Page 84 of Persephone's Curse
“Yes. Persephone? Really?”
“I mean, sure. It’s just a story, probably.”
“Do you really believe that? That it’s just a story?”
“No,” I admitted. “I mean, not anymore. I used to. But it does appear to be the truth.”
“And what about Henry? What’s his deal?”
“The Persephone footstep thing. I think she like, essentially blessed this house or the land or something. My family has always lived here. Henry was sort of adopted by Farthings. He moved in and died in the house and then… never left.”
“Magic,” Maybe said.
“I guess, yeah. Magic.”
“I’m gonna go. I have a lot to think about.”
“Do you want me to call you a car?”
“No, I’ll walk,” Maybe said. “It’s nice to walk, after one of these. I need to clear my head.”
“But are you sure, it’s late and—”
Maybe withdrew a slim canister from her coat pocket. It was the same brand of pepper spray I had. I had no doubt that, with Maybe wielding it, it would actually work as a self-defense tool.
“Well, thanks,” I said. What did you say to someone after they performed a séance in your attic? “I’ll, um, Venmo you.”
“You better,” she said brightly. “I know where you live.” She got serious, then, and for a moment bit at her lower lip, then stopped, then looking up at the sky again, her face clouding over with worry. “John Singer Sargent,” she said.
“What about him?”
“You’re like that painting. The four of you.The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Ask Clara to show you.” She looked down at me again, her expression still worried. “You’ll keep me posted? On everything?”
“Oh, yeah,” I promised. “I’ll text you.”
“Great. See you, ghost girl.”
She skipped down the stairs, blending into the darkness, starting off down the street without so much as a final look back at me.
I was freezing but I found I couldn’t move right away. Instead I stood there, letting the cold rush over me, my own thoughts growing darker and darker with each degree my skin dropped. If I stayed out there long enough, unmoving, would I become a human statue? Would I—as my father said whenever one of us pulled a funny face—stay stuck like that forever?
I would never know, as the door opened a moment later and Bernadette popped her head out, wrinkling her nose at the temperature.
“Will you get your ass inside?” she said. “Your face is blue. Likeliterallyblue.”
“Something is seriously wrong with our family,” I said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I’ll make you some tea.”
I did ask Clara to show me the painting later, while she was brushing her teeth. She pulled it up on her phone and turned the screen around.
“Oh,” I said.
“I know,” she said around a mouthful of toothpaste. “That’s part of the reason I wanted to talk to him.”
