Portraits of the Forsaken

by E. E. Holmes

  “A what?” I asked.

  “It was the first camera,” Shriya said. “We’ve got an original one back at the museum. Well, not an actual original one—not one of Daguerre’s. But it’s still a very early example, used by one of the first Englishmen to adopt the process. It’s much less impressive-looking than you’d think—little more than a wooden box with a lens cap on it.”

  “That’s right,” I said, nodding. “I remember seeing it now.”

  “Anyway, the plate would be protected from the light until it was placed inside the camera obscura, see? Then, when the subject was ready, the photographer would remove the lens cap and expose the plate to the light. This could take a few seconds, or many minutes, depending on the brightness of the light. There would still be no image visible on the plate yet,” Shriya said, her enthusiasm for the subject becoming clearer with every word, “until it was developed by exposing the plate to mercury fumes inside a specially made developing box.”

  “Mercury fumes?” I repeated, surprised. “I don’t know a ton about chemistry, but isn’t that… kind of…”

  “Dangerous?” Shriya supplied, laughing. “Yeah, it is, and they weren’t all that careful about it either. Nowadays, when people try to repeat the process, they are much more careful.”

  “People still make these?” I asked.

  “Certainly. Not in any widespread sort of way. Just as a novelty, you understand,” Shriya clarified.

  I nodded. We still hadn’t reached the really crucial part of the explanation, and I was eager to hear the rest.

  “Anyway, once the plate was exposed to the mercury, the image, which had been invisible up until that point, is revealed on the silver surface. To set it, the plate was heated over a flame and treated with gold chloride. After that, the image was placed inside a protective casing, like this one. You’ll rarely see a daguerreotype that isn’t behind glass, because the images are so easily marred.” Shriya shrugged. “And that’s basically it. Daguerreotypes were only popular for a few decades, and then other, less expensive forms of photography took their place. These were always my favorite to look at, though. Just the way they glimmer, you know? If you get them at the right angle, it’s almost like looking at a hologram. And the weight of them gives them real presence, too. It’s almost like there’s a real person inside there, somehow.”

  Her words sent a shiver up my spine that was not entirely unwarranted. “And what about the eyes?” I asked.

  “The eyes?” Shriya repeated, looking puzzled.

  “Yes. Is it normal for the subjects of these daguerreotypes to appear to have silvery eyes?” I handed the portrait back to her and she looked down at it.

  “Well, no, not necessarily,” Shriya said. “But as I said, the images were very delicate, and very easily discolored.”

  “But look at these, Shriya,” I said, pushing the box toward her. “I took down every single daguerreotype hanging in the museum, and they all have the same discoloration in exactly the same spot.”

  Shriya reached into the box, a curious half-smile on her face, and began pulling out the daguerreotypes one by one to examine them. With each new portrait, her smile faded, until she was frowning with concentration.

  “Huh,” she said at last, laying the last of the daguerreotypes on the table. “That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

  “That’s what I thought,” I told her.

  “It doesn’t look like tarnish, or a defect of the metal at all. I can’t think what might have caused it,” she said.

  “Can you tell us anything about these particular daguerreotypes?” I asked her. “None of them had a name associated with them on display. Do you know anything else about them?”

  “A bit, yeah,” Shriya said. “They were the most recent acquisition to the museum, actually. According to the records, my grandfather bought them only three years ago.”

  Catriona caught my eye for the briefest of moments and then looked away, pretending to examine a daguerreotype. “Do you mind?” she asked Shriya, picking one up.

  “Please, go right ahead,” Shriya said. “Just handle it carefully.”

  “Oh, of course,” Catriona said, nodding her head deferentially.

  “Sorry, did you say all of them? All of these daguerreotypes belonged to the same person before your grandfather bought them?”

  “Yes, that’s right. And those are just the ones he chose to display. There are others as well, I think. Yeah, actually, hang on.” Shriya stood up and disappeared around the corner into the bedroom of the little cottage.

  As soon as she was out of sight, I turned to Catriona. “What do you think?”

  Catriona was staring down at the portrait in her hand. “I think there’s something really bloody strange going on here.”

  “Well, I know that,” I hissed.

  “No, I mean… have you had a real good look at these portraits?” Catriona asked. She was turning the one in her hand this way and that, observing it from different angles.

  “Of course, I have! What do you mean?” I snapped.

  “I’m no photographer, but I’m fairly sure that when you take a person’s photo, the only image that should appear on it, is their own,” she said quietly.

  “What do you mean?” I picked up one of the portraits and stared down at it. “I only see one image.”

  “That’s because you’re looking straight down at it. Tilt it up to the light and look along the surface from the side, like this.” She demonstrated, cocking her head to the side and looking along the portrait at eye level.

  Mystified, I did the same. At first, all I could see was the image of a middle-aged man, his silvery eyes staring blankly up to the ceiling. But then, as I twisted my wrist just slightly, a second image appeared, popping from the silvery plate’s surface like a hologram.

  A woman, with long dark hair, trussed like an animal to a chair. Her face was twisted, her mouth open in a silent scream.

  I gasped and fumbled the little case, nearly dropping it. I looked over at Catriona.

