The feeling began coming back into her fingers, Helena risked opening her eyes. She had no explanation for what she saw, there were no glass shards on the table in front of her. The door behind Griselda was intact, and as far she could tell the windows behind her remained solid. With no experience dealing with the supernatural, she had no way of knowing if the results had been positive or negative, she did notice Griselda had passed out drool cascading down her chin. At first, she wanted to scoop up her items and run like hell followed on her heels, instead, she grabbed the cork and locket off the table then began cleaning Madame Griselda’s face.
“Madame Griselda please wake up. You must be all right, please wake up, I beg you,” slowly the witch began rolling her head from side to side moaning, attempting to regain her composure.
“Did it work? It must’ve worked I’m getting a terrible headache,” she pushed herself up from the table and made her way over to a fold-down secretary when opened displayed a number of decanters each with a different colored liquor. She poured two hefty portions, ironically Helena could read the label, it proudly announced Christian Brothers. She snickered silently to herself thinking what brother Murphy would think. Madame Griselda handed Helena one of the glasses.
“I hope you got the information you’re looking for I don’t want to do that again. That’s one of the costs of my craft I never remember what I say, and I always have a terrible headache afterward.”
Helena wasn’t sure what to say, but she drank the brandy fast enough. She concluded, if this case went on much longer, she was going to develop a taste for alcohol.
“I think we found out everything you could. Do you remember what you said at the end?”
“Honey I told you I don’t remember anything from a reading. Why, what did I say?”
“You said that death was coming on white wings.”
“That sounds like a spirit forcing its way into your reading. Spirits can be most impolite, at times downright rude. Does it mean anything to you?”
“No, I was told the same thing a few days ago. A patient at Agnew’s grabbed my hand and said the same thing,” she didn’t think it proper to bring up the urination and the flopping around on the ground.
“That’s strange, that means something is trying to communicate using any means possible. Sometimes people are touched, and experience things normal people can’t, even hear things. There are those that are quick to judge people who dance to the music in their heads,” Madame Griselda walked back over picking up the decanter. She brought it to the table, she poured herself another glass then held up the decanter and offered to Helena.
“No, I am fine, I should be getting back to my companions. I need to digest what your spirits told me,” Helena rose and stepped towards the door before she forgot the one thing Sigmund asked her to do.
“Madame Griselda, why the construction on the house, does it honestly go on around-the-clock?”
“The Lady Chesterfield’s husband invented terrible weapons over the years, those weapons killed untold thousands of people. The Lady is haunted by the souls that died violently because of her husband. I had a vision, if the Lady had a home that was constantly under construction, the ghosts would never be able to find her. She sleeps in a different room every night. The construction will go on until the day she dies, or all those spirits become so lost they give up and haunt another building. The thing about spirits though, they never give up. Those thousands of souls will haunt this building and the land it stands on forever.”
“Did you ever think, she might obtain the same results if she built homes for the downtrodden,” Helena said before leaving the room.
Mister Wizard:
Helena left the house and did a double take toward the windows of the front parlor, they were indeed intact. She didn’t know what to think of that experience, her spirits lifted, she had some proof that she wasn’t wasting her time, Madame Griselda was pretty adamant that Missy still lived. She would need to think about the other things learned.
Helena gave the two men a wave as she hurried down the walkway towards Bessie. Both sat silent as Sigmund helped her into the back seat. Lane didn’t say a word, didn’t ask where they were going, he just knew they were going away from that unsettling house. After traveling a few blocks, Lane pulled Bessie to the side of the road, set the brake, and drew a small silver flask from an inner coat pocket. Sigmund did the same thing. If Helena had a silver flask, she would’ve as well. Instead, she just tapped Sigmund’s hand and took a sip of his.
“Did the two of you hear anything over the construction sounds?” Helena asked.
Both men shook their heads no.
“No glass shattering, no wood exploding, or no screaming voices?”
Again, both and shook their head no.
“There was no out of the ordinary sounds outside, but an unnatural feeling, a feeling of fear and dread washed over me. I hadn’t felt that way since before combat many decades ago. It’s a feeling I don’t care to ever feel again,” Sigmund watched his right hand holding the flask trying to steady a slight tremor.
“Where to now?” Lane asked his nerves calmer.
“I’m not sure. I know I’ve had enough of magic for today let’s go back to San Francisco. I’ll decide on a destination before we arrive,” Helena gave the flask back to Sigmund and settled into the seat.
Lane pulled Bessie out onto the road retracing their route. Sigmund sat on his side in quiet reflection. Helena’s mind raced.
What was that thing at the end? Helena thought: What did it mean death on white wings? Are birds going to start attacking people? Flocks flying out of the air picking the citizens of San Francisco’s eyes out? That seemed highly unlikely, too fantastical for modern times.
