming to his subject. “It’s all about power and perception. We know ghosts can manifest in places that were powerful to them, but they can also manifest in places that are spiritually significant in a general sense. Churches, beautiful or frightening landscapes, mountain peaks, temples, henges, ley lines. Any place that makes people feel. Because what makes those places powerful is the collective belief that they are.”

Eve straightened. “You’re saying that public perception of something as powerful makes it so? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“Does it?” Jon asked. He smiled slightly at her. “It makes sense to me; it’s the power people give to those places that make them significant. If no one cared about them, they wouldn’t be powerful.”

“Whatever,” Eve said. “Let’s pretend that’s true and real. What does that have to do with me?”

“Well, Eve, you’re a witch—“

“No.”

“—so you’re more able to influence that perception. If you believe something strongly enough, it becomes more true. Also, yes.” He grinned wider as she scowled at him. “If you were able to bind Chelsea’s spirit to you, you’re a witch.”

“Eve can make things happen just by believing they will?” Ezra said. He’d pulled out his notebook and was writing furiously in it. Jon nodded, and Eve sighed and crossed her arms.

“I cannot,” she said.

“It makes sense, though,” Ezra said, shrugging. “Based on what I’ve seen Chelsea do, she should’ve been able to move the planchette on the spirit board. But if you believed strongly enough that it was BS, then it makes sense that she wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Especially since you’re her main power source,” Jon added, nodding. Eve sucked on her teeth and said nothing. “We should try again,” Jon continued, “and maybe Eve could try to not sabotage it with her extremely powerful brain?”

She made a face at him and then half-nodded. “Sure, I’ll believe super hard that it will work.”

Jon beamed at her and Ezra. “Great! Then we should try it tonight. I still need to compile the data we got from last night and work on condensing it, so I might even have more info by then.”

Ezra grimaced. “I think, as long as we don’t go too late, I can do that? I usually get to work pretty early in the mornings.”

“Right,” Eve said. “It’s Monday tomorrow.” She blinked and stretched, tension lifting from her neck. “I suppose I can put off my totally-real actual-magic orders until later in the day so we can hold a proper seance.” She shuddered dramatically despite the heat of the sun. “I’m going to barf if I have to keep saying this shit.” Hopping down from the hood of her car, she dug the keys out of her pocket. “Let’s meet back up at my place tonight then?”

***

Eve sat at her desk and stared at her notes, comparing them to the photographs she’d taken of the henge runes that afternoon. After dropping Ezra off in town, she’d gone back to the park and copied down the runes again. She’d made extra sure not to touch any of the stones and tried to ignore the buzzy feeling running up her body while she worked. Now, she ignored the creeping chill that had become part of her every day. She couldn’t concentrate on translating when she couldn’t stop thinking about ghosts, and witches, and henge runes. She stood and paced through the apartment. The cold trailed along behind her like a pet.

Eve stopped on the spot Chelsea had dropped the sheet and stared down at the floor. There was nothing there. No stain, no markings, no creepy feeling. Nothing at all to suggest that Chelsea’s killer had stood there, too. It was colder, though—like walking through a patch of freezer.

A knock on the door startled her, and she yanked it open so fast that Ezra jumped.

“Ah, hi,” he said. “Is this a bad time?” He clasped his hands in front of him and squeezed them together. He’d clipped back the floppy hair that normally covered nearly half of his face.

“This is literally when we agreed to meet up,” Eve said, stepping out of the way so he could come in. “I was just—“ she glanced down at the spot and cut herself off. “Anyway, come in.”

Ezra nodded and toed his sneakers off next to the door. He also glanced at the spot, and then looked back at Eve.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Eve waved a hand dismissively. “Are you?” she asked. “Don’t bullshit me, either.”

Ezra sucked in a breath, his mouth a serious line and his hands tangling tighter together.

“Yes. I need to find out who killed Chelsea,” he said. He looked down at the spot again. “If it was Kyle, then I need to make sure he’s punished.” He paused and looked around the apartment. “If it wasn’t, then…then I need to get justice for her, no matter what that means.”

Eve eyed him and pursed her lips. “Whatever you say.”

They set up almost the same as they had the first time, though this time Ezra made himself an herbal tea while he lit the candles and Eve dug the spirit board out. When she emerged from her room, Jon was leaning a hip into her kitchen counter and looking extremely cool about it. Ezra was cornered by the fridge, clutching his yellow mug with both hands like a shield. Jon leaned in and laughed at something Ezra said as Eve stepped out of the hallway. She cleared her throat.

Ezra jumped, nearly spilling tea on his hands, and the shy smile that had been occupying his mouth faded slightly as he worked his way around Jon and over to the table. Eve stepped over to the fridge and pulled out an energy drink. Jon sighed, gaze following Ezra for a moment.

