The breeze rose into a wind, swirling in a vortex around Ben. Visible in a flurry of paper, the wind flung itself at Merrow. The young man was shoved back.
He cried out, raising his arm over his face to stop the papers that pelted him. In the spirit realm, Ben stood between her and Merrow, responding to a perceived threat to Ginger. He rose over the young man, back arched forward. His form was deep grey shot through with molten red. He grabbed a book and threw it at Merrow.
Each manifestation into the physical world sapped his energy. She had to stop him. As weakened as Ben was, his spectral form could wind up trapped in its fear and anger, unable to complete its task.
Merrow staggered back under the onslaught, and, despite the fear wrapped around him, shook his head. “What is—I don’t understa—oof.” A book slapped him across the mouth.
Supporting herself against the wall, Ginger pushed a little farther outside her body. Distantly, she felt her knees begin to buckle and paused to tighten them. She took a breath. Turning her attention to the spirit realm again, she called, “Ben, leave poor Merrow alone.”
The reds and blacks ground against each other, scraping like gravestones.
“Ben! Darling, please listen to me.”
He swarmed forward, his figure distorted so that it was barely human, only an amalgam of emotions.
“Ben!” Something … there must be something that would call him back to himself. Helen had tried evoking a memory of a happier time with Ginger. “You promised me a kiss!”
He slowed, but the wind did not stop whipping through the room.
“Don’t you remember? We were in the Lake District at that ghastly house party, and you thought Miss Porter needed to be rescued from FitzWilliam. And you were right; you went and spilled champagne on him. You promised that I should have a kiss later, but—”
“I did, though.” He turned.
“Not that one.” Ginger shook her head, though truly, she did not keep track of which kiss was which. “Kisses of greeting, teasing kisses, romantic kisses, kisses of farewell, but not the deferred one from when you rescued Miss Porter.”
He swayed, staring at her without the memory of blinking. “Didn’t I?”
“No.” She wet her lips. “In fact, there was another deferred kiss just last week. So leave Merrow alone, please, because I require your full attention.”
“But he has your letters.”
“It is my prerogative to give them to whomever I like.” She paused, remembering to breathe. “Merrow may have them to give to your parents.”
“Oh.” Ben scrubbed his hands through his hair, but it stayed unmussed and perfectly pomaded. The wind stopped.
With a rattle, all the paper dropped to the ground. Well. She should have tried giving the letters to Merrow sooner.
Ben stared at her, confusion flickering over him. “I can’t kiss you, though. That will hurt you.”
“Not now, sweetheart. No.” Ginger pulled back into her body. Cold and numb, she shivered as she leaned against the wall.
Merrow straightened slowly. He stared at Ginger as if she were the ghost. “Is he … is the captain? He’s…?”
“A ghost.” They had planned to keep it a secret, but with Ben poltergeisting, there was little point in it.
“I thought—” Merrow dropped Ginger’s letters and jumped when they hit the ground. Horror surrounded him. “I thought we only had to report in to the Spirit Corps, and then we were released. We have to keep working even after we’re dead?”
“No—oh, God, no.” Ginger pushed away from the wall, holding her hand out to soothe Merrow. “Nothing like that. Ben was … Ben was murdered. By a traitor.”
“Not—” Merrow’s voice cracked. “Not in the explosion?”
“No.” The poor thing. Merrow must have slept until the explosion shook the camp, then gotten caught in the horror of that. Before the war, she could have imagined few things as awful. There was one, though, that required no imagination. Ginger took a breath and faced him directly. “A British officer strangled him when he went out to smoke.”
Merrow’s aura flooded with guilt. “I told him … I told him that smoking would be the death of him.”
“Well…” Ginger swallowed and studied the papers on the floor.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Merrow stooped and picked up her packet. “I reckon he’s made it clear that he wants you to have these.”
Ginger took them, shivering as Ben came to stand beside her. “Thank you, Merrow.”
“Are you—are you all right, ma’am?” He shifted his weight. “Forgive me for saying so, but you look … you look a little done in.”
