“You cannot deny it now,” Madame Ophelia said, startling them all. She had extricated herself from her chair while their attention was diverted and now stood in the doorway to the séance room. “You have the gift.”

“But I don’t want it,” Elizabeth insisted.

“We cannot choose. The gift chooses us and we must accept it.”

“You should be grateful,” Persephone assured her. “Few are so blessed.”

“I don’t believe it is a blessing,” Elizabeth said. “How can it be if I see how other people are going to die?”

“Not all your visions will be so upsetting.”

“And you’ll be able to help other people the way you helped me,” Cybil said.

Elizabeth clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop! You don’t even know if I’m right about that poor man. Perhaps he’ll recover and you’ll see that I can’t predict the future at all.”

But she hadn’t convinced them. They all stared back at her with condescending smiles, certain they were right and she was wrong.

“Come along, darling,” Gideon said. “I’ll take you home.”

She gratefully accepted his offer and allowed him to escort her out. They could hear the hum of conversation as everyone left behind began to rehash the evening’s events and embellish their memories of them. Embellishing memories was simple human nature, and in this case, Cybil would help the process along.

Elizabeth wouldn’t let Gideon discuss a single thing about the evening until they were in the privacy of their own home, since one never knew who might be in Madame Ophelia’s employ. Besides, Mother Bates would want to know every detail, too.

They found her reading by the light of an electric lamp in the parlor. “So,” she greeted them, “did Jake die?”

“Jake wasn’t supposed to die,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “He only witnessed the accident.”

“I still don’t understand how someone can pretend to be trampled by a team of horses,” Mother Bates said.

“It’s a rather risky con, but these men do it all over the country,” Elizabeth said, sitting down on the love seat.

Gideon sat down beside her and took her hand in both of his. “I know how he managed the blood.”

“Yes,” his mother agreed, obviously proud of her knowledge, “a cackle bladder.”

Gideon had seen the rubber bladder filled with chicken blood used more than once. “He must have used several if there was as much blood as Horace claimed.”

“It doesn’t take much blood to make a mess,” Elizabeth said from experience.

“How would he fit more than one in his mouth, though?” Mother Bates asked.

“If he needed another one, he would palm it and make the switch when he put his hand up to his mouth to cough or whatever,” Elizabeth explained.