Ezra eyed Eve as she cracked the can open, and she scowled at him. “What? Your ghost friend is sucking me dry. I’m gonna pass out if I don’t drink something caffeinated.” Smoke and heat from the candles rose through the still air, and the light and shadows shifted in and out of each other.

He grimaced. “Ah, fair point. Sorry, I’m sure she doesn’t mean to.”

“Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault.” Eve turned to Jon. “You find anything interesting today?”

Jon shook his head. “The spirit box and voice recorder didn’t catch anything, and the rest of the data supported what we saw on camera.”

“What can we expect from Chelsea tonight?” Ezra asked. He seemed to have recovered his standard journalistic curiosity, though he avoided looking at Jon for longer than precisely one millisecond.

“As long as no one blocks her from using the spirit board,” Jon said, glancing significantly at Eve, “we should get some responses. She might give us a clue about what she wants or needs to move on. She might give us a look at her mental state. Spirits can often get stuck in the emotions they were feeling at the time of their death, so that could help us determine who her killer is.”

“Maybe give us his full name and address?” Eve said, half joking and half hopeful. It would certainly make things easier.

Jon laughed. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility, as long as she knew her killer.” The candles flared for a brief moment, and Jon raised his eyebrows. “Looks like she’s ready,” he said. “What about you two?”

Ezra swallowed and nodded once, determination firm on his face. “Ready.”

Eve sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m ready.”

Jon smiled at her as he flipped off the lights, and they were left in warm, flickering candlelight. “All you have to do is put your fingers on the planchette and believe.”

Eve rolled her eyes, but sat in one of the chairs and obediently put her fingers on one edge of the stupid little triangle. As she leaned closer, a light, cold weight rested on Eve’s fingertips, and the planchette moved quickly around the board. Eve’s fingers slipped off and she stared at the planchette, now still.

Ezra and Jon hurried to take their seats and touch the planchette.

“Damn,” Jon said. “We haven’t even invited her to talk to us yet.” He grinned in excitement and glanced at Eve. “Now are you freaked out?” he asked.

Eve scowled and shook her head, reaching out to press the fingers of her hand into the space they’d left open for her. As soon as she did, the planchette began to vibrate and jiggle slightly in place.

“Chelsea Horton, will you speak to us?” Jon asked. The planchette moved slowly over to the YES, and stayed there.

“Chelsea,” Ezra said softly, hesitantly. It sounded like the start of a prayer. He cleared his throat and blinked several times. “Can you tell us anything about what happened to you?”

“B E T R A Y E D,” the planchette slowly spelled out. Ezra sucked in a wobbly breath and his face dropped. He swallowed like something was stuck in his throat.

Eve and Jon glanced curiously at him, but he stared down at the board like it might bite him.

“What do you need to move on?” Eve asked impatiently.

“J U S T I C E,” the planchette spelled out, moving fretfully beneath their hands.

“That’s super helpful, babe, thanks,” Eve said. The board and planchette flew off of the table, landing on the ground with a wooden thud.

“You could try being nice to her,” Ezra said after clearing his throat. “She did kind of suffer a horrible death recently.”

“Literally no one has ever thought the word ‘nice’ about me.” Eve crossed her arms and glared at him. “If she wanted nice, she chose the wrong person to haunt.”

“This is her apartment!” Ezra said, crossing his arms right back at her. “She didn’t choose you; you just happened to be here, and you gave her your energy.”

“Not on purpose!” Eve uncrossed her legs, feet hitting the floor with a loud smack.

He shook his head and sat back. “Sorry,” he said. “You are trying to help her, I know.” Eve’s glare relented to moderate levels. “I just… Can you imagine what it must be like?”

Eve looked off to the side and frowned at the air. “Yeah. It would fucking suck. Which is part of why I offered to help her. I didn’t offer to be nice at the same time.”

“Alright,” Jon said with a perky, placating grin as he picked up the planchette. “We can try again,” he said, “or we can call that good. ‘Justice’ makes sense—she wants her killer found and punished. And ‘betrayed’ almost certainly means her boyfriend. It would have to be someone close to her.”

Ezra choked on the sip of tea he’d just taken and coughed as Eve and Jon looked at him.

“Are you good?” Eve asked, and Ezra nodded. She narrowed her eyes but left it alone. “Justice,” she said. “So what, we’re supposed to find her killer? ‘Oh Eve, while you’re hosting me and so graciously giving me all your energy, could you do me another teensy favor and solve my murder; you know, the one the cops couldn’t figure out?’”

“Come on,” Jon said, drawing the ’n’ out long. “You’re a witch, Ezra is a journalist, I’m a paranormal investigator. The three of us can definitely solve the case!”

Ezra nodded once and set his mug down. “For Chelsea,” he said. He looked at Eve, making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. “Please.”

“For Chelsea,” Jon echoed, clapping one hand on Ezra’s shoulder.

“Why not?” Eve said. “For Chelsea, so she can get off my ass.”

Jon cheered, and Ezra shook his head, giving her a resigned smile. “Close enough.”