“My daughter!” Mrs. Gentry protested, trying to free herself from Miss Crafter’s iron grasp.
“That’s impossible,” Gentry goggled. “Plainly impossible.”
“Conservation of energy,” Miss Crafter said decisively. Miss Abigail, crouching behind her, nodded. “We must tire it out. All it has to draw on is Madeleine’s strength. I do not believe,” she said, almost irrelevantly, “that she ate any lunch.”
“What in the name of Hell’s court has that got to do with it?” Gentry said, rounding on the schoolmistresses.
“Robert!” Mrs. Gentry shrieked.
Translucent and twice the height of a man, a gigantic image of a head appeared between them and Madeleine. The girl recognized it as the image on the pendant, and she could tell by the shock on her father’s face that he recognized it, too. Her hands flew to her neck, and she fumbled with the necklace, but could not get it to come off. Her father advanced on the face bravely, with one hand held up before him in a warding gesture. The face laughed, its booming voice coming from Madeleine’s throat.
“A vaunt, ye demon of Satan,” the minister cried.
Miss Amanda stopped him. “Mr. Gentry, that won’t work until we can get that necklace away from her.”
“My daughter!” Mrs. Gentry cried again.
At a look from her sister, Miss Abigail led Mrs. Gentry out of the way, crooning little pleasantries to her in the soft voice she used when one of the girls was ill, and made her sit down.
“What do you mean?” Gentry demanded. “She’s a young girl. We will walk over and take that accursed necklace away from her.”
A crate flew across the room and crashed in front of them, scattering books and straw and splintered wood. Miss Crafter jumped, but didn’t cry out. Madeleine, panting, her face contorted beyond recognition, glared at them. Reverend Gentry took his handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his sweating face.
“It will not be that easy,” Miss Crafter said.
“What has happened to my daughter? She must be possessed.”
* * *
What are you doing to them? Madeleine cried, though no sound escaped her lips. It appeared only that she was snarling wordlessly as her hands lifted a heavy vase from beside her father’s desk and flung it. Those are my parents!
You have no family now. You are timeless. I control where you will go and what you will do.
Let me go!
You took me unto you willingly. I cannot decline service so offered. I grow in power with every moment I am with you.
I reject you! I am a free woman.
No longer. The voice sounded bored. Kill them, and then we will go.
No! Madeleine screamed. But her body would no longer obey her commands.
Her hands went out in a shoving gesture, and Miss Abigail went backwards over a low box. Madeleine knew then by the feel of invisible flesh against her palms how Deborah had been caused to fall down the stairs. This creature, this demon inside her, could touch without touching. It aimed the same attack at Miss Amanda, who whisked her forearm before her upper body and head as if she were swatting flies, and Madeleine stumbled forward, having missed her target.
She has knowledge, the demon growled. This will be more difficult.
Madeleine’s arms reached high into the air, and tore at nothingness. Suddenly, the ceiling over the heads of her parents and teachers shattered and fell, showering them with wood and plaster. Her mother screamed and began to pray out loud. That angered the demon.
She said the Name! She must be killed! I don’t want to hear the Name!
Stop it, Madeleine begged. Leave her be. With an effort of will, she forced her arms part of the way down, but they sprang back easily against her strength.
I can cause their flesh to rot on their bones, the voice sneered. It’s a lingering, painful end. If you love them, would you not want them to die quickly?
Yes—I mean, no! I don’t want them to die at all!
Too late!
Madeleine could only watch as her hand reached out and grasped a fistful of air. The windows on the quay side of the building shattered, and all the glass flew toward her father and Miss Crafter.
With an astonishing display of strength, the headmistress yanked Mr. Gentry behind her and made the warding gesture again. The shards stopped an inch from her face and fell harmlessly to the floor.
“You—what are you?” Mr. Gentry stammered, pulling away from Miss Crafter.
“Only a seeker after truth, Mr. Gentry,” Miss Crafter assured him. “Do not fear me. There is little I can do that you could not, with a little instruction. I am not evil, I promise you. But that is.” Her finger stabbed in Madeleine’s direction. “Do not abandon your daughter now. She needs you.”
Gentry swallowed. “What must we do?”
“We must exhaust the demon’s potential,” Miss Crafter explained carefully. “So long as it centers on Madeleine, it will have only her energy to use. Once that is gone, we would have a moment of respite to drive it away before it can batten on to another human host.”
The voice soon became bored with the schoolmistress’s lecture. With nothing more close at hand to throw, Madeleine’s captor began to draw to it phantasms of the deep. Madeleine felt her mind whirling with terror as the images of sailors dressed in rags, with greenish-white faces and sunken eyes, tramped past her and her astonished parents and teachers. They were followed by the skeletons of sunken ships that sailed into the warehouse, passing through the walls. She screamed, soundlessly, feeling herself sinking into madness.
The visions of the sea’s dead took their toll on the defenders as well.
Mrs. Gentry was beyond hysterics now, clasping her handkerchief between her hands and staring wide-eyed. Mr. Gentry picked up a prayer book from the litter on the floor and turned to Psalms. He began to read aloud, his voice gaining energy with every line.
“ ... Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me ...”
“Go on,” Miss Crafter encouraged him, her eyes never leaving Madeleine’s face. “It doesn’t like that.”
“ ... And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever!”
“Keep reading,” Miss Crafter commanded.
Gentry flipped back a few pages, and declaimed. “Fervently do I love Thee, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer ...”
Madeleine pointed all the fingers of one hand directly at him. As he stared in disbelief, a fireball erupted from her hand and slammed directly into the book he held. It was immediately consumed in roaring red flames, and he dropped it to the floor.
“Madeleine! That was the word of God!” Mr. Gentry exclaimed in outrage. He stooped for another prayer book from the scattered heap on the floor, and continued to read.
The figure facing them sagged every time the Holy Name was mentioned. Madeleine’s hand was scorched at the fingertips, and her limbs moved slowly, painfully, as it sought to launch another attack upon them. Miss Crafter called to Miss Abigail.
“We are nearing the end. Lend me your strength, sister! I believe that this is it.”
Miss Abigail stumbled over the debris on the floor until she gained a place beside her sister. Building and holding a wall of compressed mental strength before them, they moved toward Madeleine from both sides, angling to trap her into the comer.
The girl struggled and squirmed in torment, but her eyes pleaded for them to do something. Her hand was badly burned, and the hand she clutched it with was swollen and sore from her earlier accident. Slowly, inexorably, Miss Crafter pushed her prisoner to the wall, then stepped before her sister’s protective barrier and dropped her own.
Immediately, Madeleine’s hands went up, fingers curved to scratch at her face. Miss Crafter grabbed the girl’s wrists in one hand, pulled her forward, and
flicked open the catch of her necklace. She felt a tremendous jolt, but there was no real power left in it. The chain sagged and slid off. She released Madeleine and caught the gold, retreating swiftly. Miss Abigail bravely stood her ground.
“Mr. Gentry, now we require your expertise.”
The minister advanced on the cowering figure of his daughter, a cross held high and the prayer book open in his hands. “Avaunt, ye evil spawn of Satan. Begone from this place and the body you so foully possess against the will of the pure soul within. Begone! In the name of the Lord God, begone!”
He pressed the cross to Madeleine’s forehead, and to each of her hands. There was a flurry of struggling; then the twisted expression left Madeleine’s face. The girl slumped against the wall and sagged nervelessly to the floor.
“Has it been destroyed?” Mr. Gentry whispered, his voice hoarse, as they knelt at Madeleine’s side. She looked as if she was at peace.
“I don’t know. I suspect it has only been driven away,” Miss Crafter said. “It is difficult to destroy one utterly. The law of conservation of energy would support that theory. My affianced, Captain Gregson, has said that evil presences like this one travel bodilessly from place to place until they find a host to help them do their foul work.”
Mr. Gentry regarded her with admiration. “You’re quite a woman, Miss Crafter. Your fiancé is a fortunate man. I am certain that there are more things you might be able to teach my daughter.”
“Such as first aid,” Miss Amanda said briskly, propping up the girl’s head on her bundled coat. “I would say that was the most important subject at the moment. The first thing to do is to get her to a couch, and find salves and cool compresses to put on her burns.”
“Miss Crafter, I want Madeleine’s things sent home today.” Mrs. Gentry had rallied, and bore down on the schoolmistress with an imperious air. “When such things can happen to a child under your care, it becomes plain that you are not a fit person to entrust them to. We are withdrawing her from your school.”
“Oh, nonsense, Winifred. We are not,” Mr. Gentry said, standing up and brushing his hands together. “Madeleine got into this scrape by herself. If it wasn’t for Miss Crafter, she might not be out of it yet.”
“But I don’t understand!” Mrs. Gentry wailed, breaking down. “The—the skeletons, and the ships ... . W-w-witchcraft! They’re evil sorceresses. It must be reported.”
“Not unless you want your own daughter tried,” Gentry replied. “How else would you explain the crates she threw? My favorite chair, crushed to firewood? You watched Miss Crafter and Miss Abigail. They weren’t brewing up some hell’s drink over a cauldron. I saw them walk toward Madeleine, and take this damned necklace away from her. Nothing else. And that puts me to mind,” he said. He dropped the gold necklace to the floor, and put his heel on the face in the middle of the chain. With a grunt, he ground the pendant into the floor. The bottom of it snapped loose and skittered across the boards. “I’ll have it melted down today, if I have to buy the damned jeweler’s crucible to do it.”
Madeleine was conveyed to her parents’ home and put to bed. Miss Amanda sent Miss Abigail back to the school to assure the pupils that their schoolmate had been found, and except for slight injuries to her hands, was all right.
When Madeleine awoke, she was surrounded by a wealth of small presents and cards. “What is all this?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse and rough, but it was her own.
“They were sent over by your schoolmates,” Mrs. Gentry said, bringing the little bundles to her one by one. Encumbered by the bandages on her hands, Madeleine slowly unwrapped the packages.
Rose had sent the embroidered shawl, with a card bidding her to keep it always. Madeleine smiled at that, and at the other little gifts. One small box touched her especially. It was full of irregular shiny brown squares studded with golden nuggets.
