No, no.
She needed all her faculties to remain dedicated to her mission.
Madame Celestia bustled forward, placing two cups of tea on the table before the loveseat. Olive gritted her teeth as Emil reached for his, the movement causing a far-too-interesting friction along her side and making her uncomfortably aware of that citrusy smell. Had he changed his cologne? She held her breath until he settled. When she finally looked up, Madame Celestia was seated in an armchair, a wax doll with uneven eyebrows clasped in her lap. She watched them with a smile.
“What can I do for you love-birds today?”
Emil spluttered into his teacup, and Olive closed her eyes in humiliation.
“Not love-birds,” she managed to say.
“We’re working on an investigation,” Emil added.
“And you need guidance from the beyond,” Madame Celestia finished, nodding and stroking the doll’s head absently. “Do you need general guidance or do you have a specific question in mind?”
Olive turned to Emil. He blinked back at her. She nudged him with her shoulder. He nudged her back.
A moment passed, and Olive realized with a start that he was waiting for her to take the lead.
“General—”
“Specific—” Emil said at the same time.
“Goodness,” Madame Celestia trilled. “This calls for a crystal ball, wouldn’t you say, Luna?” She bent her ear to the doll’s head, as if listening, then nodded. “Crystal ball, indeed.”
She set the doll aside and rose. While her back was turned, Emil leaned into Olive’s side and hissed, “Distract her so I can slip away.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” she hissed back.
“Being a lamb again.” He gave her a long look. “But I know you’re capable of so much more.”
Her lips parted. That was the second time he’d badgered her into action with his insult-turned-encouragement. But she wasn’t insulted. It felt good to have someone believe in her. She’d become so accustomed to others lowering their expectations for her. To her friends making excuses for her and allowing her to fade into the background. Not Emil. He made sure she upheld her end of their bargain. It was annoying, but effective.
She gave him a short nod. “I can do it.”
His lips twisted into a lopsided grin. A grin, she couldn’t help but notice, that was the complete opposite of the false one he’d given Trudy Blount. She stared up at him, transfixed. He gazed down at her, his deep blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Her heart began to pound; her palms turned sweaty. She was all too aware of their proximity, of?—
“Here we are,” Madame Celestia announced. Olive jerked her attention back to the spiritualist. An orb the size of a snow globe rested on the table in front of them, its contents opaque and murky. “Are we ready to begin?”
“I beg your pardon, Madame,” Emil said, setting his teacup on the table. “But could I use your facilities before we begin? I’m afraid your tea was simply too delicious.”
“Of course,” she replied absently, her attention on the ball before her.
Emil braced one hand on the arm of the loveseat and began to lever himself up. Just then, Olive’s stomach let out a loud, humiliating warble. Emil paused mid-rise before continuing to a standing position. Oh God, had he heard it? Heat flooded her cheeks, and she cleared her throat noisily to mask the remaining sound. What if he thought it was something else?
But when he swiveled to look down at her, he said only, “I’ll be back soon.”
Madame Celestia escorted him to a door at the rear of the room, murmuring directions. Once the door clicked shut behind him, she raised her hands in silent celebration. “Oh, what fun! Am I doing a good job?”
“Even better than I imagined. I wasn’t expecting the dolls.”
The old woman chuckled. “Victoria told me to play up senility. Said it worked wonders on Mr. Anderson at the musicale.”
“Then these aren’t all yours?”
“Lord, no. I asked my church group to chip in. I have to return them next week.”
Olive let out a weak laugh. “What a relief—they’re very disconcerting. Staging the printing press was more than enough.”
