WE DECIDE ON Saturday for the séance, which means several days of class to get through. My grades are slipping. I know it, my teachers know it, Oster knows it. It’s getting harder to dodge requests for meetings after class.
As soon as this is over, I tell myself, I’ll focus.
There is one last thing to do before the séance. We need water from the Narrow. Veronica didn’t want me to be the one to get it, but I convinced her it would be safe enough in daylight, and it’s easiest for me to sneak away from Abigail House without being spotted. I’m standing up, a cheap plastic water bottle filled with river water in hand, when my phone rings.
I almost don’t answer it. It takes me a moment to recognize the number. It’s the same one that sent me those warning texts. Aubrey. I fumble to put the bottle down and answer before it goes to voicemail.
“Hello?”
For a moment there’s silence, and I think I’ve missed the call after all. Then Aubrey’s voice comes over the line. “Is this Eden White?”
“Yeah. Is this Aubrey?” I ask, my heart pounding. I don’t really need to ask.
“Yes,” Aubrey says. Another pause. “I got your number from Leah Stevens. I’m not sure I should be calling you.”
“It’s good to hear from you,” I tell her. “We’ve all been worried about you. Delphine especially. She’s been trying to get in touch.”
“I know. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to her. I haven’t been in a good place,” Aubrey says.
“Are you okay?” I ask her. “Are you recovering?”
“I’m healing,” Aubrey says. “I don’t know if I’ll ever really be better, though. After what happened.”
“It was the Drowning Girl, wasn’t it?” I ask.
She lets out a sigh. “You’ve seen her.”
“More than seen her,” I say. In front of me, the Narrow makes its sly way between the rocks. I can’t sense her here. She is deep below, I think. The night and the rain draw her out. Perhaps because it’s like the night she died.
“I got careless,” Aubrey says. “I let the water in. I woke up and she was standing over me. She was trying to say something, but I couldn’t understand her. She got angry. She . . . I don’t even know how I got away. I got outside. That’s all I remember. They said someone found me.” There’s a ragged relief in her voice, one I recognize. She knows that I believe her.
“It isn’t her fault,” I say. “She can’t help it. She’s trying to communicate. To get help.”
“She almost killed me,” Aubrey says in a disbelieving tone.
“She’s lost,” I protest. “She’s trying to find someone. The girl she loved.”
“The Drowning Girl is dangerous,” Aubrey says flatly. “I heard you got hurt. That’s why I called. I thought you needed to be warned. If you’re smart, you’ll get out of Abigail House. You’ll get as far away from that place and Delphine as you can.”
“I thought Delphine was your friend,” I say.
Aubrey makes a strangled sound. “She is. But it isn’t safe. That thing is drawn to her for some reason. Madelyn knows more than she says. She knows it’s not safe and she let me stay there. It’s not just so Delphine has company. It’s because if the ghost gets in, she comes to that room first. It’s where she lived. That was her room. And if there’s someone in there . . .”
So that’s what I am. What Aubrey was. A distraction.
But why keep Del in Abigail House at all? If Maeve is drawn there, surely another building on campus is safer. Unless it had to be Abigail House.
“I have a way to talk to Maeve without getting hurt,” I say.
“Maeve?”
“That’s her name. Maeve Fairchild,” I say.
There’s a choked silence. “I thought it was Grace.”
“No. She’s looking for Grace,” I say.
To my surprise, Aubrey laughs. The sound is edged with tears. “I got it all wrong, then. All of that, and I didn’t even have the right girl. Listen to me, Eden. It’s not worth it. Don’t get yourself killed trying to save the dead.”
“I won’t,” I say. Because I’m not going to die. Maeve isn’t going to hurt me.
It takes me a few seconds to realize that the line has gone dead. Aubrey’s hung up.
“She’s wrong,” I tell the trees, the rocks, the river. The spirits below. “I know you don’t want to hurt me.”
The Narrow does not answer, and I turn away.
“This is so silly,” Ruth says, standing off to the side of the Westmore living room while Zoya and Veronica work with a stake and a piece of string to chart a perfect circle of chalk.
“Just go with it,” Veronica says, hiding her irritation poorly.
“Fine,” Ruth says with a sigh. If this works, she won’t be able to keep denying it’s real.
If this works.
Veronica painstakingly draws a star within the circle, marking out a pentacle. Zoya sets a candle at each of the points of the star, and then the two of them step back.
“One more thing to do, and then we can get rolling,” Veronica says, her usual bravado masking the quaver in her voice.
The last time she saw Maeve, it was terrifying. I can’t blame her for being nervous. But I wish that I could soothe that fear away. I’m not afraid. I’m eager. I want to see her again, want to talk to her without the pain. If we can do that, Veronica will see that Maeve isn’t evil. She doesn’t have ill intent. She’s just trying to reach out.
“Eden?” Veronica prompts.
I jump. “Right. I got it,” I say. I pull the bottle of river water from my bag.
“Let’s see if we can get a slightly more dignified container,” Zoya suggests, and goes to the cupboard. She comes back with a ceramic serving bowl with a deep black glaze and sets it in the center of the pentacle.
“Much better,” Veronica agrees.
I don’t think the aesthetics of the thing really matter, but I step forward, carefully navigating past the chalk, and pour the water into the bowl.
Veronica instructs us to sit around the circle. Each of us has our own candle to hold, and Veronica waves a crystal around to cleanse the energy in the room. We have no way of knowing if Veronica’s piecemeal traditions will map to Maeve’s reality, but it’s the best we’ve got.
“Now what?” Ruth asks as we sit there, lights off and candles flickering.
“Now we call her,” Veronica says.
It all feels so awkward. Like we’re kids putting on a play or goofing around at a slumber party. Upstairs, someone is watching an action movie too loudly. A toilet flushes and the water rushes through the pipes.
I clear my throat. “We call to the spirit of Maeve Fairchild. Maeve, hear us.” That seems properly occult, but it doesn’t feel right. Ruth fidgets. Zoya glares fixedly at the bowl of water in the middle of the circle, as if she’s willing it not to do anything spooky.
I shut my eyes. “Maeve,” I say. As if I’m talking to her from across a quiet room. “It’s me. Eden. We think we can talk to you without you hurting me. We’d like to try. Do you hear me?”
“Eden,” Veronica whispers.
I open my eyes. At first I don’t understand why she’s spoken, and then I see it: the surface of the water rippling.
“There must be a draft in here,” Ruth says, but Zoya shushes her.
“Maeve. Can you hear me? Can you come to me?” I ask.
The water in the bowl rises higher, as if more is flowing up from below. Zoya gasps as the liquid overflows the container and spills onto the floor, seeping out in all directions.
“What the hell?” Ruth starts, but at Veronica’s sharp look, she shuts up.
“Maeve,” I say again. “You can hear me. I know you can. Come through.”
A sharp crack sounds as the bowl breaks neatly in two, the rest of the water spilling out. It flows over the floorboards, over the chalk lines of the star, a spreading puddle in the center of the circle.
A footprint appears, the water displaced. Then another. Another. Slow, uneven steps.
“Oh, fuck,” Ruth whispers, clutching her candle.
The footsteps pause. Slowly, they turn in place, the water sloshing around them.
She’s standing in the center of the circle, facing straight toward me.
“Eden,” comes a whisper.
All the candles go out.