by Mary Bowers
The unused church that the organizers had rented for the event was about halfway between Tropical Breeze and Flagler Beach, nestled into a thicket of coastal scrub, and had been freshly painted white with green trim. The congregation had moved into a bigger, more solid building just up the road, and was keeping the old church in good repair for its own events, and to make a little extra money from rentals. How well I remember going to Girl Scouts meetings in the “old church” of Annunciata when I was young, and I was reminiscing about a Food Science project I’d thrown together for a badge back in the day, so it took me a while to realize I was being stared at. I did notice an unusual amount of whispering, but then I had expected everybody to be weird.
They turned out to be fairly normal looking at first sight. Even the guy dressed as Nostradamus didn’t seem too strange. In fact, his outfit was so detailed and had been made of such rich materials it must have cost him thousands. There are so many re-enactors running around St. Augustine in costume that I guess I’m used to it. What I had been afraid of was aluminum foil hats deflecting mind-control rays, and grainy-voiced vixens in S&M get-ups wanting to read my aura. In a back room. Alone. But there was none of that.
Purity LeStrange was there. She’s a psychic from a nearby town named Spuds, and she actually had a great reputation nationally, if you kept track of that kind of thing. Her name had always struck me as kind of stagey, and I did find out from Bernie Horning that her real name was Arnelle Lester, but that’s neither here nor there. I don’t know why Arnelle would be unacceptable as a name for a spiritualist, but Purity was kind of a pretty name, and if it got her in the mood, so be it. I said hello to her, but apparently she was inhabiting another plane at the moment, and in that faraway place, something was troubling her. I wasn’t offended. She had that fraught look she gets sometimes, and I’ve found that those are good times to avoid her. A pure white, gauzy, floor-length dress drifted about her as she floated by on silent feet, clutching a little white book.
I was making my way over to Ed, who was arguing with somebody next to a lectern at the front of the old chancel, when I caught sight of Vanessa Court. She, Ed and Purity were the only people I had recognized so far. Sparky wasn’t anywhere in sight. I knew what Orwell Quest looked like, of course, but being the breathlessly-awaited guest speaker, mysterious and reclusive, I was sure he was being hidden someplace so he could make a grand entrance.
At first I thought Vanessa had gotten herself spray-painted black, but when I got closer I saw that it was a skin-tight leather cat suit. I don’t wear leather, myself, but I try not to preach, especially not to the hopeless. We nodded. We held one another’s gazes longer than necessary. We passed without words, and caused only a small crack in the world. Maybe a whiff of sulfur.
When Ed saw me coming, he intensified. That’s the only way to put it. He’s always on edge, but at the sight of me he froze so fast he quivered a little.
“You’ll have to ask her,” he said to the man next to him without breaking eye contact with me. “Here she is.”
A tall, Sherlock Holmsey-looking guy who’d been hovering over Ed in a predatory way turned and stared at me. He had a fabulous nose, much like Basil Rathbone’s, which must be what made me think of Holmes, but where Rathbone had been the hero, this guy was definitely the villain. He sort of reeked evil. It wasn’t just the excessively formal black suit with the red vest and the glassy shine on his undertaker’s shoes. It was him.
“Miss Taylor Verone, this is Gavin Lovelace. Gavin, Taylor.” Ed was restrained, even more courtly than usual, and I realized right away that he couldn’t stand the man.
“What a pleasure,” Gavin murmured in a soft bass-baritone. I’m tall, but he hung over me like a vulture and seemed to be looking for a soft place to bite. I guessed that his “thing” was vampires, but I didn’t ask.
“How are you?” I said dismissively. “Listen, Ed, I know you wanted me here early, but this is kind of ridiculous. The schedule out front says the keynote speech isn’t scheduled until noon. I’m gonna go grab a cappuccino in town. Want anything?”
“I’m going into town myself, to pick up an order,” Gavin said. “Would you like to come with me?”
I didn’t want to go anywhere with this man. Before I could think of an excuse, Ed went off. “No! She can’t go! I mean,” he said, controlling himself with an effort, “I’d like her help with something.” He started edging away from Gavin, who did a sort of pirouette and walked away stiffly.
“What’s with him?” I asked. The thin crowd of early-arrivers parted for him as he marched himself into the Men’s room, where he probably wouldn’t be able to see his reflection in the mirror.
“He wants to tinker with the schedule, and of course, it’s too late for that. And he wants to introduce Orwell himself. He says we should consult Orwell, let him decide, but it’s already been decided. In fact,” he said proudly, “Orwell specifically asked that I introduce him, several weeks ago when he consented to attend.”
“He only agreed to come a few weeks ago? This thing has been in the works for months!”
“Over a year, actually. He has a busy schedule,” Ed said. “He’s always in demand.”
“All the more reason to be organized. Is he even here yet?”
“Of course. He arrived with Vanessa about forty minutes ago, but naturally we brought him in the back way and are leaving him to compose himself in the dressing room. He doesn’t like to make public appearances.”
“Dressing room? Is he going to wear a costume or something?” I asked, as Nostradamus bowed to me in passing.
