Believing (4 page)

Odelia was livid. The moment Elaine left, she laid into Calla.

Kaitlyn Riggs was murdered, Calla. And you were given information about her case. The way you chose to share it with her mother . . . well, I know your intentions were good, but I wish you’d come to me first. It takes years to learn how to deal sensitively with people who are grieving. Sometimes it’s still hard for me, and I’ve been at this forever. But what I’m most concerned about is that you could have gotten yourself hurt . . . Kaitlyn’s killer is still out there somewhere.

Remembering her grandmother’s ominous words—and seeing Kaitlyn again now—sends a shudder of dread through Calla.

Why is Kaitlyn back?

She’s gesturing with her hands. She seems to be trying to communicate something, and Calla senses that it isn’t mere gratitude.

Evangeline seems oblivious to the ghostly presence, the accompanying chill, and Calla’s distraction. She’s chattering on about the unpopular menu in the school cafeteria.

Frustrated, looking into Kaitlyn’s wide, troubled blue eyes, Calla asks, “What? What is it?”

“Sloppy Joe? You mean you’ve never heard of it? Lucky you!” Evangeline exclaims, obviously thinking Calla’s been following the conversation. “It’s ground beef—supposedly—all mixed up in some kind of sauce that’s sticky and red and hideous.”

Sticky.

Red.

Hideous.

Calla shakes her head to fight off the image those words are about to bring to mind.

Beside her, Kaitlyn Riggs is wide-eyed, nodding slowly, meaningfully.

What? What are you trying to tell me?

Upset, Calla closes her eyes to shut out both Kaitlyn and the rush of familiar bloody memory that’s sweeping over her.

Or is it familiar after all?

No. Not this time. Because that’s not her mother’s battered, facedown corpse Calla is seeing in her mind’s eye.

It’s a stranger’s.

And the body’s not lying on white ceramic tile. No, it’s outside somewhere. Dirt . . . pinecones . . . a few golden maple leaves. There’s a cluster of bowling-ball-sized rocks near one of the dead girl’s bare feet, laid out in a circle.

She’s got long blond hair, like Kaitlyn. It’s matted with twigs and leaves.

She’s slightly built, also like Kaitlyn. Her arms—thickly covered in strawberry-orange freckles—are bare and dirty and scratched. There’s a silver bracelet watch on one wrist, caked in mud. She’s wearing jeans and a pale pink shirt . . . and it’s spattered in blood.

Disturbed by the harsh image, Calla opens her eyes abruptly.

Evangeline is still talking about cafeteria food, still oblivious.

Yes, and Kaitlyn is still here.

As Calla looks at her, she gives a satisfied nod.

That’s her
.

The two words drift into Calla’s head. They came from Kaitlyn. She’s certain of that, though she isn’t sure if she actually spoke to Calla or just planted the thought in her mind.

That’s her?
Calla echoes silently.
Who? The bloody girl in pink?

Again, Kaitlyn nods.

“What about her?” Calla blurts, frustrated.

Evangeline breaks off in midsentence and gestures. “You mean Willow?”

“Yes. No!” Following Evangeline’s gaze at a slender dark-haired girl walking up ahead, she realizes it’s Blue Slayton’s ex-girlfriend. “I didn’t even realize she was there.”

“But I just pointed her out to you.” Evangeline frowns . . . then the frown fades and the light seems to dawn. “You’re not talking about Willow. You’re not even talking to
me
. . . are you?”

Slowly, Calla shakes her head. Why deny it? Maybe it’ll be a relief to tell someone other than Odelia about her newfound gift. Or curse.

“No, I was talking to her,” she admits to Evangeline. She waves a hand in the air as she turns toward Kaitlyn again, daring to hope that Evangeline might be able to see her too. After all, she said herself that she has psychic medium abilities, just like her aunt Ramona and her late parents.

But it’s too late to find out whether Evangeline can also see the apparition.

Because Kaitlyn is no longer visible, even to Calla. The spot where she stood is empty, the chill gone, the air noticeably thinner.

“You were talking to who?” Evangeline wants to know.

“Um . . . to . . .” Belatedly, Calla remembers that her grandmother told her not to mention her ability to anyone. She said it the other night, after Elaine Riggs had left.

