Chapter Three How to Commune with the Dead
Chapter Three
How to Commune with the Dead
“What we need,” Lou pronounces an hour later, “is a séance.”
Seated at the kitchen table once more, Beau groans and drops his head into his hands as a storm builds outside the windows. Thunder rumbles in the distance. “That is not what we need, Lou. A séance is never what anyone needs.”
“Nonsense.” Pale yet determined, Lou flits around the living room, gathering every unlit candle she can find while I hold my breath, watching her with carefully clamped limbs. My head still pounds, and a halo rings my vision. “If Filippa wants to play with us, we need to learn the rules of the game, or we can never hope to win. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she adds. “She just tried to kill Célie. Clearly, she isn’t feeling very friendly. Don’t you want to know why—to know what she wants ?”
“ No ,” he says in exasperation. “I have never wanted to know anything less —”
“She didn’t want to kill me.” I speak the words stiffly, moving my lips as little as possible. “I think she wanted to make me feed... properly.” Though I cannot bring myself to clarify further—not with them so close to me—they seem to understand all the same; Beau blanches, recoiling, while Lou shakes her head and Coco rolls her eyes.
“How supportive,” she mutters.
Lou dumps an armful of candles in front of us. “But why? What does she possibly stand to gain by our untimely deaths?”
“We are rather important.” Beau gestures around the table without a shred of humility, but he’s also right—between the four of them, they rule the greater part of the kingdom’s population. “No sense pretending otherwise.”
“Maybe it isn’t about us at all.” Reid straightens the candles compulsively. “Maybe it’s a far simpler matter of misery loving company.” Then, to me: “What makes you think your sister will answer this summons after throwing a knife at you? It doesn’t sound like she wants to talk.”
I clear the fire from my throat. “She won’t have a choice.”
Though Lou grins in approval, I tear my gaze away from them, focusing instead on the scent of the peonies in their painted vase. Sweet and rosy with a hint of citrus. Because I don’t have time for this deep, unending ache in my stomach. Filippa just shattered the pretty illusion of safety my friends created for me—and with Filippa, unfortunately, comes Frederic.
The Necromancer.
I tried not to think of him. I coaxed myself into believing that his plans failed—or, at the very least, that they ended with Filippa. That perhaps he would leave us alone to re-create the life Morgane stole from them. That perhaps he and Pip would live happily ever after, and I would never need to find them.
Standing abruptly, I sweep the vase of peonies aside to make room for more candles, which Lou drops unceremoniously into my hands. Beau shakes his head in disbelief as she darts off in search of chalk. “This is demented,” he breathes. “What if Filippa isn’t even a ghost? What if she is something else now, and—and we dredge up all sorts of nastiness with this little trespass—”
Scoffing, Lou continues to rummage through the cabinets. “It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“No,” Beau says quickly. “No, it isn’t.” He rises from his chair with wide, panicked eyes. “Permission is infinitely better when the use of candles and—and”—he lets out a groan as Lou finds the chalk, drawing five long, straight lines upon the table—“ pentagrams are involved. What if we knock, and someone else answers?”
Coco pats his cheek sympathetically before joining Lou around the table. “That’s where I come in, I think.”
“You think ?”
Lou shrugs, thoroughly unconcerned. “It isn’t like any of us have done this before, and without La Voisin’s grimoire to guide us—”
“Any spell in that evil little book is one we should most definitely not be doing—”
“You shouldn’t worry, then,” Lou says sweetly, “as we’ve just established this is a spell of our own invention.”
Beau whirls to Reid for support. “You can’t seriously think creating a spell to summon the dead is our best plan of action. Isn’t that the reason we’re in this mess to begin with?”
Reid hesitates behind Lou and Coco, peering down at the pentagram over their heads. Then he turns his apprehensive gaze to me. “You astral projected when you saw your sister in the grotto on All Hallows’ Eve. Could you not, er—do it again to find her now?”
“An excellent idea.” Beau thrusts a triumphant finger in the air. “Go back to the spirit realm and search for her there .”
My body stiffens.
“Don’t be stupid,” Lou says at once.
“It’s too dangerous,” Coco says at the same time. “We have no idea what Filippa has planned for us. Until we do, Célie shouldn’t go anywhere alone, and especially somewhere we cannot follow.”
