Page 90 of Persephone's Curse
But what I found myself fixating on, what I wanted to say was…
What’smygift?
But maybe I was scared of the answer.
Because I didn’t say that.
I said, “So how do you do it?”
And in the end it wasn’t an incantation or a ritual or a big dramatic bloodletting—it was a quiet offering, a meditation, a promise that you were willing to give up the thing you most loved to getsomething even greater, togosomewhere greater (or, in our case, to call someone home).
And Clara gave up her painting.
We did it in the attic, of course, candles lit, Clara standing by her painting while the rest of us sat in a semicircle on the floor. It felt very witchlike, veryThe Craft,veryCharmed,which was fitting, because there were four girls in each of those (even if they had to kill off Prue to bring the fourth sister in).
“I think you all should close your eyes,” Clara said.
“What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.” Bernadette.
“Can you stop stalling,please?” Evelyn.
“Why do you want us to do that, Clara?” Me.
“It just feels a little personal,” Clara said. “I don’t know. You’re all just sitting therewatchingme. It’s distracting. It’s weird. I wish I were an only child.”
“Iwasan only child,” Bernie said. “For two whole years. It was delightful.”
“Oh, you don’t remember anything from before I was born, don’t be a dweeb,” Evelyn said. “We’ll close our eyes, Clara, okay? Will you hurry up now?”
“Yes,” Clara agreed. “Thank you.”
My sisters closed their eyes and I mostly closed my eyes, watching Clara through a blur of eyelashes as she turned to her painting. She took a breath so deep I heard it and saw it, her tiny shoulders rising and falling at least two inches.
And I will never be able to accurately describe what happened next.
In the flicker of the candlelight it was magical, incredible…
Clara reached a hand out and suddenly her painting wasopening,the canvas swinging toward her like an actual door, and a light so enormous and bright was coming out of it; I had to actually close my eyes, and turn my face away, and shield my face with my arm, and even then the light was painful and hot and I thought I heard Clara yelp and I sort of groped around for her, trying to help her, but of course I couldn’t see anything, I could barely even move…
And then I smelled it.
And then I smelledhim.
The familiar, missed, welcome smell of jasmine.
Then his voice: “Oh, Clara. Your painting.”
And it was Henry.
It was Henry.
Henry, Henry, Henry.
Henry was back.
X
Melinöe was born in the Underworld, amongst the dead things and the demons and the flaming blood rivers that boil souls. Amongst the world her mother had been stolen into but grew to love, amongst the souls who spent their eternal rest in the Elysian Fields. She was made the goddess of ghosts and it was fitting, for her, because she loved the ghosts, she loved them deeply, and she swore to always protect them and care for them and look after them.
