No Humans Involved
Page 7
Murmurs of excitement ran through the crowd. Grady glanced at Claudia. I kept my mouth shut, my expression intrigued but not committed, waiting to see how Grady would play it.
"How mysterious were these circumstances?" he finally asked.
"I've heard there was satanism involved," the guard piped in. "That's why no one saw anything. They were conducting a secret Hollywood black magic rite."
Grady's face lit up. Satanic rites were his specialty. He found evidence of them everywhere. He and Claudia exchanged a look.
She cleared her throat. "As per Mr. Grady's contract, he is supposed to receive a minimum of six hours' notice before any attempted spirit communications. He's willing to forgo that tonight. However, I insist that he still be allowed as much time as possible to complete his mental preparations, so he must be granted the final position."
Taking the final spot meant he'd have our work to build on, plus the chance to leave the most lasting impression.
Becky glanced at me, but I didn't have any such stipulations in my contract. I could hit the ground running anytime, anywhere, so I saved my contract demands for important things like billing position and wardrobe allowance.
"It's all yours, Bradford." I smiled, then slipped in, "I'll take the final spot next time."
"Excellent," Becky said. "It's settled then. Angelique will go first, Jaime second-"
"Oh, no," Angelique breathed, her face filling with genuine horror. "I couldn't go before Ms. Vegas. She's the star; I should follow her."
I shook my head. "It's your first big seance and I insist you take the premier position."
She opened her mouth, but there was little she could say to that. I accepted Grady's proffered arm and we headed upstairs.
WHEN I realized they planned to hold this seance in the garden, I thought of the presence I'd felt there earlier and a chill ran through me. As bizarre as it might seem, I avoid mixing necromancy and spiritualism whenever possible. I use my powers to give me an edge, but under controlled circumstances. When I'm booking a show in a new city, I always visit the venues myself first, to make sure there aren't any resident ghosts. Nothing buggers up a fake seance more than having a real ghost screaming in your ear.
So I stepped into that garden, steeled against the first sign that my reluctant spirit had returned. But, to my relief, the presence of others seemed to scare it off. Or, if I was really lucky, it had given up and moved on.
We stole into the gardens like schoolkids cutting out on a class trip, snickering and whispering, hoping the neighbors didn't overhear.
It was midnight. The witching hour, which I'm sure the writers would make a big deal of when they wrote the introduction to this segment. The full moon and the wind rustling through the bushesdidn't hurt.
"Too bad we can't do it next door," someone said. "Right at the site of the murder. That's where she was found, wasn't it?"
"Near the pool house." Becky turned to the cameraman. "Can we get it in the backdrop?"
"Perhaps we could get some dirt from the site," Grady said.
Becky looked at the security crew. "Any volunteers?"
"I will," I said.
All heads turned my way.
"Oh, come on," I said. "What will film better? A security guard jumping that fence? Or me?" I turned to Angelique. "Unless you want to."
She backed away as if I'd suggested she desecrate a grave. "Oh, no. I couldn't. My dress-"
"Then it'll have to be me." I pulled off my sling-backs and handed them to the nearest guard. "Now which of you boys is going to boost me over that fence?"
SO I snuck into the neighbor's yard and swiped dirt from behind their pool house. By the time I got back, my feet were filthy, my hair had twigs caught in it and I was sure there was a dirt smear or two on my face. But I got my round of cheers-and my laughs- and some footage of a cute young guard washing my feet in the fountain.
"Okay," I said, putting my heels back on as I leaned against the obliging guard. "Time for the seance. Angelique? You're up."
TANSY LANE
THE MEDIUM HAS TWO PRIMARY TOOLS at her disposal, and neither has any-thing to do with summoning spirits. The tools are knowledge and statistical probability. Or, as they're often called, warm reading and cold reading.
Cold reading uses statistical probability to make random guesses about a person or an audience. For example, if I say I see the spirit of a man, someone you've lost, it's a given that you've lost a male friend or relative in your lifetime. If I say his name started with J-first name, but maybe a middle or nickname-there's a good chance you can find a dead male relative with that common initial. Then I'll throw out "details" supplied by your dead relative, talking fast, shaping my responses by reading your reaction, and soon you'll be convinced I am indeed speaking to your dearly departed second cousin Joey who, by the way, misses you, but is happy and in a good place.
Then there's warm reading, which uses prior knowledge. Maybe you chatted to one of my staff on the way into the show-they're so helpful and friendly. Maybe they overheard you telling your companion about the person you wanted me to contact. Or maybe you wrote it on that questionnaire you sent in, the one that was supposed to be anonymous. However it happened, I know that you, in seat D45, are praying that your second cousin Joey comes by with a message. Well, he has, and he misses you, but he's happy and in a good place.
