The Shimmers in the Night by Lydia Millet Page B

read this book,” she said. “At least, I think this is the book I’m supposed to read. I’m guessing it has instructions or something, like the prophecy from this summer. The problem is, it’s completely blank! And then I…well, I asked a question. And…”
    Her fingers went to her ring, and she looked up at the Elizabethan portrait on the wall. Jaye’s and Hayley’s faces weren’t there anymore; it was just two prim-looking women in funny collars now. Beneath the painting was a plaque that read L ADIES OF THE C OURT .
    â€œAnyway, the answer was you guys,” she said after a moment. “I think you’re supposed to help me read the book.”
    Hayley stared at her.
    â€œYou called us out in Boston in the middle of the night to read a book?” she said. “Are you serious?”
    â€œI have to, or I won’t know how to get to my mother” said Cara quietly. “It’s—just like it was in August. I need her again. And if I can’t find her, I won’t be able to help Jax.”
    â€œYou said he was poisoned?” asked Hayley. “So is he like in the hospital now? And where is everyone? How come this place is so empty?”
    â€œLong story,” said Cara. “Later, promise.”
    She leaned over the book, and the other two followed suit. Jaye touched the corner of one of the huge pages, then turned it gingerly. They saw the next page was blank, too. Hayley grabbed some pages at the end and opened the book there: still nothing.
    â€œSo what exactly are we supposed to do?”
    â€œMaybe we need to hold a light to it. Remember when we were little, how there was this way you could do invisible ink using lemon juice?” asked Jaye. “You could write with the juice, and it didn’t show up on the paper. But then the writing would turn brown when you held it up to a light bulb, and you could read it?”
    â€œUh, I never did that,” said Hayley.
    â€œToo busy with Fashionista Barbie,” said Jaye. “Here, I’ll hold this side.”
    They maneuvered the book in close to the green reading lamp and tried their best to peer over at the page. Nothing.
    Hayley peeled off her jacket and plunked it down on the table; Cara pushed up her sleeves. Was it getting even hotter, she wondered? Were they coming?
    â€œI guess it might have to do with my ring,” she said.
    â€œThat good-luck ring?” asked Hayley.
    â€œMaybe I have to ask a question again, but with the two of you here. I see these pictures, if I touch the ring. Sometimes. I don’t quite know how it works. My mom called them visions.”
    She touched the ring and leaned toward the book, sandwiched closely between her friends. She thought: How do we read you?
    And it seemed to her that she was just beginning to notice something shift on the white page, almost like one of those fractals rearranging itself, when Jaye shrieked.
    Cara looked up—Hayley was grabbing at her—to see fire. It was leaping on the hotplate in the corner, where Mrs. O had boiled the water for her tea; an actual fire was burning there, crinkling the tablecloth, sparks and pieces of burning fabric fluttering toward the floor.
    It was a small fire, at least, and Cara thought maybe she could put it out. She’d put out a fire once before when Jax, age eight, decided to conduct combustion experiments with household cleaning products. So she rushed over, looking for something to use and thinking randomly of a TV show where a man set on fire had been rolled up in a rug to quench the flames; she grabbed the corner of the Persian rug beneath her feet and pulled it up, then brought it down clumsily on the burning tabletop.
    As soon as she had it on top of the flames, though, the rug got heavy in her hands. The rug seemed lumpy. Heavier and heavier, and then suddenly there was movement, the rug was resisting her, and the fire leapt up instead of subsiding as she