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Together, the small circle echoed his words, their voices mingling in the wavering candlelight,

Archie studied the faces around him. Eyes closed, each participant seemed lost in their memories of John.

Then Leo opened his eyes. For a moment he and Archie studied each other.

Leo placed his fingers on the planchette. “Let’s begin,” he said softly.

The table came back to life, bodies shifting, faces growing animated again.

Leo said, “Tonight the circle calls upon our dear friend, Dr. John Perry. It was his curiosity that first inspired us, his drive to know the truth that brought us together.”

Priscilla reached out, her manicured hand trembling slightly, and placed it over the edge of the planchette. “We need you to help us tonight, John,” she whispered, almost to herself. “We need you to tell us… tell us who took you from us.”

“Forgive me for being an old stubborn fool, John.” Professor Azizi’s voice shook. His fingers rested beside Priscilla’s on the planchette.

Archie started to free his hand from Desi’s, but she suddenly clutched him more tightly.

Too tightly. A strange tingling started at the base of his skull, tiny flashes of light blinded him, and a slow shimmering hum seemed to wash through him. For a moment he thought the stresses and strains of the week had caught up to him at last and he was having a stroke.

If so, it was more pleasant than he’d been led to believe.

Eyes closed, Archie tried to control his breathing as powerful, undefined sensation bloomed in his chest, warmth unfurling outward in a rush that momentarily robbed him of oxygen. The warmth grew, intensifying until it was almost too much, a blaze of golden light flooding his senses, as if the room itself was glowing around him.

Next to him, Desi let out a muffled sob.

Instinctively, Archie squeezed her hand—and felt her squeeze back.

A feeling of pure, boundless love, the kind he hadn’t felt since he was a child, safe and held and whole, flooded his senses. Not just love; joy. Profound joy like he had never experienced before, never even imagined. And with it, an overwhelming sense of comfort and certainty, as though John himself were reaching out to touch them both, letting them know he was there, his spirt alive and ardent and always with them.

Tears stung Archie’s eyes. His breath shuddered in his chest.

“Archie?” Leo’s tone was brisk. “Still with us? Desi, my dear?”

The spell broke with the suddenness of a popped soap bubble.

Desi gasped and opened her eyes.

Archie let go of her hand. They stared at each other. Desi’s eyes were bright with tears—and Archie was uncomfortably aware his were, too.

“Don’t be afraid,” Priscilla said. “The spirits are our friends.” She was not looking at them, though. She did not seem to notice that anything unusual had occurred.

“That’s assuming they’ll even show themselves to nonbelievers,” Azizi muttered.

“John would certainly show himself to these children,” Priscilla said.

Had no one noticed anything out of the ordinary happening on this side of the table?

It seemed not.

But Archie had not imagined it. And he could tell from Desi’s expression, neither had she.

Leo was saying, “They’re hardly children, Pris. They wouldn’t be here if they were children.”

“John considered them his children.”

“Be that as it may—”

Azizi said impatiently, “Are we going to continue or not? We can’t summon the spirits and then ask them to hold please.”