The room was empty, as he’d expected. He’d seen the afternoon séance attendees leaving a little while ago. He fidgeted a bit, rubbing his hands on his pant legs as if they were sweaty, and looking around uncertainly. After a few minutes, one of the two doors opened and Persephone came out.

She was wearing a pea green dress today that made her look a little bilious, but he smiled as if he thought her enchanting.

“Hello, Mr. Miller,” she said, apparently finding him enchanting as well.

“Hello, Miss Highland. I hope this is a good time.”

“It’s exactly the right time,” she assured him. “Madame Ophelia is anxious to meet you.”

She led him through the other door into the back room, which was obviously where the séances were held. Madame Ophelia was an old bat of a woman all done up in some foreign-looking robe with a ridiculous turban on her head. Some kind of feather was pinned to the front of it and it fluttered every time she moved her head.

“Madame, this is Mr. John Miller, the gentleman I told you about,” Persephone said.

“I am so pleased you have come, Mr. Miller. Please sit down here so we can converse.”

She patted the table in front of the empty chair immediately to her left, so he sat down. Persephone, he noted, had slipped out, leaving them alone. “Thanks for seeing me,” he said, glancing around. This room was even less appealing than the waiting area, and the dim light from the single lamp cast unflattering shadows over Madame Ophelia’s face.

“Persephone said you are interested in contacting your dear mother,” Madame said.

“That’s right. She . . . Well, I need to ask her something.”

“It is unfortunate that so many of us find ourselves in exactly that situation, but I suppose we never expect our loved ones to pass. We always think we will have plenty of time with them.”

He brightened at that. “You’re right. I never thought I’d lose her so soon.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“Uh, about five years now, I think.” He took a minute. “That’s right, five years in a few months.”

“You must have been very young when she died.”

He hadn’t felt young then, but he supposed he had been. “She was young, too. Too young to die anyway.”

“You must miss her very much.”

Not really. Sometimes he’d recall something happy, but not often. Lizzie had good memories of her mother, but Jake hadn’t been so lucky. “I have my memories,” he managed.

“I’m sure you do, and you want to know that she is at peace.”

If she was, it would be the first time, but he said, “That would be a comfort.”

Madame nodded sagely. “Persephone also mentioned you were concerned about the cost of a séance.”