‘Yes. And pasta with marinara sauce.’ Evelyn opens the pantry door. Built into the exterior wall is a three-foot-by-five-foot stainless-steel hot box, one end opening to the pantry, the other to the outside of the house, allowing access for local deliveries.

The old woman removes the hot pouch containing their dinner and sets it on the black pearl granite kitchen table.

‘Come. We’ll talk while we eat.’

Dominique takes a seat as her host sets the table, then opens the Styrofoam containers, unleashing the aroma of fresh Italian food into the room.

‘You miss him, don’t you?’

Dominique breaks off a piece of bread and stuffs it into her mouth. ‘Miss who?’

Evelyn smiles, placing her palm on top of Dominique’s hand. ‘My dear, dancing around the truth will only wear both of us out. Do you know what necromancy is?’

‘No.’

‘Necromancy is the art of communicating with the souls of the dead. Some believe it’s a black art, but that all depends upon who’s doing the communicating. The practice can be traced back to the ancient Egyptians and their leader, Osiris, creator of Giza, who summoned the dead to obtain valuable guidance.’

‘So … you’re telling me you communicate with dead people?’

‘With their souls.’

Dominique scoops up a forkful of pasta. ‘I don’t mean to be skeptical, but—’

‘The body is made of physical matter. At creation, each of us is linked to a specific soul, our life force, or spirit, the energy force that strengthens the body-soul connection.’

‘Okay, let me stop you there. First, I’m not a very religious person. Second, Ouija boards and all that hokey crap give me the creeps.’

‘But you’ve used them recently, haven’t you?’

Dominique swallows hard.

‘Because you’re seeking answers to something.’

‘Yes.’

‘You want to know if Michael is still alive.’

Dominique holds back her tears. ‘I just need some sense of closure. You know, so I can go on.’

‘What does your heart tell you?’

She sits back, wringing her hands nervously against her thighs. ‘My heart tells me he’s alive. My brain says something else.’

For a long moment the old woman just stares. ‘I can guide you on part of your journey, Dominique, but I can’t give you all the answers. If I did, it could alter the future.’

‘What journey? What future? What the hell are you talking about?’

Evelyn contemplates. Says nothing.

‘I said what journey?’

‘Your journey, Dominique. Your destiny, and the destiny of your sons.’

‘Know what—I made a mistake. I’m not ready for this.’ She stands to leave.