by Beth Trissel
“Halt!” Ignus defied his own order to maintain silence. Desperate circumstances required deviation from rules.
He thrust out his cane, stopping their helpless spiral, and kept the magic walking stick extended to steady them, like steering a rudderless ship. “Cease your meddling, witch, or I swear you’ll regret it! Stan, think on where we should be and watch for your opportunity. Avery, summon the wind. I’ll keep us upright and light the way.”
Why hadn’t she held onto the whistle? She couldn’t dip into her purse without losing her grip on the guys. She concentrated intently, even tried to envision Mrs. Burke for inspiration. Instead of her mentor’s face, Stan’s beguiling image beckoned, an increasing occurrence. She didn’t need to see his expression to know he was focused on the task. But they’d have to get closer for him to act.
This is where her gift came into play. Come on, wind.
A tingle coursed from her prickly scalp down her spine. The near electric current charged through her fingers and the tips of her toes—demanding an exit. Now.
Pursing her lips, she loosed the exhilarating whoosh in a clear whistle. Take that, Helen.
She was off to a terrific start, but she must keep the flow going with a lot of breath and willpower. This required all the concentration she possessed, and more. What a way to overcome attention deficit tendencies.
South wind rushed in response to her call. The fresh scent of rain on a spring day rode on its balmy current. Her warm gale collided with the withering chill Helen blasted at them. The two mighty forces heaved and wrestled. Fire and ice, striking back and forth. Thunder exploded near her ears, jarring every nerve. Dynamite couldn’t be louder than these booms. The lightning was worse. Flaming fingers sizzled across the gloom. She feared they’d be electrocuted. Snaky coils of black clouds lashed out and rock-hard hail drummed her skin, painful even beneath the coat.
Helen had unleashed Hell. This punishment must end.
Drawing deep within herself, she blew harder. She imagined her wind billowing the sails of a magnificent clipper ship and she at its prow, cutting through the water, cresting the whitecaps. New wind filled her with the might of the crashing sea. Her briny tempest overwhelmed Helen’s sulphur-laden roar. The witch sank beneath the waves of Avery’s tempest. The sleet she spit wouldn’t even damage window panes.
Had the recent battle with Ignus weakened her, or was Avery that good? She preferred the latter conclusion.
Come to think of it, was the battle in the sickroom truly a recent clash for Helen, as it had been for them, or one dating back decades in her sense of time?
No way to tell. She must keep up the good fight and pray she didn’t drop with exhaustion. Their foe could always make a comeback.
Not could. Would. Helen hadn’t ceased fire. She might strike from another angle. Impossible to know her next move.
While Avery blew a ceaseless whistle, Ignus aimed his cane at the misty vortex circling them. White light sheeted at the gray clouds, opening a brilliant hole straight ahead.
There! The house was visible and rushing at them.
Unheard of. She hadn’t seen anything like it before in their travels. One instant she and Stan were with Ignus in the present, and the next, they’d arrived at their destination somewhere in the home’s past. Helen must’ve blown them off course. Way off.
As they looked on, the years flashed before them like a deck of cards shuffled in masterful fingers. Seasons changed in rapid succession in the home’s front yard. Budding trees unfurled into soft green, then emerald leaves. Lush summer reigned a brief moment before transforming into brilliant autumn hues. Scattering foliage drifted to the ground in red and orangey-yellow heaps, leaving the branches bare. Snowflakes fell and frosted the inky boughs against a wintry sky. The whiteness melted and trees budded once more. The cycle repeated over and over again in mere seconds.
Not only did the seasons fly by like birds wheeling into the blue, but people, their modes of travel, everything, altered more quickly than time lapse photography, or fast-forwarding through a movie. Horses trotted on the road in front of the house, some drawing carriages. The earliest cars chugged along. Changes too rapid for the human eye to absorb passed by in a whir of images.
Brightness shone over the house with the brilliance of the Christmas star, or a mega planetary alignment. Had Jupiter, Mars, and Venus come together? Was the star of the three Wise men directing them?