Ginger crossed the room to the chair, which stood by the now bare desk. She sank into it, feeling the weight of her mortal form pressing down upon her. “May I ask you to find Helen Jackson and have her to bring our circle here? It would be most helpful. I need help to stabilize Ben.”
“Circle … you’re a medium. They’re all mediums?” He blinked, a violet shock shooting through his aura. “The Spirit Corps is here. In Le Havre.”
They had put so much effort into misleading the troops about the location of the mediums, it had never occurred to her that Merrow would believe it as well. She had assumed he would know, as Ben’s batman. She tried a partial truth. “All mediums? Heavens, no. Though I am, because they needed one to serve as a liaison from the London branch to the brigadier-general. The main point is that I need help, and Helen will know how.”
“Certainly.” He stood a little straighter, as if coming to attention. “Where do I find her, ma’am?”
“She should be in the billet at the old asylum.” Ginger glanced out the window. It was still full dark, but she wasn’t sure she could trust herself to sleep again. “Please convey my apologies for waking her.”
* * *
While she waited on the circle, Ginger tried to restore some order to the room. Not because the chaos bothered her, but because she was fairly certain that she would lucid dream again if she fell asleep.
Joanne arrived first. She pattered up the stairs, rosy cheeked and smelling of cigarette smoke. Edna followed close on her heels. Both wore party frocks, as if they had danced all night.
Joanne put her hand on her chest, her breath steaming in the cold air. “Lord. I thought we’d be the last here.”
Edna crossed the room and took the papers out of Ginger’s hand. “Here, ma’am. Sit. Let us do that.”
“I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep, and…” Admitting it aloud rankled, but they would all know as soon as they linked into a circle. “I’m in danger of coming unmoored.”
Ben leaned against the wall, disturbingly clear to her sight—if she weren’t so glad to see him, it would be a dangerous sign of how “loose in her skin” her soul was.
He tilted his head and looked at Joanne. “Will you tell Ginger she has to get some rest? I won’t come anywhere near her.”
“They can’t hear you.” She had spoken aloud without realizing it, until Edna looked at her wide eyed. “Sorry … that was to Ben.”
Joanne said, “Pvt. Merrow said Capt. Harford needed stabilising, but it seems more like you do.”
“You aren’t far wrong.”
Edna put her hands on the bookcase. “Help me with this, Joanne?”
Brushing her hands off, Joanne gripped the edge. “Ready? Go.” In moments, they had the shelves up and settled. Joanne laughed. “I don’t think you needed me at all for that.”
Edna ducked her head and shrugged. “It’s easier than wrangling a sheep.”
The bustle had masked the sound of the rest of the circle arriving, with Merrow close behind them. Lt. Plumber watched Edna and nudged Merrow, in that way men have of sharing admiration. “That’s a woman, see? One who isn’t afraid to lift things.”
Merrow cleared his throat a couple of times and looked at the floor. “If you say so, sir.”
Helen took one look at Ginger and her aura went poison green with disapproval. She strode stra
ight to the narrow bed and yanked on the frame to turn it upright. She pointed at Ginger. “You. Lie down.” Then she spun on Ben. “And you—are you trying to kill her?”
“No!” Ben went grey with horror. “No, no, no—”
“Ben!” Ginger held out her hands to him. “I’m only tired; I’m not going to die.” At least not today.
“Only tired!” Helen barked a laugh. “I’ve seen dead people that got more energy than you. Now lie down.”
“But Ben is the one who needs to be stabilised.” Ginger was exhausted, yes, but if Ben lost his sense of self, giving him a resolution would be markedly more difficult.
“And part of what is making him unstable is thinking that you are in danger. Lie down.”
Ginger sank onto the bed.
“Good.” Helen sniffed and turned to the circle. “Mrs. Richardson. Lt. Plumber. I want you to form a small circle with Ginger and anchor her so she can sleep. Everyone else will link up with me, and we’ll work on Capt. Harford.”
Ginger shook her head. “But you won’t have a full circle.”
