Such Wicked Intent

by Kenneth Oppel

  “Is she unwell?” Elizabeth asked with concern.

  I watched Father, waiting for his answer.

  “No, she’s not ill, just tired.” But his leonine head seemed to sag upon his broad shoulders. How had I not noticed until now? “During the past weeks, since the funeral, she’s been very strong for all of us, but now she needs her rest.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “You’re not to worry. It’s not uncommon after a great sadness. All she needs is time, and she’ll be up and about again.”

  The food set out before us suddenly lost its appeal. I felt ashamed of myself. Elizabeth had been right when she’d said I was blind to any but my own suffering. I wondered if my mother’s frantic pace had been her way of escaping grief—but grief was the swifter, and had overtaken her in the end. And I wondered if there were some way I could vanquish her grief. What if it were in my power?

  “Perhaps, sir,” Henry began awkwardly, “this is not the best time for me to stay.”

  Father shook his head. “No, no, Henry. You’re like family to us, and we’ll miss you sorely when you go on your trip. Until then, stay. Your presence brings light into our house.”

  “That’s very generous,” said Henry, looking uneasy, and I wondered if he, like me, was thinking of what we planned to do tonight, in darkness.

  * * *

  After the church bells in Bellerive struck one, first Henry and then Elizabeth joined me in my bedchamber, fully clothed like myself.

  By the light of a single candle, I took from the locked drawer in my desk the spirit clock and the green flask of elixir.

  “Are you ready?” I said.

  Elizabeth was staring at the green flask, chewing on her lower lip. I thought she might be shivering.

  “Have you chosen a talisman?” I asked her.

  From her wrist she carefully pulled a bracelet made of tightly coiled hair. “It’s from my mother. After she died, my father cut some and had this fashioned for me. It’s one of the only things of hers I have.”

  I knew this was a common enough practice, making keepsakes out of the departed’s hair, but I still found something rather ghoulish about it.

  Henry cleared his throat. “I would just, at this point, like to make one final—probably doomed—plea for reason. I urge you not to do this.”

  “Thank you for that, Henry,” I said. I looked at Elizabeth. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said, “if that’s what you think.”

  “I never think you’re afraid,” I told her. “You’re the bravest person I know. But I also know you think this is a—”

  “What I think is that we’ll both hallucinate and prove this is all nonsense. And that will put a stop to it. But if you’re right, well… then I’ll be proved right as well.”

  “How’s that?” I asked, confused.

  “If there’s a world beyond our own, a life after death, that means there’s also a God.”

  “Does one have to follow upon the other?” I asked.

  “You two, please,” said Henry, “not another riveting theological debate right now.”

  “So that’s the only reason you’re coming?” I said mockingly. “To make a believer of me?”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “To save your miserable little soul, that’s right.”

  “Nothing to do with Konrad whatsoever?” I inquired. “Just pass me the elixir.”

  She took a deep breath, hesitated for only a second, and then placed a drop upon her tongue and handed the flask to me so I might do the same.

  “You can recline on my bed if you like,” I told her.

  “I’ll be perfectly comfortable in this armchair, thank you,” she replied, settling herself and gripping her hair bracelet in her left hand. “You have the spirit clock ready?”

  “Yes,” I said, lying back against my pillow. “Do you taste it, metallic in your mouth, and feel the strange heat washing through your body?”

  She nodded. “Henry, you’ll watch over us carefully?”

  “I will indeed,” he promised.

  “It comes quickly,” I told her. “The blink of an eye.”

  I yawned and—

  * * *

  —look over. There she is, sitting on my chair: Elizabeth.

  She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Her amber hair spills like silk around her radiant face, over her shoulders. Her eyes are open, and she smiles at me. I smile back. There is absolutely nothing between my gaze and her face. It’s like I’m stroking her skin. It feels almost wicked, deliciously so.

  There is no need of candlelight, for beyond the windows of my bedchamber comes a surprisingly strong white light from the thick, impenetrable fog.

