The Open Channel

by Jill Morrow

  Asteroth’s roar, once again bestial, reverberated endlessly about them. “You must return with them. Think well, Francesca. If you remain behind here in the spirit, you will be dead to them!”

  She shook her head. “No,” she said. “They will simply learn to sense my love for them in a different way. That’s all.”

  “But, Aunt Frannie.” Kat’s eyes widened, and her hand flew to her throat. Francesca resisted the urge to pull her close again.

  “Frannie.” Stephen spoke slowly. “If you come with us, the barrier around Asteroth falls, doesn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Kat tried to absorb the situation. “We can run quickly. We can get home before he has the chance to—”

  Stephen placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Kat. There’s a possibility that Asteroth can follow us back into the twenty-first century.”

  “Yes, Stephen,” Francesca said. “The doorway opens only briefly, but it could be enough to allow him access to your time. I’d rather keep him here until I know the opening has closed completely behind you.”

  “Then I’ve lost you forever.” Kat’s voice trailed in the emptiness.

  “No, Katerina.” A full smile broke across Francesca’s face. As if connected by some unseen current, the light from her sword blazed even brighter than before. Julia lifted an arm to shield her eyes. “You could never lose me. I will always be with you. I belong here now, but you don’t. Not yet. Go, my darling, before it’s too late.”

  “But…” Kat’s words trailed as Stephen pulled her arm, guiding her away.

  “Stephen.” Francesca’s voice made him turn to face her. “Take care of her. You know the stakes.”

  He hesitated briefly, then nodded.

  “Okay,” he said, gripping Kat’s hand in one of his own and Julia’s in the other. “Run!”

  Francesca watched them race away until, quite suddenly, they were no longer there. She sensed them break into the stillness of the Lady Chapel. She felt Claire’s energy join with theirs and knew that her family had made it home.

  Her sword trembled as a sense of euphoric well-being coursed through her. She could not prevent her triumphant smile.

  “It is done, then,” she said beneath her breath.

  Slowly, she lowered her sword. The stream of light stopped. The bars of Asteroth’s cage diminished, sputtering away like a fountain when the water supply has been shut.

  Asteroth’s form flickered, growing less solid by the second.

  “It is never done, Francesca,” he said, and vanished into nothingness before her. Only the echo of his voice remained behind, an unpleasant reminder of more to come. “Never.”

  43

  SNOW FELL SOFTLY OUTSIDE ANGEL CAFé, BLANKETING THE SIDE -walks and dulling the noise of the city to a muffled hum. It was only three o’clock in the afternoon, but to Kat it might as well have been three o’clock in the morning. She had misplaced her sense of time. She was bone-weary and oddly restless all at once, unable to focus on a single thought for more than a few seconds.

  She shifted in her chair, propping her chin in her hands as she glanced through the lace curtains that framed the restaurant window. The sky was bright with heavy white clouds. It would probably snow through the night.

  “Hey.”

  Kat looked up as a shadow fell across the table. Stephen stood above her, tie loosened and suit jacket draped across the crook of his arm.

  “Is this seat taken?” he asked.

  She managed a small smile. “Sit at your own risk. My husband is the jealous type.”

  Stephen sank down beside her. “He’s got every reason to be,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

  “Where are the girls?”

  “In my office, listening to the radio. They needed to chill out a little.”

  She nestled into him, grateful for this quiet moment in the midst of a difficult day.

  Francesca’s funeral had taken place that morning. How strange to sit in Saint Leo’s listening to prayers and farewells for someone who certainly did not seem gone. Later, during lunch at Angel Café, Kat had listened to the reminiscences of friends and relatives. Everyone, it seemed, had a story to tell, a tribute to the kindness and wisdom of Francesca Piretti. But Kat, standing in a bewildered haze with Stephen by her side, had recognized that all of these stories could only hint at the essence of Aunt Frannie, a woman who had always lived more in the spirit than in the physical.

  “Are you all right?” Stephen asked now.

  She nodded, then swallowed hard. Even the knowledge that Francesca thrived in the spirit hadn’t dulled the shock of arriving home from the cathedral to find her aunt’s lifeless body lying on the bed in the upstairs guest room.

  “Heart failure,” the doctor had solemnly proclaimed. “A blessing, really. Her quality of life had been sadly compromised.”

  Kat had stared at Francesca’s body, understanding that its earlier transparency had reflected an energy pull between the spirit and the physical. She’d hugged both her daughters close, taking comfort in the solid feel of their bodies against her own. Julia, too, might have flown away well before her mother could have stood to let her go. At least they’d been spared that sorrow.

  A snowflake landed on the windowpane, bringing Kat back to Angel Café. She reached for her coffee cup.

