A Summoning of Souls

by Leanna Renee Hieber

  Gran must have urged them out ahead of the Bishops’ arrival. Not that Clara wasn’t a gifted Sensitive, but due to her neurology, too many ghosts gave her seizures. Eve recalled her saying that there was “always a cost to these powers.”

  A visceral hope that there would be a cost to Prenze’s powers hit Eve in a fervent prayer. As she’d indicated to the detective, her anger seethed. That a whole houseful of good, talented people cultivated protections when other worthy cases in the city needed their ear and attention was an egregious injustice. But that was the way of the greedy and selfish. Eve wished that immorally taking the talents and energies of others for personal gain was considered as criminal as theft of money or property.

  “You’ll want to reinforce the wards with your own beliefs and traditions,” Clara added, clicking a fingernail against one of the vials. “Some find salt helpful, but…” She gestured outside. “From your descriptions, this is an astral projection of one unwanted, living man rather than what we would consider a demonic force. So”—she gestured to the vials then to Eve—“add to these vials any ingredient that you find resonant and synonymous with safety and fortification. I’ve lent some of my energy; you must bolster it and seal it with yours.”

  “What is in them?” Eve asked, sitting next to Gran at the séance table. Jacob took the seat to Eve’s left, listening to Clara intently.

  Mrs. Bishop gestured out the window toward Washington Square. “Soil from your park. As I know you respect the dead there, so too will they respect your protections. There’s water from the confluence of the rivers, a leaf and petal from plants known to be protectors—juniper and ash. And a bit of ley line magic I’ve placed in there myself.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bishop, that’s wonderful.”

  If Eve wasn’t mistaken, the dark vial of ingredients held a slight, ethereal glow. Spirits must have been lending a sliver of their own light. Eve was accustomed to the nuances of a wider spectrum. Sometimes an object or a piece of clothing, a portrait, or perhaps someone’s favorite chair had a slight glow to it that only the spectrally trained eye could see, a bit of living essence left behind in the inanimate. So it was with these wards. Light protecting life.

  Something must have amused Jenny, as the little girl tore up the stairs into the entrance hall, snorting a giggle and smiling at Eve.

  She gestured toward the man behind her. He’s fun and very kind, the girl signed.

  The tall and distinguished silver-haired ambassador was around Gran’s age of seventy. He looked at Jenny as he ascended the stairs with a wistful smile; it was the first time Eve had wondered if the man had once wanted to have children but didn’t or couldn’t. Jenny was a wonderful addition to the patchwork family of friends and acquaintances that Gran had helped bring together, and there was something about the child that disarmed everyone and accentuated emotion.

  “Hello, Eve,” Rupert Bishop said warmly, turning to her at the landing of the main hall. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “And you, Ambassador.”

  Cora and Antonia rejoined the landing, and everyone gravitated to the séance table save for Clara, who stood near the window as if standing guard.

  “Indeed, it is good to see all of you again,” the ambassador said, gesturing at the girls. “It’s been some time.”

  “It’s been since you helped us into our offices,” Cora offered. “And we spoke about my family.”

  “Yes!” Bishop said brightly. “How are your dear mother and father?”

  “Still busy in New Orleans as private investigators,” Cora replied. “They’d love to come visit if they can escape their clients.” She laughed. “They’re doing a lot of good, for many who dearly need it, but I wonder if they’ve taken any time for themselves in a while. Perhaps you could convince them; they’re dearly fond of you both and I’m sure they’d listen to your advice,” Cora said, turning to Clara.

  Eve noticed Clara’s eyes flutter a bit, and she recalled that Cora’s uncle Louis, a ghost that was a great help to Cora and the precinct, had been Clara’s lover long ago. Relations with Cora’s father, Louis’s twin brother, were also complicated. Yet Cora was rightly and unapologetically proud of who she was and where she was from. In part, Cora wanted to work in the Ghost Precinct because she saw Eve and herself as children of great talents continuing a spectral legacy to be celebrated, no matter if it brought up old pain.

