Meg exhales. ‘Well, I mean that’s super clear.’
I snort. ‘Oh yeah. Mystery solved.’ I take a moment to read over the words. ‘Seriously though, you said we need to work out who was doing this. Well, I think we know.’ I gesture at the photos drying on the line. ‘Why, though? And why me? Why Dad? It has to lead to him.’
Meg lets that hang in the air for a moment. ‘I hope you’re right. Well, you know what we need to do next?’ She taps the developing tray.
The graveyard pictures.
I’m relieved to see that it’s the funeral that appears first. The photo is terrible as I was moving when I took it. The figures stretch out like shadows on a beach, but I can still make out Dad beside Nanny Bet and the figures of the men around her, the coffin with the tricolour, the yellow flowers on the next grave along.
Last to appear is the banshee woman. She’s more of an outline here, more like a ghost photoshopped on top. She stands behind Nanny Bet and Dad, one hand reaching out towards them. I shiver.
‘She looks like she’s attacking them,’ I say as I lift the photo paper out and slide it into the stop solution.
‘I don’t know,’ says Meg. ‘It’s more like she’s trying to get their attention.’ She looks at me. ‘Just like she’s trying to get yours now.’
I let out a deep breath and put the photo in the fixer. ‘So the visionsarelinked to my family?’
‘Seems like it,’ says Meg. ‘What’s that writing on the other gravestone?’
I lean in. It’s too blurry. ‘Starts with aB, I think. Right?’
Meg lifts the photo back out and brings it under the red light. ‘Yeah, did you see who was buried beside him when you were there? Any B’s in the family?’
I scratch my head. Were there? ‘I don’t know. I sort of remember a Bernie being talked about.’
‘Don’t you have a family tree?’ says Meg.
‘What? No, do you?’
‘Yeah! You should make one. It would really help your magical lineage make sense.’
‘Sure. I’ll get right on that once we work out what the banshee wants.’
‘I’m serious,’ she says. ‘There might be a link.’
‘I know, I know. In the meantime, we could always just go back and check out the grave beside Granda Frank’s?’
She nods. ‘True, and speaking of the graveyard…’ She picks up the last envelope. ‘We need to get this over with.’
The photo of the baby.
Without speaking, I slide it into the solution. I really don’t want to see this, but it doesn’t feel right to let Meg do it alone. The image is dark, much darker than it was on the day. Slowly the bundle begins to appear, and then that tiny perfect white hand reaching out. ‘She was all alone.’
Meg grips my hand. ‘No, she wasn’t. Look.’
A white face is taking shape against the graveyard wall. It’s her, the woman. Her face is in profile and looking towards the ground, at the baby. As the image lightens I see a softness in her eyes. Her mouth is gently closed, the corners ever so slightly turned down as she gazes at the child. One porcelainwhite hand is resting gently on the bundle. As the photo lightens, a sparkle draws me back to her face.
‘She’s crying,’ whispers Meg.
I take the paper from the tray and hold it to let the drips run off. I study the picture as I slide it into the stopper tray. The same terrifying woman whose screams have plagued my dreams is crying over an abandoned child. She was with her when she…
The realisation drops as I slide it into the fixer.
‘Death.’
Meg sniffs. ‘I’m sorry?’
I point at the woman’s image as it fixes, brought into reality. ‘She’s the Grim Reaper. Like the actual Grim Reaper. Angel of Death.’