  Stephen’s hand covered hers before she could even grasp the handle.

  “We need a vacation,” he said.

  “Actually, we probably need to get back to work. It’s been a while. Life goes on, doesn’t it?” She sensed her own reluctance behind the words. She was preaching a sermon she wasn’t quite sure she even believed anymore.

  He stroked her cheek, then let his hand fall back down to hers. “A rest, Kat. You need a rest. You’re exhausted. You’re not feeling well.”

  She averted her eyes from her husband’s face as a pink flush flooded her cheeks. His hand, gently insistent, once again traveled to her face. He lifted her chin until her eyes met his, and she saw that he already knew for certain what she had only begun to suspect these past few days.

  “You’re pregnant,” he said quietly, and the words felt familiar, as if he’d just told her she had brown hair and brown eyes.

  “Well,” she said, and then fell uncharacteristically silent. There seemed nothing else to say.

  “Kat.” He was on his knees before her, almost a parody of a Victorian wedding proposal. Her tired mind wondered for a moment if her middle-aged husband could actually get up again, but when she looked into his eyes, she recognized a flash of determination from his younger days, a spark she hadn’t even realized she missed.

  Stephen cleared his throat. “Kat. I’ve let a lot slide, lately. I know that. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Stephen. Living is just like that. We get busy and—”

  He shook his head. “It is not okay. We can’t even plead ignorance, because both of us know better. We know what’s important and what isn’t. And if we aren’t fundamentally changed after what we’ve just been through, if we can’t remember how fragile and profound our existence in this world is—”

  She placed a silencing finger against his lips.

  “I know,” she said.

  “You mean the world to me,” Stephen said. “I love you, Katerina Piretti. I’d marry you again in a heartbeat. And I think this baby thing is awe-inspiring.”

  One side of her mouth turned up in a crooked grin. “Oh, you do, do you? Do you have any idea what this will do to our lives?”

  “No.” He gathered her up in his arms and held her close. “I have no idea at all. That’s the point. We don’t need to know anything beyond this moment.”

  And, as they held each other in the dim dining room, Kat was inclined to believe that he was right. The only way to live was to savor the energy of each moment as it whirled through body, mind, heart, and soul. Each second possessed truth ripe for the asking. All it required was enough faith to actually listen for the
answer.

  “Jamaica,” she said, tightening her arms around him.

  “What?”

  “Let’s go there. I promise I’ll rest. We’ll talk, Stephen, and catch up a little.”

  “You got it. I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow.”

  Even their kiss felt different: soft, deep, and filled with renewed promises for the days to come.

  Epilogue

  JULIA DROPPED AN EMPTY LAUNDRY BASKET ONTO THE FLOOR outside her sister’s bedroom. “Mom wants all your dirty laundry, Claire.”

  No answer.

  “Claire?” Julia poked her head through the doorway.

  Claire sat cross-legged on her bed, eyes closed, smile on her face. It was so unusual to see her completely still that Julia entered the room.

  “Hey, Claire.” She hurried to the bed and gave her little sister a shake. All that weirdness several weeks ago still lingered. Any behavior that did not smack of business as usual worried her.

  But Claire’s eyes opened readily. Her smile widened. Even better, she started chattering away in her normal mile-a-minute style. Julia couldn’t help smiling herself.

  Claire bounced on her bed. “Julie, you will not believe how light I got your room just now.”

  Julia’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”

  “The light. You know, like the light you saw when you were back in England. Remember?”

  “Yeah, Claire, I remember. But you never saw it.”

  Claire shrugged. “Light is light.”

  Almost against her will, Julia sank down to the edge of her sister’s bed.

  “Look, Claire, you might not want to talk about that stuff anymore. People will think you’re weird. Besides, we’ve got a new baby coming. We’re all going to be too busy to deal with anything outside reality.”

  Claire’s eyes widened. “This is reality. Besides, he’ll be okay with it.”

  “He?”

  “The baby. It’s a boy. Can’t you feel that, Julie?”

  Julia slowly stood. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “But Julie…”

  “Your laundry.” Julia glanced at the balled-up clothing on her sister’s floor, then met Claire’s gaze. She obviously had more to say, but Julia was sure that she didn’t want to hear it. It was time to move on.

  “Come on, Claire,” she said. “I’ll help you pick this up this mess.”

  Claire studied her sister for another moment. Then she knelt and began to gather her clothes.

  JILL MORROW has enjoyed a broad spectrum of careers, including practicing law and singing with local bands. The author of Angel Café, she lives in Baltimore, Maryland. She has just completed her third novel. Visit her Web site at www.jillmorrow.net.