CnC 4 A Harvest of Bones

by Yasmine Galenorn

  “Em? Em? Are you all right?”

  I nodded, “I picked up something from the cloth—psychometry. Nothing specific, just a feeling of loss and death.”

  Jimbo wrangled a flashlight out of his jacket and entered the room, starting the hunt for Samantha. “O’Brien, sometimes you scare the piss out of me. Let’s find your cat and get out of here. I think it’s time to blow the joint.”

  Despite my nervousness, I laughed. “Babe, you are a breath of fresh air. But save the dynamite. I had quite enough of your lovely explosions, and I’m not helping you blow up any more of my china. Don’t worry, we’ll make it home in one piece, Will o’ the Wisps or not.”

  We began searching for Sammy, calling for her. I thought I heard a cry under the bed but when Jimbo got down on his knees to look, there was no one there. I was poking around near the nightstand when I noticed a framed picture on the wooden table. A lovely young woman stared at me, frozen on film in a single moment of time. She was willowy, with long red curls, and she held a tortoiseshell who looked a lot like our Sammy. A dreamy, lost look filled the woman’s eyes, and as I stared at the photo, I recognized her. I’d seen her the night before—outside Randa’s room.

  Goose bumps rose along my skin. Whoever she was, she’d been visiting in my house. I tucked the picture in my pocket.

  “Look at this!” Joe held up a faded journal. The pages were damp, but most of the writing was still readable. He held the flashlight steady while I examined the diary. The front flap identified the owner as “Brigit.” As I gingerly accepted it, the same flow of energy tingled through my fingers that I’d felt from the picture and the cloth. Brigit.

  My red-haired ghost had been a woman named Brigit who had been staying with the Brunswick family. Whether she was a relative or a friend, I couldn’t tell. I slid the journal in my pocket next to the photograph.

  Jimbo hauled a suitcase out from the closet, along with a few dilapidated dresses. Functional but not pretty. “Tag on the luggage says that this belonged to Brigit O’Reilly. Looks like she came from a place called Glengarriff, Ireland.”

  I decided to wait before telling them that Brigit was my ghost from last night. After all, she hadn’t been antagonistic, and I wanted to get a better feel for what we’d discovered before I threw another iron in the fire.

  “I don’t see Samantha anywhere,” I said as we made a last sweep around the room. “Do you?”

  Both Jimbo and Joe shook their heads. As we took one last look around the perimeter of the room, Joe flashed his light over the back wall. I gasped. It was covered with murals; the paintings had faded but were still in relatively good condition. Though they were difficult to make out in the dim light, I could see a castle, white and rising into the sky, and a parade of knights on horseback headed toward the fortress. We closed in, concentrating our flashlight beams to better take in the panorama of murals.

  “Camelot,” Joe whispered.

  “Camel what?” Jimbo said.

  “Not camel. Camelot, King Arthur’s court. This has to be Camelot,” Joe said. “Look, a castle made of gleaming white, and knights in shining armor?”

  A splash of color caught my eye and I stepped closer to examine the vista sweeping across the wall. A woman dressed in green with long copper hair watched the procession of knights out of a window. She stood in a tower set off from the castle and by her side rested a loom, loaded with a half-finished tapestry. A tear trickled down one cheek.

  I took yet a closer look at the woman in the painting. Brigit. The woman was Brigit. One of the knights, the only one looking up toward her tower, had to be Lancelot. Fragments of a poem, long ago learned and beloved, began to dance through my head. “And sometimes through the mirror blue, the knights come riding two and two. She hath no loyal Knight and true, the Lady of Shalott.”

  Joe stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders and whispered, “ ‘There she weaves by night and day, a magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, a curse is on her if she stay to look down to Camelot.’ ”

  I withdrew the photograph from my pocket. There was no mistaking it—the painting on the wall matched Brigit, the red-haired dreamer who had left behind a suitcase, a few dresses, and a journal of handwritten poetry. “Could she be one of the Brunswicks’ cousins?”

  Joe shook his head. “I have no idea—” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, paling as he did so. “Em, turn around. Slowly. We have company.”

