Susannah and I sit on one bed and Alice and Mary on the other. Laptops, books, and handwritten notes about the Titanic surround us.

“I’m not finding anything else about Myra. Are you guys?” I ask.

Mary shakes her head.

“Nope,” Alice says. “Your letter tells us almost as much about her as anything else I’ve seen.”

“It’s just so weird. Even Elijah couldn’t find her.” I chew on the end of my pen.

Alice looks over her notes. “Let’s run through these connections again. It started with the dress and a note from her.”

“And in my nondreams people accept me as the Harpers’ niece. I’ve spent time with Henry, but I’ve never seen Myra.”

“That letter you found was about her. The key Alice got was to her stateroom. And we’re assuming that the dog collar could be from Myra’s Pekingese,” Susannah says. “It’s probably fair to assume the seasickness spell is connected as well.”

Mary lies on her stomach and props her head on her hand. “Didn’t that letter talk about Henry being sick with ‘grippe’? I looked it up. It’s an old-fashioned word for the flu. And if he had the flu on the Titanic, he would definitely feel seasick,” Mary says nonchalantly, and we all look at her.

“Not a bad theory,” Alice says. “And any which way, seasickness refers to being on a boat. So that only leaves the bowler hat.”

There’s a knock at the door. I cover the old spell book with a pillow.

“Come in!” I say.

My dad peeks his head in. “You girls need anything? I’m headed to bed, but if you get hungry, there’s enough food in the kitchen to feed the whole town. Don’t stay up too late. Make sure you get some sleep.”

We nod in agreement, and he closes the door behind him. We listen as his footsteps disappear down the hallway.

“Are you going to tell him about Mrs. Meriwether and the potion?” Susannah asks.

“I just don’t see how that could turn out well. You guys see my dad all friendly and happy. But I’m telling you, he does not react well to anything magic-related.”

“Whatever you do, just don’t get yourself grounded. It will seriously interfere,” Mary says. “Parents worry.”

“Not mine,” Alice says. “I’m not even sure they know what my name is sometimes.”

Mary wraps her arms around Alice. “I know I should feel bad for you, and I do. But I also selfishly love that you stay at my house all the time.”

Alice leans her cheek into Mary’s curly head.

“Maybe we could just remake the potion from Mrs. Meriwether’s garden and save you the conversation,” Susannah says. “We have the spell book.”

“She would know immediately if we went over there,” I say. “Plus, it’s only just getting warm out, and I’m not sure she’s even growing all those things yet. I’m just gonna have to figure something out.” I pick up the spell book. “But in the meantime, there’s a memory spell in here that might be worth a shot. Maybe help with my nondreams?”

“Can I see it?” Susannah asks, taking the book from my lap. She skims the page. “We could definitely try this tonight after we call Myra. Although it looks like a potion might be the better way to go for potency.”

I glance at the spell book. How am I going to slip all this spell casting past my dad and Mrs. Meriwether?

Alice puts down her notebook. “Speaking of which, we should get started.”

Mary frowns. “I just want the record to state that I really don’t like this.”

“Since we can’t easily move the Myra painting from the attic, and it’s where you found the letter, I’m thinking we should just do the spell there,” Alice says.

“I was actually going to say the same thing,” I say.

Mary groans.

“I’ll grab the candles and the intensifying oil,” Susannah says.

We slide off the beds, collecting our notes.

“I’d like to point out that we still don’t know what side of this Myra’s on. What if she does something to Sam?” Mary says. “What could we even do about it?”

“If she wanted to hurt me, she could probably do it anyway. Calling her wouldn’t change that,” I say, and open the door.

“But there’s—”

“Mary, I swear, if you make noise and Sam’s dad catches us, I will smother you with a pillow,” Alice says.

Mary makes a face at Alice, but doesn’t say another word.

All four of us creep through the dark hallway, me leading the way with a flashlight and Susannah bringing up the rear with a chamberstick candle, or whatever she called it.

I unlatch the attic door, and the girls follow me up the stairs. Elijah waits for us by the crate of paintings, bowler hat in hand.

“Elijah’s here,” I say.

He gives me the hat, and it becomes visible in my hand. Mary nervously glances around at the rough beams and protruding nails.

Alice kneels down to arrange three black candles in a triangle and Susannah lights them. Mary and I place the dress, letter, dog collar, hat, and key on the floor next to the painting.

I put down my flashlight. “We should start by saying things we know about Myra. Trying to tune in to her life and what was important to her. The painting and these items might be enough of a draw, but they might not. The more personal we can get, the more likely she is to hear us. At least, that’s how it worked when Elijah first showed up.”

“Got it. You want to start us out?” Alice asks.

“Sure,” I say. “Myra Haxtun Harper was born in February of 1863. She was married to Henry Sleeper Harper in 1889, and for a while they lived with her widowed father in Manhattan.”

“Twelve years later they purchased a home overlooking Gramercy Park. They never had kids, and they spent their time traveling,” Susannah says.

