“Like?” I persisted.
She drew back, her mouth pinched in anger. “You know, if you can't appreciate what I'm offering, I'll just talk to the other one, then.” She spun on her heel and started walking away.
“The other one what?” I asked warily.
“The girl you were with this morning, the one who was talking to the crying chick,” she said over her shoulder with some exasperation, as if I should have known. “She's a ghost-talker, too, isn't she?”
“Leave her out of this,” I said immediately, before I had time to realize exactly how panicky and paranoid that sounded.
Erin turned to face me, eager interest written all over her face. “Something's different about her, isn't it? I could see it.” She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe
“No, you offered it to me first. And I said I'd think about it, okay?” I didn't want her anywhere near Alona. Whoever (or whatever) Erin was, she was powerful and up to something, and Alona was too vulnerable in her current state.
“You know,” she said with a tight smile, “I don't actually need your permission.”
She shut her eyes and said in a loud dramatic voice, “I claim you as my ghost-talker.”
Panic lit up my insides. “Stop!” I started toward her, not sure what I could do short of tackling her.
“I am yours and you are mine.” She finished in a hurry before I could reach her.
I winced, waiting for a cold blast of air and the supernatural-feeling shift in the atmosphere, the sense of two pieces fitting together. That's what had happened when Alona had claimed me.
But… there was nothing.
She cracked one eye open to look at me. “I am yours and you are mine,” she repeated slowly.
Still nothing. I started to smile.
She opened both eyes and made a frustrated noise. “What the hell?”
“Maybe it knows that tying yourself to someone who doesn't want you around and can summon you up on a whim is a bad idea,” I said, giddy with relief. I had no idea what “it” was, other than some kind of otherworldly force that seemed to control these things, and I certainly had no way of knowing if it had any kind of opinion on the matches it made. But something had kept the connection from going through.…
Erin folded her arms across her chest. “Are you threatening me?”
She narrowed her eyes. “It's not like it worked, so you don't have anything to worry about from me.” She turned away and stalked toward the opposite wall to leave.
I resisted the urge to call after her and ask if she was going to try to track down Alona/Lily, but I'd already done enough damage in that area. Asking now would only make her more likely to do so. Plus, what were the odds that she'd be able to track Alona down?
“You know, you seem to be in a big hurry to help people 'and whatever,'” I said instead. Not that I was complaining; just really, really suspicious.
She paused halfway through the wall and gave me an over-the-top phony smile. “What can I say? I'm a people person.” Then she vanished.
A people person? Yeah, right.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening trying to find anything on Malachi or an Erin who'd died five years ago. She was a loose cannon that I'd rather not have rolling up behind me, catching me unawares.
But I didn't have any last names, and at least one of the names was fake (Malachi), which didn't really help in the information-gathering process.
I found Malachi's Web site again, but it held no new information. The only thing strange I noticed this time around was in the testimonial section. First, that he even had a testimonial section implied that he'd been able to help people, all evidence to the contrary today. Erin certainly seemed to believe he was for real, though, and while she might have been slightly off her rocker, she wasn't completely crazy. But beyond that, four out of the ten blurbs mentioned receiving a letter from Malachi and a coupon for the initial consultation right when they needed it most. The recipients seemed to take this as a “sign” they should contact him for help with their otherworldly problems.
More like a sign that Malachi had somehow gotten his hands on a mailing list targeted to the vulnerable, like from a cemetery or funeral home, or that he spent his free time scouring obituaries. People who'd recently experienced the death of someone close to them were probably far more likely to buy into what Malachi was selling. What a user.
After a few more fruitless “Malachi” searches — nothing but Bible mentions — I resorted to searching Facebook, thinking I might be able to pick Erin out of the crowd of Erins in Decatur, Illinois, with a photo. But either she hadn't been on there when she was alive, or her page had been memorialized, which apparently would block it from outside searches.
Great.
