Perception (Apparition Investigations #1)

Case #1: Villanova Apartments: Part 20

This flame, this small, almost inconsequential flame. I'd named it. And so it had sat, waiting for me to order it. Not moving because I hadn't ordered it to. Not tipping over because I hadn't given it permission to.

It just hovered, waiting.

I let go of Bronte and reached out for it. The flame warmed my fingertips but didn't burn.

When I thought of it sliding into my palm, it obeyed. Moving down my fingertips with the same softness of a feather until it sat in the center of my open hand.

"Oh, my God," I breathed.

A crash thundered from the far side of the room. I jerked out of my thoughts in time to see my recliner in the book nook on its side and yards away from where it should have been, with Bronte's being thrown back next.

Cyril let out a cry of pain.

I jumped to my feet, still cradling the tiny flame in my hand, the pocket watch in the other. My mind snapped back to Noah's words. How fire was a purifying force.

If it worked once, I prayed it would work again.

When I thought of the flame growing, it did. The drop expanded, greedily consuming the air, until it was about the size of a tennis ball. A tennis ball sized flame just hanging out in my hand.

"Where is it?" I shouted.

Their voices sounded like they were everywhere. Without Bronte to guide me, I couldn't pinpoint the ghosts and the monster.

Oliver must have glanced in my direction because he let out a sharp hiss. "Stella! Your hand—"

"It's fine—where is it?"

"It's fine?" he repeated, then must have seen the fire wasn't burning. "What in God's name is happening?"

"Just tell me where it is!" I shouted.

"Above the dining table!" Cyril shouted.

I spun around and held up my hand like I'd seen in every super hero movie ever. The fire, mimicking my thoughts, shot forward like a beam. A beam of fire hurtling toward my dining table.

Panicked, my mind thought of the fire spreading.

And it did. It jumped from the dining table to the walls, the carpet, the pictures.

Another panicked thought that I didn't want anything to burn.

And it didn't. The fire spread but didn't consume.

"Focus," I whispered to myself, imagining the fire in the dining area being extinguished.

Following my thoughts, the fire faded until I was left with the ball of it in my hand.

"Did I get it?"

"No—just barely mis—" Oliver let out a grunt, stopping midsentence.

The monstrous growling became angrier.

And it might have been my imagination, but I imagined it was closer too.

"I can't freaking see it!" I shouted, taking a step backward. I glanced down to make sure I wasn't stepping on Bronte, but she was still locked in her vision.

My head swiveled, eyes straining, hoping to see it. All the while I concentrated on the flame in my hand, silently willing it not to burn anything except the monster.

I kept looking, but there was nothing. Not a faint shadow or ghostly glimmer. The apartment looked completely normal—aside from everything thrown about and giant claw marks raked across the front door.