“Thank you, Claudette,” Victorine said, her tone both polite and indicating that we would serve ourselves.
Claudette retreated, closing the parlor doors as she went.
I flipped throughPreparing for a Seance, a dusty book printed in 1875 that, from the looks of it, hadn’t been opened since. “This says ‘No person of a very strongly positive temperament or disposition should be present.’ Does that mean positive like Poppy or positive like dominating?”
“If so, that’s you out of the mix,” Poppy said.
I ignored the crack and turned the page. “‘Subdued light… open the seance with prayer or music, vocal or instrumental’... and only ‘subdued, quiet, and harmonizing conversation’? What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Victorine said, “the kind of conversation you’re incapable of having.”
I shut the book. “So you’re saying I’m the opposite of everything we need to hold a successful seance?”
Victorine didn’t respond. Instead, she took her time pouring a cup of tea, then gracefully sat on a side chair. “I would be saying that, if I thought a single word of that was worth the paper it was printed on.”
“But these are primary sources,” my mother said, holding up a copy ofThe Philosophy of Spiritual Intercourse, the title of which still made Poppy snort-laugh into her tea.
“So am I,” Victorine said. “You forget that I was present for the mania of Spiritualism. I was in one of the drawing rooms when the two sisters who claimed they received messages from the beyond performed. It was all a hoax. The supposed ‘tapping’ of ghosts was nothing but the cracking of the sisters’ joints.”
“If it’s all bunk, then why are we looking at it?” I said, tossing my book aside.
“Because we don’t have any other ideas?” Poppy said.
I sighed and put my face in my hands, feeling my cold fingers press against my tired eyes. “I thought maybe some of this would connect to the kind of magic wedoknow: fire, or water, or air. Even if it was just a hint.” I lifted my head and looked at Victorine. “Or that you would know something about the Blessed.”
“I know everything about the Blessed.”
“But nothing about ghosts.”
“Give her tea, Poppy,” Victorine said. “She is fussy, like a child.”
“Not enough tea in the world to fix that,” Mom said.
Everyone laughed but me. “I’m glad I amuse you all while I’m trying to banish a dangerous otherworldly monster,” I said, instantly regretting how pouty I sounded. I stood up, stretched. Poppy put a cup of tea in my hand and I got a fistful of cookies for myself. “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated. I thought this was over.”
Mom came to my side and put her arm around my shoulder. “We’ll fix it. Don’t you worry.”
“You’re not supposed to be fixing it at all,” I said. “You’re supposed to be safe at home.”
“Like I’m some kind of helpless old woman?”
“Can’t I be protective?”
“Can’tIbe protective?” she fired back.
Victorine cleared her throat. “Will you be getting up to see the reverse Manhattanhenge?” she said, smoothly changing the subject.
“The what?” Mom said.
“Manhattanhenge. Named after Stonehenge. A solar event in which the sun aligns with the city grid at sunset or sunrise. If it is at sunrise, it is known as a reverse Manhattanhenge. It only happens a few times a year, and the next one is in a few days.”
Mom looked delighted. “I’d love to see that.”
“If you’re not back at home by then,” I pointed out.
“Stop ruining my fun, Zelda.”
Feeling that this outing was rapidly becoming unavoidable, I addressed Victorine. “Which part of the grid does it align with?”
