by Howe, A. E.
Matthew’s face flushed in embarrassment.
Alice led them into the parlor where François was holding court with the new mayor George Harrington, county commissioner Guy Copeland and their wives. Josephine couldn’t remember either of their wives’ names. She cursed herself for not asking ahead of time who would be attending.
“Miss Nicolson,” the mayor said. “We were just talking about the unfortunate matter of Sheriff Logan.”
Josephine was taken aback. Her plan had been to broach the subject when she found an opening. Now a shot had clearly been fired across her bow.
“And the murders, I’m sure,” she said.
“Exactly,” Copeland said. “The mayor and I have talked with many folks and I think we need to promote a young man who’s been with the department to fill Logan’s shoes. Of course, there will be an election in a year and a half. So whoever is appointed will just have to take control until then.”
“Bobby Tucker would be an excellent choice,” Josephine said, pretending she didn’t know who they really meant. She noticed that François was standing back with a wicked little smile on his face. He planned this ambush, Josephine thought.
Mayor Harrington looked uncomfortable. “We considered Bobby, but he was too involved in that business out at Mrs. Rosehill’s. Some of our most prominent citizens were killed in that fiasco, including poor Mayor Thornton.”
Josephine restrained herself from pointing out that Thornton had been in cahoots with a band of whackjobs that had been using the Necronomicon to call up an ancient evil.
“So who did you have in mind?”
“Deputy Willard Paige. He comes from a good family, not an excitable type. I think that’s what we need. Especially now with these recent murders. Everyone is getting very worked up, which is not good for business.”
“Exactly my point!” said Copeland, the owner of one of the larger grocery stores in town. “We have some bear attacks and the whole town goes crazy.”
Delusional was the word that came to Josephine’s mind.
“I’ve met Deputy Paige. I’d say he has real leadership attributes,” François said, and this time there was no mistaking the smile on his face for anything but a stab at Josephine’s back.
“I’m not sure we’re talking about the same Deputy Paige.” Josephine had had enough of being demure.
“He’s my nephew,” said one of the wives. Josephine thought it was Mrs. Copeland and this was confirmed when Copeland reached out and put his arm around the woman.
Josephine was out-gunned and she knew it. She’d have to find another way around François and his burgeoning power structure.
“Maybe we should leave politics for the daylight hours,” François said, as though he had received her surrender. The others gazed at him in a way that made it crystal clear who was in charge.
Josephine looked around for Matthew and saw him talking in a corner with Daniel Robertson. “If you will excuse me.” Josephine turned and went over to them before the others could say anything.
“Daniel, are you going to sit in on the séance?” Josephine asked.
“No,” he snapped, then seemed to reconsider and leaned forward close enough that he could whisper to Josephine. “Honestly, the man has started to gives me the creeps.”
Josephine turned her head so that François couldn’t see her answer. “Good.”
Her blood froze when she saw François’s reflection in the glass of the window. He’d been watching them. Fine, she thought, wondering what the next few hours were going to be like. Is this more than just a political trap? She considered grabbing Matthew and heading for the door. She wished now that Blasko had come.
“Let us take our places,” Alice said as she came back and escorted them to the dining room where the large table was set up for the séance.
“That’s my cue to go to my study,” Daniel said, downing the whiskey left in his glass.
Alice carefully placed them around the table. François was flanked by the two wives. Next to each of them were their husbands. Josephine and Alice completed the circle, with Matthew between them.
Alice had blown out all of the candles except for a single one in the center of the table. In the glow of the light, Josephine felt François’s eyes focused on her. She resisted the urge to turn away. Damn him, she thought, grinding her clenched teeth.
“We have a new person joining us at the table tonight,” François said. “I hope that the spirits will bring him the answers he seeks.”
François reached out his arms and they all joined hands. A chill filled the room. There was a different atmosphere than the last séance she’d attended. Josephine felt an oppressive presence and she glanced at François, but he had his eyes closed and head down. His body swayed slowly back and forth.
The first spirit to manifest itself through François was a sister of Blanche Copeland. They laughed and giggled about their childhood together. The spirit told Blanche how important the tie was that bound them, and how she was going to use it to pull their mother out of a miserable existence beyond the veil. Every word was used to manipulate Blanche. Josephine could tell how important this link to her dead sister had become. François had woven a web of emotion to ensnare her, like a doctor who used laudanum to keep a patient coming back to him.
Next was a spirit who came to deliver a message to Alice.
“Alice, sweet Alice. I am your friend. So many years, I suffered so. But no more. I’m free, but I worry about you.”
“Who are you?” Alice asked.
“Remember the pen you gave to me? So precious to me. You were so kind.”
“Judith? Oh, I miss you!” Alice’s voice held a great longing.
“You are in danger,” the spirit intoned.
“Danger?” Alice asked, incredulous.
“Beware of the people around you.”
“Who?”