  Clara shook off whatever had passed over her and smiled at Cora with genuine enthusiasm, coming over to the séance table and placing her hands on her husband’s shoulders. “Yes, we shall, Rupert; let’s write to Cora’s dear family straightaway for a long overdue reunion!”

  “Wonderful!” Cora clapped her hands together. Eve wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her friend so hopeful. It occurred to her then how much Cora had to give up at the age of seventeen, leaving her family and a city she loved to become a member of the Ghost Precinct, when all Eve had to do was go next door, or up Fifth Avenue to Gran for family connection.

  Detective Horowitz watched all of them intently, and Eve was struck again by Clara’s declaration of him as harmonious to her—how lovely. Eve couldn’t deny the truth of it. He was a wonderful addition to anything she was involved with, and any room was far better for his being there. She turned to him, smiling. He reached out to briefly squeeze her hand, a small gesture that made Eve’s heart soar. The detective then turned to Rupert Bishop attentively.

  Once Clara took her seat beside her husband, the ambassador addressed them all, looking each one of them in the eyes. As he did, everyone leaned in and Eve was struck by how intense his gaze was, as if he were visibly pulling them forward.

  “Now, my friends, we’ll keep this simple, as the principle is simple, but very personal. Much like Clara has told you of the wards, shielding only works if it comes from the core of you and your inspiration. As for this Albert Prenze character and his mental manipulation, he may be trying to show you a grey nothingness, but that must be because there’s a very scared and overcompensating person underneath that façade. His astral projection is a phantom cast in hopes of looming over. Lording over. The practice of astral projection was never meant to be used as a threat, but unfortunately here it is. Have each of you seen his form at the window?”

  “That’s only been me,” Eve clarified.

  “Well, now that he’s made it a point to interact with all of you, he may feel emboldened to terrorize you all. So, all must shield, not only from seeing the form, but from any manipulation.”

  “He did try to turn our own weapons against us,” Jacob offered. “Eve and I had gone after him and there was a confrontation. Eve managed to break from his thrall, thankfully.”

  “But that’s where his mesmerism went far beyond anything I expected,” Eve said. “My hand was being moved forcibly before Jacob and I both fought back against his pressure.”

  Bishop nodded, his expression grave. “The power of persuasion ratcheted to a preternatural level. I wonder how he came to it.” He rubbed his chin.

  Jenny signed the answer to this query, and Eve translated to the assembly.

  “Jenny has been able to channel the spirit of Dr. Font, found dead in the Dakota of poison. He unwittingly signed off on Prenze’s death certificate. Font says the day he thought Prenze died was when the path he was on took an even darker turn. Font presumes a nearness to death opened his mind, but not toward the godly and good. Quite the opposite.”

  “I see,” Bishop said. “Trauma changes a body, for better or worse,” he said, absently clutching one of his wife’s hands as she pressed the braid over her ear with her other.

  “Each of you is a sovereign state with distinct borders,” the ambassador declared, pinning them again with his intense stare. “Never forget that. This man is trying to make you question your own boundaries. You must reinforce them. Protect yourself beyond yourself.”

  Bishop stood sud
denly, towering over the table. “You do not end here,” he said, tapping his forearm. “You do not end where your skin and bones contain you.” He gestured the length of his arms, gracefully, as if opening wings. “Your energy naturally extends past you. Your existence is larger than your body.”

  He turned to Eve. “Now if you send energy…” Bishop made a gesture as if he were throwing her a ball. On impulse, she reached out and caught what did feel like some impossibly palpable thing. The ambassador’s vibrancy was as potent as if it were a tactile object. “Energy can be received as Eve did, and I hope you feel it.”

  “I do.”

  “Good. Now return it to me?”

  Eve closed her eyes, trying not to overthink it, but pushed forward what felt like a warm ball of light in her hand, giving it an intentional shove toward the ambassador.

