Haunting Violet by Alyxandra Harvey Page B

a hairpin can manage. It’s a spirit-board,” she explained before I could come up with a plausible reason why a Spiritualist medium’s daughter wanted nothing to do with spirits. The moon afforded us just enough milky blue light that the white of our nightclothes glowed faintly and I could make out the figures on the board in front of us if I squinted. “Uncle Jasper has access to the best things. He says this will be all the rage as soon as they perfect it, but he doesn’t approve of its parlor use just yet.”
    â€œPerfect it how?”
    She wrinkled her nose. “It’s apparently not as safe as it could be.”
    I looked dubiously at the painted wooden board on the carpet between us. “Looks safe enough to me. It’s only a piece of oak.”
    â€œExactly! I knew you wouldn’t come over all missish.”
    It seemed a simple enough object, painted with the alphabet in black and roman numerals from one to nine. Y ES and NO were in each corner and GOOD-BYE on the bottom. A curious triangle piece with little legs stood off to the side. “How does this piece work?”
    â€œI’m not sure exactly. It’s called a planchette.”
    â€œYou don’t know? How are we meant to make any use of it?”
    â€œI am sure we can figure it out. I do know we’re meant to use the planchette.” She lifted the triangle piece and set it on the board. “And from what I can gather, the spirits push it to letters in succession and spell out messages from the afterworld.” She shivered dramatically. “Perhaps we can convince Boadicea or Anne Boleyn to speak to us. Or Aphrodite might tell me if Frederic will fall in love with me?” I didn’t think even the goddess of love herself would dare say no to Elizabeth. “Ooh, perhaps she’ll tell you exactly when Xavier will propose. I do hope he bends on one knee and recites a sonnet to your beauty.”
    I wondered if it said something unsavory about my character that the image of Xavier reciting love poems made me want to laugh. That was hardly romantic of me. I didn’t mention it out loud; instead I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders and made myself more comfortable. “Let’s get started, shall we? I’m all shivers.”
    â€œI know, isn’t it deliciously frightening? We might speak to Napoleon—or Catherine Bathory, who bathed in the blood of virgin girls.”
    â€œI meant that I’m getting cold, you goose.”
    â€œOh.” She pushed her hair back off her shoulders and met my eyes. “Ready?”
    I swallowed. It was silly to be nervous about a parlor game. But what I was really nervous about was being forced to admit, rather sooner than later, that there really were spirits and that, yes, they liked to talk to me.
    One could deny the obvious for only so long.
    A little longer might be nice though.
    â€œSpirits,” Elizabeth whispered. “Speak to us through this talking board. We are listening.”
    We waited expectantly. I stared so hard at the planchette, waiting for it to move, that my eyes burned.
    Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged. “Nothing’s happening.”
    I wiped my palms on my knees. “Perhaps we’re doing it wrong. Are we meant to sing, like at a séance?”
    â€œI don’t know. I couldn’t very well ask Uncle Jasper, now, could I? Perhaps it’s broken?” She crouched down, her nose practically touching the planchette. “Hello?”
    She looked so ridiculous, I couldn’t suppress a giggle. It came out more like a snort and the sound startled Elizabeth so that she squeaked and leaped away, as if the planchette had turned into a spider. I laughed harder.
    She glowered, thumping her chest as if her heart had stammered to a stop. “Don’t do that!”
    â€œSorry!” I couldn’t stop giggling. She tried to hold on to her glare, but after a moment she was