The Night Guests: A Novel by Marina Scott

Author:Marina Scott [Scott, Marina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2025-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Talking to the dead is not at all what I imagined.

Leroy’s lessons do not include candles, summoning spirits, or chanting. We don’t spend time in rooms where the light comes straggling through the pulled curtains or closed shutters. His lessons have nothing to do with the spirit world.

Nothing at all.

Every day after breakfast, the training commences and takes up all day. I rarely have time for tea or a crust of bread before Leroy is pulling me back to the parlor to show me a new trick, to make me practice it over and over until I can do it blindfolded.

“I don’t understand,” I say one afternoon after I learn how to tap with a heel on a hollowed-out chair leg. I’m sitting in the middle of the room at our round mahogany parlor table we dragged from the window. Leroy is standing in front of me, arms folded across his chest. He’s dressed in starched clothes. His jet-black hair is combed back. I’m wearing my old house frock and scratched leather shoes. I don’t remember if I took a brush to my hair this morning. “Why are you teaching me parlor tricks, really? I’m learning nothing about spirits.” I remove my shoe and point the heel at his face. “Why am I learning this? I have blisters on my foot from all the thumping. And look at this heel. It’s about to fall apart, and I don’t have another pair of shoes to spare.”

He lets out half a laugh, as if trying to make fun of my question. With a loud thud, I drop my shoe on the floor and don’t bother to put it on.

“Spirits, just like people, can be moody, Miss Wilson. Sometimes they don’t come. And what are you supposed to do then? Ask your guests to leave? No, you’re supposed to put on a performance and wait for the dead to appear.”

I almost laugh at how ridiculous he sounds. “How do the spirits decide if they want to grace a medium with their presence or not?”

“This remains a mystery. The dead can be temperamental. Even grumpy. Sometimes they come when called but choose not to reveal themselves. They like to watch.”

“The tricks, then.” I point at my scuffed shoe that lies on the floor between us. “To put a show on while waiting for the dead to oblige us with their presence.” I chuckle. “I have to admit this is more complicated than I thought it would be.” I’m not sure what to think of it—the tapping, the trickery, the pretense. Perhaps, over the course of our lessons, it will all make sense, and I’ll discover a deeper reason for the tricks. But right now, it feels like we’re preparing for a show rather than a séance.

His smile eases when his gaze slides to my feet. He drops to his knees, picks up the shoe, and cradles it in his hands. His fingers skim my foot, lifting my skirt, exposing my stitched-up stockings. The room is suddenly airless.

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