Chapter 8
“Eloise, have you been sitting in that chair all night?” I asked.
“Yes.” She nodded.
“You could have frozen to death out here.” I stared at her in horror, but she looked exactly as she had the day before, without a hair of her precisely coiffed ash-blond bob out of place.
“No, I wouldn’t, silly.” She waved a hand at me. “I’m already dead, remember? I don’t need to sleep, and I don’t feel the cold, or anything, for that matter.”
Again with this. I refused to debate whatever she believed about her current state of being. I operated in verifiable facts. “If you don’t feel the cold, then why do you wear a coat?” I asked.
“Because people would talk, dear. The key to being undead among the living is to blend in.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. Barely. I was certain she’d left last night and had just returned very early this morning. Fine. Whatever.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” This was the big test. No one, not even a delusional zombie, could resist a hot cup of coffee in this frigid weather.
“I don’t need to eat or drink either.” Eloise smiled patiently as if I were thick and she was confident I’d catch on eventually.
“How can you survive without sustenance?” I protested. I braced myself for her to say she drank the blood of naughty children or something else equally horrifying.
Instead, her smile was kind and she said, “Magic.”
Naturally. Years of resisting all things otherworldly made me want to dismiss her words, but after opening a book with my own blood, seeing a metaphorical heart encased in a book, and levitating last night, I couldn’t.
Still, the word magic made my skin prickle and I was filled with unease.
“I’m just going to finish my coffee and grab my coat and then we can go see those people I mentioned yesterday. I’ll be right back.”
Eloise nodded and turned to stare at the road in front of my house. I followed her gaze and saw the raven land neatly on my mailbox, where he turned his head and gave me a watchful stare. I found this oddly reassuring, especially since today had turned into take-your-dead-person-to-work day.
· · ·
The quiet car on the train was full on this trip, so we sat in a different one, which was unfortunate, as Eloise was very chatty during the entire ride.
Not with me, but rather with every other passenger in the vicinity.
She asked where they’d bought their shoes, what streaming shows they were watching, why they were going to New York City, et cetera.
Shockingly, most of the passengers responded politely and only two refused to engage.
A businessman, judging by his suit, got up and moved to another car and a young woman, who was clearly studying, met Eloise’s gaze and put large, sound-muffling headphones on.
Eloise did not seem offended in the least. Perhaps believing she was dead made her less sensitive to criticism and slights from others.
I hailed a cab—not the same driver as before, which was a pity.
This one seemed in no hurry and we meandered through the city streets until we finally arrived at the museum.
I nodded a hello at the security guard Tina with the Taser and went to enter, but Eloise stopped to chat, because of course she did.
“Hello, I’m Eloise Tate.” She held out her hand.
Tina gave her an assessing look before she shook her hand. “Hi.”
“We’re just going to pop in for a minute to speak with…someone.” I didn’t say a name because I didn’t really know who could help me with this situation.
“I know. The director is expecting you in her office.”
I frowned and then nodded. “Of course.”
Tina adjusted the utility belt around her waist and patted her Taser. “You’d better get a move on. Sebastian told me to send you up right away.”
My eyes went wide. For no discernible reason, this sounded ominous. “Thanks. This way, Eloise.”
I turned and entered the building, leaving Eloise to follow.
As we stepped inside, I saw the library and briefly remembered meeting the darkly handsome Jasper Griffin.
I shook my head, refusing to be distracted from my purpose.
I crossed the dark entry and led the way to the staircase.
I glanced at Eloise and noted that she was taking in the opulent surroundings with a wide-eyed gaze.
I imagined that was exactly what I’d looked like yesterday.
Yesterday. Had it only been twenty-four hours since I’d been here? It felt like a week had passed.
At the top of the stairs, the portrait of the Stewarts greeted us.
They looked just as in love as I remembered and I felt a little pang in my chest. This museum was dedicated to the preservation of literature and I feared that by bringing in a family grimoire locked by a blood oath and a potentially undead woman, I was committing an affront to all that the couple had built here.
