Violet

33

I didn’t think that going to see Mrs. Arthur was a good idea, and Lily didn’t either. She had been so furious with Aunt Clara when she came into the kitchen around dinnertime and told us about the appointment that she wasn’t even afraid but said it right to her face.

“It’s only been three days,” she had shouted, “and it’s making her sick, Aunt Clara! She still hasn’t recovered since last time…It’s wrong and illegal and bad!” she had shouted, standing before our aunt, ignoring both the blinking lights in the ceiling and the hissing in the air from Mr. Woods.

“Well, if she dislikes it, she only has to put the ghosts back, and she won’t have to do it,” Aunt Clara had said, while the lights blinked wilder and wilder.

Lily didn’t want Aunt Clara to know that I didn’t know how to put the ghosts back, though, so she had just stomped her foot and stood her ground. “The ghosts are here because of you, so they are your problem. They have nothing to do with Violet anymore.”

“Is that so?” Aunt Clara had arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t she literally summon the vermin? Clearly, they are her responsibility.”

“Violet is nine,” Lily had cried. “You can’t put this on her. You were the one who murdered them—”

“And would gladly get rid of them again, but I obviously can’t, so you see my predicament? At least this way, Violet can make it up to me in some part, since she refuses to put the dead back.”

The whole time they were arguing, I sat on my chair by the table and didn’t say anything. I was happy that Lily defended me—and terrified of being sick again—but Aunt Clara was our guardian, so in the end it didn’t matter what Lily said.

I didn’t think it was a good idea, though.

I was much better since the séance night, but I still didn’t feel as good as before when Aunt Clara and I drove to Mrs. Arthur’s house. Aunt Clara knew it, too, because she pulled over once so she could check my pulse and temperature.

“It won’t do if Mrs. Arthur thinks you’re sick,” she muttered—even though I was sick, so it wouldn’t just be something Mrs. Arthur thought. I didn’t complain, though, when Aunt Clara took out some makeup from her bag and brushed pink onto my cheeks. I just wanted to get it over with. “I will buy you a lollipop later,” she said, as if that was supposed to make me feel better. “I hope you’re not planning on acting like a sourpuss in front of our client,” she warned as she started up the car again. “Nobody likes a sullen child.”

“I won’t, Aunt Clara,” I mumbled, mostly to make her stop yelling at me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like talking to the ghosts—or letting them talk through me—because I didn’t remember anything of what had happened on séance night and only knew what Lily had told me. I just didn’t want to be sick again and have lots of tadpoles on my belly. Lily hadn’t wanted to let Aunt Clara know about that either. She had said that if she knew, she might think that it wasn’t such a big deal if I got sick, because Lily could just fix me again.

“You shouldn’t let Lily scare you.” Aunt Clara stared at the road ahead. Dina had done her makeup that morning and it looked a little weird, with crooked lines of kohl around her eyes. Aunt Clara wouldn’t know, though, since she couldn’t look in mirrors. “There are countless mediums in this country, all of them healthy and thriving. It’s just that you aren’t used to it yet. It will get better, just you wait and see.”

I didn’t know about other mediums, but I didn’t think it worked that way for me. I was supposed to help the dead when they asked—not the living. Maybe it was different for the others. It was just lucky for me that Lily knew what to do and could pick away the tadpoles.

“Lily is simply misguided—like a watchdog on high alert. I don’t blame her, of course, since you are recently bereft, but it will do her no good. I suppose she is calling Mr. Skye about now, telling him of our little ‘adventure.’ ” She smirked. “But that won’t do any good either. I have already seen to that.” She chuckled to herself and I didn’t like the sound of it at all. It also made my heart drop like a rock, because I knew that she was right. Lily had said that she would call Mr. Skye to tell him what Aunt Clara had done to me. Suddenly, I got very nervous about what my aunt had said to him.

“What if I can’t do it?” I blurted out, because maybe if she thought I wouldn’t be able to do it again, Aunt Clara would change her mind and take me back to Crescent Hill. “The other ghosts were already at your house, even before Lily and I arrived. But what if there are no ghosts where we are going?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find something.” She took one hand off the steering wheel to pat mine on the seat, which I hated. “No house is entirely free of ghosts. If you absolutely cannot find anything, just pretend like you do.”

“You mean, like…lying?”

“Well, it would make Mrs. Arthur very pleased if she heard from her late husband. You could just say that he doesn’t remember what happened with the will.” She paused for a moment. “Not all ghosts are angry like mi—those on Crescent Hill. I suppose they can be happy, too, so pretend to be a happy ghost.”

