Page 132 of Girl Between

“Do you have it?” Marjorie asked.

Miriam nodded, her hand going to the locket at her throat.

“Then let us begin.”

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Marjorie spoketo the storekeeper in hushed tones. The woman nodded, slipped into the back, then quickly returned holding a tray with a cast iron kettle and three teacups. Marjorie took them and motioned for Dana and Miriam to follow her to the back of the store, where they passed through a green beaded curtain hanging in a narrow doorway.

The ominous rustle of the beads faded as the dim lighting of Crescent City Books gave way to an even darker room, its walls lined with colorful tarot cards, ancient grimoires, and candles that exuded a faint lavender scent.

The atmosphere was thick with both mystery and a sense of foreboding.

Dana’s pulse quickened as they stepped into the small private room that had been set up like a sanctum for the unknown.

Miriam hesitated at the threshold, her fingers tightening around the necklace she’d faithfully worn since the day her daughter disappeared. "Are you sure this will help?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Marjorie turned to her, her expression unreadable. "The veil is thin. If there’s any chance of contact, it’s now."

Dana suppressed a shiver, unsure if Marjorie’s words comforted or unsettled her more. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, but the glimmer of hope in Miriam’s eyes silenced her. It’s why Dana had called her. She’d seen that same look in her own eyes too many times to ignore this opportunity to give Miriam answers. She wouldn’t take hope from someone who had already lost so much.

Marjorie struck a match, lighting three candles arranged in a triangle on a small table draped with a crimson cloth. The flickering flames reflected in the silver bowl of water placed at the center, their unsteady light casting eerie shadows on the walls.

Misty gray curls of steam swirled like ghosts from the kettle as Marjorie filled each of the three teacups. She passed them out, lifted her own, and ordered them to drink. The liquid was bitter and hot, burning Dana’s throat on the way down, but she did her best not to grimace.

Dana found herself holding her breath as she watched Marjorie set a large magnolia leaf inside the bowl. The leaf floated atop the water, seeming to bristle with energy, as though it were waiting for instruction.

"Sit," Marjorie instructed, her voice carrying a weight that left no room for argument.

The women took their places around the table. Dana felt the rough wood of the chair beneath her as she adjusted her position, the anticipation building inside her like a taut string about to snap.

“The offering,” Marjorie commanded, reaching her hand out expectantly.

Miriam hesitated, but Dana gave her a nod of encouragement. Slowly, Miriam reached into her purse and handed over a tiny silver jewelry box. Marjorie opened it and poured the contents into her hand. Three tiny pieces of enamel and dentin, gone gray with rot. They rested in her palm like kernels of corn that hadn’t fully popped, but Dana knew what they were. Elizabeth Barton’s baby teeth.

Marjorie cupped them between her palms, then with a whispered blessing, she placed them on the magnolia leaf.

Marjorie’s eyes, sharp and gleaming, scanned the room before shereached out to join hands with Dana and Miriam. "I will open the door,” Marjorie commanded. She turned her attention to Miriam. "But only you can seek what you’ve lost."

Dana swallowed her apprehension, though every fiber of her being screamed at her to leave. She could hear Miriam’s shallow breathing beside her and the faint rumble of a distant streetcar, grounding her in the moment even as the air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

Marjorie began, her voice low and resonant. “We seek your guidance, lwa. A sister stolen, lost from this world, traveling to the next. If she be with you, let her speak through the veil."

The room seemed to hold its breath. For a moment, there was only the sound of the candles sputtering in the faint draft. Then the water in the bowl quivered, rippling as though an unseen hand had disturbed it. Miriam gasped softly, her grip tightening.

Dana’s eyes widened as the leaf trembled atop the water and then began to spin. The shadows in the room seemed to move of their own accord, dancing along the walls in shapes she couldn’t comprehend. She forced herself to focus on the bowl, where the leaf had stilled but shimmered with an unnatural light.

Miriam leaned forward, hope trembling in her voice. "Elizabeth? Is it you?"

But the silence that followed was deafening, oppressive. Dana felt the weight of it pressing against her chest, and she realized she was gripping Miriam and Marjorie’s hands so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She wanted to reassure Miriam, to tell her that they were doing everything they could, but the words wouldn’t come.

When Marjorie finally spoke again, her voice was softer, almost reverent. "The veil has answered," she said, her gaze fixed on the bowl. "There is no answer from the other side.”

Before anyone could respond, a sudden chill swept through the room, extinguishing the candles in an instant. Darkness engulfed them, and Dana felt her heart leap into her throat.

Miriam let out a small cry, and even Marjorie seemed momentarily shaken.

“That means she’s alive,” said Miriam. “I knew it.”