The Last Adventure of Constance Verity by A. Lee Martinez Page B

them, then they wouldn’t be mysteries.”
    â€œThis isn’t like a movie where our faces will melt off for daring to transgress beyond limits, is it?” asked Tia.
    â€œIt’s unlikely.”
    â€œUnlikely but not impossible.”
    â€œI wouldn’t worry about that. It’s far more probable you’ll hear something that drives you steadily, irreversibly insane over the next ten or twenty years.”
    â€œGot it. As long as I get to keep my face.”
    Connie almost offered Tia a chance to sit this one out, but Tia wouldn’t take her up on it. She might have been an ordinary person, but she wasn’t an ordinary friend.
    â€œThanks,” said Connie.
    â€œI’m here for the duration. You know that.”
    â€œI’m not talking about this. I’m talking about everything. There were times when the thoughts of our brunches were the only thing keeping me sane while I was wrestling lions.”
    â€œFunny,” said Tia. “I was thinking the same thing. Remember that time I was kidnapped by robots?”
    â€œWhich time? The tall, boxy ones or the squat, round ones?”
    â€œThe second,” she said. “I was going through my divorce atthe time. Felt like I’d wasted seven years of my life. Then those robots came along and tried to throw me into that volcano—”
    â€œThe boxy ones wanted to throw you in a volcano. The squat ones wanted to remove your brain.”
    â€œOh, yeah. It all starts blending together after a while. It’s not important. Keeping my brain and not getting sacrificed to a computer god put things in perspective, made everything seem easier by comparison. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to make a habit of it. I can’t do what you do. But it’s a nice change of pace now and then.”
    Madam Zura called them into the back. They entered the small dark room that smelled of sage and vanilla. Dozens of black and white candles lined the walls. A plastic skull sat on a round table. It was all very much what one would expect from a dedicated séance room except for the soulful music of Aretha Franklin in the background.
    â€œDo the dead like Aretha?” asked Tia.
    â€œNo, I like Aretha,” said Zura. “The dead’s taste varies. But it’s my séance room, so I get to decide the playlist.” She nodded at Tia. “You’re new, so I’ll explain how this works. We sit at the table and join hands. You don’t say anything. You might feel some tingling in your extremities, and maybe the table will levitate. Don’t worry about it. Eventually, I’ll reach across the Veil and contact our target. If I’m successful, an ectoplasmic manifestation will appear. Don’t talk to it. Don’t ask it any questions. Don’t say a single word until I give the all-clear. I have to make sure I’m channeling the right spiritand not something else. If it passes the smell test, then I’ll give Connie the go-ahead to start talking. You don’t say anything. Got it?”
    â€œKeep my mouth shut. Got it.”
    â€œAnd try not to look the spirit in the eye,” added Zura. “It tends to piss them off.”
    â€œHead down. Got it.”
    â€œNo. I need you to look at it. It will only exist as long as the three of us acknowledge it. We’re the doorway. If one of us closes it, the thing will either go back whence it came or end up trapped here. That can lead to all sorts of problems.”
    â€œLook at it, but don’t look too much at it,” said Tia. “Got it.”
    â€œShe’s no slouch,” said Connie. “She’ll do her part.”
    â€œI’m not worried about her,” said Zura. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”
    â€œI’m sure. Stop asking.”
    Zura shrugged. “Have it your way.”
    They sat at the table and linked hands. Connie and Tia sat quietly while Zura closed her