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So when Heather leans in my way, I really am thinking something happened with a boy. Or maybe a girl. I’m never quite sure where Heather’s interests lie, or whether she’s decided, which is her business unless she wants to tell me. Either way, sex is sex, and if Heather got some, her glowing eyes tell me it was a positive experience, which is the important thing.

“A séance,” she whispers.

I nod, my mind racing. Was there something sexy about the séance? I’ve read a couple of novels where magic led to some steamy situations, including one with a ritual that turned into an orgy.

By no stretch of the imagination can I imagine Heather participating in a magical sex orgy, though. Even I’d be out of there—too much, too soon, and not my style. Maybe everyone got naked for the séance?

When I don’t react, waiting for the rest, she says, “We had a séance.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We summoned thedead,Nic.”

“Okay.”

Still waiting for the rest of the story.

As they both stare at me like I’m a little thick, I realize thisisthe story. A séance.

Is that not something kids do in Edmonton? They sure did where I grew up. I’d been twelve when my parents first agreed to let me attend a sleepover, and there’d been a séance. I’d known there would be, because girls always talked about having them, and I’d felt I was missing out on that experience even more than the actual sleepover part.

That first time, we’d started by watchingThe Craft,and then we summoned the spirits… and I’d realized séances weren’t actually all that exciting.

We didn’t summon actual spirits, obviously. There was a Ouija board and a candle and a whole lot of giggling. The planchette moved—because Alice Lee was guiding it—and someone felt a cold chill and someone heard a whisper, and I’d been sorely disappointed. I could see through all of these “signs” without even trying.

I soon discovered that most of the girls realized it was a game. A delicious and forbidden game that was even more fun because some girlsdidbelieve. That sounds cruel, as if we were mocking our friends. But it felt more like putting on a performance for them. Even if they shrieked and swore they had nightmares, they couldn’t wait for the next sleepover and never so much as hinted for us to stop.

I say “us” because after that first one, my problem-solving-oriented brain had a new challenge. I wanted to be in on the game, and I wanted to do better than the others. I wanted to create the signs even the other actors in this drama wouldn’t see.

I came up with ways to move the planchette without anyone holding it, ways to tug at a blanket so someone swore they’d felt a touch.No one ever knew it was me, and they loved that. Someone else was playing the game. Someone else wasmasteringit.

So when Heather says she participated in a séance, I’m confused by their excitement. They’re practically vibrating. I could understand that reaction at twelve, but at sixteen?

“We contacted thedead,” Heather repeats.

So she really believes they did, which means she must not have played those games in middle school. I’m about to explain what she actually experienced—how it’s done—when I bite my tongue. Yep, I could be insufferable and a bit of a know-it-all, but I was learning that sometimes people don’t want to hear how their sausage is made.

So how do I play this? Patrice is the drama kid. I suck at fake enthusiasm. I try, because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but my mother told me years ago to tone down my Christmas-gift gushing because it was obvious that if I seemed really excited, I hated it.

I opt for a neutral diversion, one that allows me to focus on facts rather than an emotional response. “What did you do at this séance?”

Heather explains, and I’m glad I asked because I don’t remember when I’ve seen her glow like this. It reminds me of those childhood séances, when the girls who’d been the most scared had the best stories to tell afterward, as if that was the point. They’d had the strongest experiences, and they came away with the best stories.

“And then the next night,” she says, “we were doing it again when this woman came along. We freaked out, thinking we’d be in trouble for leaving the building at night, but she was really cool. One of the cousins said she was high on something.”

“Drugs?” Patrice says.

Another shared look between Heather and me.

“Yes, drugs,” Heather says patiently. “Anyway, she talked to us, and then the next day, she gave us something and said if we wanted to do a proper séance, we should use it.”

“What was it?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Some kind of mushroom. She said if we made a tea of it, we’d be able to see across the veil into the world of the dead.”

“So you took it?” Patrice says, her eyes bugging.

“Of course not. I liked the cousins, but I didn’t know them well enough to drink weird mushroom tea around them. I brought mine home.”