Alice nods. “Myra and Henry got on the Titanic after touring Europe and Asia. They brought Hammad, their interpreter from Cairo, and their Pekingese dog.”

“They were all saved in Lifeboat Three, and Myra lived the rest of her life in Manhattan, until her death in 1923,” Mary says.

Elijah paces with his hands behind his back and his brow furrowed.

Susannah leans over the crate with her candle and peers at the painting. “Hmmm. Maybe there’s something we can tell just from looking at her.”

We all stare at Myra.

“Strong eyes,” Susannah says.

Alice nods. “And a subtle smile.”

“She looks happy,” I say.

“Like she’s in love,” Mary says. “Which would make sense if her husband was also in this painting.”

“Let’s try this,” Susannah says.

She links hands with Mary and me, and we circle the candles. Alice pulls a small vial out of her black blazer pocket and drops some of whatever’s in it near each of the candlewicks. As the oil heats, a strong scent fills the air.

“What is that?” I ask.

“Tea tree oil and a few herbs,” Mary says. “It helps with focus and intention.”

“Everyone take a deep breath and close your eyes,” Susannah says, and we do. “Picture Myra as she was in this painting, a proud and private woman who traveled all over the world.”

I focus.

“Keep your image strong and specific as we say her name,” Susannah says. “Myra Haxtun Harper.”

“Myra Haxtun Harper,” we all say together. “Myra Haxtun Harper.” Our voices merge and become more forceful. “Myra…Haxtun…Harper.”

I open my eyes. We all do. Mary nervously looks over her shoulder, and I can’t help but do the same.

“Anything?” Alice asks.

“No,” I say. Nothing but a pacing Elijah, who is looking around the room even more suspiciously than Mary. “Let’s try again, maybe say her name a few more times.”

We close our eyes. “Myra Haxtun Harper. Myra Haxtun Harper.” Our voices weave in and out of one another like a song as we say her name over and over.

We open our eyes.

“Not here,” Elijah says, and I tell the girls.

Alice breaks our handhold. “Maybe she doesn’t want to come? Or maybe she never really cared about these things? Although that seems strange since someone obviously went to a lot of trouble to get them to us.”

“Maybe we could look again, try to dig up more on her past that would help us connect with her?” Mary suggests.

Elijah clasps his hands behind his back. “I have looked. And if I cannot find any documents, then they likely no longer exist.”

I repeat his words.

“Okay, tell us again how you got Elijah to talk to you the first time, any details you can think of,” Susannah says.

I nod. “I found an old stack of letters hidden in my armoire, which had belonged to his sister, and I sat down at my vanity to read them. Halfway through, the lights went out in my room.”

“And did the letters have any information about Elijah in them, personal details?” Mary asks.

“No, actually, they didn’t even mention his name,” I say.

“I came because I was aware of anything related to Abigail, those letters in particular,” Elijah says. “I spent many years wondering about her after she passed on. If you had said her name, I would have heard you more easily than if you had said my own.”

“True. Okay,” I say, mulling over his words.

Alice leans toward me, like she can somehow hear Elijah if she just gets close enough. “Does he have an idea?”

“He said he came because he was tuned in to anything having to do with his sister. If Myra won’t come when we say her name, maybe she’ll come when we say someone else’s?”

“Like her husband’s?” Susannah asks.

“It’s possible,” I say. “Let’s try it.”

We link hands again and all take a deep breath, inhaling the tea tree oil and the musty air. “Henry Sleeper Harper. Henry Sleeper—”

“Henry?” A beautifully dressed older woman blinks in at the far end of the room. Myra! Even from a distance, she seems weary, like someone who hasn’t slept in days. “Henry?”

I let go of Mary’s and Susannah’s hands. “She’s here.” My voice is a whisper.

Myra locks me in her gaze. “Why are you calling for my Henry? Do you know where he is? Please, tell me if you know.” Her words are fast and nervous.

“You don’t know where your husband is?” I ask. How can that be?

“No. And if you have seen him, I would most appreciate your telling me so.”

A chill runs down my neck. “He’s not here.” I take a step forward. “I did see him, though. I, um, had dinner with him on the Titanic.”

She frowns. “Are you trying to be funny?” Myra takes note of the candles by my feet and all the items on the floor. She assesses each one of us, stopping on Elijah. “What am I supposed to make of all this?”

“There is no bad intent. Of that, I can assure you,” Elijah says.

She looks unsure.

“I know how strange this is going to sound,” I say. “But I’ve been having dreams about the Titanic, whole and floating, like it was before it sank. Only they’re not quite dreams. I think the people I saw there might all be…spirits.”

“I don’t understand. You say you saw my husband in your dreams, but you think he might really be on the Titanic? Where?”

“I’m not exactly…How about this? I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll tell you everything I know in exchange for you telling me what you know about these items.” I wave my hand at the floor.

She pinches her lips together. “That does not seem unreasonable.”

I take a breath. “So it goes like this…My grandmother was a Haxtun, Charlotte Haxtun Mather. She would have been your great-niece. And a dress was sent to my house a few days ago, a green evening gown. The card was signed with your name. Aunty Myra H.H.”

