And so I did. Starting with the same Sedgwick Cove origin story that Zale had told to me when I first came back home, I then took Jess through the whole story of my own encounters with the Gray Man—how I had thwarted first Bernadette and Sarah’s attempts to help him access the Source, and then Veronica Meyer’s plot to do the same. By the time I had finished, it was Jess’ turn to pick her jaw up off the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m… gonna need a minute.”
“Take all the time you need,” I said, “although I should probably tell you that it’s my actual life, and I still don’t think I’ve fully processed it.”
Jess leaned forward in her chair, dropping her face into her hands, and taking several long, deep breaths. Then she sat up again, and said, “Okay. Sorry. I’m… I’m fine.” Then she looked at me, alarmed.
“How are you fine?” she demanded.
A laugh burst out of me that I had to quickly stifle before it turned into a sob. “I’m… not really sure if I am, honestly.”
“You poor kid,” Jess muttered, shaking her head. “Man, we should really trade teenage trauma stories some time.”
I smiled weakly, simultaneously wondering what Jess had been through as a Durupinen. I imagined there was probably a lot there to unpack.
“Okay,” Jess said, shaking her head as though to clear it. “Okay, okay, okay. So we’re not just dealing with a dysfunctional Geatgrima here. We’re dealing with a Geatgrima that’s been messed with by outside forces, some of them witches, and some of them…sorry, what is the Darkness exactly? Like, do we know, or…?” She was making a valiant attempt to keep her voice calm, but I could detect a faint tremor.
“We don’t know,” Persi admitted. “It certainly isn’t human, and we don’t think it ever has been. It could be demonic, but the only witch who has ever gotten close enough to learn its true nature was Sarah Claire, and she died before anyone could find out what she knew. What we do know is that it is powerful. Very, very powerful.”
“Great. Cool. Fun times,” Jess said, nodding her head over and over again. She took a moment to get herself under control again, and then said, “What about these paintings? This Bernadette, you say she was under Sarah’s control. Possession like that can do real damage to the living host, trust me, I know. How is she now?”
Persi’s face twitched as she struggled to keep her emotions under control. In all my explanation, I had never once mentioned that Persi and Bernadette had once been in a relationship—that was one secret that wasn’t mine to tell.
“She is rarely lucid,” Persi admitted. “She has long periods of catatonia. She doesn’t speak or acknowledge anyone’s presence. But then she has these brief periods of… mania, I guess you’d call it. That’s when she produces these.”
“Has she always been a psychic artist?” Jess asked.
Persi looked surprised. “Yes. How did?—”
“I’m one myself,” Jess explained. “We call them Muses in Durupinen culture. In fact, I drew your mother several times before she successfully managed to connect with me.”
Persi looked stricken, and didn’t seem able to reply. I, however, had more questions.
“You said she’s not speaking,” I said gently to Persi. “Does that mean that she hasn’t explained any of these paintings?”
Persi blinked like she was trying to focus on me. “No. She mutters under her breath, but it sounds like nonsense. And once she finishes a painting, she’s so exhausted that she sleeps for two days together.”
I looked at Persi closely. There were shadows hidden underneath her makeup. She looked thinner, I realized, and fragile somehow, which was never a word I ever thought I would use to describe Persephone Vesper. This had been taking a toll on her for weeks, maybe even months, and shehad suffered in silence, hiding it from everyone. I felt a pang of guilt—whether deserved or not—that I hadn’t been paying close enough attention to notice. The conversation I’d overheard between her and Leila Nightjar suddenly made much more sense in the context of this realization.
Jess wasn’t looking at Persi, though. She was staring, thoughtfully, at the last painting—the one that portrayed her, me, and Sarah Claire like a many-headed Greek monster. It made me almost queasy just looking at it, but Jess was deep in contemplation over it. Finally, she said, “This Sarah Claire. You say you exorcised her from Bernadette?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Well, Persi did. I was just there to help.”
“And what happened to her afterward?” Jess asked. “Sarah, I mean.”
Persi looked confused. “She… she simply vanished. What could hold her here, if she had no host?”
Jess’ expression was grim. “Nothing you’ve told me about how Sarah Claire reappeared seems to follow the norms of how spirits are supposed to behave,” she said. “If she had truly crossed over when she died, Bernadette shouldn’t have been able to bring her back. That’s not how it works. Are you sure Sarah Claire had crossed over to begin with?”
“Are you asking if she’s been haunting Sedgwick Cove for four hundred years?” Persi asked, sounding a little more like herself. “No, I don’t think that’s possible. Surely we would have seen a sign of her before now.”
“Yes, probably,” Jess said. “In that case, I think it might have to do with the state of that Geatgrima. As I said, it’s not functioning properly. Once a spirit crosses through a functional Gateway, that’s it. It’s not a revolving door. But if the Gateway is damaged, maybe by whatever Sarah herself attempted to do to it on the night of her death?—”
“Then maybe that was what made it possible for her to cross back through when Bernadette tried to communicate with her?” I finished.
Jess nodded. “Yeah. That’s my working theory. And I’m guessing that unnatural crossing may have damaged it even further. Kind of like if you keep picking at a loose thread, and pretty soon you’ve unraveled half the garment.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked. “How do we fix it? Because spirit witches are no longer able to communicate with their spirit guides. They’ve gone silent.”
