Page 117 of Girl Between (Dana Gray FBI Mystery Thriller #5)
Marjorie spoke to 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 she reached 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.”
“There are lots of reasons spirits may not answer us,” warned Marjorie, her tone calm but edged with something Dana couldn’t quite place.
“No, it means my daughter is alive!” Miriam insisted, her voice rising.
Dana laid a calming hand on the woman’s arm. “Miriam, I know it’s what you want to believe but?—”
“But nothing!” Miriam interrupted. “Elizabeth is alive! This proves it! Unless you’re telling me your friend is a fraud.”
"That’s enough!" Marjorie said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade as she rose to her feet. "I am no fraud, and I will not suffer fools.”
“Prove it!” Miriam called.
Marjorie paused, eyebrows narrowing. “You have more lost souls to commune with?”
“No but?—”
“I do,” Dana said, interrupting the feuding women. She quickly slipped the thin gold band from her finger, holding it out to Marjorie. “Please, it belonged to my mother.”
Marjorie didn’t argue. Instead, she took the offering and the three women resumed their position around the bowl of water.
Marjorie traded the teeth for the ring and began the ritual again.
“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. "
Again, the room fell silent. Then the water began to quiver, rippling as the leaf spun, faster and faster, until all at once, it plunged beneath the surface, sinking to the bottom with a force so strong, Dana’s mind was pulled with it.
Her vision swayed as a wave of frigid air overtook Dana and the room went dark.
She gasped for breath as though she were beneath a frozen lake.
Darkness tunneled around her as muffled voices echoed from the shadows, until suddenly a blinding light emerged.
Dana stared at it in disbelief as the light dissipated into a familiar face .
“Mom?” Dana barely recognized her own voice as she whispered the foreign word.
The figure in the pulsing light smiled serenely at her. It didn’t answer, but Dana couldn’t explain the unnerving sense of calm that cradled her. Then all at once, she was back in the bookstore, staring at the ashen faces of Marjorie and Miriam.
Tears streamed down Miriam’s face as she squeezed Dana’s hand. “You were right,” she whispered, gazing toward Marjorie. “She’s the real deal.”
Marjorie sat taller. “There is much your mother longs to say, but most importantly, she wants you to know she has found peace, and she wishes that same peace for you.”
Dana nodded, quickly swiping at the tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you.”
"That’s enough for tonight," Marjorie said firmly, handing the ring back to Dana.
She stood quickly, her legs unsteady beneath her.
She helped Miriam to her feet. The older woman was trembling, her face pale but her eyes still holding that fragile flicker of hope.
Dana wanted to tell her that it wasn’t over, that they would find answers, but the words felt hollow even in her own mind.
As they stepped back into the dimly lit bookstore, the normalcy of their surroundings felt almost jarring.
The air was lighter here, the familiar scent of old books a small comfort.
But Dana couldn’t shake the sensation that something had followed them out of that room, an unseen presence that lingered just out of sight.
She checked her phone instinctively and saw a missed call from George. Her finger hovered over the screen, hesitant to call him back just yet. Whatever had just happened felt too raw. She needed time to process it—or perhaps to forget it entirely.
The séance had left Dana feeling as though the air around her was heavier, her chest tight with the weight of her emotions. Dana turned to thank Miriam and Marjorie.
“I should be thanking you,” Miriam said, her gaze lingering on Marjorie. “I know my Elizabeth is still alive. Thank you for renewing my faith to keep searching.” She turned to Dana, pulling her into a quick, yet fierce embrace. “Promise you’ll call me if you discover anything new.”
“Promise,” Dana agreed, before watching Miriam hurry across the street to her awaiting chauffeur.
Marjorie faced Dana when they were alone. “It goes without saying that what happened inside these walls doesn’t leave them, understood?”
Dana nodded.
“That includes sharing any of this with my son.”
“I won’t tell George,” Dana replied.
“Good. Then I’ll see you tonight.”
“Wait!” Dana called. “Did you see her, too? My mother?”
“Only you know what you saw, cher. But I felt her presence.”
“Then it was real? She was really here, with us?”
Warmth filled Marjorie’s gaze as she clasped both of Dana’s hands in hers.
“What I know for certain is there is one singular belief we all share, and it’s more powerful than anything.
Hope. Without it, all is lost. That is what the presence was trying to convey.
Hold onto hope, child. It will never lead you astray. ”
And with that, they stepped out into the cool night air, leaving behind the shadows of Crescent City Books but carrying with them the weight of unanswered questions and unspoken truths.