Her ears rang with the absence of noise for only a moment before the book slipped from her fingers and she collapsed to the floor.
Thirty-One
When Erielle came to,she was in Sam’s arms on the couch, his heartbeat steady against her cheek. The faint scents of smoke and candle wax clung to his T-shirt, and she realized the sheet he’d been wrapped in now covered her legs.
Hattie leaned over her with a glass of tea. The sugary smell made Erielle turn her head, but Hattie pressed the glass into her hand.
“You’ll feel better.”
Erielle sipped, then gulped the tea down, feeling the sweetness flow through her, refill her.
She looked around them, feeling like Dorothy returning from Oz. Marie stood at the end of the couch, eating a Pop-tart straight from the wrapper. Allison stood, adjusting the white scarf around her shoulders.
“I need to go get Hayden.”
The comment in Allison’s soft voice sounded so normal after what they’d gone through. She smiled down at Erielle.
“You did great in there. We’ll talk later.” And she turned and left.
“What time is it? How long was I out?” Erielle carefully placed her elbows so she wouldn’t dig them into Samson’s thighs as she sat up.
“Not long. Just long enough for me to mix up this tea,” Hattie said. “And Marie to raid your cabinet.”
“Pop-tarts, Erielle? I thought you were a chef.” Marie saluted her with the pastry.
“Comfort food,” Erielle said with a small smile. Her stomach grumbled, and she hoped no one noticed. “Did it work?” She turned to Hattie for her answer.
Hattie pressed her lips together. “Let’s get you a little stronger, and then we’ll show you.”
“Show me?” Erielle swung her legs over the edge of the couch. Her head swam for a minute, little dots appearing at the edge of her vision. Sam gripped her shoulders to steady her. But she shook it off, shook him off. She needed to do this on her own.
She was shaky as she stood, but Sam was right there behind her. When Hattie led the way to the library, Erielle stopped short, her stomach clenching.
“Why are we going in there?”
“We left the painting in there,” Sam said quietly, the first time he’d spoken since before the ritual.
She really didn’t want to go back in that room—ever—but she needed the proof Hattie planned to show her, to make sure the spell had worked.
Sam pulled the book lever to open it. Erielle’s nerves scraped raw as she waited for the bookshelf to slide aside. Hattie led the way. Erielle noticed Marie was also reluctant to enter the room, and hung back behind Sam.
The painting stood propped upright on the bench. And now, among the swirls of trees and shadows, a pale smudge appeared.
“Did you paint that?” Erielle demanded, horrified that the other woman would deface her grandmother’s work.
Hattie bristled. “I did not. That is Millicent.”
Erielle spun to look at Sam, who nodded grimly.
“It was there when Hattie lifted it.”
Erielle peered closer, but not too close, in case they were telling the truth. Then she walked to the opposite wall, and saw similar smudges of white in those paintings.
“So that means these…”
“It means your grandmother has done it before,” Hattie said. “Trapped ghosts in paintings.”
“So who are these?” Erielle wondered, reaching out a hand to touch the frame of the lower right one.