  “Very good,” Bishop praised. “That, in a sense, is astral projection. Prenze is tossing a manifestation toward you to haunt you. Not to energize or support but to drain. It’s a shame, because he could be using that energy to inspire, to comfort, to protect, but he is an inversion. You must extend your own energy out from yourself so that he cannot get close to you. You must push him back with the strength of your will. If you are shielding well, he cannot get in, to frighten, or to manipulate your minds.”

  “Shielding is entirely personal,” Clara added. “It begins with a thought. The first step is connecting with what makes you feel powerful. Be it an image, word, liturgy, song, element, draw strength from it as yours. Breathe in and fill yourself with this strength on an inhale. For myself, I think of the air, the heavens, birds, divine creatures, and as I draw in,”—she breathed in deeply—“I think of angels unfurling their wings.…” And then she breathed out, letting her arms stretch out in front of her. “And so, I extend…”

  Eve could feel Clara’s admittedly large, or as she claimed loud, presence magnify.

  “Draw in your strength,” the ambassador continued, breathing in, then out. “Expel that strength like a circular wall.”

  Eve and her colleagues did as instructed. The room grew smaller as Sensitivities expanded.

  “Something to take care with,” Gran added quietly. “Be sure that you’re not expending from your own reserves. Intake from what inspires, powers, and uplifts externally. You have to use an outside engine to draw from an inexhaustible well. We are exhaustible creatures. We can’t power constant protection from our own bodies alone.”

  “Draw in,” Rupert Bishop instructed, breathing and extending his palms as he exhaled. “Press out. Extend your energy so that you create a boundary that isn’t to be violated. I can’t tell you what best protects you; that’s yours to decide. Allow yourself more than one element or image.” He let his words sit, as if giving the company time to calibrate. “And try again.”

  Eve closed her eyes. Gran had taught her these things in her youth, but she hadn’t revisited the principles recently, and where she pulled her strength from wasn’t always consistent.

  Her instinct was to draw vitality from the fireplace crackling with life and raw power at the center of the parlor. In the core of her she imagined lived a lit candle, like the process of calling a séance to order. This would be her visualization. Beyond the firelight, she thought of everyone she cared about. The most important people in her life were in this room and next door.

  From this, her light would grow and glow. The darkness would have no room, pushed out of the field of vision, pushed away from her heart, sent away to the shadows from which it came.…

  The fire in her vision flickered. Her candle was snuffed out. Her mind’s eye watched the smoke a moment before she felt Gran jolt in her seat, and her eyes snapped open to the movement outside.

  A tall, dark form lunged at the window. There was a sound as if of cracking glass, yet no fissure was seen.

  For a terrible moment, Eve wondered if somehow, in all this, she’d let him further in.…

  The young women gasped while Horowitz jumped to his feet. Prenze. The shadow man. The core of their trouble, now visible to everyone. Not just to Eve’s gifted eye. He’d magnified his power and scope.

  “He is but a vision,” Ambassador Bishop reminded the startled group, his pleasant voice resonant and firm. “Yet you must reject this astral presence!” Bishop bellowed. Eve was moved by the ambassador’s vehemence, the strength of his energy. These elders were the kinds of forces of nature Eve wanted to be. Eve threw her own aura out from her like a whip as had been practiced.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Eve noticed Clara wavered next to her husband. Gently, subtly, attuned to every move his wife made and every sound of her breath, he placed his hand upon the small of her back, steadying her. That kind of partnership too… She realized she yearned for that as well, an intimacy in these matters.

  Reliving how Jacob’s gentle touch had felt upon her own back at the recent soiree, when he too had steadied her, she reached out and grabbed his hand. He turned to her, searching her face, as if asking how better he could help.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. He just nodded with a smile.

  Everyone seemed to have utilized the shielding lesson as the figure vanished, lessening in opacity and then finally fading away.

  There was a long, strained silence.

  “How about some dinner?” Antonia asked hopefully. Everyone nodded and smiled.

