“That’s actually a good idea. You absolutely have the right to do that.”
“Fine. Do that. I don’t want it. I don’t need it after what Grams left me.”
“It’s probably the safest way. Makes me sick though. After everything Tony put you through, you deserve that money and more.”
I bob my knee. The last thing I need is something else to worry about. I have enough stress in my life trying to get Damien back. Tension rises in my muscles, and I rub the place where my neck meets my shoulder. It feels like my brain is boiling. Sweat breaks out on my brow.
“What if Agent Fuller arrests me? Or one of Tony’s pissed-off relatives stabs me in a back alley?”
“When are you ever in a back alley?”
“I don’t know! But it happens. People are stabbed. Honestly, it doesn’t have to be an alley. It could be in my own foyer, for God’s sake. I’m alone out here most of the day. I can’t deal with this right now, Maeve. I need to focus on helping Damien come home.” The grandfather clock strikes twelve. With each gong, my heart pounds harder. My chest aches like my heart is caught in a steel trap. “Damn, it feels like I’m having a panic attack.” I rub over my sternum.
“I’m here. Just breathe through it.” Maeve rubs my back.
“No. It’s not in my heart. It’s…” I look toward the grandfather clock. I feel a steady, buzzing tug like an electrified string attached to my rib is attached to the clock. “I think I can feel the clock.”
Maeve’s eyes flash excitedly. “That must be your magical anchor. Some witches have them. Usually it’s a talisman or a ring, but this makes sense considering this house has always been your spiritual center. This is good. You chose the clock as your anchor when you journeyed into Damien’s dream.”
I focus again on the candle. Red haze creeps into the room, and ash floats like snow from the ceiling. “Can you see that?”
“See what?”
“The red is back.”
She shakes her head. “Go with it, El. Light the candle.”
A man appears by the fireplace in denim overalls. A tall man with graying hair and a straight, muscular frame you only get from hard work. He turns, and his eyes glow silver from a face the color of newsprint. His entire body is black and white and slightly transparent, just like my Grams was in the attic. But I recognize him right away from his pictures on the gallery wall.
“Grandpa Harcourt?” He’s actually my great-grandfather and has been dead since before I was born.
“Henry Harcourt is here, in this room?” Maeve asks.
I nod. “He’s smiling at me from beside the fireplace.”
“Light the candle, Eloise,” Maeve says breathlessly, her eyes so wide I can see the whites around her pupils. When I look at her, away from the red, black, and white of where my great-grandfather stands, her skin is radiant even though she’s dressed all in black and the green sofa behind her is vibrant. She’s like a breath of life in a room where death looms.
“Can you help me light the flame?” I ask the ghost.
He holds up a finger. Turning to the fireplace, he reaches through the wall. My mother appears, grayscale, just as he is, eyes twinkling silver. She walks straight up to me.
“My mom is here,” I say softly, tears falling. “I miss you, Mom.”
She mouths I love you, but I can’t hear anything. Then she points at the wick. I concentrate on it again but feel a warm tingle enter my side where my mother stands. I grunt as a second web, exactly like the one between me and the clock, forms between me and the wick. There’s a chiff and the candle glows to life.
“We did it!” I yell, looking between my mother and Maeve.
“We?” Maeve asks.
“My mom helped me. She’s right here.” I look back up at her but she’s moved away. Silently, she points at the candle and mouths something. “I think she wants me to try on my own.”
Maeve blows out the candle, but I can still feel the web. I look at my mom and feel the vibration deep within, the one I felt when she was beside me, and I think down it, fire. The wick ignites. I laugh and clap for myself.
“Good work,” Eloise says. “Goddess, I can feel your power, but it’s so, so different than anything I’ve ever felt before. A completely different vibration.”
“I sense the web strands you were talking about now, but until my mother helped me, I could only sense the one to the clock. I’m on my own now though, and it’s still there.”
Maeve grins. “Spiritual training wheels,” she mutters.
