Born of Illusion by Teri Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

time during a séance, I helped someone. Then I turn to face my mother and I swallow nervously. But who is going to help me?
    Taking a deep breath, I avoid her eyes and begin to clear the dishes. My mother can put the stupid board away. I am never, ever touching it again.
    She picks up her own glass and downs the gin in one gulp. “Just what the hell was that?”
    I hesitate. I can’t tell her the truth—and if I tell her I did it on purpose, she’ll want to know why I’ve chased her clients away. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
    “A séance,” I reply, avoiding her eyes. “I thought it went rather well.”
    “You should have left it to me. Mrs. Carmichael would have been back.”
    “But the Gaylords said they’d tell their friends. That’s good.” Desperately, I try to keep her focus on the clients. That way she won’t focus on me.
    “Yes, but I would have preferred to string them along a bit. I don’t like you taking control of my performances.” She’s silent for a moment. “Why did you?”
    “Why did I what?” I ask, stalling.
    “Don’t be obtuse. You know what I’m talking about,” she says, suddenly petulant. Without her audience, she has no reason to act, and all the charm is gone.
    I keep my face carefully blank, in spite of my racing pulse. “I was tired. I wanted them all to go home.” That, at least, is the truth.
    My mother frowns but says nothing. She has done the same thing, but I’ve never before rushed a séance along, and she doesn’t like it. Not one bit.
    “But how did you do it?” Her voice is more puzzled than angry now, but it still holds a skeptical note that makes me uneasy. She must not, ever, know about my abilities. The same instinct that kept me silent about them as a child sends me scrambling for an explanation that will appease her.
    “I opened the window before I sat down.”
    She glances at the window.
    “And closed it while the lights were still out,” I add quickly. “The wind blew out the candles.”
    Even to my ears, it sounds like a flimsy explanation. On the other hand, what other explanation can there be? My mother doesn’t believe in spirits. 
    “And the planchette? How did you know what to say to Mrs. Carmichael?”
    This is harder to explain away. I look her right in the eye, heart in my throat. “I’ve been watching you do it for years. Perhaps it’s rubbed off?”
    She meets my gaze dead-on. Suspicion eddies between us for one agonizing moment before she backs down. “Well, please let me know next time you decide to take over one of my séances. It might have gone very badly. And we did lose a client.”
    She’s still suspicious but is choosing to let it go—for now.
    “But on the bright side, the Gaylords will definitely be back.”
    “True,” she says. “And Jacques says Jack Gaylord’s family is almost as rich as the Vanderbilts. Where did he get his wife, though? Can you believe her?”
    I run the evening through my mind but can’t think that she’d done anything out of the ordinary. “What do you mean?”
    “She can put on all the airs and graces she wants to, but she doesn’t fool me. That girl’s so rough around the edges, she could be a ripsaw. I bet she’s only one or two generations away from the boat.” My mother gives a delicate sniff as if she hadn’t come over on a boat herself. I say nothing.
    Still shaking, I take the rest of the dishes and place them in the sink. I’ll wash them in the morning. I want to ask my mother if she knows that Cole lives with old Mr. Darby downstairs, but I hold my tongue. I don’t want to start another conversation. Right now, I just want to go to bed and wrap myself in blankets—anything to warm the bone-deep chill seeping into my whole being.
    “Good night, Mother,” I call, and hurry down the hall.
    My stomach churns as the events of the evening sink in. Evidently, my talents extend far beyond just sensing people’s feelings and having the occasional vision of