“Hold on.” Stan gripped her hand and she clung to his, something she’d often done today. Ignus kept a firm clasp on her while illuminating their path.
In an instant, the hallway took shape. Stan parked them exactly where they’d been in what seemed mere moments ago, but couldn’t possibly be. The furniture had changed little with the passage of years. The low table along one wall, the stand by the door, and strip of mahogany and blue patterned carpet were as they’d left them, with the exception of a large green oriental vase for holding umbrellas, a trunk, and more portraits on the wall. The family had grown.
All this, Avery absorbed in a second. Windblown and breathless from her fierce battle, she exhaled in relief. Much better when they worked together as a team. Sure beat her fighting it out alone. And there, waiting to greet them, was a far older version of Anne. Fifty-five years must’ve passed for her since they’d last met, making her about seventy-two.
Lines etched her face and the hair arranged on her head was silver, but her creased hazel eyes were clear and she stood straight in the brown velvet gown. Fashion had finally caught up with the visitor’s attire, if Ignus was considered a visitor in his own home. Unlike their last arrival, the trio were dressed for the right era this go.
Anne’s shortened hemline, like Avery’s, fell slightly above her ankles and was no longer considered scandalous. An elegant buckle adorned the older woman’s beaded pumps, complementing her stately gown. Beadwork also embellished her prominent collar. Gold and gemstones banded her fingers and spangled necklaces encircled her throat. A blue print shawl wrapped her thin shoulders and an exquisite floral perfume clung to her. Expensive, no doubt.
The humble servant girl they’d known, like five minutes ago, had risen to the rank of grand lady of the manor. Well, of the house. She only lacked a tiara. The Burke family business—Ignus had mentioned a store, now sold—must’ve thrived after the town recovered from the Civil War.
Avery felt underdressed by comparison in her more casual walking ensemble, though it was streaks ahead of the jeans she normally wore. And the weird thing, one of them, was that Anne was more familiar with their clothes than they were. She’d know the terms for each item, and what to pair with what. But one look in her earnest gaze made it plain that fashion was the last thing on their hostess/fellow magical person’s mind.
She held out a small bottle in her bejeweled hand. “You gave me two of these, remember? Only Helen didn’t know. I hid the original one, until now. I sensed a tempest breaking overhead.”
Ignus smiled wryly. “Clever lady. This helped guide us after we were slammed.” He clapped Avery on the shoulder. “We wouldn’t be here without this wonder woman, or Stan the man. I couldn’t have done it alone.”
“You weren’t meant to, dear boy.” She patted his arm and tucked the bottle beneath her wide, pleated belt. “Welcome,” she greeted them, sliding her gaze from one to the other. “Much awaits you. Come meet my husband, David, Ignus’ great-great-great grandfather. Our son, Edward, hasn’t yet returned from his service with the Marines in France. But his wife, Marjorie, is here with the children, and I believe you will recognize one of the others joining us.”
Right, Christmas Eve. Festive carols emanated from the parlor and greenery lined the side table. Holly encircled a glowing lamp and the tops of the portraits. A spiciness pervaded the house. Holiday baking, she’d bet, and sniffed appreciatively.
Ignus stayed his ancestor with a hand on her velvet sleeve. “Wait. What of my father?”
“Come and see.”
He frow
ned. “Seriously?”
She held a finger to her lips.
“What about Helen? Give us a heads-up,” he argued in a whisper.
Her lips tight, she nodded at the parlor. “I fear she’s joined us, too, as you will soon discern.”
“How? She can’t leave the house.”
Knowledge weighed Anne’s somber gaze. “She doesn’t need to go elsewhere to find a host for her vengeful spirit.”
Realization dawned in his eyes. “True. I suppose the war has given her some new woman to prey on here.”
“Oh, yes. Helen lies dormant, biding her time. Patient, watching. Inevitably, there’s a jilted young lady whose lover didn’t return from war, or some woeful tale. Visiting this house is dangerous for one so vulnerable. I plead with these girls not to come. But they insist. Unfortunately, her latest victim is the great-niece of the Helen you dealt with. I fear the poor dear is possessed. And like her aunt, her name is also Helen.”