  I push myself up off the bed and stand, feeling that same vital energy coursing through me. And with every step I take, with each hot squeeze of blood through my veins, with each flex and pull of my muscles, I am thrillingly aware of myself as never before. It’s as though every hair on my head, every pore, every surface of my body is twice as sensitive.

  There is nothing I could not do here.

  I put the spirit clock in my pocket, slip the ring back onto my finger. I step toward Elizabeth. My nostrils flare to take in her scent—her hair, her skin, her breath. Her hazel eyes draw me closer. I have a distant memory of two wolves in the night forest.

  “Are we here?” she asks.

  It takes me a moment to understand, for here is so immediate and real, how could there be anywhere else but here and now?

  In answer to her question I stretch out my right hand and show her how my two missing fingers have been returned to me. In amazement she frowns and reaches out—and I know, beyond any doubt, that once we touch, we will be unable to resist each other.

  But this current of desire is severed suddenly by a few simple notes of music wafting through the air.

  Elizabeth lets her hand drop as she stands. “Piano,” she says.

  Eagerly she walks past me and opens the door to my bedchamber.

  “Konrad played that piece all the time.”

  Played it for you, I think, for I remember how they used to steal away to the music room to be alone.

  I follow her as she strides purposefully down the hallway.

  “Konrad?” she calls out, and the music abruptly stops. We reach the doors of the music room, and Elizabeth throws them wide and walks in ahead of me.

  Half turned on the bench, arm shielding his eyes, is my twin. I see his rapier, tipped up against the piano.

  “Elizabeth?” he breathes.

  She weeps with total abandon, tears spilling down her cheeks. Despite what I’ve told her, she steps toward Konrad to embrace him.

  “I’d give anything to hold you,” my brother says, standing and retreating, “but I can’t.”

  “It’s too unfair,” she says, her words jerking out.

  “Your heat’s so intense, it nearly sears me, even from this distance.”

  I see his eyes move to me briefly, squinting, and he smiles.

  “Victor. You came back.”

  “I promised I would. This light of ours, we can’t see it.”

  “It radiates from you like an aura. You’re like something drawn with the sun’s fire, and I can take only little glimpses of you.”

  He stands now before us, his head bowed, like a man awaiting sentence from the magistrate. I feel like both angel and devil, radiating glorious light but also demonic heat, and once again I feel a surge of excitement to think myself so powerful.

  “How long have I been dead?” he asks. “Time seems to have no meaning here.”

  “Nearly a month,” Elizabeth tells him. “I never even had the chance to say good-bye to you. It was so sudden.”

  “Tell us,” I ask him impetuously. “What was it like?”

  “To die? I can’t really say. When I first woke in bed, I was alone. No one answered my calls. So I got up—and was surprised by my strength. I felt completely well, like my old self. I wanted to tell you a
ll, but when I left my room, I couldn’t find anyone. The house was completely deserted, and seemed somehow unfamiliar, even though everything seemed to be in the right place. That was when I first began to wonder if I’d died in my sleep, though I hoped it was just a nightmare. But I didn’t wake.”

  “You don’t… look dead,” I tell him.

  He gives a small laugh. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

  I am suddenly ravenous with curiosity. “Do you float above things, or do you feel the floor beneath your feet?”

  “I feel the floor.”

  “And you can open doors, exert force on objects?”

  “You heard me playing the piano.”

  “If you punch the wall, is there pain?”

  “Yes. I’ve tried.”

  “Do you sleep?”

  “Victor, enough,” Elizabeth says.

  “I don’t seem to, no,” Konrad replies.

  “And are you hungry?”

  “Not thirsty, either. Victor, am I to be another scientific experiment of yours?” He gives a wry smile, and I chuckle apologetically.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that there are so many things to discover here.”

  “For me too,” my brother says. “How is it possible you’re here?”

  “We got your message and came to find you,” I say.

  His confusion is obvious. “My message?”