“Spirit?” Evangeline asks almost cheerfully, and snaps her gum.

Calla shrugs, numb.

Evangeline apparently takes that as a confirmation. “I knew it!”

“You knew what?”

“That you’ve got psychic awareness. I sensed it.”

She sensed it. Right. Because she, too, has the gift. The curse.

So it’s not like I told her,
Calla argues mentally with her grandmother.
She guessed.

Yeah, and Odelia should know there’s not a whole lot a person can get away with here in Lily Dale.

Evangeline’s next comment catches Calla off guard.

“You know, your grandmother used to think you might be destined for this. I heard her tell my aunt that once, a long time ago.”

“How long could it have been?” Calla asks, frowning. After all, she’s only been here a few weeks. But the way Evangeline said it, it sounded as if she meant . . .

“Oh, years ago.”

“
Years?
You mean . . . my grandmother thought I was a medium before she even knew me?”

“Of course she knew you. She just hadn’t seen you since you were really little.”

Wondering how much Evangeline—and her aunt, for that matter—have heard about the falling out between Mom and Odelia, Calla muses, almost to herself, “Why would she have thought that about me?”

Evangeline supplies the answer unexpectedly, and knowingly. “Because she was there when you were born, and she said there was a caul over your face. That’s a fetal membrane— in case you didn’t know.”

Calla didn’t know. About any of this. “What’s it for? The caul?”

“They say babies who are born with one will be sensitives. Odelia had a caul when she was born. So did Aunt Ramona.”

“How about you?”

Evangeline shrugs a little defensively. “I don’t know. I mean, I was born in some hospital. I bet no one was paying attention. I’m sure I had one. Anyway, your grandmother definitely saw that you had a caul, and she told my aunt that she never mentioned it to your mother because she didn’t want to upset her.”

“So Mom didn’t know?”

“I guess not. Maybe she was too out of it. Or, well, Odelia always said your mother wasn’t interested in . . .”

“Spiritualism?” Calla supplies when Evangeline trails off. “Psychic powers? Talking to ghosts? What?”

“Any of it, I guess. She didn’t believe in any of it. That bothered your grandmother. So anyway, even if your mother had known you had the caul, she probably wouldn’t have told you or done anything about it.”

“Like what? What could she have done?”

“Like brought you here, or taught you how to use your gift, or whatever.”

No,
Calla thinks,
she definitely wouldn’t have
. Mom never mentioned that her hometown was a spiritualist community or that her mother was a medium. She obviously wanted to leave that life behind.

And now here I am, in the thick of it. What would Mom think about this?

“The thing is, Calla . . .” Evangeline seems hesitant.

“What?”

“You need to be careful. With what you can do, and with how you use it. That kind of power can be dangerous.”

“How?”

“So many ways. Registered spiritualist mediums go through years of training to learn how to use their abilities responsibly.”

This is the second time she’s been warned about this, and Calla can’t help but feel as though both Evangeline and her grandmother are being overly dramatic.

“I’m not sure I get what you’re saying,” she tells Evangeline, trying not to sound skeptical.

“I’m saying it’s important to use your gift for the greater good, and to learn how to protect yourself when you open yourself up to the Other Side. You have to remember, you’re being used by spirit energy as a medium. You’re conducting the energy . . . whatever kind you let come through. If you don’t learn to pray and protect yourself from the negative energy . . .” She trails off ominously.

Calla can’t help but shudder. “You’re scaring me, Evangeline.”

“I don’t mean to. But, look, why don’t you come to a beginning mediumship workshop with me? I mean, you’re in Lily Dale—what better place to educate yourself?”

“I don’t think I’m ready for something like that,” Calla tells her.

“It’s not that big a deal. It’s basically a message circle.”

“No, thanks.”

She knows that message circles are like seances. Some are open—meaning anyone can participate—and some are closed because, as her grandmother explained, an experienced group of mediums are working together regularly and using their collective energy to channel spirit guides and messages.

“Let me know when you change your mind,” Evangeline tells Calla.

Not
if
you change your mind. But
when
. As if she fully expects that Calla will decide to put her sixth sense to use now that she’s figured out she has it.

Everything happens for a reason. Mom herself always used to say that.