“Of course it is.” Ignus wore his downturned I should have known, look. They all did.
“Is she dying, too?” Stan sighed, likely envisioning a strange meld of pastoral care and magical intervention required on his part.
The thought of entering another sickroom was shudder worthy. “Man, I hope not. We might encounter the pandemic influenza breaking out about now.” Avery was fast turning into a germaphobe for realzies, but with good cause.
“No. Young Helen isn’t ill, and we haven’t got Spanish flu in this house,” Anne assured them. “She’s making merry with the others as best she can under the circumstances.”
“Grief mixed with spirit possession? Tough combo for merriness,” Stan muttered. “No matter how many chestnuts you roast over an open fire.”
Avery sidled in shoes pinching her toes after a day in them. “Speaking of holiday cheer, I’d be more on board with a bathroom break. I haven’t been since twenty seventeen.”
Their hostess relaxed her demeanor. “Forgive my thoughtlessness. Decades have passed for me, and you haven’t even eaten supper, or removed your hat and coat. None of you have.” She pointed up the hall. “The bathroom is on your right. Leave your outer wear in the back bedroom. I suppose you know where everything is. Then join us. But make haste. We haven’t much time.”
“Why?” the three of them chorused.
A glance over her shoulder, and Anne further lowered her voice. “Helen must be stopped by midnight, or she will keep Jude Burke here and remain with us as an eternal guest.”
Ignus bent near. “What is her hold over my father?”
“The usual. Enchantment. In his mind, he’s only been visiting with us for a few hours.”
“I was thirteen when he vanished.”
“I know, dear boy. He arrived well before the war and has been with us for seven years. We’ve concealed him from the world, even confined him to his bedroom when we must. Someone watches over him at all times.”
The strain was mindboggling. “You’ve had to live with him acting crazy and protect him for seven years? I’d go mental.” Avery had no doubt.
Anne placed the tips of her fingers on her forehead as if fighting a perpetual headache. “I won’t deny it’s been a challenge, but a mercy in a way. If he wanted to leave us and return to his rightful time, he’d find Helen barred his exit. As she has yours, by the way, though I’m sure you three will break free somehow.”
“Ech.” Ignus waved aside any concern for them. “Do the servants help with his care? Are Mr. Silvestre and Miss Bloom in service now?”
A frown furrowed Anne’s brow. “Yes, we have trusted servants who assist us. No, the two you mentioned are no longer in our employ because you transported them forward. They never knew who Jude was. We’ve kept his identity a secret and refer to him as Cousin.”
Ignus gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry about swiping your help. Thanks for watching over Dad. Mr. Silvestre did mention a relation here who resembled a photograph he’d seem of my father before Mom hid all the pictures of him. She’s really upset. Thinks he betrayed her.”
“In a way. Helen has irresistible power over most men, as you experienced. I’m sure our former servants are of enormous support to you and your longsuffering mother, and more content with you than us. As is the sad clown who once visited here.”
“He’s happier, too.”
“Doubtless.” She grew somber. “You must make your father see the truth.” Her eyes entreated them. “We have one chance, each year at this time, to defeat Helen. David and I have failed. Our son lacks our gifts, Jude is bewitched, and the grandchildren are too young to discern their abilities.”
Avery considered. “Midnight on Christmas Eve is the hour of her annual ghostly appearance. Energizing for her, no doubt. But if she’s currently occupying a new body, perhaps she’ll forgo that tradition this year?”
The older woman shook her silvery head. “Don’t you see? We want her out of that poor girl and into ghostly form. It’s our opportunity to get her back into the portrait and imprisoned there. We’ve been waiting for you three to help us accomplish this end.”
Avery shut her gaping mouth, swallowed hard, and nodded. “Sure. No biggie.” It totally was.
Stan forced a smile behind his glasses. “We got this.”
“We’d better,” Ignus said, “or we’re stuck with my dad in bonkers mode and fiendish Helen. And we still don’t know the full extent of her power.”
“Maybe we could eat first, then tackle her?” Avery seriously needed a breather.
