Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 70779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Still, it looked like I was stuck winging it. I just hoped I could do a good enough job to satisfy the Mob boss who was settling in the chair across from me.
“I just want to tell you I’ve never done this before,” I said to him, trying to manage his expectations. “I saw my Grandfather do it often, but I’ve never done it personally.”
“Yes, Giovanni said you might say something to that effect,” Big Nicky murmured. “But he assured me that when you opened yourself, the Power would come. I’m prepared to be patient—as long as you deliver results.”
Well, so much for managing his expectations. I swallowed a nervous lump in my throat and nodded.
“Very well, let us begin. The spirits are waiting to speak to us,” I said, because that was what Pop-pop had always said at the start of a Channeling session. “Tell me the name of your dearly departed and I will attempt to open a door into the next world.”
“My Mother’s name was Myra,” Big Nicky said. “Myra Valentino, may her soul rest in peace.”
“May her soul rest in peace,” I repeated, nodding. I took a deep breath, trying to center my mind and let the atmosphere of the small room work on me. The red lamp shade over the dim light bulb cast the small space into crimson shadows and the sweet and spicy scent of the incense filled my nose. I tried to remember everything my Grandfather had done in one of these sessions—I had to emulate him as exactly as I could.
Closing my eyes, I extended my arms, palms up. And then, familiar words rose to my lips.
“I call upon the Other Place
Another Time…
Another Space…
I call a Door to open Here
To bring the soul I call for Near
I call—”
There was more to the incantation, but I didn’t say it—because suddenly I felt a cold, damp wind blowing right in my face. It was so strong, it was blowing my hair back—it felt kind of like when you go to the beach and the wind is blowing off the ocean.
I gasped and opened my eyes. Hovering right in front of me—just above Nicky Valentino’s salt and pepper hair—was an actual door. Or at least a doorway. I couldn’t really see the door itself—I could only see the rectangular space where it had opened.
It seemed to be a space filled with fog—gray tendrils of it were creeping out around the edges and I kept seeing flashes of faces and eyes through the mist.
“Oh…wow!” I whispered in awe, forgetting that I was supposed to be a mysterious Medium. I had never seen anything like this in my life. Was I really looking through a doorway into the Other Side? Did I actually have The Power?
I tried to take stock of myself to see if I felt any different—there was a kind of energy humming through me, like an electrical current. It didn’t hurt but it was definitely there—as though I had plugged myself in to some huge, invisible generator or battery. It made me feel buzzy and lightheaded and slightly high.
“What? What is it?” Big Nicky looked up to where I was staring, but he clearly didn’t see anything. “What do you see?” he demanded.
“A doorway,” I said, still staring into the mists. “It’s filled with some kind of fog…fog and faces. But I can’t quite tell what any of them looks like.”
“Look harder!” he urged. “Call for her—your Grandfather always called.”
“Myra,” I called, searching the shifting faces in the fog. “Myra Valentino, your son wants to speak to you. Myra, where are you?”
But no one answered. I began to feel nervous. Big Nicky was looking at me expectantly and I wasn’t producing results. I tried again.
“Hello?” I called. “Is there anyone on the Other Side who wishes to speak to Nick Valentino? Anyone at all?”
Suddenly, a face became clear in the mist. It was a woman’s face, pretty but angry and somewhere between thirty and forty. I frowned—had his mother died young?
“Myra?” I asked uncertainly.
“No, I’m not Myra,” the spirit said, scowling at me. “But you asked if anybody wanted to talk to Nicky and I do. I have plenty to say to that rat bastard!”
“I really don’t think—” I began, but before I could finish the face had formed into a long funnel of smoke and rushed right into me.
The spirit dust entered through my nose and mouth, filling me to the brim with the dead woman. Her taste was bitter and acrid, like secondhand smoke, and I could feel myself choking on her anger.
Suddenly my mouth began talking—the dead woman was using my tongue and voice box to convey her message.
“Nicky, you lousy bastard!” she snapped, making me lean forward in my seat to scowl at the Mob boss.
“Mama?” Nicky Valentino looked at me uncertainly.