Hair and feathers started to stand on end a little at the prickle of something scratching at his consciousness. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed that the house was less empty somehow. Resisting the urge to call his brothers over, he slowly walked back into the living room, brows knotted. The feeling of... something... seemed to grow stronger toward the kitchen.
“H... hello...?” he called softly into the kitchen, then immediately felt foolish as his voice echoed off the appliances. Of course there was no one there. The house was exactly the same as they’d left it, locked up tight and empty...
Yes...? came a faint breathy reply from nowhere in particular.
Brian’s eyes widened and wings opened in alarm. He took a few steps back, but since the voice had come from everywhere and nowhere, it wasn’t as if it would help anything.
“Did... hi...?” he replied tentatively. He was still on alert, heart pounding, but whatever the presence was, it didn’t feel bad or evil. Just... present. He looked around, still unable to tell where it was exactly, or where the voice had come from.
Hello... said the breathy voice again, a little stronger this time. It seemed to be a woman’s voice, and the more Brian focused on it, the more he could get a sense of direction. Definitely the back of the kitchen. And no matter how much he squinted, the area the feeling was coming from continued to look slightly blurry.
Guys...? he sent to his brothers nervously. Little help here... They appeared a few seconds later, since they’d been about to leave for home anyway.
“What’s...” but Mike stopped in mid-sentence, both from the look on Brian’s face and at suddenly sensing something at the back of the kitchen.
“She’s stronger now that you guys are here, but I think that’s our ghost,” their youngest said, nodding at the blur. Barrett’s brows lifted, Mike’s lowered, and Brian just shifted from foot to foot nervously.
“Ghost...” said Barrett, in more of a statement than a question.
Oh... three... yes... said the breathy voice, gaining a little strength. I thought there were three here... It was definitely a woman’s voice, older, kindly, and slightly confused. All of them found varying degrees of gooseflesh lifting on their arms at the unearthly sound. They were used to hearing each others’ voices in their heads, but this was more like a little breeze or wisp of smoke wafting through their consciousness, everywhere at once. They watched as the blurry smudge grew a little more definite.
“Well, this is...” Barrett started to say, but couldn’t find the words he was looking for. Silence hung for a moment.
“Creepy?” suggested Mike. The presence seemed to grow sad.
But I don’t want to leave, the woman said. I love my house.
Barrett’s eyes widened with realization. “Are you... the previous owner? Are you the woman who passed away here?”
Passed... She seemed to grow a little confused again. Ghost...?
Mike nodded. “The woman we bought the house from said... wait, Bear, how do you know she died here? Gail never said anything about...”
Gail...! Where is she? Where’s Gail? The shape and voice seemed more defined still, and started moving toward them. Mike and Barrett stepped back, wings manifesting instinctively to give them more power and stability in the unknown and potentially threatening situation. They were barely aware it had happened, however, their focus on the apparition before them.
The woman stopped dead in her tracks, suddenly much more solid and visible. Features could be made out on the ethereal form, that of an elderly woman in a simple house dress and cardigan sweater, white hair neatly made up, her shoes simple and comfortable black cotton Chinese Mary Janes.
Oh...! she exclaimed softly, eyes wide. Her brow creased as if remembering something, then she looked between them, nodding to herself. Yes, that’s right. I saw this before.
“Before?” Barrett was stunned. She’d seen other angels?
Yes, here... last night, I believe. The days... things are confusing lately. She was growing more defined by the moment, her voice much less breathy and ethereal, and her confusion seemed to be ebbing as well.
“Time,” said Brian. They all turned to look at him and he blinked back. “Sorry. I mean time’s been seeming a little funny for me too, lately. Since all this started happening. So maybe because you’re d... a ghost, time has less effect on you? Or you can’t perceive it as well?”
She thought about this, and finally nodded a little. I think... I think I must be dead. Yes. Because here you are. And this isn’t my furniture at all. Oh, except for the chair.
Mike looked around. The house had been empty when they’d bought it, without a stick of furniture other than what was built into the walls, like the bookcases. “Chair?”
Yes, this one. She drifted over to the Egyptianesque oak chair with lion heads at the ends of the arms. I always loved this chair. It was my mother’s. Made the same year as this house. Brian and Mike looked at each other, then at Barrett, then back to the ghost.
“We bought this at an antique store, along with some other stuff,” said Mike. “The dining room table was another thing from there. So it couldn’t be...”
No, look... when I was small I carved my initials into the underside one summer day when I was bored. She tried to turn it over to show them, but was only able to tip the heavy oak piece a couple of inches. Brian went over and helped, smiling a little as he exposed the bottom of the seat frame. There, carved crudely into the oak wood, were the initials M.L.
You see? Mary Longshore. That’s me. She smiled fondly at the carving, then turned to the brothers, who were a bit stunned.
“That was the chair that caught our attention in the first place,” said Mike. “That’s what drew us into that particular antique store.”
Oh, I just love antique stores. But the farther I go from here, the weaker I seem to get...
