Clara

38

Lily made a terrible fuss, of course, when I told my nieces about the appointment I had made on Violet’s behalf. I had always known that she would, but that didn’t make it any less tiresome when it happened. She kept shouting about Violet’s fragile health and the exploitation of a minor, although the girl seemed as ruddy as ever to me, and what we were about to do was more of an exploitation of the bereft rather than of Violet. Still, her older sister raged like a furious angel inside the terrible motel room and even went as far as to threaten me with the police again. Violet herself just sat on the bed, staring at us both wide-eyed as we battled it out. In the end, though, Lily couldn’t do much save accept it when I pushed her younger sister out the door.

I was the guardian, after all.

Out in the parking lot, Violet caused another delay when she paused halfway to the vehicle to wave at a crow in an oak tree. The tree itself looked sick and haggard, growing as it was in the middle of the parking lot; ants crawled on the trunk and the leaves were covered in road dust. The bird looked happy enough, though, balancing on a branch and staring at Violet with its head cocked to the side. Not a crow, I realized, but a raven. Perhaps the girl had developed a fondness for them, living in the raven room.

“Come on, Violet,” I called as I unlocked the car door. “We don’t want to be late for the appointment.”

“I’m coming, Aunt Clara,” she called back, but she was still stalling, cocking her head, too, now, mirroring the bird in the tree.

Finally, the spell seemed to have ended, and my niece came running toward the car just as the raven in the tree flew off. It was about high time, too, as I expected her sister to come bursting outside any minute to carry her back in to safety. We just didn’t have time for another scene.

I didn’t properly relax until we were on the road and away from the Pink Dragon. Lily would be fine. She had plenty of food and water, facilities, and a dozen or so of the mystery books she seemed to prefer, and which she had brought with her from the house. Hopefully, by the time we got back, the drama would have died down. She should welcome what I did, truth be told. Violet needed practice, and that was what she would get. Perhaps this could even be a good livelihood for her, somewhere down the line. I sure wished that someone had taken an interest in my talents while I was growing up. Not all children had the privilege of being seen like Violet was.

We stopped by a supermarket to stock up on raw beef, wine, and a handful of hard candies. I made a mental note to add the costs to the client’s final bill. Then we kept driving toward what looked to be an affluent suburb, crowded with well-kept lawns and tidy flower beds. Violet ought to feel right at home. Instead, she kept fidgeting in the seat next to me, squirming almost, as we drove. I suppose she was worried about another bout of sickness. So was I, truth be told, but hopefully the vomiting had been a single event. I needed the money, so she had to do it; it was as simple as that.

I was deeply relieved when we finally parked the car in Margot Brewer’s drive. The girl’s worry was contagious and crawled all over me like fleas. Our client’s house was large, well loved, and painted white. Flowering bushes crowded around the porch. Miss Brewer—call me Miss Margot—had said on the phone that she was a piano teacher, tutoring young students in her home. She had confided that the house had belonged to her parents, so surely if her father was still around, that was where he would be, and the chances of catching him in our little séance were good.

Miss Margot opened the door before we even had time to ring the bell. She looked to be in her fifties. She was short and somewhat squat but had a kindly-looking face and a bright expectant smile. We greeted each other with handshakes—even Violet, although she was still pale-faced and quiet, barely even murmuring her name.

“I know you said that the medium was young, but I had not expected this.” Miss Margot gave me a questioning look as we filed into her cluttered hall. “She looks like she should be outside playing, rather than spending her time with a musty old woman like me.” She said it all in a cheery voice, but it nevertheless held a condescending edge, which instantly soured my mood. We were there to help the woman after all, so she ought to be grateful.

“Oh, Violet is very aware of how rare her gift is, and she wants to use it to help others, isn’t that so, Violet?” I smiled at my niece, showing my teeth, and she nodded, once. I moved my smile to Miss Margot. “She is a little shy, but she wants nothing more than to help the grieving find closure. She is an orphan herself, you see.”

“Is that so?” Miss Margot’s eyes widened. “How very sad.” She tousled Violet’s hair. “Whatever happened?” she asked me, but it was Violet who answered.

“They went to climb K2,” she said, “but then they froze to death.”

“Really?” Miss Margot’s eyes were so wide by then that I feared they would come tumbling out of their sockets. She looked to me for confirmation and I nodded.

“My brother was a reckless sort,” I said.

“Well, come in.” Miss Margot gestured, then shuffled before us into a living room crammed with overstuffed chairs and overgrown houseplants. A large piano seemed to be the only clean thing in there, gleaming toward us, all polished and dusted. “Sit down.” She gestured to a mustard-colored sofa. “I did as you asked.” She rushed back out of the room while we seated ourselves and came back again just as quick, holding an assortment of bowls and plates. “Is there anything else you need? Something of his maybe? I do have a tie and a picture—”

“That won’t be necessary. My niece only needs the kitchenware.” It wouldn’t do to stain the woman’s coffee table with our bloody beef, although it looked plenty stained already. Miss Margot and I helped each other clear space by removing newspapers, knitting needles, crossword puzzles, and pencil stubs, until the tabletop was somewhat clutter-free. Then I placed a bowl for the wine and plates for the meat and candy, while sending the scatterbrained woman on a mission to find a candle in one of her many drawers. Through all of this, Violet sat silently beside me, as pale as before. I figured she had some stage fright. It would be fine, though—it had to be. I meant to make as much as I could off her talent.

Miss Margot finally rejoined us with a green candle in a silver candlestick, jiggling a box of matches in her hand. “Found them, finally.” She grinned at us. “Should I light it right away, or—”

“Let’s get out the other necessary items first.” I grinned back at her. “It is your father you want to speak to, right? And he lived here in this house?”

