“The spirits answer in their own time,” Madame Ophelia said, earning an impatient glance from the tall woman.

Elizabeth jotted down her question and folded the paper, then glanced around the table again. This time she noticed that Madame had a few sheets of paper and a pencil lying on the table in front of her as well. How curious. She wouldn’t ask about it, though. Why ruin Madame Ophelia’s surprise? Elizabeth had known Madame would need to upstage her if she did go into a trance, and this was probably part of it.

When everyone had dropped their questions into Persephone’s bag and the girl had ceremoniously burned them on the tray, Persephone withdrew, leaving them in the eerie half-light from the single lamp by the door. Poor Gideon, he must have been in a state. He did so hate having no part in this. She would have to think of something important for him to do. It was the only kind thing.

Madame began her humming and called for Peter a few times. “Spirits, are you there? Can you hear us?”

They all jumped when Madame let out a dramatic groan. Then she said in a completely new voice, “Mother, are you there?”

“Andy, is that you?” the woman who had come in with her daughter asked almost desperately.

“It hurts. It hurts.”

“Oh, Andy, what’s wrong?” the woman asked. “I thought you’d be at peace.”

“How can I be at peace? I left you alone with no one to look after you.”

“I’m fine, really. I have Tilly.” She glanced at the girl beside her, who was watching her mother intently and not very happily.

“Tilly,” he scoffed. “How can she take care of you? You are helpless, the both of you.”

“We’re not helpless,” Tilly said, earning an astonished stare from her mother. “I can look after Mother.”

“You need a man to take care of you,” Andy insisted. “I cannot rest until you are safe.”

“Oh, Andy,” his mother said. “You shouldn’t worry about us, not if it keeps you from resting in peace.”

“You must listen to me,” Andy said. “I will send someone. He will find you. Listen to him.”

Tilly, bless her, frowned ferociously, but her mother’s eyes lit up with hope. “How will he find us? How will we know him?”

“You’ll see. I will tell you when the time comes. I must go now.”

“No, not yet,” his mother begged. “Please, I want to ask you something.”

But Madame Ophelia’s head drooped, her chin resting on her chest for a long moment while she ignored the mother’s pleading. Then the humming started again.

“Mama,” Madame said, this time in a childish voice.

The woman on Elizabeth’s left straightened to attention. “Cindy? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mama. What’s wrong? You sound so sad.”

“I’m sad because I miss you.”