Only when Beau mutters his agreement do I relax infinitesimally. Because the truth is—well, I haven’t stepped foot through the veil since All Hallows’ Eve, and the prospect holds even less appeal now.
Thankfully, Odessa waltzes through the door in the next moment, shaking rain from her parasol and slipping a small velvet box from the folds of her skirt. Without glancing up, she undoes the clasp and angles the tip of the parasol into the box, sliding the entire thing down after it. Though we all gape, she doesn’t provide an explanation for the phenomenon, instead absently smoothing her gown and hair. It cascades down her back like a spill of ink, untouched by the storm.
A drop of blood still clings to her bottom lip.
My stomach contracts painfully at the sight of it, the smell, but she merely wipes it away with a gloved thumb and saunters closer. “Now this looks intriguing. Are we conjuring someone?”
Mila darts in behind her, eyes widening in alarm. “What is this, Célie? What are you doing?”
Lou dusts the chalk from her fingers with an air of finality. “We’re summoning Filippa.”
Odessa arches a brow. “Oh?”
Reluctantly, I explain the situation, and when I’ve finished, Odessa considers the pentagram anew, intrigued, while Mila shakes her silver head in disbelief. “This is a terrible idea. Did you learn nothing from your time in Requiem? The dead do not appreciate being summoned —”
“We don’t know if Filippa is still dead. Perhaps she is, or perhaps she isn’t. Either way”—I seize the saltcellar on the mantel, ignoring the others’ questioning looks—“we’ll know more in just a few moments. Now, according to How to Commune with the Dead , salt contains protective attributes. Scholars would use it to form a circle around the site of their summoning—”
“—to contain occult creatures, yes.” Odessa nods at the general area to which I just spoke. “I assume Mila is here?” When I nod, she claps her hands. “Good. We might need her. Now...” She takes the cellar from me, tipping it to one side to examine its contents. The salt should be minuscule, a sea of white specks, but I can see the sharp, translucent edges of each crystal. They remind me of glass. Of mirrors. “As we are occult creatures, Célie darling, and as salt does very little to deter us, we can safely forgo it. That should be drawn with blood,” she adds, pointing to the pentagram. “Preferably from a Dame Rouge.”
We all look at Coco, who heaves a sigh and withdraws a small knife from the cabinet behind her. “You might want to leave the room, Célie,” she says grimly.
“More like the house,” Beau interjects.
“Alas”—Odessa discards the salt and plants her hands on her hips in a businesslike manner—“Célie is the only one among us who can traverse the spirit realm, so she must remain.” To me, she adds, “If you insist on continuing your foolish hunger strike, however, I suggest holding your breath and diverting your attention for this next part.”
I scowl at her before doing just that. Apparently, Odessa has anointed herself the leader of this macabre ritual, and as no one has any better ideas—or indeed, any ideas at all—we can hardly usurp her. “Wait!” Beau’s alarmed voice rings out, and I hear him clap his hand around Coco’s wrist. “Are we just going to—to do the summoning here? Now?”
“When would you prefer we do it?” Coco asks, exasperated. “After Filippa slits our wrists for breakfast? We need to learn what she wants —”
“Célie resisted our blood before,” Beau says fervently. “She can resist again! Coco, please, we shouldn’t be doing this—”
“It is a terrible idea,” Mila agrees.
I hear rather than see Coco disentangle herself. Then she drags the knife tip along her forearm, and my entire body braces at the sound—slick and wet and appalling in how my fangs react, piercing my gums in preparation to feed. Distraction. I search my mind wildly for a distraction. As if waiting for permission, Michal’s face materializes once more.
Not you , I snarl, and I can almost feel his low chuckle down my spine.
“And”—Coco’s voice cuts through the hallucination—“finished!”
The sweet scent of honey engulfs the kitchen at her words, and my eyes snap open as the wound on her forearm heals with a sharp bite of blood magic. The pentagram on the table, however, still gleams wet and scarlet. Oh God. Holding my breath again, I drop into an open chair and clamp shut my mouth. I count every thread of my nightgown as Lou lights a candle at each point of the star.
When Beau continues to protest—loudly—Coco snaps her fingers at him. “Sit,” she says sharply, pointing to the empty chair between Reid and Odessa, who pats the seat with a satisfied smirk. Scowling, Beau drops into it without a word, but he scoots pointedly away from her before turning to face Reid.