Mrs. Arthur lived in a big white house on the hill not far from Ivory Springs. It looked very pretty but boring, with white columns on the porch. Mama had once said that people who liked to live like that pretended to be Greek gods. Mrs. Arthur didn’t look like a goddess to me, though, even though she was very pretty—or if she did, she was a very sad goddess, with puffy eyes and greasy blond hair. Even though she wore a glittering one-piece suit, she smelled a bit like old sweat. I supposed it was because her husband was dead that she had forgotten to take her baths. She did seem happy to see us, though, or to see me at least. She pinched my cheek with long pink nails and called me “the cutest little medium ever.”

I didn’t see any ghosts, however, when we went inside the marble hall. It was just white, veiny walls and plenty of lilies in tall vases, some of them with black ribbons tied around them.

The living room was just as full of marble, and all the couches were rusty red. A huge fireplace covered most of one wall, and there were arched windows that reached all the way up to the ceiling. When I looked outside, I could see Ivory Springs far below, with its dusty streets and brick houses.

Aunt Clara and Mrs. Arthur sat down on one of the couches, before a mosaic table, where several clear glass bowls had already been put out. I knew they were meant for the wine and the food Aunt Clara had bought while I waited in the car. There was a slab of beef, sticks of toffee, and even a small golden-apple pie. She had said that old men like Mr. Arthur were fond of “traditional foods.” I didn’t think that the ghosts had to like the food, though. It was just there for fuel, like a battery.

“My husband’s children from his first marriage don’t believe me,” Mrs. Arthur said to Aunt Clara. “The lawyer has a copy, of course, but it isn’t signed—though I know that Daniel signed the original the week before he died. I was there with him in the room, and we used members of staff as witnesses. I just have to find the signed will, so I need your girl to ask him where he put it.”

“Did you hear that, Violet?” Aunt Clara’s voice hit me in the back like a rock. “Surely we can do this little favor for Mrs. Arthur.” I thought for a moment about saying no—about throwing myself on the floor and screaming. Aunt Clara would have to take me back then—and she would be embarrassed, too. But then I worried what would happen next. Perhaps Aunt Clara would send us away, and then we would end up in different places. Or she would send Lily away, and then what would I do the next time my belly was crawling with tadpoles?

Maybe Aunt Clara was right, and it would get easier when I got more used to doing it. She had read How to Talk to Spirits, after all.

Aunt Clara and Mrs. Arthur both looked at me. Aunt Clara’s foot moved restlessly against the thick white rug on the floor. They had already lit the large brown candle on the table. I didn’t feel like I could do anything except join them.

I perched on the edge of a yellow ottoman facing the table, thinking it was close enough. Aunt Clara started fussing with the food in the plastic bag, pulling out the tray of beef.

“Violet’s method is a little…unorthodox.” She smiled with all her teeth when she looked at Mrs. Arthur.

“I thought we were going to hold hands or something,” the woman muttered.

“Yes,” Aunt Clara said, “that, too. But it’s the foodstuff that makes Violet so very effective. Don’t ask me why; only the dead know that.” She laughed but it sounded fake. “It’s nothing dangerous, just a different way of doing things.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Arthur sounded faint as the meat dropped into one of her glass bowls. The glass had bubbles in it, I noticed, as if it were made of water. Aunt Clara also took out the pie and the toffee and put them into different bowls. Then she poured red wine in the largest one. Mrs. Arthur rose to close the curtains and lower the lights, leaving the whole room misty gray.

“Are you ready, dear?” Aunt Clara gave me a sweet smile that was also very fake. And even though I wasn’t ready—and my chest still hurt—I nodded. I just wanted it to be done so we could go home to Lily and Dina.

We laced our hands together—Mrs. Arthur’s was slick and cold—and then we just sat there for a while, watching the candle flame burn.

“Do you feel anything? Have you located Mrs. Arthur’s husband yet?” Aunt Clara asked me after a while. Her foot still moved restlessly on the rug. When I didn’t say anything, she turned to Mrs. Arthur and asked, “What was your husband’s full name?”

“Daniel,” she replied. “Daniel Arthur.”

“Think about Daniel Arthur,” Aunt Clara said to me. “Try to reach Daniel Arthur.”

But I didn’t know how to do that. I hadn’t seen any ghosts at all since we came here, and I couldn’t feel any either. But I did what she said and thought about Daniel Arthur, saying his name many times in my head, while I looked into the flame of the candle.

Then, suddenly, something answered.