Helena closed her eyes trying to remember everything Madame Griselda said about Missy, the information didn’t do much good. San Francisco was surrounded by water on three sides, and she said somewhere dark. That contained too much area to search. She had to be missing something. Sick of magic for the time being, I need something more tangible, mechanical.
“Lane, take us to Professor Merryall. I need something concrete, besides I think he’s the smartest person I know,” Helena said, crossing her ankles.
Helena struggled with all the new information she had received. She spent the trip back to San Francisco rolling things over her in her mind, and nothing added up, there were too many missing pieces. She wanted to ask Sigmund, but, she was having severe concerns about where his loyalties lie. Lane seemed sweet enough but more of a mechanic than a great thinker. The only staff at the estate she ever spoke to was Miss Andrea, but Helena felt she held back only telling her half-truths or the bare minimum to placate her questions.
She had known Professor Webster Merryall for as long as she could remember, at least as long as Sigmund. Maybe she could get some straight answers from him. As a man of science, she hoped he wouldn’t let emotions deflect the truth.
The automobile pulled on to Howard Street, Lane blew the steam whistle at a roller door in a warehouse behind the Academy of Sciences building. Like magic, the door rolled open, Helena knew there was no magic here only science and mechanisms.
Bessie secured in the garage, the doors began closing of their own accord. Lane worked to shut down the boiler while Helena jumped out of the car to go find the professor.
Helena slowed her pace as she wove through the workshop awestruck, she spied gears, bobbles, thingamajig’s, and a few doohickeys, often times letting her fingers test the texture of items when she knew she wasn’t supposed to. A workshop was never a safe place to play with items if you didn’t grasp what they were.
She stopped before reaching the Professor, hearing his voice, but he wasn’t alone. Helena peeked from around a stack of unopened crates and spied the Professor and the insufferable Detective Doyle Longstreet having a private conversation. Not wanting to be rude, she almost turned away to let them finish in peace, but her attent
ion was drawn back to the unbearable Doyle. His helmet removed left his hair disheveled, Helena had to admit it made him look kind of cute even if she found him too intolerable to be around.
“But Mister Wizard, another woman has been murdered. That makes four, and the last two girls have been dismembered like you have in the pictures there,” Helena eavesdropped as Doyle was showing and explaining a number of photographs, did he just call him Mister Wizard?
“I understand son, but I’m telling you I know no weapon that could cause these wounds. A high-pressure steam leak might be able to cut bone like that, but it would’ve scalded or cooked the surrounding flesh. You might need to search for more of a mystical answer,” the professor said.
“You know I don’t believe in magic. I think the supernatural is all a hoax.”
“Magic works whether you believe in it or not. Think of it as another energy to be controlled like electricity. You can’t see voltage, but we comprehend it exists. Magic is the same way.”
Her curiosity getting the better of her, Helena urgently wanted to see those pictures. Doyle had mentioned that he was working a murder case that had to be more exciting than a missing socialite.
“Have you thought about some sort of creature?” Mister Wizard said.
She used her best sneaking skills to circle closer to where they stood. From the new angle, she could view a massive blackboard with drawings attached. The illustrations looked like the Russians airship only smaller.
“I am not much of a zoologist, legendary or otherwise. Doctor Carlyle is checking with experts in that field,” Doyle said picking his photographs up and putting them into the portfolio slung over his shoulder.
Helena moved almost close enough to spy the photographs before Doyle put them away. Unfortunately, she knocked a spanner off the workbench in her effort to catch a glimpse of what the Detective had been showing the Wizard, “Blast!” she said.
“Who’s there? Helena is that you?” the wizard asked. Doyle spun around, a pistol magically appearing in his hand.
“Come out whoever’s there,” Doyle said.
“It’s me Professor, or should I call you the Wizard?” Helena said, walking out from behind the shelves.
“Has no one ever taught you spying is rude?” Doyle said, while he smoothly put his weapon back into his shoulder holster. “Sneaking up on the wrong people... That might get you shot,” Doyle turned to make sure he had secured all the photographs, when he did Helena stuck her tongue out at him.
“Helena dear, you really shouldn’t wander around the workshop by yourself you could be injured,” The Wizard said trying hard not to smile when she stuck out her tongue.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just got here. Besides, I’m much more interested in those than I am anything you might say Mister Doyle,” Helena pointed towards the drawings while she took a few steps closer to get a better view.
“Miss, I might’ve been born at night, but it wasn’t last night,” Doyle said looking for his helmet.
“You mustn’t leave on my account. I came to visit the Professor, to talk about magic, and religion,” Helena moved as close as possible to the extensive drawings and inspected them carefully, her hands clasped behind her back to keep herself from touching things.
“I hate to admit it, but I’m an expert on neither of those subjects. I prefer to dabble in the scientific and engineering arts.”