I glanced down the hallway and took a steadying breath.
I had to focus on my purpose. If what Eloise had told me was true, then the only people I knew who could help me to help her were the staff members of the BODO.
But if Eloise was some deranged prankster, then I was banking on Olive, with her deathly pallor and new-moon-at-midnight fashion sense to frighten Eloise into realizing she was not undead and needed to get over her fixation on my grandmother. Immediately.
We walked to the end of the hallway. One of the glass doors was propped open by a painted iron statue of a mythical faun holding a set of panpipes. I hadn’t noticed him yesterday and I wondered at his sudden appearance. I frowned as I entered the office.
“A gift from one of our benefactors,” Sebastian explained, correctly interpreting my expression.
“I usually keep him hidden in the closet because he looks like he’s up to no good.
” He rose from behind his desk and walked around it to greet us.
When I turned to check that Eloise was following me into the office, I saw the faun snap its teeth at her as she passed by.
Without breaking her stride, she flicked its ear.
I pressed my cold fingers to my forehead. Everything was fine. Nothing to see here.
“Good to see you again, Ms. Ziakas.” Sebastian stopped in front of me.
“Please, call me Zoe.” I dropped my hand and forced a smile. “This is…uh…an acquaintance of mine, Eloise Tate. Eloise, this is Sebastian Hanover.”
I gestured to Eloise as she stepped into the office, her gaze darting around the room as she took in the elegant furnishings and Sebastian, who was as well turned out as he’d been yesterday in an olive-and-cream-pin-striped dress shirt over linen pants paired with dark brown leather loafers and a matching belt.
“A pleasure to meet you,” she said. “Are you the director of the museum?”
Sebastian laughed. “No, I’m entirely too fainthearted for that sort of work. Our director is Claire Carpenter. She’s waiting for you in her office.” He gestured to the closed doors behind his desk. “Please, follow me.”
After a gentle knock, he opened the doors and we followed Sebastian into Claire’s office. She was seated behind her desk in front of the windows. I had a flash of déjà vu as I stepped into the spectacular office, but I shook it off. This was not a repeat of yesterday, as I had Eloise with me.
Claire stood and beamed at the sight of me. It was impossible not to return her smile given the genuine warmth that lit her eyes.
“Zoe, it’s good to see you again.” She gestured to the love seat. “Won’t you and your companion have a seat?”
I noticed that a couple of chairs had been added to the sitting area, confirming that she’d been expecting us. I led the way to the love seat and Eloise followed.
“May I bring you a refreshment?” Sebastian asked.
“No, thank you,” Eloise answered. She sank onto the love seat and demurely crossed her legs at the ankles.
Sebastian glanced at me and I shook my head and said, “No, thanks.”
“I’m just outside if you change your mind.” With a nod to Claire, he left, keeping the door open between their offices.
Claire sat on the armchair beside mine and looked at me expectantly. My manners kicked in and I said, “Right, sorry. Claire Carpenter, this is Eloise Tate.”
Claire leaned forward and clasped Eloise’s hand warmly in hers. Claire turned back to me and said, “Dare I hope that your return indicates that you’ve changed your mind about the position?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” I said. “But I do need some expert advice from the staff of the BODO.”
“Oh, all right.” Claire looked disappointed but turned to face the open door.
“I’ve sent for them,” Sebastian said before she could say a word.
“And that’s why I can’t do without him,” Claire said. She glanced back at Eloise and me.
There was a tension in the room, probably because of me, and I didn’t know how to explain that the woman beside me believed she was dead and insisted that my grandmother had brought her back from the other side.
Even though I’d been aware of magic all my life, most of it had been Agatha’s gentle, comforting kitchen magic or the happy moments when my mom had made me laugh by making flowers dance or changing our dog’s fur to colorful polka dots.
Even Mamie’s magic had been manageable to my child brain: catching rainbows with my hands and fashioning them into hair ribbons.