  “What in the hell…?”

  “Did you see her?” she asked.

  I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t even nod. My heart seemed to have swollen and was constricting my windpipe. Slowly, half-convinced I had imagined it, I lifted the portrait in shaking fingers and again held it level with my eyes and turned it slowly. Again, as the light flashed across the surface, I saw her, as though in negative, and then, a moment later, her figure dissolved into that of the man, again, expressionless and stoic, eyes silver and blank.

  “Who is she?” I breathed. In the next room, I could hear Shriya opening a closet door and muttering to herself.

  “How the bloody hell would I know?” Catriona hissed. “But I’ve looked at three of these things since we sat down, and she’s there—the same woman—on all three of them.

  We stared at each other in horror for a long, silent moment, then, as though we had agreed aloud to do so, we both plunged our hands into the box of daguerreotypes and began to examine them one by one. It took less than a minute to confirm the awful truth: the same woman, whoever she was, was screaming up at us from all of the daguerreotypes in the box.

  “Is that… I can’t be sure… is she wearing a triskele brooch? There, at her throat?” Catriona hissed.

  It took several attempts, turning and angling the portrait in my hand, before I caught a glimpse of what she was talking about. “Yes,” I said firmly. “I’m sure of it.”

  “So, she’s a Durupinen, then,” Catriona murmured.

  “Yes,” I replied, feeling my horror mount by the minute. “But what does it mean?” I whispered.

  Catriona shook her head. She looked as worried as I’d ever seen her.

  Shriya emerged from the bedroom carrying a stack of leather-bound registers. “Here we are, then. These are my grandfather’s records of the museum’s artifacts. I brought them along to help me decide what to bid on and what to leave to the others to fight it out for.” She took the topmost book
and laid it open on the table. She licked her thumb and forefinger and began peeling the pages apart, running a finger down a list of dates until finally jabbing her finger at one. “Yup, here it is. ‘Daguerreotype Collection, comprising some two hundred portraits, notes, sketches, and rudimentary photography equipment, and supplies.’ Purchased by my grandfather for a sum of £10,000.”

  “Does it say who he purchased it from?” I asked.

  “Yes. It was a private sale arranged through the Department of Theology at City University of London,” Shriya said.

  I could feel all the color draining from my face. Shriya, looking up, gave me a frightened look. “Jess! Are you quite well? You look like you’re going to pass out.”

  I licked my lips, but my whole mouth had gone bone dry. “I… yeah, of course, I’m fine. Just tired. Long night at the museum.”

  Shriya nodded but did not look convinced, so I plowed on before she could question me further. “This, uh… collection that your grandfather bought. Do you still have the rest of it?”

  “Of course,” Shriya said. “The museum isn’t big enough to house everything in my grandfather’s collection, so we rotate things in and out of the exhibits, and store the rest in a storage facility in the city.”

  “Would you mind… do you think we could take a look at the rest of the collection?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and even.

  “Sure, but… why?” Shriya asked, looking puzzled. “I’m not exactly fussed if the storage locker is haunted.”

  “A lot of times,” I said, looking to Catriona for help, “knowing the history behind a haunted object can help to explain exactly why it’s haunted.”

  “And by whom,” Catriona added, jumping in. “It would make for an excellent follow up to the investigation, sort of like a little scavenger hunt for more clues. Audiences love that stuff—putting names and faces and historical contexts to hauntings. Makes it seem more tangible, you know?”

  Shriya nodded. “I can see that,” she said, smirking a bit. “You think more people will want to come see the museum if they can call out the spirits by name?”

  “Exactly!” Catriona said. “Now you’re catching on! Just think, you could brand merchandise specific to your haunting, and make the backstories part of your tour.”

  Shriya grinned. “That would be wicked!” she said enthusiastically. “And you’re sure these daguerreotypes are the key to it?”

  “Absolutely sure,” I told her firmly. “So, what do you think? Can we check out the rest of that collection?”

  “All right by me,” Shriya said, but then her face fell. “I can’t take you there now, though. I’ve got two more lots I’ve got to bid on today. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  “We’d love to take care of it while the team is still here, so that we can film their commentary. You know, make it all a part of the episode,” Catriona said smoothly. “Is there any other way we could get over there?”

  Shriya considered for a moment, then shrugged. “Look, if you don’t mind digging through some boxes, why don’t I just give you the address and you can have a poke around for yourselves?’

  “We don’t mind digging at all,” I said quickly, “as long as it’s okay with you.”

  “I already handed over the keys to the museum and let you have the run of the place; I think I can trust you with a few old boxes in a storage locker,” Shriya said, winking. She ripped a blank page from the back of the register and started scribbling on it. “Right. This here is the address. Under that is the code for the padlock. And this here is the date that will be on the box. My grandfather organized everything chronologically.”

  I took the paper, folded it up, and put it in my back pocket. “Thanks, Shriya.”

  “You’re welcome. Just handle everything carefully, and mind you lock it all up when you’ve finished,” Shriya said. “And call me if you have any questions.”

  “Okay, we will,” I said.

