Elegy. Tara Hudson

grandma Ruth a call.”

      For a moment, no one responded. Then Joshua and Jillian burst into raucous laughter. Joshua actually started to tear up, and Jillian curled sideways across her chair as if all the cackling had given her a cramp. But their laughter died when they noticed that I hadn’t joined in.

      “I’m not joking,” I said evenly, once they’d quieted down. “Ruth Mayhew is the most powerful Seer we know. We’d be idiots to try and do this without her.”

      Jillian snorted lightly, reached into the pocket of her dress, and flipped out her cell phone. She used it to gesture meaningfully at me.

      “Okay, Fearless Leader. Why don’t you call her, then?”

      Again, she wore that derisive sneer. But I could tell from the glint in her eyes that she didn’t actually hate the idea; she was just too afraid to make the call herself. So I glanced over at Joshua. He met my gaze squarely, but like his sister, he clearly balked at the thought of making such a call. I understood this fear far better, coming from Joshua.

      To put it mildly, Joshua’s relationship with his grandmother had been strained for the past few months. Because of me—but also because he’d chosen a different kind of Seer life. The kind that included coexistence with the dead, something Ruth staunchly opposed. This opposition should have struck her from our list of possible partners. And yet . . .

      “I’ll make the call.”

      Thankful that I’d practiced dialing a few times on Joshua’s cell, I snatched the phone out of Jillian’s hand and scrolled quickly through her list of contacts. The photo that corresponded with Ruth’s phone number made me shiver a little, but I clicked Dial before I could chicken out—and before anyone around the table could stop me.

      Ruth answered on the second ring.

      “Jillian, honey? How nice to hear from you.”

      Immediately, I could tell that Ruth had recovered from her poisoning last Christmas. Lucky for her and the New Orleans Seer community, Kade LaLaurie’s serpentwood cocktails apparently didn’t have a permanent effect. She sounded so strong, so imperious, that it struck me mute for half a second.

      “Jillian? Jillian, dear, I’m awfully busy—”

      “It’s not Jillian, actually.”

      My voice came out strained and unfamiliar. But Ruth nonetheless recognized it. After a tense pause, she growled, “What do you want?”

      “A chance,” I said weakly. Then, in a firmer tone, I repeated, “A chance, Ruth. I need one, your family needs one—the entire town of Wilburton needs one.”

      I heard a faint, rhythmic clicking on the other line, as though she was tapping her fingernails against a marble surface. She stayed silent for so long, I thought she might have hung up on me. But finally, she commanded, “Explain yourself.”

      I took a deep breath for courage, and then did just that. It took me a while to go through the whole story—I actually started from the beginning, with Eli, and made my way to the present threat. I only left out a few details, mainly steamy ones concerning me and Joshua; in my opinion, those memories belonged solely to us.

      I felt a little breathless as I finished. Checking the clock over the Mayhews’ stove, I could see why: I’d talked for almost thirty minutes straight. I took a quick, peripheral peek at my tablemates. Joshua and Jillian looked far more somber than they had earlier, and Scott looked downright queasy. I guess Jillian didn’t give him the entire story, after all.

      Ruth’s voice drew my attention back to the phone call, which, up till now, had been more of a monologue than a conversation. As Ruth continued to speak, it seemed that the call would remain a monologue—she talked ceaselessly for another thirty minutes, telling me exactly what she thought about me and my plan. She even told me when the conversation was officially over, hanging up on me without so much as one word of good-bye.

      I stared at the phone in my hand long after the call ended, not really noticing when the screen went blank from inactivity. My tablemates stared at me, too, waiting silently for the bad news. While they waited, I played Ruth’s most important words over and over in my mind. Then I shook my head and raised my eyes to Joshua’s.

      “She’s in,” I said. “Ruth’s on our side.”

Chapter ELEVEN

      Four tense but uneventful days later, neither Joshua nor I had quite recovered from Ruth’s shocking change of heart. Or change of methods, at least.