“I’m going to add Edna and Pvt. Merrow—if they’ll agree to it.” With her hands on her hips, Helen did not appear predisposed to accept a refusal.
“I—I’ve never … I wouldn’t know how, ma’am.” Merrow ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up like random pieces of straw.
Mr. Haden clapped the young man on the shoulder. “She’ll guide us. It’s that easy, it is.” He sighed and stared at the floor. “Except for us not having any chairs. Getting off the floor will be harder for these old bones than being an anchor.”
Helen knelt and held out her hands to either side, gesturing the others to sit. “I’m afraid I need you, Pvt. Merrow, because you know Capt. Harford best.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and Merrow nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He sank to the floor with the others. “My mum would be … well … she always thought mediums were…”
“The devil’s work?” Joanne dropped carelessly down beside him. “Poo. It’s a blessing what we do. You’d know so if you heard some of the messages our boys send home.”
From her spot on the bed, Ginger watched with some bemusement as the circle sorted itself out. Lt. Plumber limped to stand beside the bed, staring at it with his lower lip caught between his teeth.
Mrs. Richardson plopped herself down at the head of the bed and arranged her skirts in her lap. “There now, poor dear. You just lie back and rest your head in my lap.” She looked up at Lt. Plumber. “You sit by me.”
“I’m not sure … is that proper?”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll threaten my virtue.”
He chuckled and sat, leaning his crutch against the wall. “I suppose not.” Setting the stump of his leg on the bed, he grinned. “And I don’t take up as much room. Unexpected benefits.”
“You are both very odd.” Ginger glanced away from them again, and over to the other circle. Ben had drifted to the middle, but she could not quite see him. She started to stretch out of her body and was stopped by a sharp poke in her shoulder. “Ow!”
Mrs. Richardson held her knitting needles in one hand, poised to deliver another jab. “Don’t you go out of your body, missy. Now lie down and sleep, like Helen said.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ginger lay down with her head in Mrs. Richardson’s lap, feeling as if she were a small child with her own grandmother.
“Good.” Mrs. Richardson took one of Ginger’s hands and one of Lt. Plumber’s.
The soldier took Ginger’s other hand. Cradled between them, the combined weight settled Ginger deeper into her body. She sighed. The closeness of her flesh was familiar and repulsive at the same time. It would be so much easier to slip free entirely.
But not yet.
Chapter Ten
23 JULY 1916
Ginger awoke to sunlight falling across her face. She felt, if not entirely rested, more secure in her own skin. A minute clicking sounded above Ginger’s head. She shifted and looked up.
Mrs. Richardson had a pair of knitting needles working. She beamed down from over the length of blue-grey wool. She whispered, “There you are.”
Lt. Plumber rested a hand on Mrs. Richardson’s shoulder to maintain contact while she knit, but he still held one of Ginger’s hands. He gave it a little squeeze and yawned at the same time. In a low murmur, he asked, “Feeling any better?”
“Thank you, yes.” She squeezed his hand before releasing it to sit up.
The other circle had moved and was now crowded together by Ben’s desk. Merrow sat at it, with Helen standing behind him. Her eyes were closed and her hands rested on his shoulders. The other members of the circle made a link around them. Merrow was sorting the papers, tilting his head from time to time as if he was listening to someone. Ben’s aura, in muted blues and yellows, stood over his shoulder.
Ginger pushed out a little, just past her own skin. Ben snapped into focus. He was leaning over Merrow’s shoulder, looking at the papers as the young man sorted them. “File that. Garbage … garbage … wait—no. It’s my notes on a cipher … mm. Burn it. The message wasn’t relevant to this, but I’d rather someone not reverse engineer the code.”
He looked more like Ben than he had last evening. His features were regular, and while there was a line of concentration between his brows, he no longer had a haggard, inhuman appearance. The colours playing around and through him were muted shades of steel blue concern and a lemony orange aggravation. The haze of fear had not vanished entirely, but lay beneath the other veils of emotion.
