“It’s all right,” Madame said, appearing in the doorway to the séance room. “Mrs. Bates is naturally concerned after what happened to Mr. Miller.” She wore her séance robes but not the turban. Plainly, she hadn’t intended to do a séance this morning.

“I’m concerned about many things, Madame Ophelia. You told Mr. Miller he would make a lot of money on some sort of business deal, and it turns out Persephone’s father was involved in that deal, and now Mr. Miller is dead.”

“Please, I did not tell Mr. Miller anything,” Madame said quite reasonably. “The spirits told him. I am only a vessel.”

“A vessel that gives false information. How many other people have you sent to that man?”

“I do not send anyone. I only—”

“Yes, I know,” Elizabeth interrupted, outraged. “You are only a vessel, but I notice you never predict anything of importance. You didn’t foresee Mr. Miller’s death, for example.”

“I will not compare powers with you, Mrs. Bates,” she said haughtily. “It is not a contest.”

“Not a contest?” Elizabeth said, lunging toward where Madame still stood in the doorway, but she stopped short, as if she’d hit a wall, and cried out in anguish, clapping a hand over her heart.

“Elizabeth!” Anna shouted, hurrying to her side to keep her from collapsing when she staggered back.

“What is it?” Persephone demanded, rushing over to grab Elizabeth’s other arm.

But Elizabeth could only stare at Madame Ophelia in horror, and mutter, “No, no, not again.”

“Not again what?” Persephone asked in alarm. “Do you see something? Something about Madame Ophelia?”

Elizabeth shook her head, but they could all see that she was lying. She couldn’t take her horrified gaze off the medium, who was staring back at her with her own growing horror.

“What do you see?” Madame demanded. “Tell me. You must tell me.”

Elizabeth shook her head again, frantically this time. “I can’t! You said people don’t want to know.”

Persephone and Madame both gasped, and Anna said, “What is it? What’s happening?”

“We must go,” Elizabeth said. “I can’t . . . I can’t do this again.”

“But you must,” Madame insisted, frantic herself now. “You must tell me what you see.”

“It’s all . . . blurry . . .” Elizabeth stammered. “Please, I can’t!”

“We’ll do a séance, then,” Madame declared, her terror-filled eyes at odds with her determination. “That will help you see.”

“But I don’t want to see!” Elizabeth begged, turning to Anna for help.

“What is it you don’t want to see?” Anna asked, glancing at Madame Ophelia and then at Persephone with a silent plea.

“She sees someone’s death,” Persephone said. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth made a mewling sound and began to weep.

“How can she see something like that?” Anna asked. “We aren’t even having a séance.”