“Thanks for the help.” He speaks under his breath, too low for the others to hear, and watches in equal parts resentment and fear as Coco removes the extra chair from the table. “Have you conveniently lost your ability to speak, or—?”
Reid rolls his eyes at his brother. “What exactly did you expect me to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe anything at all —”
“Look at Lou’s face.” Leaning back in his chair, Reid lowers his voice further—so low now that I shouldn’t be able to hear him either, nor see the small muscles around his eyes. They spasm from exhaustion. It is after four o’clock in the morning. Still—though he tries to hide it—he tracks his wife through the kitchen with single-minded intensity. “Look how pale she is.”
Beau’s brow furrows as he follows his gaze. “She looks the same to me.”
“Then you need to pay closer attention. Something is wrong. She refuses to admit it, but she seems... sick.” With a subtle tilt of his chin, he motions toward the peonies, their petals still stained pink from the deer blood. “I feel it too—a fatigue in my muscles. My magic. It’s getting worse every day.”
“Your magic?” Beau searches his face anxiously. “And you think it has something to do with Filippa?”
“It started on All Hallows’ Eve.”
I frown between them before glancing at Lou. She does look paler than usual—her freckles standing out in sharper relief—but her grin looks impish as ever. When she catches me staring, she winks.
Beau heaves a great sigh. “When all of this goes tits up, I’m telling the demon to eat you first.”
Reid chuckles darkly while Lou claims the seat beside him, and Coco follows, sliding into the last free chair next to me. She bumps my shoulder with a small, reassuring smile. “Right,” Lou says, glancing around the table and nodding to herself in reassurance. “I think we’re ready now. Should we, er—join hands? Odessa, what do you think?”
“The act of joining hands in itself is completely superfluous to the ritual, but if it calms your nerves”—Odessa extends a hand first to me, then to Beau—“I think we should.”
Beau stares at her proffered hand like it might grow legs, or perhaps fangs, if he touches it. “Just take her hand,” I snap at him, losing my patience and regretting it instantly at the startled look on his face. I bite down on my apology. “Please, Beau. I need to speak with my sister.”
With one last, grudging sigh, he accepts her hand as gingerly as possible, completing the circle. “Fine. Let’s all studiously ignore how a vampire knows so much about summoning spirits and follow her blind— EEEGH.” His voice shutters on a squeak as he notices Mila, who still hovers beside me.
Of course. With our hands joined, they’re all touching me now; they can finally see her.
She flashes a sharp smile. “Wonderful to see you again, Your Majesty.” Inclining her regal head to the others, she adds, “And a pleasure to meet the rest of you as well—formally, that is. I know rather more about you informally than I’d like to.” She swoops low to kiss Odessa’s cheek. “And you , cousin—”
“I knew you were here all along.” Odessa lifts her pert nose. “And as for how I know so much about the spirit realm, Your Majesty,” Odessa says to Beau, tightening her hand when he moves to pull it away. “I read .”
“Do your books say anything else, Odessa?” Coco throws a warning glance at Beau before he can retort. “Anything we should know beforehand?”
Odessa lifts a delicate shoulder as Mila drifts closer to study the pentagram, curious despite herself. “Such magic is not a science. Those who cannot wield it will never fully understand the complexity and nuance of such a ritual, and those who can rarely share their secrets.”
“Perfect,” Beau mutters.
Odessa ignores him. “In theory, Cosette, you should be able to guide your blood toward the veil, where Célie will open a door, allowing your blood to cross and using it to pull Filippa here.”
“How does that work?” Lou asks curiously. “Guiding her blood? Using it to pull Filippa?”
“The same way it works when she heals your wounds or tracks your location.”
“It’s my intent,” Coco says, lips pursing as she considers the pentagram. “My blood reacts to it, and my magic follows. But—how do I find the veil?”
They all look to me then, and I swallow the fire in my throat, my fingers knotted around Odessa’s. I cannot look away from the pentagram. I cannot see anything but blood. “You... sense it.” When only silence meets my pronouncement, I swallow again, forcing my eyes shut and willing my body to settle. Please. Please please please. After several more seconds, I manage to say, “It feels sort of like a presence, an awareness, like the prickle on your cheek when someone is watching you. Here—” Without opening my eyes, I lift our interlocked hands and place them upon the table. “Let me show you.”