  “And if you can’t get me, call Charlie,” Shriya said. “He knows that storage locker top to bottom. He should be able to help you if you need anything.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I said, standing up. “We don’t want to bother you anymore, so we’ll just get going. Sorry for descending on you like this.”

  “Yeah, she gets a bit excited when she solves a haunting. Just a regular Nancy Drew, aren’t you?” Catriona said, smiling at me and giving me a gentle punch in the arm.

  “Yup, you know me. I just get a bit carried away,” I said, attempting a sheepish grin.

  It was a pathetic attempt at camaraderie, but Shriya bought it. She stood up and walked us to the door. “Do you want to take these with you?” she asked, holding out the box of daguerreotypes.

  I looked down at them. I didn’t want to take them at all. I wanted to fling them across the room and break every single one of them, as though that might release the screaming woman inside, and somehow reverse whatever had been done to her. Instead, though, I tucked the box under my arm and smiled. “We’ll let you know what we find.”

  19

  Pandora’s Box

  SAFELY BACK IN THE CAR, Catriona and I could finally speak freely.

  “So, what fresh hell is this, then?” she exclaimed, as soon as we had peeled out of the driveway and onto the road.

  “It’s Neil,” I said, and even his name in my mouth felt like acid. “Neil Caddigan.”

  Catriona gave a small gasp. “The head of the Necromancers? The one who turned Lucida? How do you figure that?”

  “He worked for that college, in the department of theology. I tried to track him down when I first came to Fairhaven, when Pierce went missing, because I thought he might know where he’d gone. I emailed him at his faculty email address, and that was the college. I’m sure of it. It’s the same college where my roommate goes to medical school.”

  “So, you think this collection might have belonged to him?” Catriona asked.

  “It has to be his. It’s too much of a coincidence,” I said. “He probably kept it all cloaked under the guise of the college, to stop the Trackers from finding it.”

  Catriona muttered a stream of profanity under her breath. I knew this particular aspect of the situation would sting, as she was one of the Northern Clans’ most prominent Trackers. If dangerous Necromancer artifacts had slipped through the cracks, she’d probably consider it her own personal failing.

  “What I don’t understand,” I went on, ignoring the continued swearing, “is how these old portraits connect to what’s happening now.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to put those pieces together myself,” Catriona said.

  “I mean, this has to be connected to the attacks on Flavia and Phoebe, doesn’t it?” I asked. “It all fits together. They both had the same silvery eyes after they were attacked. And they had both been tied up, just like the woman in those daguerreotypes. Whatever happened to this Durupinen,” I tapped my hand on the box, “someone is trying to replicate it.”

  “But why?” Catriona mused aloud. “What is the purpose of it? And who’s doing it now?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. But it’s somehow connected to the Necromancers. It has to be.”

  “And another thing that makes no bloody sense,” Catriona said, pulling out her phone and dialing without so much as a glance at it, “is how the museum is involved. It seems like a hell of a coincidence, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it does,” I said softly, staring out the window. Had I really just stumbled upon a museum full of artifacts that came from the Necromancers? That seemed too far-fetched to be believed, even for someone like me, who had made stumbling into unlikely situations look like a lifestyle brand. “Maybe we’ll understand it better when we see what else is in that collection in the storage locker.”

  “Oi!” Catriona said. I looked over at her, but apparently that was her way of answering the phone. She began relaying information about where we’d been and what we found, and so I knew she must have called someone at Fairha
ven.

  A moment later, my phone buzzed in my back pocket, startling the crap out of me, and causing me to lose my grip on the box in my lap, which clattered to the floor of the car. Cursing, I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked down at it. Iggy’s face grinned up at me.

  “What’s good, Iggy?” I asked as I accepted the call.

  “Hey, Ghost Girl. We’re all wrapped up here. Just loading up the rest of the equipment into the van,” he said blithely. “What a night! Can’t wait to go through this footage!”

  “Yeah, me too,” I lied. “Are you headed back to the hotel?”

  “Yep. We’ll plan to sleep for a few hours, then start reviewing the audio and video,” Iggy replied. “Did you find what you needed? You rushed out of here so fast. I was kind of worried.”

  “Yeah, everything is great. The owner is going to try to find some information for us on these portraits,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “Might give us a nice backstory for the haunting.”

  “Great!” Iggy said. “Any idea when you might be back? We need to lock up, and we don’t want to leave the place unsecured.”

  “Oh, shit!” I said with a groan. “I was in such a rush that I took the damn keys with me!”

  “We can just hang around. How far out are you?” Iggy asked.

  I looked down at the GPS. “Four hours,” I said.

  “Four hours?” Iggy cried. “Sam Hill, Jess, I didn’t realize she was that far away!”

  “I got a little caught up in the moment,” I said. “Look, you don’t need to wait for me. I’ll call Charlie. He’s the assistant at the museum. I’m sure he can come lock up for you guys.”

  “Yeah, let us know, would you?” Iggy said. It was hard to imagine anyone who’d been up all night sounding so amped up, but nothing got Iggy worked up like the possibility of truly irrefutable spirit evidence. And honestly, the museum had been so overrun with spirits the previous night, they were bound to have caught something impressive.