by Krista Wolf
Five or six orgasms will do that to you…
She whirled on Logan. “What time was the clock in the lobby stuck on?”
He looked back at her somewhat confused. “I— Um…”
“Quick, think!”
He eyes went up as he searched his memory. “One-eighteen.” He blinked, and his expression went wide with the same revelation. “Oh! So you’re saying—”
“That’s the time!” Kara jumped in. “That’s when Northrop performed the ceremony!”
“Botched the ceremony,” Jeremy pointed out.
“Whatever,” Kara dismissed him quickly. “The point is, that’s when it happened. It even stopped the clock! On the morning of winter solstice, a whole century ago, at one-eighteen…”
She pulled out her phone. Stared down at it.
Her phone was dead.
“Hurry, what time is—”
“Mine’s dead too,” said Jeremy.
Logan nodded and held up his also. The screen was black.
“Shit.”
Maybe there was time to go back. Maybe there wasn’t. Without knowing the time, there was no way to know. Kara would’ve murdered someone with her bare hands for a wind-up wristwatch.
“Look! I can see the scrying crystal!”
The three of them peered into the mirror, and there it was. The crystal. Glowing, pulsing, looking exactly like a ghostly representation of the crystal in the old photograph.
And then, before their very eyes? The crystal’s image was projected outward. It appeared on the table, right in the spot they’d left for it. A throbbing, swirling, almost holographic image.
“It’s happening now,” said Jeremy. “This is it.”
His voice was calm. Even. Kara went over a mental checklist. Everything was in its place. They’d done all they could. Whatever was going to happen, they’d be the sole witnesses to it. They stood poised and ready.
“Light the candle,” she ordered.
Neither of her lovers moved. She turned her head to glare at them.
“Did you hear me? I said light the candle!”
Jeremy and Logan looked at each other, and then back at her. Their next words made Kara’s heart sink.
“With what?”
Forty-one
Kara stared back at Logan, at Jeremy, at the table of spooky artifacts. The candle stood there glaring back at her. Mocking her.
Dammit! We thought of everything else!
She wanted to scream. It probably would’ve felt good, but it would’ve only made things worse.
How did we not think of this!
The room grew colder — much colder. It made Kara shudder, stippling her exposed skin. She tried to ignore it as she turned toward the mirror.
“What do we do?” Jeremy shouted over the wind.
Wind. There shouldn’t have been any wind, but there was. It had picked up while she wasn’t paying attention, and now it howled through the cellar like someone had opened a dozen windows on a cold winter’s day.
Kara began looking around. The light coming from the mirror was almost blinding now. It illuminated the entire chamber. She could see everything.
“Look around!” she shouted. “Find something to—”
CRASH!
She was interrupted by the splintering of wood, and a blur of movement. One of the heavy oaken bookcases had fallen over. Jeremy had been standing before it, but somehow Logan had moved fast enough to save him. He’d tackled him at the last second, shoving him halfway across the room to the hard, dirt floor.
That wasn’t the wind, Kara thought. Something pushed it.
She held her arm up over her face. The light was swirling and pulsing, scattering itself over the room like a living thing. It was beating now, with a steady rhythm. Almost like a heart…
She forced her eyes open, despite the searing pain. Kara saw furniture, rotting in the corners of the rough-hewn chamber. Refuse. Mold. A whole pile of decaying books took up one corner. Sconces for oil lamps, mounted to the wall…
There.
She almost couldn’t make it out, but then she moved closer. Kara took three steps into the raging wind. Four steps. Eventually she was standing before the object of her quest: a small metal tray with an ornate design, mounted directly into the wall. It was something she recognized right away. Something she’d walked past over and over again, during her time at Blackstone Manor.
It’s a match safe.
Kara lifted the lid. There were still matches inside. She pulled one out, long and thin and caked with dust. The striker was there, right at the base plate. Wincing hard against the light, she dragged the head of the match across it…
It lit on the first try.
Hurry up!
Kara held the burning match out at arm’s length, not even shielding it with her other hand. Somehow she knew it wouldn’t go out, because there’s no way it should’ve lit in the first place. The wind was too fierce, but it was also otherworldly. It didn’t belong to the basement, wasn’t relative to the cellar.
And therefore it couldn’t touch the flame…
She lit the candle. It burned brightly, illuminating the table. The bell, the book — those things were still there. The books pages hadn’t even moved; just like the candle’s flame, they remained untouched by the wind.
“Are you okay?” she shouted back at her companions. Her blood ran cold when she didn’t get an answer. “Logan! Jeremy!”
Kara turned, taking her attention away from the table. The guys were there, but they were also not there. They were shouting something, but she couldn’t hear them. Their mouths moved, but no sound came out.
She blinked hard, to clear her vision. Everything was moving in slow motion.
What the—
Suddenly the room was filled with even more light, and this time from other sources. Kara saw people. Wispy and ethereal, they floated backwards through the mirror, back to the source of the light itself; the scrying crystal. One by one they were sucked into it, disappearing into the pulsating surface of its throbbing, mystical glow.
