“It was no idle threat, either. The church tried to keep an eye on the doings of Gray’s cult, but it was a difficult task. Not only did they live out in the woods but they were a tight-knit group with a tendency to kill anyone who asked too many questions about them. The information we do have has taken one hundred and fifty years to accumulate, and it has cost more than a few lives.”

“So they—this cult of John Gray’s, I mean—it’s still up and running? There are still people who are trying to bring him back to life? I thought his body was burned. What are they planning to raise, a cloud of ashes?” I held one of the glass bottles up to the light. The label was a piece of notebook paper that had been affixed with Scotch tape. “Half of this at a time,” it read. Sure enough, the bottle was about half-empty.

“Yes, something like that. This is why it’s taken them so long to get their act together, and this is where the threat to you comes in.” In the next room, Harry quit digging through Eliza’s things and came to stand in the doorway. “Tell me,” he said quietly. “Your aunt—the one who raised you. How is she doing?”

I set the odd little bottle on the edge of the sink and turned to face him. “What do you mean, how’s she doing? She’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” His hands were twisting at one of Eliza’s slippers.

“Of course I’m sure. What are you getting at?”

He put his eyes and the shoe down on the floor. “This cult, or these people in it—they believe that to have children is to dilute their power. The more children, or the more descendents such as grandchildren, or even great-grandchildren, the less life energy is available to them.”

“And?”

“And, those cousins of yours I mentioned?”

“Yes?” I gripped the porcelain sink behind me and sat against it. I did not like where this seemed to be going.

“They’re . . . they . . . their line was much like yours—it was not a large branch of the family. But all of them, beginning with the oldest and working down to the youngest—the farthest from Avery, that is . . . all the blood relations. They’re all dead.”

“You’re lying.” My head was growing light. “There’s some mistake. You don’t know I was related to those people. You can’t possibly know that.”

“Eden, we’ve been tracing your genealogy since before you were born.” Harry could see from my expression that it would take more than words to convince me, so he muttered, “Hang on,” and shuffled out of the room.