“Beetlejuice!” said Brian suddenly, making them jump. He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, I mean it’s just like that movie. The ghosts couldn’t leave their house either. Well, one of them managed to, but there was like this giant sand worm on Mars or something that... uh...” He grinned wider and quit while he was ahead, realizing that he was wandering into obscure movie references. With a little chuckle, he righted the chair and set it back into place.
Mary laughed lightly, a soft musical sound in her ghostly voice. I don’t know about all that, and I can leave, but honestly, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than this house. This is heaven, to me. And look, now I even have three angels to share it with.
Mike smiled crookedly at her, Barrett chuckled softly, and Brian beamed.
“Well, Mary, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Barrett Mason, and these are my brothers, Michael and Brian.” He reached out a hand out of habit, and so did she, the cold wispy sensation on his hand from her touch making his feathers stand on end. The others simply nodded cordially toward her, sensing their brother’s reaction, but Barrett was able to go on as if nothing unusual had happened, still smiling a little.
It’s lovely to meet you. Really. Such nice boys. And did you see the rose? I was so hoping you’d like it.
“It’s perfect,” said Brian brightly. “Is it from here? We haven’t even been in the back yard yet.”
Oh! You must! Come, let me show you the roses that I planted. Although some were my mother’s work, you can see that those bushes are so much bigger and older. And then there’s the violets, and the delphiniums, but I think the daffodils are all done for the year now...
They spent the next half hour touring the garden, Mary clicking her tongue over how far Gail had let the weeds go. The ghost was so much more solid and lucid that, at times, they actually forgot she was a ghost. Barrett checked his watch and winced a little.
“We’ve got to get back, and we still haven’t eaten anything.”
“Quick deli run?” suggested Mike, and Barrett nodded.
“We’ll see you after work.” He pulled his brothers into a quick group h
ug and was about to blink out of the yard when he thought better of it and jogged into the house instead.
Gotta get into these kinds of habits until they’re second nature, he sent, then vanished. All of them felt the shift, his brothers feeling his presence less strongly but sensing it to the north in San Jose, Mary simply growing a little more transparent.
Mike followed and did the same, teleporting from the privacy of the house as well, Brian sensing his brother’s relocation. Mary gasped a little in dismay.
What’s... why can’t I... She was looking at her hands, now nearly clear as glass, her mind seeming to grow slightly confused again. Brian escorted her into the house where it was at least easier to see her, but she remained quite ethereal.
“Maybe it’s because of us. I mean, the energy of my brothers and I,” he suggested, having no other explanation.
Angels... yes... I think I feel that. Her voice was somewhat breathy again, and she seemed to be in a dream-like state. Do you need to go too?
“Really, I should. I have a window I need to finish that I’m kind of behind on. I do stained glass work in Reno.”
Oh, that’s lovely. An angel doing stained glass... Mary gazed around as if trying to find something. I think... I think I’ll rest for a while. Until you come back.
“You can use my bed if you need to,” he suggested, but she shook her head.
I’ll go back where I was. It’s here... but not here... Unable to explain herself fully at that moment, she simply evaporated into mist and slowly disappeared. Brian looked at the place where she’d been for a while as he snacked on an apple and some crackers, then disappeared himself, going back to the studio. He smiled to himself, turned the music up, and got back to the business of repairing St. Joseph.
FOURTEEN
They fell into a gentle, easy rhythm with their lives. Days at the office or the studio, evenings together at their new home, often until the small hours of the morning, none of them needing more than a few hours of sleep. Mary Longshore was more of a vague presence, motherly and in the background, not really someone who would chatter and fuss and have tea with them. Not that they minded the few times she chose to do that, but mainly she stayed out of their affairs. The primary way they knew she was still around was that the house was kept mysteriously clean at all times, and she was indeed stronger when all three of them were present. They didn’t take advantage of her good will, each doing his part to keep the sink free of dishes and floor cleared of dirty laundry, but the extra help was appreciated. Especially because much of their free time was starting to be taken up with angel business.
The three of them suddenly appeared in the living room as usual, wings ruffled and a bit dirty, faces and clothes smudged. Even Barrett didn’t seem to mind as much any more, no longer rushing off toward the shower instantly upon arrival.
“Man, what’s with all the earthquakes lately?” mused Mike as he put his wings away, took off his filthy shirt, and then brought the rich black feathers back out again, perfect and clean.
“I think we’re just noticing them because we’re paying more attention. Getting called more,” said Brian. “I don’t think it’s the big challenge, if that’s what you’re thinking. This is just little mop-up stuff.”
“I agree. Something big is still coming. I feel it.” Barrett stretched his back, then one wing, then the other, then put them away and brought them back out as Mike had done. “Where do you think the dirt goes?”
“What?”
“The dirt. When we put our wings away, and then they come back out clean. Where’s the dirt going?”
Brian scratched his head for a moment over that puzzle, then realized dust was sifting out of his hair as he did so. “Wherever it goes, I wish all this would go with it. I’m getting a shower.”