The spirits…
Some went willingly, flinging themselves into the light. Others were dragged, screaming silently as they were yanked inexorably backwards. There was no resisting it. No stopping the pull.
And then Kara felt the pull too.
Oh God…
The thought terrified her. The idea of being pulled through the mirror, of becoming one with whatever the crystal now represented. Or even worse, of staying here. Of transitioning from this world into a permanent resident of the Averoigne…
Her eyes scanned the room frantically. Kara began grasping. Groping for something — anything at all — to hold onto. But there was nothing. Nothing and no one. A chill went down her spine.
“Kara!”
The voice came from all directions. Even so, it sounded very small and very far away.
“KARA!”
She leaned away from the mirror, but the wind was too much. I knocked her back a step. Then another. If she tripped, she knew she was gone.
Do something!
The spirits were still flying by, but with much less frequency. She saw three… then two more… then none at all. The wind had seized her hair now. It flowed out behind her, blowing toward the mirror as she fought against it.
Kara looked up one more time, desperate for salvation, and there it was. The dark spirit. Black as night, it looked wholly different from all the rest. This one was scabbed over, almost gnarled in its appearance. And rotten. Somehow she knew that, even without knowing it.
Walcott…
It was another piece of unspoken knowledge, but one she was no less certain of. Kara watched as the thing that had once been Victor Walcott screamed and twisted, trying desperately to escape its fate. Ultimately it was sucked through with all the rest, howling and shrieking its way into the void beyond the mirror. It disappeared with a blinding flash, and Kara felt a blast of cold wash over her from behind.
He
r legs were shaking. Her knees, almost buckled. There was no way to hang on. Nothing to hold onto…
Jeremy… Logan…
They were thoughts only. They weren’t there. No one was there to save her, and no one would.
The candle flickered, and Kara screamed. Nothing came out. That part terrified her more than anything.
And then suddenly she let go.
She flew backwards, end over end. Floating, twisting, falling…
BRRRIINGGG!
A sound reached her ears, ringing out over everything else. It was clear, loud, concise. Strangely beautiful…
There was another loud crash, followed by a high-pitched tinkling sound, and then suddenly everything stopped at once.
Kara sat up and groaned.
The wind, the noise, the cold — all of it was gone. Kara found herself sitting in the middle of the dirt floor, at the base of the table. A thousand shards of the broken Venetian mirror lay scattered around her, fanned out in an explosion that originated at the mirror’s frame.
“What… what happened…” She rubbed her eyes. Looked up.
Jeremy and Logan were standing over here. Both looked utterly and completely relieved.
Logan, she noticed, was holding the tiny silver bell.
Kara shot up and flung herself into his arms.
Forty-two
“So you’re telling me that all of this went down, possibly the most definitive visual confirmation of a portal — not to mention a nether realm — to date… and not a single one of you asshats got even a half second of footage of it?”
Kara sat up straight in one of the Averoigne’s high-backed chairs. She was dirty and disheveled. Physically she looked like a bomb went off. They all did. But no one looked worse than Xiomara.
“Answer me!”
“Yes,” said Kara. “I mean no,” she amended quickly. “I mean—”
“You had cameras! Sensors! Thermal imaging equipment!” The old woman’s face was twisted in a storm of anger. “Micro-cassette recorders! Air ion counters!”
“Those never worked right to begin with,” Jeremy cut in. “And I’ve always doubted the validity of—”
“I gave you everything except a fucking Ouija board!”
Kara struggled to keep a straight face. Inside, she was beaming. She knew, to an extent, that Xiomara was too, and that most of the beratement was just an act. The ass-chewing they were to receive for not having recorded anything was obligatory. Just like they were required to endure it.
“Maybe I should’ve sent a camera crew!” Xiomara was saying. “Refreshments! Makeup artists, so you looked good!” On the video screen, she was still pacing back and forth. “You all look like hell, by the way. Have any of you even showered?”
Logan started to shake his head. This time it was Jeremy who kicked him, off camera.
“Sweet Christ!” Xiomara swore. “And you’re telling me your phones were dead too? All three of them? At once?”
What they’d accomplished had been incredible. Beyond anything the Order had seen in decades, perhaps within the last half century. A smirk wound its way along the corner’s of Kara’s mouth. She hoped to hell Xiomara couldn’t see it from her end.
“A ten-year old blogger would’ve been better prepared! Or some random You-Tuber. At least one of them would’ve gotten some footage!”
They let her wind down for a bit, finish with her initial onslaught. When the Head of the Order eventually stopped to take a breath, Kara jumped in.
“We cleansed the hotel,” she pointed out. “Undid an egregious wrong.”
“Solved a century-old mystery too,” Logan offered. “Don’t forget that one.”
Kara shot him a look that said ‘chill’. He chilled.
“You got lucky,” Xiomara went on. “All of you.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Kara countered. “You sent the right people. Jeremy was integral in figuring out what was causing the unrest here. We never would’ve known about Victor Walcott if it weren’t for him.”
Xiomara said nothing, she merely folded her arms. Kara took it as a sign to go on.
“Rudolph Northrop’s original ceremony was designed to free the lost souls that were trapped here. He almost succeeded. But it was Logan who rang the bell at exactly the right time: once all of the spirits had been drawn in by the crystal, trapped on the other side of the mirror. In doing so he finished the ritual.”
