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I go still. “What?”

Cirillo waves at Brodie. “I had you bring Anton’s ashes because it provided the best way to contact him. This is even better. I’ll summon Brodie and ask what happened to him.”

I stare. He’s kidding, right? Oh, I can tell by his expression that he’s not, but that only means he’s lost it. Seeing Brodie like that has shattered all semblance of common sense, and he’s spiraling into a delusional world where contacting a murdered man’s ghost is the very definition of reasonable.

No, not reasonable. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s spotting that golden ring dangling in front of him again.

He sees a story. A marketable story even better than the one he has, because in this one, he becomes the hero.

In the middle of a series of séances, Dr. Davos Cirillo discovers a horribly mutilated corpse… only to learn it matches a corpse from the grieving widow’s secret past. He has no idea what to make of this, but the solution is clear. He must reach beyond the veil to the one person who can answer this most unanswerable question.

He must summon the dead man’s ghost.

Will anyone reading such a story pause to wonder why Cirillo didn’t call the police? Not if he spins it right, and certainly not if he actually makes contact and solves the murder.

All I know for sure right now is that I do not want to contactanythingin this house. Because whatever killed Brodie is waiting for nightfall. Waiting for the next séance.

I look at Shania. She might be confused and in shock, but even she knows we need to call the—

“Agreed,” she says, and her eyes glint in a way that makes me do a double take. “Contact Brodie’s ghost. Find out what happened.”

“Are you—?” I stop myself before saying anything to set them off. Instead, I speak slowly. “We need to call the police. Even if Brodie could tell us anything, we can’t do a séance right now. Whatever killed him is here, and if we summon it—”

“You aren’t going to stop, are you, Nicola?” Shania’s voice has gone ice-cold. “You’ll say anything to keep us from getting these answers. Well, the only ghost I’ve heard was Anton.”

“That wasn’t Anton,” I blurt. “Jin set it up.”

I pull out the speakers. Something clatters to the floor, and everyone stops to stare at it.

The steak knife.

They don’t say a word. They just look from that knife to me, as if all their questions are answered.

“It’s a steak knife,” I say. “From the kitchen. I grabbed it when I heard someone down here because I thought it was Brodie. This is what I wanted to show you.” I lift the speakers. “Jin was playing recordings of Anton’s voice, spliced sound bites. I found these in the sitting room.”

Their gazes turn to the speakers. Then Shania’s gaze goes from the knife to the speakers to me, and she says, “How could you, Nicola?”

“W-what?”

“You’ve been setting up speakers, just like Dr. Cirillo said, and you’re showing us the proof and blamingJin.Your brother-in-law? Who came here to support you?” She shakes her head as she lowers her gaze, her voice going thick, as if with tears. “I don’t know you at all, do I?”

Goddamn it! That’s why I didn’t want them finding the speakers in my pockets. But in my panic, I dove in.

Did I really think they’d believe me?

“Anton’s not here,” I say. “Whether you think I set these up or not, someone did.” I hit the button and the recording starts. “This is what we heard. Not Anton. Whatever is here—?”

“Stop talking, Nicola,” Shania says. “Just stop talking.”

“No, I am going tokeeptalking until someone listens.”

Cirillo moves toward the stairs. “Shania, please watch Nicola while I fetch my equipment for the séance.”

“Like hell,” I say, rocking forward. “If you two want to contact Brodie, be my guest. I am going upstairs and calling the police—”

Cirillo steps into my path.

I glare up at him. “Get the hell out of my way—”