"How mysterious were these circumstances?" he finally asked.
"I've heard there was satanism involved," the guard piped in. "That's why no one saw anything. They were conducting a secret Hollywood black magic rite."
Grady's face lit up. Satanic rites were his specialty. He found evidence of them everywhere. He and Claudia exchanged a look.
She cleared her throat. "As per Mr. Grady's contract, he is supposed to receive a minimum of six hours' notice before any attempted spirit communications. He's willing to forgo that tonight. However, I insist that he still be allowed as much time as possible to complete his mental preparations, so he must be granted the final position."
Taking the final spot meant he'd have our work to build on, plus the chance to leave the most lasting impression.
Becky glanced at me, but I didn't have any such stipulations in my contract. I could hit the ground running anytime, anywhere, so I saved my contract demands for important things like billing position and wardrobe allowance.
"It's all yours, Bradford." I smiled, then slipped in, "I'll take the final spot next time."
"Excellent," Becky said. "It's settled then. Angelique will go first, Jaime second-"
"Oh, no," Angelique breathed, her face filling with genuine horror. "I couldn't go before Ms. Vegas. She's the star; I should follow her."
I shook my head. "It's your first big seance and I insist you take the premier position."
She opened her mouth, but there was little she could say to that. I accepted Grady's proffered arm and we headed upstairs.
WHEN I realized they planned to hold this seance in the garden, I thought of the presence I'd felt there earlier and a chill ran through me. As bizarre as it might seem, I avoid mixing necromancy and spiritualism whenever possible. I use my powers to give me an edge, but under controlled circumstances. When I'm booking a show in a new city, I always visit the venues myself first, to make sure there aren't any resident ghosts. Nothing buggers up a fake seance more than having a real ghost screaming in your ear.
So I stepped into that garden, steeled against the first sign that my reluctant spirit had returned. But, to my relief, the presence of others seemed to scare it off. Or, if I was really lucky, it had given up and moved on.
We stole into the gardens like schoolkids cutting out on a class trip, snickering and whispering, hoping the neighbors didn't overhear.
It was midnight. The witching hour, which I'm sure the writers would make a big deal of when they wrote the introduction to this segment. The full moon and the wind rustling through the bushesdidn't hurt.
"Too bad we can't do it next door," someone said. "Right at the site of the murder. That's where she was found, wasn't it?"
"Near the pool house." Becky turned to the cameraman. "Can we get it in the backdrop?"
"Perhaps we could get some dirt from the site," Grady said.
Becky looked at the security crew. "Any volunteers?"
"I will," I said.
All heads turned my way.
"Oh, come on," I said. "What will film better? A security guard jumping that fence? Or me?" I turned to Angelique. "Unless you want to."
She backed away as if I'd suggested she desecrate a grave. "Oh, no. I couldn't. My dress-"
"Then it'll have to be me." I pulled off my sling-backs and handed them to the nearest guard. "Now which of you boys is going to boost me over that fence?"
SO I snuck into the neighbor's yard and swiped dirt from behind their pool house. By the time I got back, my feet were filthy, my hair had twigs caught in it and I was sure there was a dirt smear or two on my face. But I got my round of cheers-and my laughs- and some footage of a cute young guard washing my feet in the fountain.
"Okay," I said, putting my heels back on as I leaned against the obliging guard. "Time for the seance. Angelique? You're up."
TANSY LANE
THE MEDIUM HAS TWO PRIMARY TOOLS at her disposal, and neither has any-thing to do with summoning spirits. The tools are knowledge and statistical probability. Or, as they're often called, warm reading and cold reading.
Cold reading uses statistical probability to make random guesses about a person or an audience. For example, if I say I see the spirit of a man, someone you've lost, it's a given that you've lost a male friend or relative in your lifetime. If I say his name started with J-first name, but maybe a middle or nickname-there's a good chance you can find a dead male relative with that common initial. Then I'll throw out "details" supplied by your dead relative, talking fast, shaping my responses by reading your reaction, and soon you'll be convinced I am indeed speaking to your dearly departed second cousin Joey who, by the way, misses you, but is happy and in a good place.
Then there's warm reading, which uses prior knowledge. Maybe you chatted to one of my staff on the way into the show-they're so helpful and friendly. Maybe they overheard you telling your companion about the person you wanted me to contact. Or maybe you wrote it on that questionnaire you sent in, the one that was supposed to be anonymous. However it happened, I know that you, in seat D45, are praying that your second cousin Joey comes by with a message. Well, he has, and he misses you, but he's happy and in a good place.