  I slowly edged my way around. The doorway to the open basement was swarming with the corpse candles. “Oh shit. We need to get out of here. Now. Sammy isn’t here. Let’s go. Shut the door on the way out.”

  “What is it?” Jimbo said.

  “How do we get through them?” Jimbo asked. “To me, it’s just a bunch of pretty lights, but I know you’re seeing something else.”

  I bit my lip, trying to decide if it was safe to just walk through the swarm. “We’re going to have to just brave it. Don’t listen to anything you might hear and whatever you do, don’t stop once we’re on the move. I’ll try to distract them so you two can get out without being bombarded.”

  I took a hesitant step forward, then a stronger one and headed for the door. The lights were buzzing louder; the damned things were agitated. With a deep breath, I plunged into their midst. A swirl of desire hit me, beckoning me to drop everything and give chase under the darkening moon. I forced myself to shake it off. I had to distract them away from Joe and Jimbo. As I pushed out the door, the majority of lights followed me. I kept my eyes focused on the sky, on a glimpse of a tree limb.

  “We’re out! Get your butt over here, O’Brien!” Jimbo’s call echoed in my ears and the lights went zipping every which way. I shook my head and fastened my gaze on the men, slogging as fast as I could in their direction, scattering mist and mulch and debris as I went. As I neared the steps where Joe anxiously waited for me, Jimbo had reached topside and turned around, poised to return if I should need him.

  Just then, a scream pierced the air and I covered my ears.

  Joe grabbed my arm. “Come on, Em—move!”

  “Did you hear her? Did you hear the scream?” I stumbled up the stairs, Joe dragging me along by the arm.

  “I didn’t hear anything and I’m not going back down to check.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the basement, which was now filled with a buzzing nest of Will o’ the Wisps, darting through the mist that had risen thick over the mulch. “Holy hell, we sure stirred them up. Come on, let’s get out of here before they come after us!”

  As we raced back to my house, my mind was ablaze with questions. Where was Samantha? And what about the mysterious Brigit? Why was her spirit visiting me, and what about her cat, who had long ago been a mirror reflection of my own Samantha? And why had she fled, all those years ago, leaving behind her belongings in a room guarded by knights and tall towers and poetry?

  Six

  From Brigit’s Journal:

  “He holds my hand, a gentle touch,

  Our love we cannot show,

  But still it lingers in our hearts,

  Though part we must, I know.”

  THE MINUTE WE trooped into the house, the kids surrounded us, clamoring for information about Samantha. I hated having to tell them that we hadn’t found her yet, but there was nothing else I could do. Obviously shaken, Randa disappeared into the living room. Kip let out a big sigh. As he passed the pantry, Nigel came out and rubbed against his leg, meowing loudly. Kip swung around, eyes blazing.

  “Nigel wants his mom! He’s upset, and so are Noël and Nebula. An’ so am I! What are we gonna do?” He sounded so desolate I wanted to cry, but what was I supposed to tell him? There was nothing I could say to remedy the situation.

  Nebula was prowling the kitchen along with her brother. I scooped her up and scratched her behind the ears. “Today’s Sunday. Tomorrow I’ll go to the animal shelter and see if Sammy’s there. If she isn’t, we can make fliers after you get home from school and
hand them out all around the neighborhood. We can offer a reward.”

  His lip trembled. “Do you think she was hit by a car?”

  I sighed and plopped Nebula into Joe’s arms. “Come on. I’ll see what I can find out.” Though I was hesitant to do it—God knows what I might find out—I headed into the living room, followed by Kip, Joe, and Jimbo. Randa was curled up in the rocking chair with a notebook. She glanced up from the page as I dug through my rolltop desk until I found an ornate gold key on a black ribbon.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m going to find out anything I can about Sammy.” I opened the new étagère I’d bought to replace the one that had been destroyed in a robbery during the spring. While the insurance had paid off on my losses and I’d managed to replace most of the crystal that had been stolen, my Faberge egg collection was gone forever.

  Next to a tiny crystal unicorn that had survived the damage sat an exquisite jade dragon—small enough to fit in my hand.

