Priest whistled. “That’ll do it. Spirits aren’t fans of construction.”
Lukas scrolled farther down the page. “That’s an understatement.”
“Mind sharing with the rest of us?” Jared asked.
“If you give me a minute,” Lukas snapped. “We don’t need to make any more mistakes.”
“You mean I don’t.” Jared’s back stiffened, the tension between them stretching like a rubber band about to snap.
“What does it say?” Alara stepped closer to Lukas, blocking Jared from his line of vision.
He focused his attention back to the article. “Lilburn’s always been haunted. Footsteps in the tower, a baby crying, a little girl playing in the hall—the usual stuff.”
“That’s the usual stuff?” The four of them shared a vocabulary that was completely alien to me.
“If we’re dealing with a residual haunting,” Priest said. I gave him a blank stare. “It’s like a fingerprint, energy that’s left behind after someone dies traumatically. It can be a sound like footsteps, or an actual apparition. But the apparition can’t interact with people because it’s not really there.”
“There’s nothing residual about what’s going on at Lilburn now.” Lukas handed the laptop to his brother without looking at him.
Jared’s eyes darkened. “Two people almost died there within a week. One fell down the stairs and the other from a second-story window. Both said they were pushed, but no one else was home when it happened.”
“The name of this place is written on the same page as the diagram of the Shift,” Alara said. “What are the odds?”
No one responded. It was one question we could all answer.
The White Stripes blared from the speakers behind Priest’s worktable. This time it was “Seven Nation Army,” and Priest looked like he was outfitting an army of his own. I checked off supplies from a list on a notepad, quizzing Priest and Alara about every piece of equipment.
Priest tossed Alara a box of nails and filled in the blanks for me. “It’s like packing for a trip when you don’t have the weather report.”
I only recognized about 50 percent of what Alara put in the bag, and had no idea what they planned to do with any of it. But I was determined to find out.
I held up the nails. “I’m guessing these are for severe thunderstorms?”
Priest grinned. “Or unexpected rain, depending on the vengeance spirit.” He handed Alara a high-tech crossbow with orange duct tape wrapped around the barrel.
“You can shoot spirits with that?”
Alara scowled. Spotting Andras’ seal on the diagram had only earned me a temporary reprieve. I sensed her sizing me up every time she looked at me, trying to determine what my ignorance would cost them.
“Almost any type of weapon works as long as you have the right ammo. Regular bullets won’t hurt spirits. They just piss them off,” Priest said.
“You grandfather taught you how to make all this stuff?”
“Yeah. He could build a weapon out of a soda can.” Priest examined a leather glove with spikes protruding from the knuckles. “I need to do a quick fix. Alara, put this on for a minute.”
She pointed at the soldering iron. “Don’t burn me.”
I scanned the list while Priest lit the blue flame on the soldering iron: nail gun, crossbow, shotgun, strike gloves, nails, bolts, shells, salt, EMF detectors, batteries, flashlights, torch, headphones. I smiled at the last one and watched Priest work. The pencil in my hand started to move, following the curves of his face, the shape of the hood flipped over his head. But his trademark headphones morphed into part of his body like a crazy steampunk helmet.
It felt good to be sketching, like I was suddenly me again.
Priest finished and looked over. “What are you drawing?”
“You.” I penciled in some quick lines to round out the sketch.
He pushed the goggles up on his forehead and walked around the table. “Wow. That’s amazing.”
Alara craned her neck and did a double take. “He’s right.”
“Lots of people are better.” I handed him the pad and tucked the pencil behind my ear.
“Well, I don’t know any.” Priest ripped off the sheet and put it in his pocket. “I’m saving this in case you’re famous one day.”
If someone had said that a week ago, I would’ve holed up in my room and sketched for the rest of the day. Instead, I was hiding in a warehouse, packing ammo, just hoping to make it through another one.
CHAPTER 13
Cold Iron
With its weathered gray brick and medieval tower, Lilburn Mansion looked more like an abandoned castle from a European guidebook than the scene of paranormal attacks.
I stared at the second-story windows, wondering which one the person fell from. Whether the spirits inside the house were under the influence of a demon or not, two people had almost died here.
I wasn’t studying maps and sorting weapons anymore.
This was a real haunted house.
“You okay?” Lukas walked up beside me.