Chapter Twenty-Three
We slipped back into Madame Voile’s cramped little lobby just as the curtain swept aside and the clairvoyant reappeared. “Greetings, weary travelers,” she said. “I see you have been drawn once more toward my door by the inexorable pull of fate.”
“Something like that,” said Jackaby. “Anyway, fate sounds more impressive than a lack of other options. Either way, here we are.”
Madame Voile hesitated.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” I said. “We were wondering if we might talk to Little Miss?”
Madame Voile scanned our faces suspiciously. “No one here called Little Miss,” she said. Her accent, I couldn’t help but notice, had suddenly lost its theatrical cadence.
“You’re quite sure?” I asked.
Jackaby was staring at her intently.
“Am I sure? Of course I’m sure. Now, if you are not here for a reading—”
“You are lying,” Jackaby said, happily. “Marvelous. Who is Little Miss, then? A niece? A sister? A daughter?”
Madame Voile glared at my employer.
“A daughter, then. I understand she has taken to the family trade rather exceptionally. I’m sure you’re very proud. We will be happy to offer remuneration for her services, of course. Just a few minutes of her time.”
The curtain behind Madame Voile wiggled, and a wide pair of dark brown eyes peeped out.
“Remuneration?” The woman crossed her arms at Jackaby.
Jackaby answered by plucking a handful of crumpled banknotes out of his satchel. “For her trouble, and for yours,” he said.
Madame Voile’s eyes widened as the money tumbled onto the counter in front of her.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t know. She’s only five, my Little Miss. She’s a sweet, precious little thing. What kind of mother would I be if I let strangers harass her for a mere . . . how much was that?”
“Half,” answered Jackaby. “That is half. The rest after we’ve had our consultation.”
The woman stared at the money hungrily. “Irina!” she called over her shoulder. The girl emerged, her bright eyes barely able to see over the top of the counter. She wore a head scarf, but she was dressed without any of her mother’s rich fabrics or ostentatious bangles. “These people want to talk to you, Irina.”
“I’m seven,” she whispered. “I’m not five.”
“Oh, hush up, now. Take them around back, there’s a good girl.”
The girl looked up, and then she stared at the window behind us for several seconds. I glanced out to see what she was looking at, but the street was empty. “They won’t all fit in the booth,” the girl murmured.
Madame Voile grunted. “Hm. That’s true. Well, they’re not paying me for the show, anyway. The kitchen table will have to do. Show them the way.”
We filed past the curtain and through a slim, dark room, which held a round table draped in black cloth with a crystal ball in the center. On the other side of the room sat a jarringly ordinary kitchen. There were pots and pans hung on the wall and dirty dishes soaking in the sink. A wide wooden table occupied the center of the room, and we shuffled in and sat around it. Charlie padded in last and lay down against the wall behind my chair.
The door chimes sounded and Madame Voile glanced at the clock. “Oh, that’ll be Mrs. Howell. I’ll be back to check on you all shortly. Be a good girl, Irina.” She plucked a deck of cards from the mantle and bustled off back through the curtains. We could hear her voice pronouncing a muffled, “Greetings, Mrs. Howell. Oh! I sense fate has much in store for you!”
The girl sat down at the head of the table. She was very small, and she hunched nervously as she looked at us. She seemed to look past Jackaby as though she were staring at the wallpaper behind him rather than at the detective directly.
Jackaby deposited his satchel on the floor with a thud. He smiled reassuringly. “Good afternoon, Irina,” he said.
She nodded, still not quite meeting his gaze. She looked as though she might recede completely into her head scarf at any moment.
“A friend of mine told me you were very clever,” he said. “One of Mama Tilly’s girls? She told me that you’re a bit like me, actually.”
Irina looked up at him for a moment.
“I also see things that other people can’t see,” said Jackaby. “And I know about things that are sometimes hard to explain.”
Irina nodded.
“We’re not exactly the same,” he continued. “I can see there’s something extra special about you.”
“Can you see her?” the girl asked.
Finstern swiveled in his chair to look around the room, and I felt the hairs on my neck prickle up. Her?
Jackaby smiled. “Yes. I can see her. Don’t worry, she’s very nice.” He reached into his heavy satchel and pulled out a familiar cracked brick. He set it on the table. “She’s my friend, and she came along just to meet you.”
The air just over his shoulder shimmered, although Jenny did not materialize completely. She had been there all along, I realized, right where the girl had been watching. I shook my head, astonished and proud of Jenny’s progress. How long had we been walking around town? This was a far cry from taking a few steps onto the sidewalk.
“Hello, sweetie,” Jenny said softly. “You don’t need to be nervous.” Her voice was gentle and kind. “It’s an honor to meet you. You have a marvelous gift. Not many people can see me unless I really want them to. Do you see many other people who are . . . like me?” Jenny asked.
