Chapter Five

From the moment Ziang gripped the steering wheel, his mouth hadn’t closed once.

Before starting the car, he’d meant to say something, but at that moment, Emilia, sitting in the passenger seat, extended her elegant index finger and tapped a few times on the navigation screen. Ziang’s attention was utterly captured by that finger, so much so that what he’d intended to say was reduced to a single syllable—“Uh”—which was why his mouth had opened in the first place, and it had remained open for well over an hour, even now as they drove on.

Ziang felt like he was the most clueless person in the entire car. He couldn’t understand how the four of them—Emilia, Steven, Lannie, and himself—had mysteriously ended up squeezed into the same compact sedan. He didn’t know what Steven and Lannie had been arguing about before getting in. He was even less sure why Emilia kept staring at a photo on her phone, one marked with the symbol “Ω.” He only knew two things:

First, Emilia had slipped into the passenger seat without a word, and he wanted, at all costs, to sit as close to her as possible.

And second, the sentence he’d failed to finish back then—“Uh, actually, I don’t have an American driver’s license.”

Steven and Lannie were still debating the motives and circumstances of a murder. From their exchange, Ziang gathered that the event had occurred earlier that morning, at a place called “Selma,” the very town toward which they were now headed. Combined with Emilia setting the navigation to a farmhouse, Ziang could vaguely piece together what lay ahead—a nighttime mission, dealing with a spirit haunting an isolated house in the fields. But, with his luck, they’d be stopped by the police before even arriving, and he, caught driving without a license, would be hauled off to the station...

Well, that was a plot twist he could appreciate.

The drive from Chicago to Selma was about three hours. For most of that time, Ziang found himself locked in a battle with his own concentration. Emilia sat just within his peripheral vision, and to avoid seeming rude or making things awkward, he forced himself to keep his gaze shifting between the bland passing scenery—the road, barns, endless cornfields.

During the second hour, Emilia quietly drifted off to sleep. Meanwhile, the two in the back escalated from a simple verbal spat to slapping each other with their spirit-channeling abilities. This, at least, gave Ziang a chance. He used scratching his cheek as a cover, turning his head to steal glances at Emilia now and then.

In the final hour, rain began to fall.

The sky grew ever darker, and the number of cars on the road dwindled.

When Steven and Lannie finally tired out, the car lapsed into utter silence.

It was not a pleasant quiet, but the sort that begged to be broken. Most crucial of all, with a barely audible gasp, Emilia slowly opened her eyes.

Ziang knew full well that trying to start a conversation with such a cold, distant girl would make him seem even more foolish than when he’d tossed out those talisman papers before. So he cleared his throat and reached out to turn on the car radio.

The radio failed to produce any sound at first, but in the very next moment—

“Emilia! What kind of joke is this?!”

Chloe’s roar filled the car in an instant.

“Something’s up!” Steven, who had just dozed off, cried out, “Take cover!” He sprang from his seat, smacking his head on the car roof, only to be forced back down by a burst of orange light from the seat beside him.

“How can you just leave like this?!” Chloe continued to bellow through the radio, “What are the other team members supposed to think? If you’ve got the guts, then—”

Emilia switched off the radio.

Once more, the car was silent.

“About the murder you were discussing earlier,” Ziang, unable to stand the awkwardness, was the first to break the silence. “Why did the killer drive the car to the other side of the building?” He deliberately avoided Emilia and glanced over his left shoulder at the back seat.

“Look at him, changing the subject,” Steven said sarcastically. “Don’t know about the others, but I couldn’t make sense of your question at all. Could you drop the accent and try again?”

“Don’t mind him,” Lannie said to Ziang. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’d just like to add,” Steven interjected, “his accent is just—”

Smack!

A flash of orange light cut Steven off mid-sentence.

“The killer,” Ziang straightened up, “probably drove into a dead end first to let his wife out, then circled back to the parking lot. Why didn’t they get out together?”

“You notice the oddest things,” Lannie replied.

“And also, I think their relationship was quite good,” Ziang went on. “I’m not familiar with the customs of the Midwest, but judging by where the killer lived, he must have been a farmer. Yet, instead of tending his land, he took another job at the university where his wife taught. Could it be that he—”

“What’s the point of all this?” Steven interrupted. “Murder isn’t our concern. And soon enough, you’ll realize dealing with spirits isn’t your problem either.”

“I still think I can...” Ziang glanced sideways at the passenger seat, “help a little. If you let me, that is.”

For some reason, the glove compartment directly in front of Emilia suddenly popped open with a bang.

“O-of course, I’ll follow orders,” Ziang hurriedly added.

Lannie grabbed the back of the passenger seat and leaned forward. “Speaking of dealing with spirits,” she said, bringing her head right above Emilia’s shoulder, “did Shirley come with you?”

Emilia shifted aside, visibly uncomfortable, and nodded.

“Where is she?” Lannie pressed.

“In the back pocket of my pants,” Emilia replied softly.

“Can I say hello?” Before she could answer, Lannie pushed Emilia’s upper body forward, forcing her to bend over, and reached into the back pocket of her pants. “Hey, long time no ‘squeeze,’ Shirley.”

This sudden scene was more than Ziang could handle. His foot jerked on the accelerator, causing the car to lurch several meters forward.

Emilia seemed to want to sit upright but was afraid of crushing Lannie’s hand. At a loss, she twisted her head as far as possible, making sure no one could see her face.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Lannie said, turning to Ziang. “Shirley is Emilia’s token, a soft, stress-ball-like spirit. She only appears in places you can touch but not see. As for that unique feel, you’ll have to experience it for yourself—”

The car lurched forward again, cutting her off.