Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

Wallace snorted. “Oh, yeah. I’ll do just that. Watch. Hugo. Are you
watching? Look how much I’m getting out of the way.”
Hugo glanced at him.
Wallace flipped him off.
Nelson cackled before doing the same.
Hugo wasn’t pleased. He went back around the counter, took a rag out,
and began to wipe it down while pointedly staring at Wallace and Nelson.
When Desdemona and her lackies were distracted, he pointed two fingers at
his eyes and then turned them toward Wallace. Stop, he mouthed.
“What was that?” Wallace said, raising his voice. “I can’t hear you!”
Hugo sighed the weary sigh of the put-upon and furiously wiped the
counter while mumbling under his breath. It probably didn’t help that Mei
was still at the window, but now had a large butcher’s knife that she
pretended to draw across her neck, eyes rolling back, tongue hanging out of
her mouth.
As Squat Man continued his trek around the tea shop (agreeing rather
quickly that he shouldn’t step behind the counter when Hugo glared at him),
Thin Man pulled out another pad of paper and a fountain pen from the
briefcase. He stood next to Desdemona, ready to take notes of some kind. He
wasn’t aware of Apollo next to him, the dog lifting his leg, pissing on Thin
Man’s shoes. Wallace was momentarily distracted by the stream of urine that
Thin Man didn’t seem to be aware of, but then Desdemona put her hands
back on the planchette and cleared her throat.
“Spirits!” she said again. “I am but your vessel. Speak through me and tell
me the secrets of the dead. Be not afraid, for I am here only to help you.” She
wiggled her shoulders, fingers flexing on the planchette.
Wallace snorted. He rolled his neck side to side and cracked his knuckles.
“Okay. Let’s give her the ghostly experience she so desperately wants.”
“Ooh,” Desdemona breathed. “I can feel it.” She sucked her bottom lip
between her teeth. “It’s warm and tingly. Like a caress against my skin. Ooh.
Ooh.”
Wallace took a deep breath, shaking his hands before settling them on the
opposite side of the planchette, ignoring the feather quill. At first, his fingers
went through it, and he frowned. “Unexpect,” he whispered. “Unexpect.”
The planchette grew solid against his hands. He jerked in surprise,
knocking the planchette slightly to the side.