  “O’Brien, you ever getting rid of that thing?” Jimbo gave it a cursory once-over but his gaze didn’t linger. The dragon had been cursed and he’d seen it in action. In fact, the curse had first brought Jimbo into my life.

  I shrugged. “I’m thinking of selling it to a museum. I could put the money away for the kids’ college education. I guess I still have it because deep down I keep hoping that one of Daniel’s relatives will surface. I don’t know if I can ever forget his haunted face.”

  “Ain’t gonna happen,” Jimbo said. “That family is defunct.”

  “He’s right.” Joe peeked over my shoulder. “There’s nobody left to give it to, Em.”

  I knew they were right but Daniel had died because of the statue, and I still couldn’t let go of the last residual guilt that lingered like ghosts in the wind. I knew his death hadn’t been my fault, but there was a tiny quiver of doubt still lurking in the recesses of my mind.

  However, right now I had more important things to lose sleep over. I reached in and pulled out a crystal ball. A gift from Maeve, the antique orb weighed heavily in my hands. I cradled it, carrying it over to the sofa where I sat cross-legged in the middle. Joe and Jimbo took their respective seats in the rocker and recliner. I motioned for Kip to sit on the floor left of me, and for Randa to sit on my right.

  I looked over at Joe and Jimbo, then settled back against the cushions. As I dropped into trance, the room fell away from my consciousness, slowly at first, then faster. I took three deep breaths and, on the third, summoned Samantha’s spirit. “Show me where you are.”

  A whisper of energy grazed my cheek, and then another, and I could see a shadowy place, where the moon rose high in the sky, full and round. Trees, barren and black, marched across the horizon in a stark silhouette and crisp autumn leaves dappled the landscape. Cautious, I glanced around, hoping for a landmark, but nothing resonated as familiar. As I tried to decipher what I was seeing, Samantha crept out from beneath a dark patch of shrubbery.

  “Sammy! Are you alive?”

  She gazed at me with those liquid emerald eyes, and I knew that she lived. She was very much alive and afraid. I called her, gently this time, and she began to make her way in my direction, but a flicker of lights zoomed between us, and another cat—this one ghostly and distant—raced by. Skittish, Samantha whirled around and vanished back into the shadows.

  “Sammy! Come here … come to Mama …” I waited, straining to see any movement, to hear any sound. Nothing stirred and I knew I’d lost the connection. Frustrated, I opened my eyes and set the crystal aside.

  “Samantha’s alive. I can’t pinpoint her energy in terms of where she’s hiding. But I saw her and she recognized me. She’s afraid, though, and possibly lost.” I took hold of Kip and Randa’s hands and squeezed. “Trust me, we’ll do whatever it takes to find her. I miss her too. For now, you’ll have to go on faith that she’s okay.”

  “She didn’t look hurt?” Kip asked, his voice quivering.

  “No, honey. She didn’t seem hurt to me.”

  Comforted, if only a little, they kissed me and took off upstairs to get ready for bed. I slipped the crystal ball back into the étagère and locked the door.

  Jimbo headed into the kitchen. “Hey, how about some of that mint tea you always make for me?” Joe and I were about to follow when we heard him let out a shout. “O’Brien! Get your butt in here!”

  We rushed in to find Jimbo’s face plastered to the door window. “What? What is it?”

  “There’s some broad out in your backyard in her nightie.”

  I motioned for him to step aside and peered out into the darkness, but all I could see was a trail of mist. “Where?”

  “She was right there! I saw her in the backyard, near your shed.” Jimbo paled as he leaned against the window, searching frantically. “Where’d she go? I know I saw her! What the hell is going on?”

  I patted his arm. “I believe you. Let me go see what I can find out—”

  “I’ll go with you,” Joe said. “If somebody’s prowling around out back, I don’t want you out there alone.”

  Bless his protective heart! But Joe wouldn’t be of any help at this point—I was walking into a playground where the rules went far beyond fists and testosterone-laden threats. “Sweetie, this isn’t anything you can protect me from. I know who she is. At least, who she was.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the spirit that showed up last night?” he asked.

