Dancing on the Edge Read Free

planchette moved again, and it felt as if the guide piece were simply floating beneath my fingertips. I knew I wasn’t making it move. I looked at Uncle Toole. His eyes were closed. So were Aunt Casey’s and Gigi’s. The planchette stopped moving and they opened their eyes. The nail was pointing at the letter
R
.
    â€œRasmus, is that you?” Gigi asked.
    We started moving again, faster. The nail pointed to the word
yes
.
    â€œWe want to talk to Sissy. Is she there?”
    The planchette moved away from the
yes
and then slid back.
    I started chewing on my lip. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to talk to Mama.
    â€œSissy, your baby’s here. Your little girl. Your Miracle.”
    I inched forward in my seat and both Aunt Casey and Uncle Toole shushed me.
    The planchette started moving again, quickly, smoothly, almost floating over the surface of the board. It slid to the
T
, then the
R
, then
O-U-B-L-E
.
    â€œWhat kind of trouble?” Gigi asked.
    Again the planchette was moving, and I could feel my fingers trembling. I had chewed a sore into my lip, and I worked at it and watched the planchette float over to the
D
, then to
A-N-E
.
    Trouble for Dane
, I thought. I began to relax. People were always saying that. “What’s the trouble with Dane?” they’d ask. “Where’s his next book?” they’d wonder. “Wasn’t that novel he wrote nine years ago supposed to be part of a trilogy?” Dane had been having trouble with his writing ever since Mama died and I was born.
    â€œWhat trouble, Sissy?” Gigi asked.
    I looked at Gigi. I wanted to talk. When was she going to let me talk?
    Again the planchette spelled out Dane but then continued to the
G
and then to
O
and then it paused and, just when I thought the message was over, it moved again to the
N
and then to
E
.
    â€œGone?” Gigi asked. “Dane gone?”
    The planchette moved slowly to the
yes
.
    â€œDane gone?” Aunt Casey whispered. “When?” She looked up at Gigi. “Ask Sissy when.”
    The planchette moved one more time and spelled out
N-O-W
.

Chapter 2
    W E SCRAMBLED OVER each other trying to be the first one down the steps to Dane’s room in the basement. We were in such a hurry that no one thought to turn on any lights, and I heard Uncle Toole bumping down the steps on his bottom. He was shouting
Whoa! Whoa!
on his way down, but his cowboy boots must have been digging into nothing because he didn’t stop till he hit bottom. Then in the hallway, we stumbled all over each other again, feeling our way along the stone walls to Dane’s door. I got there first and flung open the door shouting, “Dane! Dane, we’re here!”
    Uncle Toole grabbed me and held me back.
    â€œHoly sh—,” he said.
    We all stood together in a breathless clump, bedazzled by the lights of Dane’s candle bottles. They were everywhere—on his shelves, on his desk, lining the edges of the window casements, and covering the floor like a flaming blanket.
    â€œWhat is this?” Aunt Casey asked, twisting to see Gigi.
    I answered her, whispering with pride. “Dane’s candle bottles. He likes to plug all his empty wine bottles with candles and then we light them, in ceremony.”
    â€œIn ceremony of what?” Aunt Casey’s voice was harsh.
    â€œCasey, leave it,” Gigi said.
    â€œBut where’s Dane?” I asked, stepping into the room. Uncle Toole caught me by the shoulders and pulled me back.
    â€œHe ain’t in here, that’s for sure,” he said.
    Then Gigi brushed past us, her purple séance robe swinging into the bottles, making us all gasp.
    Aunt Casey said, “Lord, Gigi, you want to go up in flames? Watch that robe.”
    Gigi didn’t hear her. She glided around the bottles, moving toward Dane’s writing desk. Then she stopped and held up both her arms the way she did when calling on the dead spirits. We