If that’s true, Calla’s coming to Lily Dale is no accident.

And Mom’s death might not be, either.

Maybe one even has something to do with the other.

As for the most recent visit from Kaitlyn Riggs, and Calla’s disturbing vision of the bloodied girl in pink . . .

It all means something.

She just has to figure out what it is . . . and what she’s supposed to do about it.

————

The corridor smells of hot food as Calla makes her way toward the cafeteria after social studies, her fourth-period class.

So far, so good. Things are going better than she expected, being the new kid for the first time since kindergarten. Wait, kindergarten doesn’t even count, because everyone else is new too.

Here, everyone else gives off the comfortable, easygoing attitude that comes with familiar territory.

This was familiar territory for Mom by the time she started her senior year here. Just knowing that this is where her mother went to school gave Calla chills when she first walked up the broad stone front steps.

Not
you’re about to see a ghost
chills. More like
if you’re not careful, you’re going to burst out crying in front of everyone
chills.

Calla quickly discovered that beyond the old-fashioned redbrick exterior of Lily Dale High are equally old-fashioned green chalkboards, banks of gray metal lockers, scuffed hardwood floors, and straight rows of desks.

This place is a world away from Shoreside Day School back in Tampa, with its state-of-the-art labs, indoor-outdoor classrooms, and lecture halls housed in a sprawling cluster of sleek, modern buildings that feel more like a college campus than a high school.

Here, she’s found her way to every classroom with little trouble—not all that hard, considering that the two-story school has simple L-shaped hallways on both floors. She’s been assigned a homeroom and a locker, memorized her combination, and accumulated a stack of textbooks. She’s even seen a few familiar faces: Lena Hoffman, who works at the Lily Dale Café, has the locker next to Calla’s, and Willow York, of all people, has turned up in most of her classes so far.

When they found themselves sitting across the aisle from each other in health class first thing this morning, Willow acknowledged Calla with a brief smile, which totally caught her off guard.

Not that she expected Willow to stick out her tongue, but still. As Blue Slayton’s barely ex-girlfriend, Willow can’t be thrilled that he’s gone out with someone else. And Evangeline told Calla that Willow knows all about that. “Lily Dale is smaller than any small town you’ll ever see,” Evangeline said cheerfully. “Everyone knows everything about everyone.”

Right. And sometimes even before it happens.

Well, Willow has class, Calla has decided. She’s not going to make a big deal out of Calla seeing Blue. Good for her.

And even better for me.

Pausing in the doorway of the cafeteria, Calla lingers to read the posted menu. Sloppy Joes today, like Evangeline predicted.

She reads the menu intently, checking to see what’s on it for the next few days. Then next week.

Then, when she can’t stall any longer, she forces herself to walk into the cafeteria.

This is what she’s been dreading all day: the prospect of eating alone. Unfortunately her one friend, Evangeline, isn’t here. When they compared schedules in the hall after homeroom, they found that their paths cross only once a day: in gym.

As Calla crosses the threshold into the cafeteria, her heart sinks. Instead of the small round tables that fill the cafeteria back at Shoreside, there are long rectangular tables. Most of them are filled with people who have known each other since kindergarten. It’s going to be impossible for her to duck over to a secluded table alone and hide.

Is lunch even mandatory here? She definitely isn’t hungry, thanks to Odelia force-feeding her mush and bacon. She’s about to flee when she hears someone call her name.

Looking up, she sees Blue Slayton beckoning from a table filled with guys.

Hmm. Maybe she’ll stick around. She walks over, tossing her head a little to get her hair out of her face without being obvious.

“How’s it going?” Blue asks when she arrives at his side.

“Great,” she says, noticing that he’s wearing a long-sleeved jersey in a deep indigo shade that matches his eyes—and his name.

He wears that color a lot, she’s noticed, and she’s sure it’s no accident. He has to be aware of the striking impact. And his clothes are expensive. She can tell by the cotton fabric that looks as thick and soft as his light brown hair, which he might wear in a wavy and slightly unkempt style, but she knows that’s no ten-dollar barbershop haircut.

No, everything about Blue Slayton is expertly and deliberately pulled together. The result is effortless good looks that take her breath away a little every time she sees him up close.