Xiomara unwrapped a small wafer of chocolate. She slipped it into her mouth.
“And?”
“And those poor souls stuck at Averoigne have been set free,” Kara noted. “No more hauntings. No more deaths.”
Xiomara chuckled at her. “That remains to be seen,” she said. “Let’s not go pulling on our own nipples just yet.”
Jeremy looked over at her in silent indignation. He mouthed the words ‘pulling our on own nipples?’ but Kara shushed him.
“You know what I think?” she asked the old woman.
“What?”
“I think you’re pleased as punch,” said Kara. “I think we kicked ass, and you know we kicked ass, but that giving out praise just isn’t a page in your handbook.”
“Handbook?” Xiomara spat the word, then stopped herself from saying anything else. She waddled over to the camera, once again coming way too close. Her distorted face looked absolutely hilarious.
“You want praise, LoPresti? Maybe I should stick a gold star on your fucking forehead! Or better yet, I’ll send you all some medals.”
She was so close to the camera now all they could see was her nose. Her nostrils flaring.
“Medals!” Xiomara continued. “That’s what I’ll do. A whole round of them. In fact, next time you’re at the Blackstone I’ll pin them to your fucking chests! How’s that for praise?”
Her words were still harsh, but the overall tone had changed. It was softer. Less serious. There were subtle changes in her body language too, that made Kara almost break into a smile.
“Medals. For shit’s sake, you want medals.”
Kara and her team sat still, trying not to laugh. Eventually Xiomara returned to the other side of the room. They waited patiently while she sank back behind her desk and sighed mightily.
“You did alright,” she finally conceded. “All of you. Better than I would’ve expected, anyway. I was almost certain one of you would fuc—”
“Bullshit,” Kara smirked. “We did great.”
Xiomara never finished her sentence. Instead she stopped, leaned back, and smirked.
“Good, not great.”
“Fine,” said Kara. “We’ll take it.”
The victory was small, but very very sweet. She decided to savor it. They watched as Xiomara consumed another chocolate, then busied herself with folding the wrapper back into one of her pockets. For a long moment, no one spoke.
“LoPresti, Rhodes,” Xiomara said curtly, “I need words with you.” When Jeremy didn’t move immediately, her gaze shot over to him. “Mr. Manning? Piss off, please.”
Jeremy shrugged as he rose from the chair. He left the room and closed the door behind him. When he was gone, Xiomara cleared her throat.
“Have you had enough of the cold yet?” she asked.
Kara didn’t know what to make of the statement. Neither did Logan. They both looked at each other and nodded.
“Good. Because I need you in Australia.”
“Australia?” Logan asked.
“Did I fucking stutter?” Xiomara snapped. “Yes, Australia. Boomerangs. Kangaroos. All that happy shit. Oh, and warmer weather. Lots warmer than where you are now. So fucking warm you’ll wish you were back at the Averoigne, rolling around in the snow.”
Kara let out a happy sigh. “Warmer than here? I’m in,” she said. “When do I leave?”
“Later today,” said Xiomara. “And not ‘I’, LoPresti. ‘We’. The both of you. I need you both down there.”
Kara’s stomach twisted again almost instantly.
Both
of us…
“Do you think you can handle it?” Xiomara was saying. “Another assignment together, without scratching each other’s eyes out?”
She shot Logan a sideways glance. He was actually smiling.
“I’m game if she is,” he shrugged.
“Good then it’s settled,” said Xiomara.
Kara’s mouth dropped open. “But—”
“There’s a car already on its way,” the Head of the Order said. “Gather your belongings now. You’ll be heading straight to the airport.”
Australia!
“You know,” Kara said carefully, “we just finished this assignment. And we rocked it, might I add.” She leaned back and crossed her own arms. “It might be nice to have a day or two off.”
On screen, Xiomara laughed again, this time loudly. “Sure,” she said, “no problem.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Let’s see… you’ve got a two hour car ride and an eighteen hour flight. Add in some time on the customs line and there. That’s your day off.”
Kara dropped her chin to her chest. Logan sighed in obvious defeat.
“Enjoy your fucking day off,” Xiomara smiled back at them pleasantly.
Forty-three
“You sure you’re okay with us ditching you like this?”
Kara’s question wasn’t even a question. Even so, she had to ask it. She owed that much to Jeremy at least.
“Of course,” he smiled down at her. “I’ll be fine.”
“Because if not, I’ll make that little chocolate-eating witch give us some more time here. Help you wrap things up here.”
Kara was jostled from behind, and immediately apologized to. The Averoigne’s lobby was bustling again. Guests checking in and out. Cars pulling up and driving away. Luggage carts being pulled across its carpeted halls.
“It’s all good,” Jeremy said. “Really.” He let out a tired but exhilarated sigh. “It’s gonna be a while here anyway. I’ve got reports to write, loose ends to tie up. I told Radcliffe he can open the third floor again, but he still doesn’t believe me. Xiomara’s going to talk to him though. And she wants me around to supervise that whole thing, so…”