Page 15 of Grave Expectations
"In two weeks."
"Speaking of mothers," Gus said to me. "Did you find out more about yours?"
"A little. The matron told me what she remembered, but it wasn't much." I relayed what the matron had said, and it wasn't until Lincoln's fingers closed over mine that I realized how forlorn I sounded.
"You didn't raise her spirit?" Gus asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm reluctant, after what happened with Estelle Pearson. My mother was a necromancer, so she may know the same spell to overrule my control. We can't risk that happening again."
"She won't do that to her own daughter," Gus said.
I shrugged. "That's not something we can know beforehand."
"Summon her," Lincoln said quickly. "Speak to her spirit but don't allow her to leave Lichfield and enter a body."
"I'm not sure," I hedged. "What if her powers can be used in spirit form?"
"She's your mother, Charlie," Gus said. "She won't cause you problems like the Pearson woman did."
"Mothers don't always put their children's interest above their own," Seth grumbled into his chest.
"Summon her," Lincoln said again with a nod.
I blinked at him. "Now?"
"Whenever you're ready."
"I…I suppose I'm ready now." I looked at each of them and met only encouraging nods. It would seem my mind had been made up for me. If they all thought it was safe, then perhaps I was worrying over nothing. I blew out a deep breath, but my nerves still felt tighter than bow strings. "Ellen Marie Mercier, I call your spirit to me. Ellen Marie Mercier, please return to the world of the living to—"
The mist rushed toward me from the corner of the ceiling and rolled to an abrupt stop near the table where I'd set down my cup and plate. With what felt like an excruciatingly slow pace, the white cloud formed into the shape of a face.
A face remarkably similar to mine, yet hollow in the cheeks and eyes from illness.
I gripped Lincoln's hand hard as the ghost said something in French. "Do you speak English?" I whispered. "Mother."
Her slender brows drew together. Two ghostly arms stretched forward, as if to embrace me, but went right through. "My little girl?" she said in a musical English accent.
I nodded. It was all I could manage with my full eyes and tight throat.
She bit her wobbling lip, and I noticed that I was doing the exact same thing. It made me smile. "My name is Charlotte. My friends call me Charlie."
She glanced at the others in the room before her gaze settled on my hand linked with Lincoln's. Her small frowned deepened. "And your family?"
"I have no family," I told her. "They're…gone." It seemed easier to let her think they were dead. Easier and kinder. She had, after all, been desperate for me to be given to agoodfamily. It would be cruel to disturb her afterlife with the truth.
"Have you been happy, my daughter?"
I nodded and smiled. "Yes. I am happy."
She didn't seem to notice my use of the present tense, but Lincoln did. His thumb drew little circles on my knuckle.
My mother approached and knelt in front of me, the way one does to speak to a small child. "I have waited for you to call me and now you are grown. How old are you, Charlotte?"
"Almost nineteen. I only learned about you after visiting St. Madeleine's in Paris this week."
