Free Strong Spirits [Spirits 01] by Alice Duncan

lead pancake with me. She slithered over to her brother, Medora, and Lieutenant Farrington, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke in her wake and ignoring the shocked glances she was generating from the adults in the room.
           “Daisy Majesty. So you’re at it again, are you?” She smirked as she said it.
           I smirked back. “Been reading This Side of Paradise , have you, Stacy?”
           “Heh,” she said, lifting her nose as if something smelled bad. From this, I deduced that she didn’t like being reminded that she’d borrowed her going-to-hell-as-fast-as-
possible manners from F. Scott Fitzgerald. I felt as if I’d made my point and was rather proud of myself, although I didn’t let on.
           I wanted to give her a hard whack on the fanny. According to my mother, a sharp smack delivered to the rear portion of the anatomy did wonders to clear up fuzzy thinking in the head portion of the same body. I thought Stacy deserved several years’ worth of smacks, and also thought it would be swell if every single one of them were to be imparted at one time.
           “I was just leaving,” I murmured, smiling graciously. Another smile wasted.
           “Ah,” said she, exhaling a thin stream of smoke in my direction, probably in the attempt to kill me via suffocation or smoke inhalation. She’d think it was funny.
           “Stop being a pig, Stacy, and get rid of that stinking weed.” Harold snatched the cigarette, holder and all, from his sister’s hand and threw both into the fireplace. I decided I liked him even better than I thought I did.
           The gracious smile I bestowed upon him wasn’t wasted. As Stacy turned purple and began spitting profanities at her brother, I beat a retreat. Without too many more minutes spent on taking my leave of Mrs. Kincaid and Mrs. Lilley, I managed to get the heck out of there.
           The latter seemed to be in a strange mood, caught somewhere between ecstasy and puzzlement. No surprise there. Heck, anybody who believed she’d just received a message from a dead son deserved to be both of those things. She and Mrs. Kincaid showered praise and thanks upon my head, and I effected my escape feeling like the fraud I was, which wasn’t awfully comfortable. Ah, well. One does what one must.
           I found Edie outside the swinging doors of the kitchen, leaning against the wall and wiping her eyes. Concerned, I rushed over to her before she could flee, which I could tell she wanted to do as soon as she saw me coming.
           “Edie!”
           She sniffled, although I could tell she didn’t want to, and brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Hi, Daisy. How’d the séance go.”
           “Fine, fine. But what’s the matter, Edie? Is something wrong with Eddie?” Eddie was Edie’s brother. He’d been hit hard by the influenza when it was going around. It had gone into meningitis, which had done awful things to his spine and affected his brain. I don’t think his wits will ever come back entirely.
           “Eddie’s getting better.” She sniffled again. “There’s nothing the matter, Daisy. Honest.”
           “Nuts.” I took her by the shoulder and turned her around. We went through the swinging doors leading into the pantry, walked through the pantry, and went into the kitchen.
           I was familiar with the Kincaids’ kitchen, since my Aunt Vi had worked there for so many years. Putting a kettle on the fancy Jewel gas range with moderated heat, two ovens, and a built-in soup warmer, I let Edie collect herself as I made tea.
           She sniffled a couple more times and sighed. “Thanks, Daisy. You really don’t need to make tea for me.”
           “Nonsense. I don’t like to see my friends upset.” Carrying the teapot and two cups over to the table, I sat down next to her. “Will Featherstone bother us?”
           She shook