Page 76 of The Narrow

I don’t think the aesthetics of the thing really matter, but I step forward, carefully navigating past the chalk, and pour the water into the bowl.

Veronica instructs us to sit around the circle. Each of us has our own candle to hold, and Veronica waves a crystal around to cleanse the energy in the room. We have no way of knowing if Veronica’s piecemeal traditions will map to Maeve’s reality, but it’s the best we’ve got.

“Now what?” Ruth asks as we sit there, lights off and candles flickering.

“Now we call her,” Veronica says.

It all feels so awkward. Like we’re kids putting on a play or goofing around at a slumber party. Upstairs, someone is watching an action movie too loudly. A toilet flushes and the water rushes through the pipes.

I clear my throat. “We call to the spirit of Maeve Fairchild. Maeve, hear us.” That seems properly occult, but it doesn’t feel right. Ruth fidgets. Zoya glares fixedly at the bowl of water in the middle of the circle, as if she’s willing it not to do anything spooky.

I shut my eyes. “Maeve,” I say. As if I’m talking to her from across a quiet room. “It’s me. Eden. We think we can talk to you without you hurting me. We’d like to try. Do you hear me?”

“Eden,” Veronica whispers.

I open my eyes. At first I don’t understand why she’s spoken, and then I see it: the surface of the water rippling.

“There must be a draft in here,” Ruth says, but Zoya shushes her.

“Maeve. Can you hear me? Can you come to me?” I ask.

The water in the bowl rises higher, as if more is flowing up from below. Zoya gasps as the liquid overflows the container and spills onto the floor, seeping out in all directions.

“What the hell?” Ruth starts, but at Veronica’s sharp look, she shuts up.

“Maeve,” I say again. “You can hear me. I know you can. Come through.”

A sharp crack sounds as the bowl breaks neatly in two, the rest of the water spilling out. It flows over the floorboards, over the chalk lines of the star, a spreading puddle in the center of the circle.

A footprint appears, the water displaced. Then another. Another. Slow, uneven steps.

“Oh, fuck,” Ruth whispers, clutching her candle.

The footsteps pause. Slowly, they turn in place, the water sloshing around them.

She’s standing in the center of the circle, facing straight toward me.

“Eden,” comes a whisper.

All the candles go out.

26

ZOYA SCREAMS ASdarkness engulfs us. “Don’t move!” Veronica shouts. “Don’t break the circle!”

My heart hammers in my chest. Veronica’s lighter rasps, and a thin flame appears in her hand. It barely illuminates anything.

It’s enough to see the figure crouched in front of me.

Zoya screams again—and this time Ruth does, too, throwing herself back away from the circle.

I don’t move. Maeve’s face is eighteen inches from mine. She’s crouching down with her elbows on her knees, hands dangling casually. Her head is cocked to the side, her hair plastered in dripping strands across her sallow cheeks. It’s then I realize that her leg isn’t twisted anymore. Neither are her fingers. Her eye is still scarlet, but clearer, and the water that runs from the corners of her mouth is only a slow, steady trickle.

She’s getting better, I think. She’s getting stronger.

“Eden,” she says. Her voice has a gurgle to it, but it’s clearenough to understand. “You’re hurt.” Her fingers stretch out—but they don’t go beyond the edge of the pooling water.

“You hurt her,” Veronica says.

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