Witchcraft had been fun and warm and lovely and then it had changed.
Unchecked magic had physically and emotionally injured my mother and tangentially killed my father, and the light and joy of it had been extinguished in me like a candle in the wind, leaving only pain and fear in the darkness that followed.
And now I was confronted with this? The witchcraft that Eloise was speaking of—necromancy—was terrifying. Bringing dead people back was next level and I was struggling to understand Mamie doing something like that. Instead, I asked the lesser question that was bothering me.
“Both Tina the security guard and Sebastian seemed to think you were expecting me, but how did you know I was coming today?” I asked.
Claire smiled and reached over to pat my knee. “I was being very optimistic and hoping to manifest your return. And here you are.”
Somehow, this did not make me feel any better and I felt like there was something she wasn’t telling me, but I let it go for the moment.
“Is there anything I can help with while we wait for the others?” Claire asked.
“I’d rather explain it just once,” I said.
“Understandable.” Claire nodded.
“You have a lovely museum,” Eloise said. “You know, I lived in New York City for a few years back in the sixties and seventies.”
“As a child?” Claire asked.
“Oh, no, I was in my twenties,” Eloise said. “I lived on Christopher Street in the Village. It was all jazz clubs, shopping for leather bags at Hildegarde’s, oh, and getting blessed by Rollerena.”
Claire and I stared blankly at her.
Eloise smiled at us. “Rollerena was a man who roller-skated all over the Village in the early seventies, particularly in Washington Square Park. He was a hoot in his white wedding gown and carrying a wand.” She glanced at me.
“Your grandmother Toni and I got a real kick out of him. Of course, Toni was busy raising your mother, Juliet, so she didn’t get to enjoy the city like I did. Pity.”
Claire studied Eloise. I could see two frown lines deepening between her brows as she was clearly trying to figure out how Eloise, who didn’t look a day over fifty-five, could possibly be old enough to have partied the night away in the sixties and seventies.
Claire looked at me in confusion, but I pressed my lips together and said nothing. This was Eloise’s story to tell and I was not going to get more involved than I already was.
The room was silent except for the ticking of the antique pewter clock on the wall. It seemed inordinately loud and I was overly aware of it, as if each tick of the second hand signaled that something ominous was about to happen.
Olive strode into the room. She was dressed in a black tunic sweater and black leggings, over which she wore a crocheted black vest that was so long it almost reached her black Dr. Martens.
Her hair was scraped back from her face and braided into a thick plait.
The style accentuated her arching brows, deep-set eyes, sharp cheekbones, and square jaw.
Miles and Tariq followed her, looking much as they had the day before. Professionally dressed in dress shirts and pants but not in anything so remarkable that I would be able to remember it an hour from now. Not like Olive.
Olive’s glance darted to me as she stood beside a vacant chair. One eyebrow, the one with the slit in it, rose in surprise. “Here to accept the job?”
“Um…no.” I cleared my throat. What was it about this woman that intimidated me so? The feeling that she could kill me without hesitation and then suck the marrow out of my bones? Yeah, that, definitely that. “I…um…have an acquaintance I’d like you to meet.”
Miles and Tariq looked from me to Eloise to Olive to Claire as if trying to figure out what was happening without any context clues.
“Eloise Tate, this is Olive Prendergast, Miles Lowenstein, and Tariq Silver. They work in—”
Claire shot me a cautionary glance and I remembered that Agatha had said the only reason I’d been allowed in the BODO was because I’d been vetted by her. I nodded before I continued, “—a special collection at the museum.”
“How lovely.” Eloise took them in one at a time.
Miles and Tariq took two of the available seats, but Olive didn’t move. She didn’t take her gaze off Eloise. She crossed her arms over her chest and her dark eyes narrowed as she asked, “How long?”
“Excuse me?” Eloise asked. She didn’t even flinch under Olive’s cold regard, for which I would have given her mad respect at any other time.
“How long have you been undead?” Olive held Eloise’s gaze without blinking and I thought I might faint…again.