“Yes—yes.” She sounded breathless. “I just miss him so terribly, you see, and we had an arrangement that he would give me a sign after he died, but I never got any.” She laughed but it sounded false, so clearly it bothered her. “I thought maybe we had gotten our wires crossed, and I just want to know if he’s all right—” She suddenly stopped talking as the bloody meat came into view, and looked faint when it slapped down on her china. She kept her peace all throughout the rest of the preparations, though, while I poured the candy onto a separate plate and filled the little bowl to the brim with red wine. “Now you can light the candle,” I said when I was all done.

Miss Margot wasn’t looking at me anymore, however. She was looking at Violet, who seemed even paler and more pained than before. “Are you all right, honey?” Miss Margot asked her.

“Of course she is,” I snapped. “I would never force my niece to do anything she didn’t want to do.”

“Is that so?” She was still looking at Violet, and I had to take several deep breaths to calm the first stirrings of anger that had erupted in my belly.

“You do want to check on your father, don’t you?” I find it is very useful to remind people of what they want.

“Yes, I do.” Miss Margot finally tore her gaze away from Violet, who still hadn’t said a single word throughout this exchange. She lit the candle with hands that faintly shook.

We clasped our hands and sat in silence. Violet was staring at the candle but seemed very tense, and her lower lip quivered. This was not good at all. I couldn’t keep showing up to these things with a sulking child at my side.

“Think of Miss Margot’s father,” I said.

“Arnold Brewer,” Miss Margot supplied, enunciating every syllable clearly.

“Arnold Brewer,” I repeated to my niece, who still hadn’t said a thing.

We sat in silence again for a while, and I started thinking about other things—mainly Clarabelle Diamonds and how I soon was to hold the first pieces in my hands. Then something finally happened, and Violet’s head abruptly fell back as her whole body tensed, and something came pouring out of her mouth. It wasn’t dirt, though, as I had expected, but some sort of clear liquid that bubbled and ran out of her mouth and down her cheeks before it trickled down on Miss Margot’s couch. Violet then straightened her head again, and when her shoulders slumped, I could tell that she wasn’t herself.

“Margot.” Her lips formed the word slowly, as if it was difficult to move her mouth. It sounded more like Maaahgooo the way it came out, spoken in a brittle old-man’s voice.

“Father!” Miss Margot herself sounded jubilant. “Is that really you?”

“So long ago.” Violet forced out the words with some difficulty. “Am…so lost,” the spirit muttered.

“Yes, Father, you were lost at sea,” Miss Margot explained breathlessly. “You fell overboard on the Christmas cruise, don’t you remember?” She looked at Violet expectantly.

“I drank the…umbrella,” the poor man forced out.

“Yes, yes…the drinks had little paper umbrellas.” Miss Margot had become quite red around the cheeks. “You drank a little too many of them, I think; that’s why you fell off the ship.” She laughed nervously. “But are you all right, Father? Where you are now?” She composed herself with some difficulty, and tears came trickling from her eyes.

“So cold,” muttered the specter. “So lost.”

“Tell him to go into the light,” I urged, thinking that a message of coldness and loss was probably not what she had wanted to hear, and I did want to avoid another unhappy customer.

Miss Margot’s gaze shifted from me to Violet. “Father.” She wet her lips nervously with the tip of her tongue. “Do you see a light where you are? You must go into the light if you see it.”

“There is only…salt,” lamented the drowned man. “Salt and…cod, as far as the eye can see.”

“Tell him to go and search for it,” I said. “Tell him that it ought to be there.”

“You must go and look for it, Father.” Some desperation had come into her voice. “Think of all the piña coladas you can drink in heaven, Father. You just have to find the light!”

Then it happened again: Violet’s back arched and the strange motion under her skin came back, followed by the first stirrings of the hissing sound. This time I was prepared, though, and let go of the others’ hands to slam my palm down on the candle before Timmy could say as much as a word. It felt like plunging my hand right into a pod of stingrays, but at least I shut him up. I did my best to smile and look unconcerned when Miss Margot turned her shocked gaze on me.

“I think it is better if we stop the séance now. I suppose you have a lot to think about.” I curled my hand into a fist to hide the damage from Miss Margot’s view.

“But the girl,” she said, pointing to my niece, who had promptly keeled over on the couch, entirely unconscious.

“Oh, it happens.” I tried to laugh it off, although it was certainly awkward. “Such things can happen when one dabbles in the unknown.” I promptly moved to sit closer to Violet and pat her shaggy head. “There, there,” I muttered, while Miss Margot ran to the kitchen for some water, as if that would make my niece somehow return to her senses faster.

It actually took her quite a while to come around—so much so that I started to grow impatient and worried that I would have to carry the girl to the car. Miss Margot and I had already settled up and were both just standing there, staring at the passed-out girl for ages, before she finally stirred. She was drowsy when she came to, and wobbly on her feet, but she didn’t throw up, which certainly was a blessing.

As we drove back to the motel, I felt relatively satisfied with the day’s excursion. This séance hadn’t worked out exactly as planned either, but Violet had found the right ghost, and she had conveyed a message, which was all I had promised Miss Margot on the phone. Sure, it would have been nicer for all parties involved if the message had been uplifting, but that hadn’t been in the cards for Miss Margot. It also would have been better if Violet hadn’t fainted, but perhaps a little illness just couldn’t be helped. She had bounced back before and would surely do so again.

And Miss Margot had paid, too, which was the point of it all—even if the sum was modest. As soon as word started spreading, though, I would see that the price for our services followed suit.