Madeleine smiled weakly. “It’s the candy we were making.I didn’t get to see it poured out and worked.”
“You shall,” Mrs. Gentry said, wetting the cloth and replacing it on her daughter’s right hand. “I’ll make a special request that they repeat that cooking lesson before you leave the school for good.”
Madeleine frowned thoughtfully. “Mother, why did she come after me? Miss Crafter, I mean. Because you and Father would have been angry if she let me run away?”
Mrs. Gentry pursed her lips, and patted the bandage into place. “I think she cares what becomes of you. Goodness knows you’ve made it difficult. But I think she’s equal to you and whatever you’ve done.”
“I think she’s better than that,” Madeleine said. “When I was watching from inside, it felt that it was happening to someone else. She was wonderful. She always remained calm, as though she’d done it before. I wonder if she has.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Mrs. Gentry began, and stopped. “But I can’t think of a woman I know who would admit that it happened to her. I have no intentions of speaking about that day to anyone else, and I think it wise that you do not, either. There’s something uncanny about those women. If you don’t want to go back, you shouldn’t.”
“But I do,” Madeleine protested. “There’s so much more I want to learn. There are certainly subjects in which she is expert that are not on the syllabus.” She half closed her eyes, peering speculatively at the ceiling through her eyelashes. Already, she was beginning to calculate the advantage her newfound know ledge could gain her.
Mrs. Gentry was outraged. “Madeleine, you were nearly killed. Any feeling person would leave well enough alone. You are incorrigible.”
Madeleine opened innocent blue eyes at her. “Mother, you wouldn’t want me to change, would you? I thought you sent me to Miss Crafter for an education. I’d say I’ve only learned part of the lessons she has to offer.”
Missouri
Anno Domini 1834
Many things attracted those who settled the American frontier. For some it was the opportunity to acquire land, or amass a fortune. For others, it was a way of escaping debts, or even fleeing the law. In many cases they succeeded in building a new life. Nat Singer was the direct descendant of Amer Crafter and inherited many of the family’s most powerful gifts. He fled West when, for all his skill, he could not avert the one tragedy he feared most. And, perhaps, to get away from his unnatural abilities, which now seemed to him more a curse than a gift, Talents that only reminded him of what he had lost. Trouble was, traveling a thousand miles to the edge of a civilization doesn’t give you any more distance from that which is a part of yourself.
In early June, 1834, a stranger walked into the southern Missouri town of Oak Bluffs leading a big chestnut horse. The chestnut was limping badly, favoring his left forefoot. The stranger was a tall man in his early thirties. He had a short black beard, and wore a floppy black felt hat with a wide brim, such as you see further west of here. Although he was dressed in frontier style, in buckskin and moccasins, his skin was curiously pale and unweathered. His hands showed no sign of hard use; they were more like the hands of a clerk than an outdoorsman. Just within the town, a boy of ten or so stared as though he’d never seen a man on foot before.
“Hey, mister! How come you’re walking?”
“Horse came up lame.”
“So you’ll be wanting another horse?”
“Looks that way.” He looked at the kid and liked what he saw: a tow-haired boy with a freckled country face. The man’s severe features broke into a smile. “I suppose you got one to sell?”
“No, sir, I ain’t got no horse to sell. But I know where you can git one.”
The frontiersman found a nickel in his pocket, flipped it to the kid.
“All right, son, tell me about it.”
The kid grinned. “Masterson’s livery stable, just right next door to where you’re standing.”
The man had seen the livery stable sign for himself. The
kid was a wiseguy. But he had a soft spot in his heart for wiseguy kids, having been one himself, way back when he’d lived in Boston. Where he was going he didn’t expect to see any more kids like that very soon.
“Thanks a lot,” he said.
The stranger took a few steps, entered the livery stable and made his request to the leather-aproned man shoeing an old dray horse.
“Sorry, mister,” the proprietor said. “I’ll be glad to take in your horse. But I ain’t got no fit replacement.”
“Can you tell me where I can find one?”
The liveryman shrugged. “You could try some of the ranches around here, I suppose. Not that it would do you any good.”
“Why’s that?”
“I know most of the stock within fifty miles of here, and there’s nothing for sale you’d be interested in. Still, there could be some new horseflesh I haven’t seen.”
“I’ll check anyway. But not on this lady.” He patted the mare’s neck.
The liveryman thought for a moment. “I’ll put up your horse as long as you like. And I’ve got a mule I could rent you. Flo’s not very quick-like but she’s good enough to get you around.”
When the stranger came out of the livery stable leading a mule, the boy was waiting.
“No horse?” the boy asked innocently.
“Nope. He didn’t have one that was suitable. I suppose you didn’t know that.”
The boy looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, mister. I guess I did know. But I wanted that nickel.”
“Nothing wrong with that. But you can earn it now. Do you think you can find me a place I can sleep for a night or two while I wait for a horse to turn up?”
“Sure, mister! My ma lets rooms and she’s the best cook in Oak Bluffs!”
The boy started out at a trot. The man followed more slowly, leading the mule.
* * *
The Crafters Book Two Page 27