But there was nothing more. François moaned and Josephine thought it might be time for a break, but suddenly his head flew back and an unearthly scream came out of his mouth. Jolted, the women holding François’s hands let go and gasped. Everyone else clutched their neighbor’s hand, though they all looked up in surprise.
“The pain!” François groaned. His clasped his free hands to his chest. “I remember the pain.” His body stiffened while his head rocked back and forth. “So alone. You left me all alone among the dead. The night before, we played cards and drank. The next squad down in the trenches was playing a song, The Minstrel Boy. We shook hands and vowed that no matter what happened, when we faced the enemy we would do it together. But here I lie in the field of the dead. Lost.”
“That bullet tore through your heart. There wasn’t anything I could have done for you. I stayed by your side until you breathed your last breath. I swear it,” Matthew said, a deep sadness in his voice.
“It wasn’t enough.”
“What more could I have done? Our company was already out of sight before I left you. The living needed me more than you did at that point.” Matthew sounded like a man who didn’t believe his own words. “I’m here because, ever since that day, I’ve felt you haunting me.”
“I was never found. Still lost under the mud of France,” the voice chastised him.
“I had to leave,” Matthew said. “Please…” It was a cry for forgiveness.
“Lost,” François said and leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. After a moment, he said in his normal voice, “I must take a break.”
“Please!” Matthew said, reaching his hand across the table with a desperate look in his eye.
“If the spirit didn’t give you what you sought, I am sorry. They do as they want. I can’t command them to answer you,” François said, looking at Matthew. Then he stood up. “Now I need something to drink and a moment to recover myself before we go on.”
Everyone but Matthew and Josephine stood up. She let the rest of them get out of earshot before placing a hand on his arm.
“We don’t kn
ow who was speaking to you. Don’t take what he said too much to heart.”
“His name was Terry Yates. He was from Dothan. We helped each other get through our training. Slid through the vomit of seasick soldiers together as we crossed the Atlantic on our way to France. I know that was Terry. His body was never recovered. They classified him as deceased based on my report of seeing him shot and staying with him while he died. I should have dragged him back to our trench, or at least made sure one of the medics found him.”
“I’ve never been to war. I don’t have any idea what you all must have gone through or what it was like when he was killed. What I do know is that our duty is always to the living. We have to let the dead go sometimes before we’re ready to.”
“I had a duty to Terry and his family that I didn’t fulfill,” Matthew said. Josephine watched his hand form a half circle as if holding a bottle or a glass. He looked at her and in a low voice growled, “Damn Blasko for taking away my liquor.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“No. I’ll stay and see this through.”
Josephine thought about asking him if he wanted a glass of water, but decided that might come across as a cruel joke, so she simply got up and went to find François.
The medium was talking and smiling with Alice at the bar. Josephine locked eyes with him and he broke off the conversation he was having to follow her out onto the front porch. She could feel him behind her.
The porch was dark except for the candlelight coming through the windows of the parlor. She stood by the railing and looked out toward the street. François let the door close quietly before coming to stand next to her.
She turned to face him. “Why did you tear him down like that?”
“I didn’t do anything except open a conduit to the spirit world,” he said with a faint smile.
“I don’t know what your agenda is, but I’m not going to let you rip this town apart.”
He laughed. “Spunky. But you don’t have a choice. I will do what I want.” He stepped toward her in a clear attempt to intimidate her.
She stood up straighter and looked him square in the face. “I have allies.”
“So you do. And I know a lot about them. Especially the one you have living in your basement. I’d rather not destroy him until I’m ready. But if you make me…”
“How dare you?” Josephine was flustered. She had not expected him to drop his mask like this. “Why are you here?”
“I have my reasons. Your friend is one of them.”
“This is a small town in rural South Alabama. We have nothing you could possibly want.” She knew that it was rash to argue with him. It was obvious that he was a menace to the community. And apparently, on top of everything else, an enemy of Blasko’s.
“Is that what you think? At one time, Waterloo and Gettysburg were just quiet rural communities. Battles are fought wherever the opposing forces are drawn together.”
“Are you saying that this is turning into a battleground? For who?”
“I can hear the distant war drums,” he said with a faraway look in his eyes.
“Then you are not a part of these forces?”
“No more than your friend the baron. We are on the outside, not part of the forces that created us.”
“What force created you?”
He laughed again. “I created myself.” She thought that was all he was going to say on the subject, but then he added, “I used the power of one greater than me to become who I am.”
“And who are you?” Part of Josephine wanted to break off the conversation, but she hoped she might learn something that could be useful. Still, talking to him was like watching the rhythmic swaying of a cobra.
“I have been many people. My parents were ignorant pigs who performed for those who were more stupid than they. I watched them do their ridiculous carnival acts. My mother told fortunes while my father did conjuring tricks. I decided to learn real magic. I found a group of like-minded souls and we started on a journey that led me to master some of the greatest of the dark arts.”
“I’ve never heard of you before.”
