The Harrowing by Alexandra Sokoloff Read Free Book Online

rectangular box was brown with age and frayed at the edges, but Robin recognized the graphic on the front instantly. A Ouija board.
    Lisa’s face was glowing, energized. She carried the box over to a round table and dragged the table across the carpet, positioned it in front of the fire. “I bet there’re plenty of spirits in this old place.”
    Robin got a brief glance of faded handwriting on the inside cover of the box as Lisa took the board out and set it up on the table’s surface.
    Robin watched her with a dreamlike sense of unreality. A séance? It was too weird. She’d just been reading about Jung and séances the night before.
    On the floor in front of the hearth, Patrick pulled out the Zig-Zag papers and started to roll another joint. “Then we can play Spin the Bottle, and sing ‘Kumbaya’ around the fire.”
    Lisa flipped him off and darted back to the study tables in the dark end of the room. She sidestepped Robin and smiled sweetly down at Martin as she snagged one of his candles. She crossed back to the round table, shielding the flame with a cupped hand, and set the candle down, then sat in front of the board and looked around expectantly. “Who’s going to do it with me?”
    None of the guys moved.
    Lisa looked back at Robin. “Come on, you look sensitive to me.” Her eyes held Robin’s across the long room. There was a challenge in the air, and a charge that was almost erotic. Robin was very aware of all three guys watching them with heightened interest, and she envied Lisa her brash narcissism. She knew how to play a room; it was impossible to ignore her.
    Lisa half-smiled, as if reading Robin’s mind. Her eyes flicked to Patrick knowingly. “They really want us to, you know. Guys love to watch.” Her gaze locked back on Robin’s.
    All right, then , Robin thought suddenly. I can play, too .
    She walked across the room to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down opposite Lisa.
    Lisa’s smile broadened. “I’ll be gentle.” She reached to put her fingers, tipped in polish the color of dried blood, on the heart-shaped wooden planchette. After a moment, Robin did, too. It was a familiar feeling, an instant sense memory of childhood. I guess just about everyone’s done it, on a rainy night like this.
    Sprawled on the floor, Patrick laughed to himself as he licked the edges of the joint.
    “ ‘Double, double, toil and trouble…’ ”
    “Shut up,” Lisa ordered. She looked across the table at Robin in the firelight, daring her. “Let’s get someone good.” Robin had to admit she made a convincing Gypsy, with her wild hair, lace camisole peeking out of a torn sweater, rings glinting on her slender fingers.
    Robin stared down at the board. It was old—yellowed with age, not the faux finish of a modern mass-production. Antiquated letters at the bottom spelled out BALTIMORE TALKING BOARD. The wood was blackened around the edges, almost as if it had been—
    Burned .
    The realization gave her a shiver of unease.
    Lisa raised her voice, addressed the darkness beyond the glowing circle of the fire. “Is there anyone there?” Her eyes shone across the table, knowing as a cat’s.
    “Did Alabama score?” Patrick said through an exhalation of green-smelling smoke.
    Lisa kicked at him from beneath the table. She spoke to the board and the ceiling at the same time. “Does anyone want to speak to us?”
    Robin kept her gaze on the black letters on the board, the wooden indicator beneath her hands. Rain gusted outside, pounding into the pavement. There was no movement at all.
    Lisa winked at Robin. “We’d like someone dark…and mysterious…and sexy as hell.”
    Cain’s head was tipped back against the armrest of the couch. Smoke drifted toward the ceiling from his cigarette. “There are 900 numbers you can call for this.”
    Lisa spoke over him, ignoring him. “Is anyone there?’
    They listened to the silence. The logs crackled. The planchette was motionless under their