  “‘Come raise me.’ That’s what you said, over and over again.”

  “Victor built a spirit board to speak with the dead,” Elizabeth explains. “You didn’t hear him calling out to you?”

  Konrad looks shaken. “There was a moment—I don’t know how long ago—when I felt you so strongly, as though you were somewhere in the house. And I looked for you, and called out, but heard no reply. I thought I must just be hallucinating. But I don’t remember saying ‘Come raise me.’”

  “Well, maybe it doesn’t need speaking aloud,” I reply. “Maybe your wishes alone conveyed themselves to our world.”

  But Elizabeth looks uneasy. “Who else is here?”

  “There’s a girl our age called Analiese. She was a servant in the household and died of fever long before we were born. When I was wandering the house, I met her in the kitchen. She was very kind to me, as kind as anyone can be when they’re telling you you’re actually dead.”

  “Where is she?” Elizabeth wants to know.

  “She often seems to prefer the servants’ quarters.” He gives a small smile. “I think she feels she’s being too familiar, coming upstairs to speak with me, though God knows I welcome her company.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth says a bit stiffly, “I can imagine it must be terribly lonely for you. So you two are the only ones here?”

  Konrad hesitates a moment. “I don’t know. Sometimes I hear sounds, deep in the house. Like someone slumbering fitfully.”

  “Well, I’d like to meet this Analiese,” Elizabeth says. “Maybe she can explain why you’re here.”

  “She already has. She says everyone who dies in the house comes to the house for a time.”

  “I simply don’t understand it,” says Elizabeth. “Your soul ought to have gone straight to heaven—or at least purgatory.”

  “Unless this house is purgatory,” Konrad replies.

  “Isn’t it obvious,” I say with an impatient laugh, “that everything is different from what you’ve been taught by the Church?”

  “No, it isn’t,” says Elizabeth.

  Konrad sighs. “Things are very strange here.” He turns to the windows and the impenetrable fog beyond. “I feel so trapped.”

  My eyes remain fixed on the fog, watching its slow, mesmerizing swirl.

  I begin walking toward it. “You should open a window,” I say.

  “No, don’t!” he shouts, and his urgency stops me in my tracks.

  I laugh. “How can it hurt to open a window?”

  “One of the first things Analiese told me was never to open the windows or doors.”

  “Why ever not?” Elizabeth wants to know.

  “Because, miss, there’s an evil spirit outside who wants to enter.”

  I whirl round to see a young woman, no older than me, standing in the doorway, one hand shielding her face from our glare.

  “Are you Analiese?” I ask.

  “I am, sir. And you must be Mr. Konrad’s brother. He told me you’d been, and I could scarce believe it—the living visiting the world of the dead.”

  She is beautiful, I see immediately, with long plaited hair so blond it is almost white, and eyes of a most arresting blue. Her porcelain skin bears a bewitching beauty spot on one cheek. She wears a simple black dress—her best, no doubt—that, though modest, cannot conceal her very pleasing figure.

  “What do you mean, ‘an evil spirit’?” Elizabeth asks.

  As if in answer the fog outside the windows intensifies and thumps menacingly against the glass, so hard that the panes actually rattle.

  I hear Analiese gasp, and see her take a step back.

  Once more the fog pounds at the glass like an angry fist, and I realize I am not frightened but strangely expectant, wondering:

  What will happen if the glass breaks?

  But the glass does not break, and I feel a curious disappointment when the windows stop their shaking and the fog disperses slightly, though nowhere near enough to allow any view.

  “It has intent, no question,” says Elizabeth, not fearfully but with the same fascination I myself feel.

  “It’s only what I was told, miss,” Analiese says, eyes averted humbly. “When I died and came here, there was only one other person in the house. She was one of the ladies of the house, and she was the one who told me about the devilish spirit and how we mustn’t let it in, lest we be tempted.”

  “It’s like some great coiled serpent,” Konrad says uneasily, “hungry and waiting.”