“Whatever he likes, but I don’t think so. It’s just called the dressing room because it’s where the priest used to put on his vestments for Mass. Listen, Taylor, I’d just like you to hang around, if you don’t mind. You . . . calm me. You’re like an anchor; always steady. I need that now. It’s been almost a year since the last conference, and after the free-for-all that the tarot card readers got into at that one . . . .” The memory overwhelmed him.
“Tarot cards everywhere, huh?” I said sympathetically.
He quirked a smile, took his hand away from his forehead and then burst out laughing. People stopped and stared, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“You see? That’s why I need you around. You ground me. And as many times as I’ve done this, you won’t believe it, but I still have a very difficult time with public speaking. Stage fright. Come with me. We’ll make sure the Ouija board workshop is set up. Purity is having trouble focusing this morning. I brought Sparky and his two friends in there to help me earlier, but all the materials hadn’t arrived yet. They helped me set up the tables and chairs, but now they’re busy unloading stuff from their van and setting up their booth and don’t have time to help me. Her workshop is scheduled to begin at 10:00, and it’s almost that now. I don’t think I can do it single-handed.”
“Sure. Glad to lend a hand. Lead me to the board room.”
He cracked up again, and I was glad.
* * * * *
Purity’s students were already waiting outside the room, and we slipped by them and closed the door behind us. A stack of Ouija board boxes had been dropped in a corner and left, and the folding banquet tables where the students would be seated were bare. We looked at one another in despair, then dug in and got to work. If everything wasn’t perfect, Purity would have only herself to blame.
Besides the boards and planchettes, we put thick pads of oversized paper and three pens in different colors at each place for note-taking, automatic writing, making sketches of Purity, whatever moved them.
The air conditioning that was barely cooling the hall wasn’t doing anything at all for the back room, and by the time we’d unpacked everything and arranged all the materials on the tables, I was breaking a sweat. “Do you mind if we open the doors and try to get some air in here?” I asked.
“Sure. I think we can let the students in now.”
Ed went and opened the door, and they cam
e in fanning their faces. I looked at a door at the left of the room and said, “What about that one? If we open it, we might get some cross-ventilation.”
“That’s locked. It goes into the kitchen, and we aren’t using it. It’s specifically excluded in the rental agreement I signed.”
“Oh.” I was all for picking the lock, but Ed would’ve been mortified at the suggestion of breaking the rules, so I let it drop.
Purity arrived late, just as we were setting up her dry-erase board at the front of the room, and Ed was sorting out different colored markers. He looked at her and said, “No blue. Sorry.”
“I should have known,” she said mournfully.
He selected the black marker and wrote across the top of the board in his neat, typewriter-like printing: “Ouija 101.” Then he turned the room over to Purity and we walked out.
“She’s really not herself today,” Ed commented.
“”What’s her problem?” I asked. “Issues with Princess Whatsername on the other side?”
“Princess Bright Water,” he said automatically. “No, as far as I know her controls are being cooperative. It’s the Wee Folk that are bothering her. They’re showing up out of season, and she’s distressed about it.”
“Wait – the what folk?”
“No,” he said patiently, “the Wee Folk. The primitive creatures who lived in the wild, before civilized cultures drove them underground.”
I was shaking my head. “You lost me.”
“Some traditions call them elves, some call them pixies. You know – elemental forest people.”
“Ah. Purity’s seeing elemental forest people.”
“I’ve never seen them myself,” he said pensively, “but absence of proof is not proof of absence. She says she’s been seeing them, and I, for one, am prepared to reserve judgment. According to her, they are normally only active in summer. She decided it was important enough that she should change the focus of the workshop to them instead of the Ouija at the very last minute, but I had to put my foot down. We listed it in the catalog as Ouija 101, and the workshop is a sell-out. We can’t change it now. There would be a revolt.” He looked at his atomic wristwatch. “Goodness, I lost track of the time. I’d better go see if Orwell wants anything. Excuse me.”
He beetled off, and I felt kind of proud of myself, keeping him distracted for a little while. I like Ed. It feels good to take care of your friends.
I didn’t give a second thought to the Wee Folk. Much of what goes on in Purity’s mind should simply be left there.
Chapter 8
Ed was gone for quite a while. I wandered along the back and side of the room, where various booths were being set up, but when I got near the front door I saw Gavin coming in with a big white box and reversed course before he could see me. Ed was nowhere to be seen. As I turned away from Gavin, I saw Vanessa emerge from the right side of the chancel and start walking into the hall, so I adjusted my course to avoid both of them.
There was a variety of interesting booths being set up. They were all selling their own self-published books and self-produced DVDs, of course, but there was an astonishing variety of packable séance and ghost-hunting equipment, absolutely guaranteed genuine hair from Bigfoot, complete with DNA analysis, and every size and color of crystal balls on lighted bases. It was the only time in my life I actually considered having my own personal crystal ball. They were awfully pretty. I thought one might look nice on my desk. Who knew they came in colors? But when I found out that they couldn’t be attached to the bases, for those times when you needed to pick it up for a closer look, I decided it couldn’t be. In a house with a cat, anything sitting loosely on a base is going to get knocked off, and those balls are actually crystal. They weigh a ton.