The girl was quiet.
“It’s just that we were hoping to find someone,” Jenny’s voice continued. “Someone who was dead.”
“I see them.” Irina’s voice was barely a whisper. We all leaned in to listen.
“That’s fantastic,” Jenny said. “Have you seen anyone recently? Can you describe them?”
The girl took a deep breath. “I see all of them.”
Jackaby cleared his throat gently. “All of them?” he asked.
“Everyone that’s dead,” she said. “Your friend is pretty.”
Jackaby nodded. “She is that. You see everyone that’s dead? Do you mean everyone, or just the ghostly ones, like her, who have stayed around?”
“Everyone. Forever. There are lots and lots. Too many. Lots more of them than there are of us. Most of them are on the other side. I can’t see them as well as the ones on this side, like her—but I can still see them. I can always see them.”
Jackaby’s eyes were alive with enthusiasm. “My word. She’s telling the truth.”
The girl nodded, meekly.
“You are very special indeed, Little Miss,” said Jackaby.
The girl said nothing, but climbed down from her chair and over to a rolltop desk in the corner. She retrieved a map and brought it over to the table, where she unfolded it. It was a street map of New Fiddleham. “Want to see the trick?” she asked.
Jackaby nodded, intrigued, and the girl reached across the table toward him. “Hold my hand. Think of a dead person. I can find them. If they’re on this side, I can tell you where.”
Jackaby took the girl’s hand and said aloud, “Jenny Cavanaugh.”
Irina shut her eyes tight. Her little pointer finger hovered over the map and landed squarely on the address where we sat.
“Oh! That’s you, isn’t it?” she said, looking up.
“Very keen,” Jenny’s voice replied.
“Do you want to try another?” Irina asked.
“Mayor Philip Spade,” Jackaby suggested.
Her finger hovered for a moment and then she shook her head. “I don’t see him.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Jackaby confirmed. “The mayor is very much alive. Well done. Let’s try Lawrence Hoole.”
Irina concentrated and shook her head again. “I can see him, but he’s on the other side. He passed on.”
“Let’s try another,” Jackaby said. “He’s undead, but he’s not like Jenny. He calls himself Pavel. I don’t know his last name.”
“Just hold on to him in your mind,” Irina instructed. She let her hand hover over the map again and closed her eyes. Her finger landed in the Inkling District. “He’s there,” she said. “But he’s not. He’s underneath, I think.”
“The sewers.” Jackaby nodded. “Well, I guess it was too much to hope that he had passed on to the other side as well.”
“What about Julian McCaffery?” I suggested.
“Yes. Julian McCaffery,” Jackaby repeated.
Irina concentrated. “I don’t see him.”
“McCaffery’s alive? Well, that’s interesting, but not much help until we know where they’re keeping him. Who else might know about the council?”
“Howard Carson,” Jenny said. The room went quiet.
“Jenny . . .” Jackaby began.
“She can tell me if Pavel was lying. She can tell me if Howard is alive or dead. She can tell me if he’s a ghost like me, or if he’s gone forever. Show me Howard Carson.”
Jackaby nodded solemnly. “Howard Carson.”
Irina closed her eyes and concentrated. After a few pregnant moments her hands dropped into her lap.
“He’s alive?” Jenny’s voice trembled, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile hope.
“No,” said Irina. “He’s passed on. He’s on the other side.”
I could feel the air chill by several degrees, and Irina looked nervous. Finstern, who had been watching all of this with rapt interest, shuddered. Jackaby’s eyes were curiously alight.
“Sir?” I said.
“They’re beyond the veil, but you can sense them?” Jackaby pressed the young lady. “You sense them the same as you sense Jenny?”
Irina nodded. “They’re just farther away.”
“The afterlife,” said Jackaby. “The underworld. Whatever you’d like to call it. The other side. It’s a place?”
Irina nodded again. “I guess so.”
“Can you show us how to get there?”
Irina looked startled. “You . . . die.”
“I mean aside from the usual way. There are countless doors or bridges in the old stories. Is there a gate near here, a tunnel, the roots of a massive tree?”
She shook her head. “I don’t see places. I don’t see doors. I only see the people.”
My employer nodded, thoughtfully. “Let’s do it again,” he said.
Irina took his hand. Her finger hovered over the map. “Who would you like to find?” she asked.
“Charon.”
“Charon, sir?” I said. “Really?”
“Who’s Charon?” Finstern asked.
“He’s not a real person,” I said. “Charon is the mythical Greek ferryman to Hades, he’s not—”
I swallowed my words as Irina’s finger jabbed down on the map. Every head around the table leaned in.
“Charon,” said Jackaby quietly, “is on the other side of Rosemary’s Green.”