His brothers chuckled softly as he made his way to his bedroom, grabbed some clean pajama bottoms, and then monopolized the bathroom for a while as they put together a snack to have upon his return. The two of them chatted for a while about their adventure in China, expressing excitement over how much they were able to help, and regret over those they couldn’t save. They’d appeared there out of nowhere after sensing they were needed, no one questioning where the three American brothers had suddenly come from, especially when they dug into the earthquake rubble without being asked. They had also learned how to make only their wings go unseen, except to those who could perceive such things, but that didn’t protect their feathers from getting damaged and filthy at times.
They were so used to having them that they even slept with them out, each wing forming a warm, soft blanket of sorts when not simply flopped limply out to one side during deeper sleep. However, just as one knows better than to cuss in front of small children or walk outside without pants on, it was also second nature to put them away when going outside or to work. Nobody had slipped yet, although Mike had elbowed Barrett a couple of times to fix his hair after they’d decided to enjoy flying to work rather than teleporting.
The next morning was just such a day, Brian lingering to talk to Mary for a few minutes after breakfast as his brothers flew to the office in San Jose. It was a warm morning and promised to be a hot day, but still early enough in the year that it wouldn’t be the kind of scorcher that August would bring. The tall green grass was beginning to turn golden brown in the hills, and Brian opted to teleport to his studio instead.
He’d just been telling Mary about the novena candles that had been left out for Mike in the alleyway. That practice had stopped as they’d requested, but just in case, Brian had spent the previous morning cutting all the tall weeds down with a rented trimmer. What met his eyes upon his arrival inside the studio that morning, however, he had never dreamed could happen. It had never even entered his mind as being possible.
Colored glass littered the floor like a dangerous carpet, twisted lengths of lead interspersed with tiny shards and larger pieces both, some of them recognizable. A face here, a feather there.
Every stained glass window had been destroyed.
His breath caught in his throat, and it was a full ten minutes before he realized he’d stopped breathing. Grateful for his usual heavy work shoes, he gingerly walked around the disaster, mind reeling, utterly stunned, walking around it as if from a different angle it would all be normal again. Then, finally, he sent out an anguished cry that stopped his brothers dead in their tracks. It was torn not from his throat, but from his very soul.
Brian?!? came their joint call to him as they looked at each other in the office that seemed suddenly very far away from Reno. They had just arrived and been on their way to the design department, and instead suddenly turned and walked right back out the front doors toward the elevator without a word to anyone. As soon as the doors closed, they were gone, appearing in their brother’s studio.
“Holy sh... what happened?” choked out Mike.
Brian was on his knees holding a few pieces of the wreckage, not caring that glass was cutting into one of his legs – it would heal itself anyway. His face was a waxen mask, his eyes distant and dull and only half seeing.
Gone... was all he could manage to force out, even mentally. And it was true. Everything had been purposefully smashed to bits while Brian had been asleep at their Los Gatos home. He held what looked to be the archangel Michael’s hand that had been wrapped around the flaming sword’s hilt, and a few glass feathers of various colors.
“Police. Gotta call the police,” said Barrett, his head somehow coolest. Mike nodded, seeing that his brother was already getting his phone out. Brian was unresponsive. He had to be nudged into putting his wings away before the investigators arrived.
“So when did this happen?” Asked the frighteningly tall black policeman while his female partner examined the mess and took photos.
“Last night some time,” said Brian weakly. Mike had made him some tea and pressed it into his hands, but his younger brother had never taken his eyes off the disaster his studio had become, a warm breeze teasing
them through the now empty window sockets. He seemed to be drawing more comfort from just holding the warm mug than actually drinking what was in it.
“And you weren’t here?”
“No... I live in...”
Don’t. They don’t need to know, came Mike’s voice in a warning tone. Don’t volunteer anything. Brian’s eyes slowly came around to meet his and dim understanding seemed to be there.
“Live in...?” prompted the woman, but he just shook his head.
“I don’t live at the studio any more.”
“Okay, so how did you enter?”
“Enter?” Brian blinked at them in confusion.
“Yes, enter the building,” the imposing male officer said. “If you weren’t here, how did you get in?”
“Through the front door, how else?” Mike answered for him with a hint of annoyance.
“Then tell me how it is you didn’t see the note.”
“Note...?”
“This one?” the woman said, holding a piece of paper in her carefully gloved hand. “It was on the front door. You couldn’t have missed it.”
“We’re going to need a handwriting sample,” said the other cop, getting out some paperwork. Brian’s eyes widened.
“You don’t think... you don’t think I did this, do you? That’s crazy! Why would I...”
“Hey, I dunno why people do things,” the man said, pushing a pad of paper and a pen at him. “Insurance money, want attention, just plain nuts, whatever. Sample please, sir.”
Anger flaring, it was all Brian could do to write out a few sentences and not sprinkle them with profanity or write an essay on how upset he was getting at both the cops and the entire situation. Barrett put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“And from you two,” the woman said, nodding at his brothers. “You seem close. Maybe you wrote it for him.”
“Can you at least tell us what the note says?” asked Barrett, evenly meeting her eyes, his voice steady but with some kind of a push just below the surface. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then nodded.
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