The lady of the house grew brisk. “Certainly, dear. Refresh yourselves and have some supper. You’ll feel better.”
And ready to take on the dementors. Actually, she might prefer those evil creatures to Helen. Tough to say. Besides, they were pretend. This was far too real.
The moon-faced grandfather clock in the hall struck nine. Three hours to go until the witching hour.
Chapter Ten
Stan stood straight in the hall with the bearing of the Highland warrior Avery had envisioned. She swore he was taller, and only needed a kilt with his clan’s tartan and the accompanying paraphernalia to complete the historic Scottish guise. Lacking this, his blue suit, pin-striped shirt, and red paisley tie would have to do.
He fixed her and Ignus with a determined gleam in his eyes. He’d even tucked the glasses away in his coat pocket. “Heads high, gang. We’re going in proud.”
Good thing he didn’t say they were going down. “Right.” She raised her chin. “Cue the stirring battle music.”
“Perfect.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Strings, oboe, drum, horn… Oh, and a majestic choir. War movies always have epic themes.”
“No soundtracks in real battle,” Ignus muttered.
“We can hum,” Stan tossed back. “Although, they’re playing Jingle Bells in the parlor. Doesn’t exactly work.”
“Tough to pull off a cool walk to that. I’ll strive for a more regal bearing.” Avery had a tendency to slouch, and thrust back her shoulders in the bluish black two-piece outfit. The braid and tassel cord closures down the front of the jacket gave it a military flavor, popular for women in the World War One era. Kind of like wearing a uniform.
She touched the Saint Christopher’s medal at her throat, hoping it still held protection; the others each had theirs. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Ignus gripped his cane. “Hone in on you-know-who like radar. Await my signal to engage the she-devil, unless I can’t give it. Then you’re on your own. Either way, blow that whistle for all you’re worth, Avery. Stan, prepare to get us out of here. We may have another wild tumble through time.”
She caught his olive colored suit sleeve. “What about your dad?”
“We’ll do whatever we must to free him from her. Then we’re taking him home,” he ground out through his teeth. “No one goes without him. Agreed?”
She was solemn under the weight of responsibility. “I promise.”
“Me too.” Stan raised his hand. “High fives
all around.”
They clapped palms like teammates before running out to play.
“Get ready to improvise and watch for my signal. Let’s go.” Ignus strode ahead of them into the parlor.
She and Stan followed arm-in-arm behind him. If they hadn’t known they were on red alert, his ramrod straight back was a ‘tell’. Likely, they exuded the same tautness.
A waltz had displaced the familiar carols. Not epic but beautiful. The lilting melody flowed from the record going around on the new—to the Burke’s—gramophone. She recognized the antique player, used for decoration in modern-day. This was its presentation eve, a gift from David to his beloved wife, Anne, stated in the inscription engraved on the back that now made perfect sense.
“Care to dance?” Stan asked softly.
“Sure,” she said under her breath, eyeing the occupants of the room. “Do we know how?”
“You remember? Our ballroom dance class.”
“Oh yeah. We were ten. Mom thought we’d be adorable competing in a dance competition. She was all about the sparkly costumes. The thrill wore off when we came in last.”
He smiled, despite the tension in his eyes. Both of them were acutely aware of what was at stake this evening. Everything.
“I’m not suggesting we revive our routine. Although, for the record, I think we could dominate with a little practice.”
“A lot of practice,” she emphasized.
“Okay,” he allowed. “But we ought to manage a basic waltz.”
“You lead, you know.”
“I was planning to. And circle nearer H.”
“Is that what we’re calling her now?” Avery’s fingers itched to grasp the whistle in her purse. “Go for it. Let’s be the sharks in this scenario for once. Not the victims.”
“Act instead of react?” he suggested.
“Yes. We also took martial arts.” Together, they studied their nemesis, the curvy brunette in the red dress with voluptuous crimson lips and heavily made-up chocolate brown eyes. She wasn’t simply a grieving young woman rebelling against the more subdued household. There was something off about the girl beyond her sorrow, which she seemed to be drowning in eggnog. She emanated a malevolent spirit and it had a name.