“Fame is for fools who need the adoration of their peers. All I need is the knowledge that I’ve reached the pinnacle of my craft.”
“Than why are you trying to disrupt life in our town?”
“I have debts to be paid.”
“To whom?”
“The ones that gave me my power.”
“Did you commit the murders?”
“Here? No, I’ve killed no one since I came here. Josephine, you could join me. You have power of your own.” He stepped forward until they were eye to eye. To her surprise, he flinched and stepped back.
“I see that your bond with the provincial bloodsucking buffoon in your basement is closer than I thought.”
“My bond with him goes beyond anything you’d understand,” she told him.
“I made a fool of him once. I’m going to do worse this time.” He turned and left her staring at his retreating back as he went inside the house without another word.
Josephine again debated finding Matthew and leaving. But if there was even a small chance of learning more, then they needed to stay. François was far more dangerous than she’d thought, whether he had anything to do with the recent string of attacks or not.
Back inside, the other guests were smiling while Alice played host. From the looks she gave him, it was obvious that Alice was as enamored with François as the other guests. Josephine could visualize this scene playing out over dozens of séances. The man used his charm and his link to the spirit world to ensnare people into his net.
“We should return to the table,” François said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Blasko pulled into the driveway, scouting the yard for any sign of their nosy neighbor, Evangeline Anderson. She would not react well to men carrying an unconscious woman into his basement. For once she would be right to make a fuss, Blasko thought.
Blasko, Etheridge and Anton carried the girl from the car to the steps that led down to the exterior entrance of his basement apartment.
“How should we do this?” Etheridge asked, looking at the steps. The girl wasn’t heavy, but carrying her limp body was awkward and the brick steps were narrow and steep.
“Who is that?” came a voice from the hedge that separated Josephine’s property from the Andersons’. Luckily the voice was male. Blasko had formed a friendly enough relationship with her son, Cyril, based on mutual secrets.
“Quit peeking at us like a child and come over here,” Blasko said, knowing that it was best to deal with the situation head-on.
Cyril came timidly through the hawthorn hedge. “I didn’t mean to spy on you,” he said and quickly added, “really.”
“This young lady has had a traumatic experience. You may know Colonel Etheridge. He’s likely to be the county’s new sheriff. This,” Blasko pointed at Anton, “is a friend from my home country. He’s going to be staying with me for a little while.”
“I met Anton the other day,” Cyril said, causing Blasko to glare at the old man, who just shrugged.
“We are taking the girl into my apartment where she will be safe and looked after.”
“There are people who want to hurt her. We need a safe place where they can’t find her,” the colonel added.
“Oh, okay,” Cyril said. He seemed intent on standing there while they took her into the basement.
Blasko sighed and lifted the girl easily into his arms. He’d resisted showing Etheridge his true strength, but he didn’t want to be out here if Cyril’s mother came around.
“Anton, get the door,” he said. Then he paused after taking a couple of steps down and turned back to Cyril. “If you hear any odd noises, such as howling, or perhaps growling, she has been having some mental issues. Dr. McGuire will be attending her.” He turned his back on the boy and carried Molly through the door that Anton held open. Blasko had no intention of calling Dr. McGuire. Molly Ch
ester’s affliction was incurable.
“We’ll put her in my chambers for the time being.”
Blasko stopped and put the girl down on a chair and turned to Colonel Etheridge. He realized that he would have to take the colonel into his confidence as far as his sleeping accommodations were concerned. He thought about shooing the colonel upstairs while he and Anton placed the girl inside the smaller room, but to do that might lead the colonel into thinking there was something unsavory about Blasko keeping the girl in his sleeping quarters.
The baron took a deep breath. “As a well-traveled man, I’m sure you’ve seen a few people who have some peculiar idiosyncrasies.”
“Certainly. I met an officer on the Ivory Coast who only ate chicken. Odd little man.”
“People can also have strange sleeping habits.”
“Most assuredly. There was the mayor of a town in Texas who slept standing up.”
“I must let you know that I, too, have a rather… Some might call it a morbid habit of sleeping in an unconventional bed. I don’t want you to be too shocked.” Blasko opened the door into his chamber, revealing his coffin on its bier.
“Well, now, that is different,” the colonel said, stepping into the room. “Where did you acquire this… habit?”
“As you know, back in the day when many children could be expected to die before reaching their maturity, parents often had a child’s coffin made and would store it at their home. My parents did this and one day when I discovered it as a child of eight, I decided that I would start sleeping in it.” He shrugged. “All these years later and it’s a habit I’ve never shaken off.”
“Ha! Understood. Funny, that. Mum’s the word.”
After the awkward explanation passed inspection with the colonel, they carried Molly into the room and made her as comfortable as possible on the floor. She was still unconscious, but her breathing was becoming more rapid.
“I’d suggest we leave her alone,” Blasko said, herding Anton and Etheridge out of the room. He closed the door and locked it before handing the key over to Anton.