“Ophelia,” she said, smiling a little at his awkwardness.

“Ophelia,” he repeated, trying the name out for size. “Are you Madame Ophelia?”

“No, I’m merely her assistant,” the girl said modestly.

Now that he’d had a chance to look her over, he realized she wasn’t bad. Nice face, good figure. This shouldn’t be too hard. “If you’re her assistant, then maybe you can answer my questions.”

She looked up and down the dark street meaningfully. “It’s getting late.”

“I guess this isn’t the place for a chat, is it? But maybe I could walk with you. You shouldn’t be out alone this time of night anyway.”

“I don’t have far to go,” she said.

“And I don’t have many questions. Would you mind? I’m a customer, after all. Well, maybe I am, depending on your answers.”

“I suppose.” She turned and started walking. He fell into step beside her. “What did you want to know?”

“I wondered what happens, at a séance I mean. How do the right spirits know you’re looking for them?”

“No one knows how they do it. They just do.”

Jake couldn’t argue with that, and he didn’t even want to. “How many times would I have to come? I mean, if I got the answers I’m looking for the first time, I wouldn’t have to come back, would I?”

“Most people find comfort in contacting their loved ones, so they usually return. It can also take time to contact them in the first place.”

Of course, it did. “I guess that’s to be expected, but you see, I don’t . . . I mean, how much does it cost?”

“Madame charges twenty dollars for a sitting if you attend with a group. Individual readings cost more, naturally.”

Jake whistled. “Twenty dollars. That’s a lot.”

“Madame Ophelia has a rare talent. She must charge accordingly,” she said primly.

“Oh, I’m sure she does,” he hastily agreed. “It’s just . . . Well, I don’t know how many of these sittings I could afford.”

“It would be worth every sacrifice.”

He thought that over for a moment. “But wait. You said you’re her assistant, didn’t you?”

They had reached the corner and stopped to check for traffic. She looked up at him warily. “That’s right.”

“Then maybe you could do a séance for me. You know how to do it, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’d be very grateful. I just need to ask my mother one thing, something really important, but it’s just one thing. Couldn’t you do that, Miss . . . ? I’m sorry. I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m John Miller.”

“I’m Pen . . . Persephone Highland.”

“What a pretty name, Miss Highland. Persephone was a goddess, wasn’t she?” He gave her his most winning smile.