“Didn’t you just say that magic was simply another form of power? Could religion be based on the same idea? If magic gains its power from the six sources, could religion gain its power from some other otherworldly source?” Helena postulated while still studying drawings, even impressing herself at what sounded like such a wise conclusion.
“Magic and religion are two sides of the same coin, people desperate to answer questions they can’t understand. They are the providence of weak minds,” the Wizard lectured.
Doyle leaned over Helena, finally inspecting the drawings he’d missed before. Helena felt her heart race when she felt him so close behind her. This all confused her considerably since she was certain she hated the man, but at the moment her knees felt weak.
“Helena, you make an astute observation. However, I’m not qualified to ascertain the validity of your hypothesis. I will say however; our world should be preparing for war. Reason, Religion, Magic, and those that fear change, they are all gathering forces, drawing lines in the sand demonizing the other side. If the world doesn’t change course soon, I fear a war the likes the world’s never seen is coming,” the professor lectured as if standing in front of his class.
“Do you think this coming war could be signified by white wings? I notice your airship here has wings, unlike the Russians,” Helena asked tapping the drawings still trying to keep her hands to herself and off Doyle.
“Bah, I think the Russians stole my idea, or Zeppelin did, sneaky Europeans. I’ve had that drawing for years I just need to find two objects to make it work, a suitable heat source and a more efficient lifting agent. One day my flying machine will outdo them all. I guess you could paint the wings white, it would make it harder to detect from the ground on a cloudy day. However, my flying machine is not built for war but for exploration.”
“Speaking of war, two days ago I had a run in with some Chinese fighters...” Helena began.
“I told you they were the Hop Sings,” Doyle interrupted.
Helena fought the urge to growl, she continued, “They wore chain armor under their clothes. Professor, do you think you could create some?”
“My dear girl, men have been making armor for centuries, I think I can do a good deal better than chain-mail.”
“I’m sure you could sir, that’s why I asked you instead of going to any old blacksmith. It would need to be light enough for someone to wear under their clothing.”
“I must admit there’ve been times when it would have been nice to wear a piece of clothing that could turn away a blade or a bullet,” Doyle said stepping away from Helena, giving her a chance to breathe.
The professor scratched his salt-and-pepper beard thinking for a few moments. “I’ve an idea for a material that might work well for this, I think I can create a mockup for initial trials in a few days.”
“Miss Brandywine, I wanted to thank you for hiring the protection for the Chinese Girl’s School. Tsang Mei Yan told me yesterday she has had no more run-ins with the Hop Sings.”
“Tsang Mei Yan and the girls will be much safer once we acquire a proper school building and at a location outside of Chinatown. I will get Sigmund on that as soon as we leave here.”
“It really is wonderful that you’re doing this for the girls,” Helena could’ve sworn Doyle winked at her when he said the last sentence. Was that a twinkle in his eye? She thought.
The professor had been busy making sketches on another blackboard before asking, “Doyle, Helena was there anything else?”
Doyle cleared his throat, “No Mister Wizard, I need to get back out on the streets. There is a serial killer, and the newspapers are having a field day,” Doyle said putting his leather helmet on. “Good day Miss Helena, I hope you have a wonderful week.” The Detective started snaking out of the workshop.
Helena caught herself watching Doyle leave a smile raising the corners of her lips as most improper thoughts crossed her mind. Once the Detective had gone, and Helena pulled her mind out of the sewers, she began speaking once again, “I did have a few questions for you Professor. How well did you know my parents?”
The professor stopped sketching placing the chalk on the board, he turned slowly, he knew this day would come he just hadn’t expected it today. “I knew them very well, I was your father’s professor at University. I worked with your grandfather on many projects and knew your mother from the day she was born.”
“Was my mother a witch?”
“She could bend magical energy to her will. I hate the term witch it has such negative connotations and historical
ly has been used to label and persecute people who were considered outsiders.”
“What happened to my mother?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows. Your Mother was searching for ways to find your father, and she disappeared.”
“So, she’s not dead?”
“I don’t know. If she was bending magical energy that she was unaccustomed to no one can estimate the side effects, the outcome or the price.”
“Was my father a witch? Could he bend magical energy to his will?” correcting herself.
“Not that I know of. He was an engineer, a scientist, and an explorer. Your father and mother made a wonderful couple.”
“How did he die?”
“Honestly, we are not sure how. He and his party disappeared while on an expedition in the South Pacific. He was very secretive about where he went, and what he searched for. He simply told everybody he was going to the South Pacific. All contact from him or his party has been lost since. Searchers scoured the South Pacific looking for him, but no one seemed to know anything about him or his expedition. I think he lied, I don’t think his true destination was the South Pacific, he used that as a red herring to throw everyone off his true destination. Once he went missing, we had no idea where to search.”
“He might still be alive?”
“I seriously doubt it. Your father’s been missing over ten years. I think he would’ve returned to you and your mother if he was able, don’t you?”
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