Free The Sense of Reckoning by Matty Dalrymple Page A

let her in. Instead, he peered around and behind her—as if, Ann thought, he was looking for another visitor. Then she realized that was exactly what he was doing. She stood still under this scrutiny until Garrick uttered a muffled “hmph” and beckoned her inside.
    The symmetry of the exterior of the house was continued in the interior, which, to Ann’s eye, appeared to have been well cared for and largely unmodernized. The center hall was dark, the only light coming from the open front door and from a wrought-iron chandelier. The stairs to the second floor were on the left side of the hall, with a bench of the same era as the house on the right wall. The wall above the bench held a series of framed, handwritten, antique-looking documents. Near the door was a row of pegs, on one of which hung a long black coat. The door to the left was closed. Garrick waved her through to the room on the right.  
    On the wall opposite the door was a brick fireplace flanked by two narrow windows. Two windows on the right-hand wall overlooked the front yard. Wall space not occupied by windows, fireplace, or doors was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the higher shelves of which were accessible via a wheeled ladder attached to a brass rail at the top of the bookcase. Ann had always coveted such a setup but had never lived in a house with ceilings high enough to justify it.
    To the right, facing toward the center of the room, was a large desk, with two well-worn leather wing chairs facing it. Garrick waved her toward the chairs and took a seat behind the desk. Ann shrugged out of her parka and deposited it on one of the chairs and sat in the other.
    Garrick rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, steepled his fingers, and peered at her over them, his eyes continuing to flicker around her. Ann sighed and settled in for the examination.
    After a minute or so, Garrick said, “Well.”
    Ann raised her eyebrows expectantly.
    Garrick rose from behind the desk and circled behind her chair, then sat down again. “There might be something.”
    “What is it?” she asked, startled. She somehow hadn’t expected Garrick to perform his assessment so quickly.
    “It’s hard to tell. Whatever it is, it’s very faint.”
    “A spirit?”
    “Perhaps. It came in with you.”
    Ann glanced around nervously. “Where is it?”
    “Behind you. It’s a bit amorphous.”
    Ann felt the hair on her neck stir. She had never been on this side of a sensing before. She turned in her chair and looked behind her, but saw nothing.
    “Is it Biden Firth?”
    “I have no idea, I can’t even tell if it’s human.” Garrick resumed his examination of Ann and her immediate surroundings. When it became clear he was going to do this without any accompanying conversation, Ann passed the time trying to read the titles of the books on the shelves, none of which looked familiar and many of which appeared to be in foreign languages. Ann, a book lover herself, had the library of an inveterate reader, but Garrick Masser had the library of a scholar.
    Finally Garrick sat back in his chair. “So, tell me about what you’re experiencing.”
    Ann recapped the series of injuries to her hands and described the connection Joe had made to Biden Firth’s intentionally inflicted injuries.
    “Have you had any incidents since you left Pennsylvania?”
    Ann thought back over her uneventful trip up to Maine. “No, nothing.”
    “Have you sensed anything?”
    Ann shook her head.
    “Not at all? How about when you were in the hospital?”
    “There were spirits at the hospital, but I didn’t have a sense that any of them were especially interested in me. And I don’t recall hurting my hands while I was there.”
    Garrick nodded thoughtfully. “It’s possible, if it is Biden Firth, that it took him some time to rally his forces, or that he drew some strength from being in the location where he died once you returned home.”
    “But is it him?”
    “I told you, it’s not