  Suddenly there was a terrible shriek on the other side of the door connecting Eve’s townhouse to her parents’. Her mother’s shriek. Eve jumped up. There was a clatter of chairs, running footsteps, and a pounding on the door between the homes.

  “Eve! What’s going on?” Her father shouted from outside that door, in a panicked, startled tone Eve had never heard. “Why is there a man floating at our window?”

  Chapter Six

  The assembled company looked at one another for a stunned moment and Eve and Gran, along with Horowitz and Ambassador Bishop, all went toward the door connecting the houses at the same time, the precinct mediums all on their heels. Only Clara hung back. Jenny hesitated at the threshold.

  As Eve unlocked the hallway door joining the townhouses, she glanced up her stairs to a luminous silver mass gathered at the top of the stairs. The elder spirit Vera had her arm around little Zofia, both hovering at the top of the landing. Eve held out her hand, indicating they should float their ground.

  “Father, Mother, what’s wrong?” Eve called, flinging open the door and running into her parents’ entry hall that was much like hers in architecture, but opposite in color. What Eve kept in burgundy, black, and mahogany her mother kept in lavender, lilac, and rosewood.

  Charging into the parlor, her host of colleagues behind her, Eve found her mother staring horrified out the parlor window, her father behind her, clutching her protectively.

  “There was a man, there, at the window, floating like a ghost,” her father said slowly. “But…”

  “But he’s not a ghost,” Gran finished. “He’s Albert Prenze, presumed dead, who is very much alive and our current enemy.”

  The team crowded to the window. “He’s still there,” the detective stated, pointing toward a shadow between the front stoop and entrance of a townhouse across the street.

  The figure waved. His face, half-hidden beneath the shade of a wide-brimmed black hat, curved into a smile. How horrific. Hovering, threatening, wanting them all to know that he could. The audacity.

  Eve turned to try to address her mother, but something on her face stilled her. Natalie Whitby was generally poised, collected, sometimes stern, always no-nonsense, but now…she looked like a terrified little girl.

  Cora and Antonia hung back while Jenny rushed to Eve, tugging at her sleeve. Don’t push her, the little girl signed, gesturing to Mrs. Whitby’s mouth. She gestured between them, and Eve began to understand; something about their shared history of Selective Mutism was
suddenly in play, in addition to this startling turn.

  Eve’s mother looked between her daughter and Jenny and fled from the room. Eve made to run after her, but her father stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder, gesturing back toward the window.

  “What does he want and how can we get him to go away?” Jonathon Whitby asked.

  “Albert Prenze is an unfortunately gifted mesmerist,” Eve said, “wealthy industrialist and at the core of our current investigation. He is sending an astral projection I assume as a threat, perhaps to try to make us stop, out of fear, dragging everyone I love into it.”

  “Is he the one who kept you, nearly all of you hostage?” Her father looked at Eve, then at the assembled company, with a blank, searching expression. Jacob stepped up to Eve’s side.

  “We can’t confirm it, but we suspect so,” the detective replied. “Proving Albert Prenze’s involvement in tactile ways remains our chief objective, but in these paranormal capacities, he is clearly aware of how little can be tried in a court of law.”

  The ambassador and Gran took one window then the next.

  “Eve.” Gran gestured for her to join them. “Push back,” she demanded. “Virulently. With all you have.”

  Eve did, throwing her energy like a physical punch. The figure vanished, but she could almost feel an opposition before he did. She’d like to think he wasn’t getting stronger, but it seemed he was gaining ground. She couldn’t let that happen, not here.

  “Remember, Eve,” Gran said. “The truly evil are projectionists, not just here, where he is projecting his own image, but also, trying to intimidate your parents. Trying to get at your heart, particularly since we’ve been told by his twin that he hated his mother. The only way we’re going to win against someone like this is to go at the heart as he tries to go at ours. But where he has no love, we do. I am sure that threatens him most. Go tend to yours. Strengthen your protections,” Gran instructed.