Page 67 of Haunting the Deep

“I’ll grab the candles and the intensifying oil,” Susannah says.

We slide off the beds, collecting our notes.

“I’d like to point out that we still don’t know what side of this Myra’s on. What if she does something to Sam?” Mary says. “What could we even do about it?”

“If she wanted to hurt me, she could probably do it anyway. Calling her wouldn’t change that,” I say, and open thedoor.

“But there’s—”

“Mary, I swear, if you make noise and Sam’s dad catches us, I will smother you with a pillow,” Alice says.

Mary makes a face at Alice, but doesn’t say another word.

All four of us creep through the dark hallway, me leading the way with a flashlight and Susannah bringing up the rear with a chamberstick candle, or whatever she called it.

I unlatch the attic door, and the girls follow me up the stairs. Elijah waits for us by the crate of paintings, bowler hat in hand.

“Elijah’s here,” I say.

He gives me the hat, and it becomes visible in my hand. Mary nervously glances around at the rough beams and protruding nails.

Alice kneels down to arrange three black candles in a triangle and Susannah lights them. Mary and I place the dress, letter, dog collar, hat, and key on the floor next to the painting.

I put down my flashlight. “We should start by saying things we know about Myra. Trying to tune in to her life and what was important to her. The painting and these items might be enough of a draw, but they might not. The more personal we can get, the more likely she is to hear us. At least, that’s how it worked when Elijah first showed up.”

“Got it. You want to start us out?” Alice asks.

“Sure,” I say. “Myra Haxtun Harper was born in February of 1863. She was married to Henry Sleeper Harper in 1889, and for a while they lived with her widowed father in Manhattan.”

“Twelve years later they purchased a home overlooking Gramercy Park. They never had kids, and they spent their time traveling,” Susannah says.

Alice nods. “Myra and Henry got on theTitanicafter touring Europe and Asia. They brought Hammad, their interpreter from Cairo, and their Pekingese dog.”

“They were all saved in Lifeboat Three, and Myra lived the rest of her life in Manhattan, until her death in 1923,” Mary says.

Elijah paces with his hands behind his back and his brow furrowed.

Susannah leans over the crate with her candle and peers at the painting. “Hmmm. Maybe there’s something we can tell just from looking at her.”

We all stare at Myra.

“Strong eyes,” Susannah says.

Alice nods. “And a subtle smile.”

“She looks happy,” I say.

“Like she’s in love,” Mary says. “Which would make sense if her husband was also in this painting.”

“Let’s try this,” Susannah says.

She links hands with Mary and me, and we circle the candles. Alice pulls a small vial out of her black blazer pocket and drops some of whatever’s in it near each of the candlewicks. As the oil heats, a strong scent fills the air.

“What is that?” I ask.

“Tea tree oil and a few herbs,” Mary says. “It helps with focus and intention.”

“Everyone take a deep breath and close your eyes,” Susannah says, and we do. “Picture Myra as she was in this painting, a proud and private woman who traveled all over the world.”