Page 51 of The Slug Crystal
"I'm so sorry," I gasp, looking at the ruins of Mirella's séance setup. The chalk circle is now a red smear. The symbols are unrecognizable, and the candles sputter as wine drips onto their flames.
Mirella stands perfectly still amid the chaos, her eyes closed, head tilted as if listening to something only she can hear. She seems entirely unconcerned about the destruction spreading across her table and now seeping into her rug.
"Five grown adults," Ben mutters, using a napkin to dab ineffectually at his wine-splashed jeans, "and we can't manage to sit at a table without creating a disaster."
"Is the snail alright?" Luca asks, giving up on his ruined scarf.
Marco nods, still holding the terrarium protectively. "Not a drop reached him."
Jake's hand finds my shoulder, squeezing gently. "It's okay," he says, though his expression suggests he's not entirely convinced of that himself.
I survey the damage with growing dismay. The candles are soaked, the chalk circle destroyed, and Mirella's rug now sports a stain that looks disturbingly like a crime scene. So much for contacting Sarah through the spirit world.
"I've ruined everything," I say, fighting the urge to cry from pure frustration. We were so close—or at least, as close as a supernatural wild goose chase could get us.
"Our little friend is unharmed," Marco announces, holding Alex's terrarium up to the light with surprising tenderness. His scholarly fingers trace the glass where wine droplets speckle the exterior, never actually making it inside. I watch as he produces a handkerchief, an actual cloth handkerchief, likehe's stepped out of another century, and methodically cleans each crimson spot from the glass. The care in his movements makes my throat tight with an emotion I can't quite name.
"Thank you," I manage, stepping closer to examine Alex myself. The blue snail has partially retreated into its shell, its antennae still extended as if monitoring the chaos around him. "I don't know what I would've done if?—"
"No harm done," Marco says softly, his usual academic formality softening. "He's quite resilient, your Alex."
The way he says it, your Alex, sends a pang through me. Is Alex still mine in any meaningful way? Was he ever? The questions swirl as I take the terrarium from Marco, our fingers brushing in the exchange.
Behind us, Luca surveys his wine-soaked scarf with a dramatic sigh. "This was Hermès," he says, but his tone is more amused than upset.
"I'll replace it," I offer automatically, although I have no idea how much a Hermès scarf costs and am certain I can't afford it.
He waves away the suggestion with an elegant flick of his wrist. "Consider it a sacrifice to the spirits. Perhaps they'll be more cooperative next time."
Jake finishes righting his toppled chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. "I don't think there should be a next time," he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
Mirella finally opens her eyes, regarding the disaster with surprising serenity. "Sometimes," she says, "the spirits speak through chaos."
She seems entirely unfazed by the destruction of her séance setup. She's lighting fresh incense, the stick releasing curls of fragrant smoke that wind through the candle-lit room. Her silver bangles catch the light as she moves, creating fleeting constellations on the walls.
"The spirits are not so easily deterred by a little wine," shesays, turning to face us with a serene smile. "In fact, I received a partial message before our... interruption."
Ben, still dabbing at his jeans, raises skeptical eyebrows. "A partial message? Convenient."
"The connection was spotty," Mirella explains with complete seriousness, as if describing poor cell reception rather than supernatural communication. "The wine disrupted the energy flow, you understand. But I believe Sarah has moved to Florence."
"Florence?" Jake repeats, exchanging a look with me that perfectly communicates his doubt.
"It came through quite clearly," Mirella insists, tapping her temple. "Florence. A new beginning. Something about... inspiration from the old masters."
The five of us exchange glances, ranging from Ben's overt skepticism to Marco's thoughtful consideration. Luca simply shrugs, as if supernatural guidance is just another Thursday for him.
"So we're supposed to go to Florence now?" Ben asks, folding his arms. "Feels like we're being led on a wild goose chase across Italy."
"Do you have a better idea?" I counter, hugging the terrarium closer. "Because I'm open to suggestions that don't involve spending the rest of my life with my ex-boyfriend as a gastropod."
"She has a point," Marco says. "Florence is only a few hours from Venice by train. If Sarah is indeed there, it would be remiss not to investigate."
Jake runs a hand over the top of his light brown hair, a gesture I've come to recognize as his processing new information move. "It's not like we've found any solid leads here," he admits reluctantly.
"Florence is beautiful this time of year," Luca adds, as if aesthetics are a key consideration in our snail-transformation-reversal quest. "The Uffizi alone is worth the trip."
"Then it's settled," I declare before anyone can raise more objections. "We go to Florence tomorrow."
