“I’m on my way,” he said, “but while I’m waiting can you describe to me anything you saw that might have directly affected Maritza?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. The threads. They’d reacted to Tía’s presence inside the circle. I described how the threads worked themselves back into my aunt’s sweater. Alabastair interrupted me. “I’m up next for the portal. You’ve got to get the sweater off her. I’ll be there within the hour.”
The anxious tone in Alabastair’s voice added extra propellant. I passed the phone to Beryl and pulled my mother’s scissors—the ones I’d found downstairs—from the pocket of her shop coat. “Prop up Tía’s head.”
Beryl cradled our aunt’s head in her hands while I kneeled next to them. I held the bottom of the sweater and cut upward to the neckline. Within seconds we had the garment off.
“She’s wearing Agent Provocateur,” Beryl said, giving Maritza’s lacy bodysuit an appreciative whistle.
“If I had someone like Alabastair in my life I’d go all out in the undergarment department too.”
“We should cover her with something.”
“I’ll get that piece of mohair. Can you stay with her while I see if the ring still works?”
“Sure, as long as you tell me everything you’re doing. The weather out there’s getting worse and it’s giving me the willies.”
I found the folded length of warm, drapey fabric, handed it to Beryl, and stepped to the desk, my heart pounding hard. I didn’t quite understand the significance of the tarot cards and the charms, but the message was loud and clear. Whomever Mom had found as a match for Rémy Ruisseau had strong feelings.
What their strong feelings were about was not clear.
I sat on the chair, leaned to the right, and felt for an indentation, a hole, anything that might accept the shape of the emerald. My fingers found only a smooth, unbroken surface. I changed the angle of my hand, concentrating more on the side of the chair.
And boom. The section under the upholstered seat swung down in slow motion, giving me time to get on my knees and prop it open. “I got it, Beryl,” I said. “I got it, a whole bunch of papers and it looks pretty organized too.”
“Bring it here, Sissy. I want to go through it together.”
“Can you do that thing where you make the lights brighter, please?” I asked. I was in the middle of figuring out how to haul the chair over to where Beryl was sitting with Maritza. “And how’s Tía?”
“I think she’s going to be fine. She’s been twitching a little, but her eyes are still closed.”
The chair was heavier than it looked and the legs knocked at my shins as I walked it across the room. I set it near my sister, then reached inside the drop-down section for the first wad of notes. As I emptied the box, Beryl read from the oaktag labels.
“These are organized by date,” she said. She waved her hand impatiently. “Give me half.”
We found the receipts from the year our mother died in a stack half the size of the others. Rémy’s was close to the top. Beryl was about to open the folded piece of paper when I closed my hand over hers. “What time is it?”
My sister tugged out her phone. “Almost six. Twenty-four hours left.”
“We can do this.”
She tugged her hand from my grip and puffed out her cheeks. “I sure as heck hope so, Sissy, because if we don’t—”
“If we don’t, we deal with it. What’s the paper say?”
Beryl scanned the page, opened her mouth as if to speak, and closed it again.
“What’s it say?”
“It says Mom found a match for Rémy.” She looked at me, tears filling her eyes. “It’s dated a couple of days before she died.”
“Are there any names on there?”
“All it says is, ‘Found Gosia on 30 April.’” Beryl chewed at her lower lip. Her phone buzzed. “It’s Alabastair. He’s at the front door. Can you go let him in?”
By the time the necromancer and I reached the workroom, he’d apologized for taking so long—the portal in the cellar was acting up—and I’d filled him in on what we’d done. His first question was, “Did Maritza have anything to eat before she cast the circle?”
“She nibbled at the food you set out and she had some of the tea.”
He glanced at the snacks, frowned, and knelt by my aunt. “Her magic has a profound effect on her metabolism,” he explained. “We’ve been trying to counter the stress by having her eat more frequent meals. I think she’s still getting used to the change.” He supported Maritza under her knees and across the back of her shoulders and lifted her off the floor. At my nod, he settled onto Mom’s desk chair, my aunt in his lap. “She should awaken soon. While we wait, tell me what you’ve found.”
We showed Bas the paper as he drew his cape over Maritza’s legs.
“This U might stand for underland,” he said, pointing to a letter that had been underlined three times. “Your aunt knows more about them than I. There is one confirmed underland on the island where your uncle lives. I’ve been inside the site, which functions as a portal to ancient realms. I confess to being extremely intrigued by its possibilities.”
I’m sure Beryl’s mouth gaped liked mine at the mention of “ancient realms.” I wanted to pull more information from Alabastair, but Maritza began to stir. The necromancer asked for the plate of food, the thermos, and the cup to be placed by his side.
“Do you think the portal in the cellar might lead to an underland?” Beryl asked.
He urged our aunt to finish the cup of tea while he cradled her on his lap and considered our question. “The portal certainly had some very unusual qualities, as did its end point. Once Mari is fully recovered, we can return to the cellar and have a look.”
“Clementine. Beryl.” Our aunt’s voice was soft and wobbly. “I apologize for passing
