Elegy. Tara Hudson

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СКАЧАТЬ groaned and let my forkful of potato salad clatter to my plate. Math, I laughed to myself. How quickly Jillian forgot that I’d helped Joshua to an A in Calculus last semester, while she almost failed basic algebra.

      Aloud, I said, “That’s why we’re going to get a lot more Seers, Jillian. Because the larger our circle, the greater power we have to open the netherworld. And that’s the most important part.”

      “Aside from the killings?” she asked drily.

      “That’s not going to happen again.”

      I answered so sharply that Jillian actually sank back in her chair, temporarily chastened. She should consider herself lucky that I hadn’t followed my first impulse and thrown my fork at her.

      For the second time today, the four of us were gathered around the Mayhews’ breakfast table—this time, with a Southern-fried lunch of the weekend’s leftovers. When Joshua and I had arrived back at the house, Rebecca and Jeremiah were already awake; this necessitated a flurry of explanations about why the two couples were together so early in the morning, instead of sleeping safely apart. Jillian and I crafted some impromptu slumber-party lies that, although thin (nail painting! gossip! chocolate!), convinced the older Mayhews to leave us alone with a few plastic containers of leftovers and an entire afternoon to plan our attack.

      “Personally, I think we should talk to Ruth’s and my gran’s old Seer group,” Scott offered.

      Joshua and I replied simultaneously: “No chance,” on his part, and “That’s a fantastic idea,” on mine.

      Joshua turned to me, blinking rapidly. “What? You can’t be serious, Amelia.”

      “I’m very serious. We need them. As your little sister so sweetly pointed out, there’s strength in numbers. And in the old coven’s case, experience. Two newbie Seers and one who hasn’t technically been triggered yet aren’t going to keep the netherworld open for very long.”

      “Hey,” Scott protested. “I could, like, hold my breath for a really long time, or something. You know: get ‘triggered’ or whatever.”

      I smiled at him gently. “Scott, in a weird way, that’s very sweet. But I don’t think an intentionally failed suicide attempt is what we’re really going for.”

      When he grinned back at me sheepishly, I noted, “A-plus for enthusiasm, though.”

      “I think it’s a mistake,” Joshua insisted, running one nervous hand through his hair and then resting it on his neck. “We can’t forget that the Wilburton coven wanted to exorcize Amelia. Just a few months ago, actually. I’d bet none of them have forgotten that fact.”

      To my surprise, Jillian actually took my side and began to argue with her big brother.

      “So what?” she challenged him. “I doubt that would matter, if they knew we were all after the same thing. Besides, they’re probably leaderless without Grandma Ruth, anyway. If we ask them really nicely, maybe bring them a few extra cases of Ensure as a peace offering . . .”

      Although Jillian kept talking, I stopped listening. Not because she offended me with her disrespect, but because of something she’d just said. Something that gave me an interesting, if dangerous, idea. I turned it over in my mind, treating the idea as carefully as I would a delicate seashell with sharp edges. Razor sharp, if past experience served.

      But worth it, I ultimately decided. Maybe even necessary to our mission. I mentally rejoined the conversation as Jillian continued to poke fun at her Seer elders.

      “. . . you know, throw in some denture cream. Ask them if we can see pictures of their great-grandchildren—”

      She stopped short when she caught my determined stare.

      “What?” she demanded. “Why are you looking at me like I’m a crazy person?”

      “Actually, I’m looking at you like you’re a brilliant person.”

      One corner of Jillian’s upper lip lifted in suspicion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Ignoring her hostile sneer, I flashed a knowing little smile. “It means that someone should give your grandma Ruth a call.”

      For a moment, no one responded. Then Joshua and Jillian burst into raucous laughter. Joshua actually started to tear up, and Jillian curled sideways across her chair as if all the cackling had given her a cramp. But their laughter died when they noticed that I hadn’t joined in.

      “I’m not joking,” I said evenly, once they’d quieted down. “Ruth Mayhew is the most powerful Seer we know. We’d be idiots to try and do this without her.”

      Jillian snorted lightly, reached into the pocket of her dress, and flipped out her cell phone. She used it to gesture meaningfully at me.

      “Okay, Fearless Leader. Why don’t you call her, then?”

      Again, she wore that derisive sneer. But I could tell from the glint in her eyes that she didn’t actually hate the idea; she was just too afraid to make the call herself. So I glanced over at Joshua. He met my gaze squarely, but like his sister, he clearly balked at the thought of making such a call. I understood this fear far better, coming from Joshua.

      To put it mildly, Joshua’s relationship with his grandmother had been strained for the past few months. Because of me—but also because he’d chosen a different kind of Seer life. The kind that included coexistence with the dead, something Ruth staunchly opposed. This opposition should have struck her from our list of possible partners. And yet . . .

      “I’ll make the call.”

      Thankful that I’d practiced dialing a few times on Joshua’s cell, I snatched the phone out of Jillian’s hand and scrolled quickly through her list of contacts. The photo that corresponded with Ruth’s phone number made me shiver a little, but I clicked Dial before I could chicken out—and before anyone around the table could stop me.

      Ruth answered on the second ring.

      “Jillian, honey? How nice to hear from you.”

      Immediately, I could tell that Ruth had recovered from her poisoning last Christmas. Lucky for her and the New Orleans Seer community, Kade LaLaurie’s serpentwood cocktails apparently didn’t have a permanent effect. She sounded so strong, so imperious, that it struck me mute for half a second.

      “Jillian? Jillian, dear, I’m awfully busy—”

      “It’s not Jillian, actually.”

      My voice came out strained and unfamiliar. But Ruth nonetheless recognized it. After a tense pause, she growled, “What do you want?”

      “A chance,” I said weakly. Then, in a firmer tone, I repeated, “A chance, Ruth. I need one, your family needs one—the entire town of Wilburton needs one.”

      I heard a faint, rhythmic clicking on the other line, as though she was tapping her fingernails against a marble surface. She stayed silent for so long, I thought she might have hung up on me. But finally, she commanded, “Explain yourself.”

      I took a deep breath for courage, and then did just that. СКАЧАТЬ