Myra listens carefully.

I point at the painting. “In this crate is a painting of you. However, I could have sworn that it used to be of you and your husband, only he seems to have disappeared from the canvas. I have no idea how it happened. It was hanging in the hallway downstairs. Then, about a week ago, it got moved up here.”

The girls watch me without saying a word, even Alice. Maybe she has more restraint than I give her credit for.

“That’s very odd,” Myra says, giving me her full attention.

“When I put that dress on, the one the card said was from you, I wound up on a shiny new Titanic; don’t ask me how. And since then, every time I go to sleep, I return to the ship. Everyone keeps referring to me as your niece, even your husband. And I had dinner with him. Hammad was there, too.”

“Hammad?” Myra asks, surprised. “We haven’t seen him since right after the ship went down. We heard he went back to Egypt.”

“And you said that currently you cannot locate your husband?” Elijah says.

Myra shakes her head. “Henry disappeared some time ago.”

“And what led up to his disappearance? Did he do anything unusual?” Elijah asks.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Myra says. “For a brief moment I thought he passed on without me. But we spent all our years after death together. Henry would never leave me by choice. It frightened me.”

“What about fellow Titanic passengers? Have you seen any of them?” Elijah asks.

Myra furrows her brow. “Some, yes. Others, I believe, passed on. But I haven’t seen any of them recently. Why?”

Elijah shakes his head. “I have not been able to find a single one. And I have been looking extensively.”

Myra frowns. “So what are you saying, then? That you think something is happening to Titanic passengers?”

“As far as we can tell, the ship might be a spell, an illusion of some kind,” I say. “And for whatever reason…your husband is currently with the other passengers there.”

“If my Henry somehow did go to a spell ship, why hasn’t he returned? I do not understand this at all.” Myra lifts her long skirt and walks toward the crate. “Now, let me see what you have here. You say this portrait was altered?” She examines it, and the corners of her eyes narrow. “But how can this be? Henry has vanished…and yet the canvas looks undisturbed? Who would do such a thing?” Her tone is demanding.

“That is precisely what we aim to find out,” Elijah says in a reassuring voice.

“I remember the day we had this commissioned,” Myra says, her hand clenching her skirt. “We had just bought our first home. How proud Henry was in that moment. I had no idea the painting was here.”

“There was a letter taped to the back of it telling how you and Unc—” I wince at the ease with which I almost called him my uncle. “Henry survived. It was written by someone named Helen Hopson.”

She nods. “My niece.” She bends down near the items on the floor, and the green dress catches her eye. “I’ve never seen this before. But I must admit that green silk was always a favorite. I wore it as often as I could.” She lifts a candle, and the girls’ eyes follow the seemingly floating flame. “And what is this, a dog collar? It is similar to ones I owned, but it does not belong to me.”

“What about the hat? Could it have belonged to your husband?” I ask.

“It is very hard to tell with men’s hats. They all look the same,” she says with no humor. This must be taking a toll on her. “But do you know what this makes me think of? That fellow who filmed the Titanic wreckage. He found my husband’s bowler hat still sitting on top of the remains of his wardrobe.”

Elijah and I look at each other.

Myra places the candle on the floor next to her. The tension leaves her face. “I have not seen one of Helen’s letters in many—” Myra’s fingers touch the envelope, and she jumps backward, examining her hand like she just got a bad shock.

“Mrs. Harper?” Elijah says, moving toward her. I step forward, too.

Myra looks shaken. “What on earth?” She stumbles and loses her balance. Elijah steadies her.

“Are you okay?” I ask. The girls stiffen at hearing the anxiety in my voice.

“Sam?” Alice says.

Myra begins to flicker, the same way Elijah flickered when Vivian summoned him from Mrs. Meriwether’s kitchen.

“What’s happening to her?” I ask.

Elijah holds Myra’s arm. “There must have been a spell on the letter.”

Myra tries to grab on to my hand, but her fingers go right through mine. Her eyes widen in fear. She speaks, but I can’t hear her. She reaches for me desperately with both arms like someone is dragging her backward against her will, and then she flickers out completely.

Elijah and I are silent, staring at the spot where Myra disappeared.

“Sam, I need you to tell us what happened,” Alice says with force, jolting me out of my shock.

“Myra vanished. Not because she wanted to. A spell,” I say. “It happened right after she touched the letter.”

Susannah stares at the letter. “Another spell in an object.”

“But I touched that letter multiple times, and nothing happened to me,” I say.

“Spells can be targeted to a person,” Alice says. “And I’m guessing to a spirit as well.”

I frown. “So then what? All of these things—the dress, the collar, the paintings—were actually sent for her, not us?”

“I believe someone hoped you would find her and potentially helped you to do so by putting all these objects in front of you,” Elijah says. “It is possible it would have happened if she had touched any of the other items as well.”

I repeat his words to the Descendants.

“And there we were happily doing the research and figuring out how to find her,” Susannah says.

“And all along we were being used to trap her,” Alice says in disbelief.