It felt like I’d had a lot of time to kill before the speeches, but before I knew it, it was almost noon. Ed had reserved a good seat for me in the front, and I decided I’d better head over to it. I pictured him somewhere in a hidden room, murmuring encouragement to the great man while straightening his lapels, and I didn’t expect to see him again, not to talk to, anyway, until after he introduced the main speaker. But before I could get to my seat, Ed came hurtling onto the stage looking like he’d just escaped from the looney bin. When he saw me he made a beeline for me.
“Have you seen Orwell Quest?” he said when he was approximately six-tenths of an inch away from me. He had lowered his voice to a hysterical whisper, but fortunately conference attendees had shown up in droves while I’d been browsing around, and there were too many people in the old church to notice one basket case in particular.
“He’s not here?” I said, whispering back, then swiveling my head to scan the hall. From the pictures I’d seen of Orwell Quest, he was short, dark, pudgy and pleasantly average looking, like a self-satisfied bear cub. He wouldn’t have stood out in a crowd like this.
“He’s been here for hours, but suddenly he’s not in his dressing room. Sparky said he saw him leave the dressing room a few minutes ago and assumed he was headed for the stage, but now nobody can find him.”
“Have you checked the Men’s room?”
“Of course!”
Somebody tapped Ed on the shoulder and he nearly shot up like a bottle rocket. It was Vanessa, and she was smiling warmly.
“Don’t worry. He won’t let you down. Just go up to the podium and begin your introduction.”
“But he’s not here! How can I introduce him when I don’t know where he is?”
“Trust me.”
Ed stared at her in horror. My sentiments exactly. I wouldn’t do what she was telling Ed to do unless she had a gun on me. The only people who say “trust me” are the ones you shouldn’t.
I took Ed gently by the arm and steered him toward the platform. “It’s already after twelve,” I told him. “The keynote speech is supposed to start at noon. If Orwell doesn’t show up, shame on him. But people know he’s an eccentric genius, and as long as you don’t say, ‘And here he is,’ before you actually see him, you’re just officially opening ParaCon. But somebody has to do something. They’re waiting.”
I looked around and so did Ed. People had gravitated to seats and were staring at us. The room had quieted down and there was no way to even whisper so people couldn’t hear.
“Ready to go, Ed?” Sparky called from the fifth row. “We’re waiting.”
That roused the crowd and everybody began to speak up, complaining.
“Just wing it,” I muttered as I urged him toward the podium.
As Ed walked toward the front of the room looking like the gallows awaited, Vanessa took me tenderly by the arm and said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since I heard. How are you doing, honey? Are you over the shock yet?”
In a room full of quiet anticipation, Vanessa’s voice sounded like it was coming over a loudspeaker. Every eye in the room stopped following Ed and turned toward Vanessa and me.
“What are you talking about?” I said in a harsh whisper.
“Your alien encounter the other day. It must have been shattering. Many people need psychiatric care after an event like that.” She came closer and looked searchingly into my eyes. “I can recommend a good counselor. Someone who’s already dealt with cases like yours. She’ll take you seriously.”
“I’m fine,” I snapped. I couldn’t help taking a glance at the audience, but I quickly looked down again. They were gaping at us. Positively ogling. Ears flapping.
“Well,” she said, coming closer to me and managing to lower her voice while enunciating clearly so that everybody could hear, “let me know if I can arrange that counseling for you. It’d do you a world of good. You look terrible. Were you actually abducted?”
“It wasn’t an alien! I don’t know what it was. I can’t believe Michael told you about it.”
“Oh, Michael didn’t tell me.” She gestured gracefully at the audience and said, “Everybody knows. We’re a community, dear. We look after one another.”
I jerked
my arm away from her and moved toward my seat, turning my back on her. The people seated near me leaned away slightly.
At that moment Ed began to speak. I’ve never been so grateful that a lecture on the paranormal was about to begin.
* * * * *
One thing I’ve noticed about Ed is that he’s shy in a crowd, but get him started on his favorite subject and you can’t shut him up.
He got up there, straightened his tie, cleared his throat and nearly knocked his glasses off his nose. Then he got some note cards out of his pocket and managed to drop two of them onto the floor beneath the platform he was standing on. The nearest person in the front row dove for them and handed them back up to him, and he took a moment getting them back in order. At first, he held them in his hands and never looked at them, then finally he set them on the lectern and forgot about them. Once he got rolling, he didn’t need them.
“Good afternoon,” he said, and got the inevitable screech of feedback. It took him a few minutes to get warmed up, but once he was off, it looked like we were going to have to wrestle him to the ground to stop him. It was partly nerves. Ed babbles when he’s nervous, and for once, he was babbling at an interested crowd. But mostly he was glib because he was on familiar ground.
He concentrated on what he called “Ufology” for longer than I thought necessary, but the audience was eating it up, and when he began to describe the way the “Ufologists” had been treated by secret government agencies and so-called scientists, I began to wonder why they’d bothered with Orwell Quest at all. I’d never seen Ed in his element before, but he knew his stuff, and what went over my head (“Cryptozoology?”) actually drew cheers from the audience.