Perception (Apparition Investigations #1)

Case #1: Villanova Apartments: Part 19

"Is, um," he cleared his throat and tried again, "is everything ok out here? I heard screaming."

As one, Noah and I looked back at Bronte. If she heard what was happening, she wasn't letting on. But I doubted she could sense anything beyond the visions occupying her.

My head snapped back to my neighbor, his eyes dancing between Bronte and Noah on top of me.  His pepper hair stood up, as if we'd jerked him from bed with our noise.  And his middle-aged wrinkles stood pronounced as he furrowed his brow at us.

"We're fine," I said, surprised at how calm my voice sounded.

He didn't look convinced, but I could see relief flooding his features. He'd done the neighborly thing and asked. That was all he'd felt obligated to do and I could see how pleased he was that he wasn't going to be asked to do more.

But the strangeness of the scene must have got to him, because right before he ducked back into his apartment, he asked again. "You sure?"

"Yeah. We're doing...role-playing."

His eyebrows shot up almost as quickly as he ducked back into his apartment.  The door slammed loudly.

Noah scoffed above me. "Role-playing?"

"Lower the ward."

"I'm not going to lower the—"

"Noah Walker, lower the ward!"

The shimmering film inside the apartment began to fade. I snatched up the pocket watch, and pushing him off me, hurried to Bronte.

I passed through Oliver--probably Oliver--his coldness sending tingles through the left half of my body. I dropped down beside Bronte, taking hold of one of her arms and giving it a good shake.

She felt limp in my hold. Her arm moved as if she were sleeping, giving me no resistance whatsoever. But her mouth still hung slack. Her eyes still darted at unseen images.

Oliver's silvery voice sounded panicked. "What is she doing? I can't get her to stop—I don't think she can see me."

"Move!" Cyril shouted.

I felt something hit my shoulder, throwing me into Bronte. We went down, me on top of her. She fell like a rag doll.

"Help her!" Oliver shouted. "I'll handle that thing!"

Bronte didn't try to sit up. I turned behind me to ask Noah but he was gone.

Typical.

At least he'd shut the front door so the neighbor wouldn't see anymore of what was happening.

She wasn't moving. I didn't know what to do. Still clutching the pocket watch in one hand, and gripping her arm in the other, I looked between the two.

But I still didn't know what to do.

I needed a name to fight back against whatever that creature was.

And now that Noah had left, we didn't have anything to protect us with.

Not that Cyril and Oliver could have used that protection.

And they were fighting for their lives right now, going off the sounds of shouting, swearing, and grunting I kept hearing echo throughout the apartment.

I didn't know what to do.

"Bronte?" I asked, shaking her arm slightly. "Bronte, I need you to hear me. Please—please wake up."

But she didn't.

She just laid there, trapped in whatever she was seeing.

Desperate for any kind of hint, I looked around. Maybe there was something I could use to wake her up. Or fight back. Anything that could help.

My eyes fell on the candle.

It had been tipped over in the commotion, the candle lying on its side, hot wax oozing onto the carpet.

But the flame. The flame that should have either caught the carpet on fire or should have gone out when the candle fell, hovered in midair. In the exact place where it had been when the candle had been upright.

It just hovered. A small, tiny speck of fire. Floating six inches above the carpet.

I should have been surprised. And I was—but more surprised for not being surprised. I should have known.

Because what I'd mumbled earlier, while staring at the flame, had come back to me with the unwavering certainty.

I'd named it.

I'd named it. And that meant I could control it.