Free Ghost Talkers by Mary Robinette Kowal

of it was that she probably wouldn’t. As much as Ginger disliked Abigail Winchester, née Giddeon, it had more to do with her habitual flirtation with men for the pleasure of the hunt than anything else. Even then, Ginger might have liked Lady Winchester better if she hadn’t been able to see the mustard-green spite of her aura while she flirted.
    And, of course, all of these women were capable of seeing Ginger’s own aura, if they took the time to look. The only thing saving her, likely, was that none of them yet had the wartime habit of keeping their souls a little out of their body. But … just in case, it was time to think of kittens and other pleasant things, and attend to business. “We will require you to sign a declaration of secrecy before proceeding. At that point, if you violate it, you not only compromise national security, but will face charges for treason. If you feel that you are incapable of this, your work in the hospitality hut will continue without change and with the sincere thanks of your country.”
    She gave a nod to Edna, who passed the papers to the women. The tent quieted till it held nothing but the sound of paper rustling. Outside, the distant boom of guns rolled over the canvas. All six women signed their declarations, and then Edna collected them, placing them into a folder. When she was finished, the room was more solemn than it had been.
    With a breath, Ginger faced the group again. “How many of you have attended a séance?”
    All six hands rose, which was not surprising, since that was how Aunt Edie had been finding people. Before the war, séances had been fashionable ways to pass the time. Now, they were both discredited and a desperate way to say good-bye to lost soldiers.
    â€œGood. Now, have any of you led a séance on your own?”
    Five of the six hands rose. Only a widow with a white streak shooting through her hair, who must be Mrs. McCarty, kept her hand down. She peered around at the other women, and her aura took on the green-brown of uncertainty. Ginger smiled at them, making sure to catch the older woman’s gaze. “Don’t worry. We’ll still be putting you all through training to make certain that you are all using your skills in accordance with regulations. Even if you don’t have much experience, by the time you leave here, you will be one of the most experienced mediums in the world.”
    Silver questions wrote themselves across everyone’s soul. The little blond woman in the back actually made an “Oh!” of surprise.
    Ginger smiled at her. “Yes. We’ve asked you here to be mediums.”
    Lady Winchester scoffed. “But mediums are just charlatans.”
    Ginger cocked her head. “I’m sorry. I saw you raise your hand when I asked if any of you had lead séances on your own.”
    â€œWell, yes. But I faked it.” Lady Winchester gave a self-satisfied smile and drawled, “I mean, really. Sitting in the dark with eligible gentlemen? Anything might happen.”
    Mrs. McCarty raised her hand. “I faked it too, which is why I did not feel I could, in honesty, raise my hand previously. Of course, at the time, I did not realize I was faking, but once I read Mr. Houdini’s article about the ideomotor effect, I understood that I was moving the Ouija board pointer myself without realizing it.”
    Ginger swallowed and wet her lips, feeling a little ill. “Well … this is to be expected, I suppose. Ladies, the British government has employed the services of Mr. Houdini and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to discredit spiritualism to the public, hoping to keep the Germans from knowing what we are doing. They have invented terms to explain away genuine phenomena, and created stage illusions that duplicate a genuine séance but which can be unmasked as the work of charlatans. I assure you, spiritualism is a very real thing.”
    â€œBut I know I faked