  Analiese continues, “And the lady said we must bide our time here, until we are gathered.”

  “Gathered?” I say.

  “Yes, sir. I saw it happen to her, not long after. A beautiful winged light, even brighter than yours, and musical, entered the house and wrapped itself around her, and she was gone.”

  “Angels!” says Elizabeth, looking at me triumphantly.

  Analiese smiles happily. “I think so too, miss! And I can only hope that my turn will come before long.”

  At that moment two large black butterflies flutter into view, circling high over Elizabeth and me.

  “What are they?” I ask Analiese.

  “Oh, they’ve always been here I think, sir.”

  “You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ We’re a very liberal household, and you’re much older than me besides.”

  Her eyes are still averted, showing her lovely long eyelashes to great advantage. “It’s habit, I’m afraid, sir, but I’ll try.” She looks up at the butterflies. “I’ve always thought of them as a kind of angelic presence, to keep us company and give us hope for the life to come.”

  “I think you must be right,” Elizabeth remarks as one bobs down toward her. “They certainly don’t fear our light and heat.”

  When it alights upon her shoulder, she gives a little gasp of delight, and her cheeks flush.

  “So beautiful,” she breathes as the butterfly’s black wings radiate with color, and then it flutters away.

  Elizabeth’s eyes meet mine briefly, then look away almost secretively. I hold out my hand, and the second butterfly lands upon me, and I feel the same surge of pleasure as the first time.

  It lingers upon my finger, brilliantly glowing, and I feel a powerful calm settle over my mind—all its jumbled drawers and cluttered surfaces organized—and with it a great sense of strength and readiness, like a sprinter upon the start line.

  “How much time is left us, Victor?” I hear Elizabeth ask.

  With my free hand I take the spirit clock from my pocket. The skeletal leg has almost made its full revolution. Elizabeth draws closer to look and gives a si
gh of disappointment.

  “How does it work?” Konrad asks. “You still haven’t told me how you even got here!”

  As Elizabeth explains, I suddenly remember Wilhelm’s handwritten instructions: “With practice the spirit clock can be manipulated.”

  I put it to my ear and listen. Tick, tick, tick….

  The butterfly is still perched upon my finger as I touch the clock face, above the skeletal bird leg.

  Slow.

  “What’re you doing with it, Victor?” Elizabeth asks.

  And slower still.

  I put it to my ear once more and listen intently. Tick… tick… tick…

  “I think I’ve done it!” I exclaim.

  “Done what?” Elizabeth asks.

  “Slowed it down! Remember, the notebook said it could be done. It ticks slower now! I’ve bought us a little more time!”

  I see Elizabeth gaze at Konrad with a look of such undisguised love and desire that I feel both awkward and jealous. I cannot watch.

  “These butterflies,” I say to Analiese as mine flutters away, “they have a power to them.”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir. They show no interest in me.”

  “Nor me,” Konrad says.

  “What about these noises you’ve heard in the house?” I ask my brother.

  “I still hear them from time to time,” he says uneasily.

  I turn to Analiese. She has a pretty habit, I notice, of absentmindedly stroking her earlobe, which draws attention to both her lovely throat and hair. “You’ve been here much longer. Do you know anything about this?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone else in this house, sir, but I think I’ve heard the same sounds as your brother. Like someone who wants to wake up but can’t.”

  “Are you frightened?” Elizabeth asks Konrad.

  “No,” he says, and I know he’s lying.

  “Then why’s there a rapier by the piano?” Elizabeth demands.

  For a moment my twin says nothing. “It gives me peace of mind, foolish as it may be. Moment by moment I don’t know what to expect. Whether I’m to be gathered to heaven—or to hell.”

  “No—,” Elizabeth says, shaking her head fervently.

  Konrad cuts her off, a look of wildness in his eyes. “There’s a spirit outside the windows that wants to come in, and something inside that wants to wake. I doubt my rapier will make a difference, but if need be, I’ll wield it for all it’s worth.”