  Jimbo perked up. “Spirit? What spirit? You mean I saw a ghost?”

  I nodded. “I’ll tell you about it as soon as I come back. I need to go now if I hope to pinpoint anything. While I’m out back, put the kettle on. Joe, you know where the tea is.”

  I grabbed a sweater from the back of a chair, and slid on a pair of loafers. Shivering in the chill night air, I headed toward the shed in my backyard. As I neared the building, I could feel a ripple in the air. The trees beyond the shed were barely visible in the black of the night, but I found myself drawn to the giant oak that towered in the corner of my yard, draping over into the lot next door. Pulled like a butterfly toward nectar, I moved forward one step at a time.

  Brilliant flashes flickered through my mind. The Will o’ the Wisps? And then they were there, hovering above the fence as if they wanted to cross into my world but couldn’t. They bobbed near the oak, weaving their peculiar dance. As I watched them I could sense something else—someone, perhaps? The mist gathered into a whirl-wind, and for a moment, a face was visible in the white tendrils that twisted together. A woman’s voice echoed out of the fog.

  “Come back to me—come back. Where are you? I miss you!”

  “Brigit? Is that you? Brigit O’Reilly?” I spoke softly, trying to avoid registering any alarm. The scent of fear provoked both wild animals and wild spirits. And then, with a sob as low and quiet as my heartbeat, the mist vanished and the Will o’ the Wisps withdrew behind the fence.

  I stared at the retreating lights, buffeted by feelings of bittersweet loss and a wistfulness for something that might have been but now would never be. Everything familiar had been ripped asunder. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I turned and headed for the house, where Joe and Jimbo waited anxiously.

  “I was about to come out there when I saw you turn away,” Joe said. “Em, what’s going on?”

  I blinked as the light from the kitchen brought me back to reality. Motioning for Joe to pour me a cup of tea, I sat down and absently munched on a cookie. Chocolate was definitely one of the most important food groups and I’d been sorely lacking in that department the past couple of days. I swallowed my Oreo and told Jimbo about the spirit outside of Randa’s room.

  “So, is she the woman Jimbo saw out back?” Joe asked.

  I nodded. “I think so.” I hustled out to the porch, where I sorted through the pockets of my jacket until I found the picture of Brigit, along with her journal. “Recognize these?”

  “Those are from the room—” Joe stopped and took a
closer look at the photo. “Was that her?”

  “Yeah, and she’s the spirit I saw upstairs, and she was out back just now. And don’t forget the painting in the secret room. Brigit looks just like the woman in the mural.”

  “So we’re dealing with the ghost of a young woman from Ireland. She lived in the basement of a prominent family in town and something happened because otherwise—well—her spirit wouldn’t be hanging around, would it?” Joe looked perplexed.

  “Not unless it was the only place that ever felt like home to her—then she might return there. But the screams lead me to think otherwise.”

  I thumbed through the journal, squinting to read the faded writing. Brigit had possessed a delicate hand, tiny and precise. The entries were meticulously penned, with poetry interspersed throughout the volume. The poems weren’t particularly good; she didn’t really have much talent, but they sounded straight from her heart. Several spoke of a village near the sea, and it was obvious she missed her home. Others, though, were fraught with unfulfilled love.

  “She was in love,” I said. “She was in love with someone and afraid it wasn’t going to work out.”

  Jimbo grunted. “Don’t even go there, O’Brien. All too familiar.”

  I glanced up at him. The big lug was totally smitten with my best friend, and wasn’t afraid to admit it, but I knew he worried about how the relationship was affecting her career. As I flipped through the journal, two folded sheets of paper dropped onto the table. “What’s this?”

  I set the book down and gently opened the crinkled onionskin paper. On it, in a firm hand that didn’t match the writing in the journal, was another poem. This one, I recognized.

  “The Lady of Shalott?” Images of the walls in the secret room flickered through my mind. “I think we’re right about the mural—it refers to the Lady of Shalott. With Brigit playing the lead. But who was her Lancelot?”