Giving Up the Ghost by Phoebe Rivers

felt some of the stress of the day melt away.
    â€œFinish your tea,” she said as I reached for the last cookie. “Then come into my room. We must meditate together.” She stood up and walked out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of exotic scent in her wake.
    I had known her long enough to understand that what she really meant was, “Hurry up and finish your tea.” So I gulped down one more sip, carried my cup to the sink, and then followed her into her room.
    She was already sitting at her table, eyes closed, calmly breathing. She opened one eye and addressed me. “Come. Sit. We’ll meditate together and see if we can’t rid the house of what is afflicting it.”
    I sat down warily.
    â€œThe negative energy that has invaded this house must be offset by positive energy. I have given this matter much thought, and I believe that if we combine our powers, we can rid the house of this terrible burden.”
    â€œDo you know the source of the bad energy?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s not important,” she said. She kept her eyes closed and hummed. She was avoiding my question. I was sure of it.
    I tuned in to her thoughts. I heard a name: Nina Oliver. Then, as if a trapdoor had slid closed, I couldn’t access her thoughts anymore.
    She reached across the table and took both my hands in both of hers. They were tiny, with gnarled knuckles and large rings, but her grip was firm and warm. “Close your eyes. Think deeply,” she instructed.
    I closed my eyes. Opened them again. Her eyes were closed, her lips quietly chanting something I couldn’t hear. I felt uncomfortable doing this. I didn’t know how to meditate. I breathed deeply. Tried to relax.
    And almost immediately had a vision.
    The room whirled around, faster and faster, reminding me of the time when I was a kid and I would twirl around and around to make myself dizzy. When the room came to a stop, I found myself no longer holding hands with Lady Azura. I was standing in the kitchen. It seemed to be late. Very late at night. I could see snow coming down outside the window. It was heaped on the windowsill. The calendar on the wall showed that it was February of this year—just last month.
    The white-haired woman from my dream stood in a corner of the kitchen, facing Lady Azura. But now the woman was no longer alive. She was clearly a spirit. She looked much older than she had in my dream. Now she was an old woman, although probably not quite as old as Lady Azura. But she looked wearier. Careworn. Her eyes darted from side to side. Her movements seemed twitchy. Nervous.
    â€œPlease. You must help me,” she said to Lady Azura. Her voice was dry and cracked. Not the firm voice from my dream. Her former confidence seemed to have vanished.
    Lady Azura was dressed in her dressing gown, wearing no makeup. As though she’d come into the kitchen late at night, after everyone else was in bed. Which made sense. I often thought I heard her roaming around the downstairs while I lay in bed.
    Lady Azura’s hands clutched the countertop behind her. I noticed her knuckles turned lighter. “I tried to help you when you were alive,” she said, firmly but not unkindly. “It will be much harder now. Yet there is still a way to reverse the course. You know what you must do, Nina.” My great-grandmother’s brown eyes were sad. Filled with pity.
    â€œI—cannot do it on my own,” said Nina the spirit, her voice trembling.
    Lady Azura looked down at the floor and sighed heavily. “I will try to help you now, but you must help me help you. It will be very difficult for me. I must know that you will do the right thing.”
    â€œI will. I swear,” said the spirit.
    Suddenly the vision shifted.
    Lady Azura and the white-haired woman—still a spirit—were seated across from each other at Lady Azura’s table. My great-grandmother was still wearing her dressing gown. Now I