ghost/woman’s hand lifted awkwardly, slapping heavily onto Isis’s arm.
“It doesn’t prove anything of the sort.” The woman’s features pulled into a sharp frown. “Phil didn’t say he
couldn’t
contact the brother, only that the boy’s spirit
wouldn’t
speak to him.” Blue eyes sparkled icily. “Your mother could learn some tricks from him.”
Isis turned away, furious.
On stage, Philip Syndal had returned to the spotlight. His shoulders were drooping a little now, and he looked tired.
“I’d like to apologise for what just happened,” he said quietly. “Especially to Amy, who so bravely came up here. Sometimes journeys to the beyond are not…” he sighed, glancing briefly to the side of the stage “… straightforward. Sometimes those gone before us don’t want to be reached. They don’t want to come back to this world.” He lifted his head, pulling back his shoulders. “So I’m not sure it would be right to continue tonight. I feel it would be better to call an early end to this seance and, of course, I will refund anyone who feels unhappy about this. I will also be signing books afterwards in the foyer.”
“No!”
“Don’t”
The shouts came from all around. People were on their feet, calling up to him, begging him to continue. Philip smiled, but shook his head, taking off his microphone as if preparing to leave the stage. People stamped their feet, and a roar started to build in the theatre. Philip watched, not-quite astonished, and then raised his hands for quiet. The stamping and shouts sputtered out.
“Thank you, thank you,” he said. “Your support really means so much to me. I couldn’t leave such a wonderful audience!” He attached the stage microphone back into his ear, as the audience erupted into cheers. Philip smiled into the applause, and when it had faded, he spoke again.
“This has been a difficult session, and so, to help me through the rest of the night, I’m going to call on the assistance of my spirit guide, who first helped me when I was only fifteen.”
The audience sighed, and there was some more clapping. Isis couldn’t see a spirit guide on the stage, of course. There were no spirits with Philip at all, it was just more of his performance.
The ghost/woman made a little noise, almost a whimper.Isis turned, and saw Mandeville sitting stiffly inside the woman, her hands clamped on the armrests.
“Now you should pay attention,” he muttered through her mouth.
On stage, Philip Syndal brought his hands together. “All right, if anyone else has a loved one they’d like to contact?”
Arms shot up, and Philip peered out from the spotlight, deciding who to choose.
Isis sank back in her seat.
“He’s just another fraud!” she whispered.
“No, he isn’t,” said Mandeville quietly. “But he is a waste of his talent.” Isis looked at him, surprised, and Mandeville turned the woman’s head stiffly towards her. “He was never as good as you, my dear, but he had real psychic ability, once.”
She felt like he’d just turned everything upside down, she was struggling to follow things. “But… you just told me his show is done by tricks!” she said.
Mandeville nodded. “Now it is. But when he was your age, he was a bright fire.”
Isis stared back at Philip Syndal. Was he really psychic? If he was, why would he pretend not to be? Or was Mandeville playing tricks as well?
She turned to the ghost. “You said all real psychics go mad! He doesn’t seem mad at all.”
Mandeville smiled sadly with the woman’s mouth. “As I said, my dear, you should pay attention.”
Isis looked at Philip Syndal, but she couldn’t see anything. Then, at the back of the stage, she saw a flash in the deepest blue. Only for an eye-blink, the colour taking on the form of something huge, shapeless and billowing.
Were those wings beating?
She watched, carefully, and saw the blue shadow again. Moving from the stage, shifting every time she blinked, until it
“It doesn’t prove anything of the sort.” The woman’s features pulled into a sharp frown. “Phil didn’t say he
couldn’t
contact the brother, only that the boy’s spirit
wouldn’t
speak to him.” Blue eyes sparkled icily. “Your mother could learn some tricks from him.”
Isis turned away, furious.
On stage, Philip Syndal had returned to the spotlight. His shoulders were drooping a little now, and he looked tired.
“I’d like to apologise for what just happened,” he said quietly. “Especially to Amy, who so bravely came up here. Sometimes journeys to the beyond are not…” he sighed, glancing briefly to the side of the stage “… straightforward. Sometimes those gone before us don’t want to be reached. They don’t want to come back to this world.” He lifted his head, pulling back his shoulders. “So I’m not sure it would be right to continue tonight. I feel it would be better to call an early end to this seance and, of course, I will refund anyone who feels unhappy about this. I will also be signing books afterwards in the foyer.”
“No!”
“Don’t”
The shouts came from all around. People were on their feet, calling up to him, begging him to continue. Philip smiled, but shook his head, taking off his microphone as if preparing to leave the stage. People stamped their feet, and a roar started to build in the theatre. Philip watched, not-quite astonished, and then raised his hands for quiet. The stamping and shouts sputtered out.
“Thank you, thank you,” he said. “Your support really means so much to me. I couldn’t leave such a wonderful audience!” He attached the stage microphone back into his ear, as the audience erupted into cheers. Philip smiled into the applause, and when it had faded, he spoke again.
“This has been a difficult session, and so, to help me through the rest of the night, I’m going to call on the assistance of my spirit guide, who first helped me when I was only fifteen.”
The audience sighed, and there was some more clapping. Isis couldn’t see a spirit guide on the stage, of course. There were no spirits with Philip at all, it was just more of his performance.
The ghost/woman made a little noise, almost a whimper.Isis turned, and saw Mandeville sitting stiffly inside the woman, her hands clamped on the armrests.
“Now you should pay attention,” he muttered through her mouth.
On stage, Philip Syndal brought his hands together. “All right, if anyone else has a loved one they’d like to contact?”
Arms shot up, and Philip peered out from the spotlight, deciding who to choose.
Isis sank back in her seat.
“He’s just another fraud!” she whispered.
“No, he isn’t,” said Mandeville quietly. “But he is a waste of his talent.” Isis looked at him, surprised, and Mandeville turned the woman’s head stiffly towards her. “He was never as good as you, my dear, but he had real psychic ability, once.”
She felt like he’d just turned everything upside down, she was struggling to follow things. “But… you just told me his show is done by tricks!” she said.
Mandeville nodded. “Now it is. But when he was your age, he was a bright fire.”
Isis stared back at Philip Syndal. Was he really psychic? If he was, why would he pretend not to be? Or was Mandeville playing tricks as well?
She turned to the ghost. “You said all real psychics go mad! He doesn’t seem mad at all.”
Mandeville smiled sadly with the woman’s mouth. “As I said, my dear, you should pay attention.”
Isis looked at Philip Syndal, but she couldn’t see anything. Then, at the back of the stage, she saw a flash in the deepest blue. Only for an eye-blink, the colour taking on the form of something huge, shapeless and billowing.
Were those wings beating?
She watched, carefully, and saw the blue shadow again. Moving from the stage, shifting every time she blinked, until it
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