Ben straightened, looked around, and caught sight of her. He smiled, and amber rippled across him in an aurora of happiness. “Thank God.”
Helen’s spirit turned to face Ginger, while her body’s hands remained firmly on Merrow’s shoulders. “I was worried you wouldn’t listen to reason.”
Ginger raised her eyebrows. “I’m not that stubborn.”
Ben barked a laugh. Helen snorted. Mrs. Richardson coughed.
The nerve of the lot of them. She was really not as appallingly stupid as they seemed to think she was. Aside from almost losing herself the night prior. “I did send Merrow for help.”
“True.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “Although the need to do so was my fault.”
“But only because I—”
“Lovebirds.” Helen cleared her throat. “The point that we should focus on is that there are certain realities you both need to accept. The longer this takes, the more coherence Capt. Harford will lose.”
Ginger shuddered. At her back, Mrs. Richardson lay a steadying arm around her shoulders. Swallowing, Ginger nodded. “So we need to find the man who killed Ben as quickly as possible.”
“Not for me—” Ben held up his hands. “Yes. Yes, the whole coherence conundrum. But they are targeting you and the other women of the Spirit Corps. I can’t let that … I have to stop them.”
“I think…” Ginger slowed, watching him for signs of distress. “Last night you became upset when I proposed this, but I think it is the only choice. Whatever you found is at the front. We need to retrace your steps.”
“I don’t want you to go.” The layer of fear rose to his surface, turning the other colours a murky grey.
“But, Ben … you cannot go by yourself without completely losing your memory of your purpose.”
“I’m not … I’m not tied to you, am I?” He turned to the other medium. “Helen? Tell Ginger she can stay here.”
Shaking her head, Helen looked between the two of them. “I think you are—or rather, I think your fear for her will distract you to the point that you will forget everything else.”
Ben’s image flickered so he stood simultaneously at attention, and also half bent with his hands buried in his hair.
Biting her lip, Ginger waited on the bed while the other circle projected comfort and security at him. The waves of soothing pinks and ambers washed through Ben until he shuddered and stood at ease again.
W
ith one hand, he stroked his mustache as if nothing had happened. “I take your point.”
Lt. Plumber said, “How were you planning to get there, ma’am?”
“I—” She had not put any thought into it. Yet. “I thought I might borrow some of Ben’s clothes and take the train.”
Ben and Lt. Plumber both laughed, and even Merrow showed a shy grin. Ben said, “Darling, no one would mistake you for someone of the masculine persuasion.”
Mrs. Richardson cleared her throat. “If I might … Ginger will need an anchor, am I correct?”
“I can hardly travel with a full circle.” Even if the Spirit Corps didn’t need every suitable person on duty, a large group would be conspicuous.
“You would only need one or two.” Helen appraised Mrs. Richardson with narrowed eyes. “And if you planned to do a full séance, you could recruit any mundane who was willing.”
“Exactly, my dear.” Mrs. Richardson nodded over her knitting. “I was thinking that I might go with you. That way you could still travel as a young woman, and I could play your chaperone. Not that you need one.”
Joanne wrinkled her nose. “But wouldn’t it make sense for it to be one of us? The younger ones, I mean? Those regular Spirit Corps girls, the ones who just do the hospitality huts, are always travelling in pairs.”
“Ah … but an elderly woman has a great deal of leeway in the world.” Her eyes twinkled as she looked at Mr. Haden, and she winked. “We can get away with murder—oh, dear. That’s probably not in the best taste. The point is, I can do almost any shocking thing and people will go out of their way to help me.”
He guffawed. “Aye! That’s true enough.”
Gratitude rolled out of Ginger, and for a rare moment she could see the edges of her own aura in a golden incandescent haze. Her breath caught in her throat. “Thank you. That is really lovely of you.”
Ben turned back to his desk. “Merrow, if you’ll open the bottom drawer, it has a false back. I have some travel documents that should—no, wait. I’ve got nothing for a lady.”
“I’ll go.” Merrow turned from his place at the desk, shoulders still held by Helen.
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