Morning classes were in session. The only other person in the hallway was a fifty-something lady in a flowered smock with a housekeeping cart, an iPod and a vacuum cleaner. I considered calling to her, waving, trying to see if I could make her see me. She looked physical, but I wasn’t really experienced enough to attest to her physical state with a hundred percent certainty. Besides, if she was astral, she probably had her astral iPod turned up good and loud, so she wouldn’t hear me either way. I thrust my head through the first door. Empty room. Moved on to the next door. The same. It occurred to me that I should have told Jacob to ask Lyle which room was Chekotah’s “sacred space.” I might not be able to read the number on the front of it, but I’d at least know which floor I should start on. Some rooms had plants and pretty curtains and natural light. Some were sleek and Asian-inspired. None of them had personality like Debbie March’s room had—and that thought just made me all the more determined to wring an answer out of Chekotah.
