Ghost Seer Read Online Free PDF Page B

closed door.
    PROMISE
, they shouted together—or her own mind insisted.
    “I promise,” she said weakly, shivering.
    The man vanished.
    She went into the tiny second bedroom that held her ruthlessly organized home office, complete with a new computer. Enzo followed, circled and circled again, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were all innocent dog. Then he stared at the notebook.
    I know that toy! It shows pictures and places. Let’s look now!
    Dragging up a chair, they found the auction house’s website. There was a lot of antique furniture, some in excellent shape that made Clare’s mouth water—but Aunt Sandra’s house had just sold. Clare’s brother was supervising closing it up and dividing the furniture. Clare could expect a truck with her share within the week. Other trucks would go to her brother in Williamsburg, Virginia, and a storage unit in New York.
    Rubbing her eyes, which seemed to do nothing but move around grit, Clare zipped through the photos until Enzo barked.
I see it!
    Clare stared at it dubiously: a puzzle box made of plum wood of unknown origin and date. It didn’t look like much. Pretty battered. At least she might be able to get it cheap. She wrote down all the information, turned off the computer, and trudged to bed, accompanied by the imaginary dog. She should get a real one.
    Maybe. When she was sane again.
    Enzo looked up at her sorrowfully.
You still don’t believe in me.
    Clare opened her mouth and shut it, then said, “Not really.”
    He shook his head and for an instant he didn’t look like the image of a dog, but a skeleton dog. . . . She wrapped her arms around herself.
    Only a little bit of you believes in me. That is not enough, Clare.
    The echo behind his voice scared her, as if he were once again more . . . or less . . . than a dog . . . spirit.
    She got back into her nightgown, folded her comforter—doubling, then quartering the queen-sized cloth—turned off the lights and curled under the cover.
    Enzo blinked down at her, head through the comforter and sheet.
You aren’t doing good.
    What do you mean?
Clare
thought
back at him, feeling drained of energy herself.
    Enzo cocked his head as if listening, then drooped a little and said,
If you don’t accept your gift that you can see ghosts, then you will die. And if you accept that you see them but don’t help them, you can go crazy
.
    Clare sobbed. Exactly what she’d always feared—madness.
     • • • 
    The next morning, Clare couldn’t throw off the night fears, or the fact that she’d made a really odd promise to something that might be an aspect of herself.
    Her great-aunt’s death had shaken her, for sure.
    But a promise was a promise. Since her parents had casually made and broken so many, she made a habit of keeping all of hers. Even promises to herself—a hot fudge sundae if she said no to overwork, for instance.
    Now she had no work, but
destiny
had rung in her mind and reverberated throughout her body.
    And to remind herself of her promise, she took Aunt Sandra’s perfume spritzer and sprayed scent on her neck and wrists . . . and sniffed. It wasn’t too heavy. Tears welled in Clare’s eyes at the fragrance of sandalwood, tuberose, wild berries . . . she’d looked up the mixture once. That dark and mysterious fragrance that meant “Aunt Sandra” to Clare, in all her weird kindness. The perfume that meant
Gypsy
to Aunt Sandra.
    Clare gulped, shook the thought away, and moved on. She decided to buy a larger house, move to one of the more charming areas of Denver. She’d always liked the ambiance of Cheesman Park, but
nothing
would get her there now. She completely dismissed that idea. Everyone knew Cheesman Park had been a graveyard, and when they’d added the parking garage to the Botanic Gardens they’d found more graves.
    Even if she didn’t believe in ghosts, she didn’t want to be in an area with a lot of dead people that was right in the time period now