Free The Year of Shadows by Claire Legrand

want to talk to them for real.”
    Joan took a deep, centering breath. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh . That is so . . . oh my gosh.” She bent over her paper and started writing frantically.
    “What are you writing?” I said.
    “A list of the things we’ll need.”
    She finished with a flourish. We leaned closer to read it.
    “A homemade Ouija board?” Henry said.
    “The ones you can get at the store are just phonies,” Joan said. “ Much more powerful to make your own. Don’t worry about it, I’ve got the supplies for that.”
    “Three white candles, a dish of water, a feather, incense, an important personal artifact . . . a hair from each of our parents?” I looked up in disgust. “Are you kidding?”
    “I don’t make the rules,” Joan said.
    Beside me, Henry shifted in his seat. “Would it not work if we didn’t have . . . if any one of those items was missing?”
    “It can still work, of course,” Joan said quickly. “The important thing is that you have to really want it to work. From the bottom of your heart. The items are just there to help you focus.”
    I tried to imagine getting close enough to the Maestro to pluck a hair from his head. “Ugh. Fine.”
    “Fine,” Henry said, but for the rest of lunch, he didn’t say a word.

    After school that day at The Happy Place, I finished refilling the sugar packets and leaned over the counter.
    “Mrs. B?” Since that day Henry and I had brought up the ghosts, Mr. and Mrs. Barsky had been completely normal, like it had never happened. “Do you think . . . ? I need to buy some stuff. Could I get an employee discount?”
    Mrs. Barsky looked up from where she was organizing the register. “What kind of stuff?”
    I shrugged. “Just some candles and things like that.”
    Mrs. Barsky pursed her lips. I forced myself to meet her eyes.
    Finally, she nodded. “All right, Olivia.”
    I picked out the things we needed: three white candles, sandalwood incense, and an incense burner. The money Henry and Joan had given me jingled in my pockets.
    I put it all on the countertop. “This is it.”
    She scanned everything quietly, not saying anything until I was halfway out the door.
    “Olivia?” she said. “Be careful.”
    I thanked her for the discount and left, fear and excitement crackling in my chest like tiny bolts of lightning.

I PUT OFF getting one of the Maestro’s hairs until the night of the séance. I went to bed, wide awake, and waited. Beneath my blanket, I clutched my backpack, which held my supplies, including my important personal artifact—my sketchpad.
    “Your brain is busy tonight, Olivia,” Nonnie murmured from across the room.
    “Go to sleep, Nonnie. I’m tired.”
    Finally, I heard the Maestro’s footsteps coming down the hallway, shuffling through the kitchen, entering his bedroom.
    It was time to make my move. I waited as long as I could stand and then crept out of bed. I paused at the door.
    “Nonnie?” I whispered.
    Nonnie mumbled, half-asleep.
    “I’m gonna have my séance in a little bit. Remember? Like we talked about? But you can just stay in here, okay? Just keep sleeping. Everything will be fine.”
    “Bring me some radishes.”
    “Sure thing.”
    In the hallway, I stayed close to the wall. The concrete floor was cold on my socked feet.
    Something brushed against my leg. I almost screamed until I saw two green eyes staring at me in the dark.
    I sighed. “Igor, you’ve got to stop sneaking around like that.”
    He cocked his head.
    “Don’t give me that look. I’m serious.” I continued toward the Maestro’s room, gathering my insides together into one solid, fist-shaped knot. I could do this. I could slip into the Maestro’s bedroom and pluck a hair from his greasy head while he slept.
    But at his door, my hand on the knob, I froze. From beneath the normal noise of his music—he always slept with his music on—I could hear a strange sound.
    It sounded like crying.
    This made no sense. The