Against a Brightening Sky

by Jaime Lee Moyer

  Simple words have enormous power in the spirit realm, a power made greater by a practitioner’s will. The rhythm and cadence of the words, and the number of times those words are repeated, amplifies that power even more. All the will I could summon and a great deal of what I’d learned from Dora went into my attempts to banish this ghost.

  “Hear me, spirit, and believe. You weren’t summoned by me nor called to cross my threshold. I won’t welcome you here.” I held tight to the cat, instinct or something in the spirit’s eyes warning me not to let her go. Mai’s tail beat against my side, but she didn’t struggle to get down. She sensed the danger and meant to protect me. “Know I say this for now and forevermore. I banish you three times, spirit, and order you to go. Leave my house and never return. Leave me and mine in peace. Leave and return to where your body rests. Go now!”

  The spirit’s image wavered, but soon recovered and stood firm. His smug smile revealed stark white, perfect teeth, and made him appear even more menacing. Still safe in my arms, Mai snarled and lashed out with a paw. The smile faded from the phantom’s face and he took a step back.

  I blinked and the ghost was gone. He’d shaken off all my efforts to make him leave, but he appeared to be afraid of my tiny gray cat. Mai sniffed the air, her green eyes searching for any trace of the spirit. I knew he was truly gone when her ears came up and she started purring again.

  My hand shook unlocking the front door. I kissed the top of Mai’s head and let her inside. She stalked off in the direction of the sitting room, tail held high in victory.

  I’d brought the cat home with me when she was a tiny kitten, an unexpected gift from the most powerful sorcerer in Chinatown. Mai was said to descend from a line of ghost-hunting cats. From the very first, she’d lived up to her heritage, chasing away spirits with ill intent and keeping Gabe and me safe. She’d outdone herself today.

  The princess and her cohort of faceless memories had vanished from the front window. All my instincts told me that their disappearance had nothing to do with either Mai or the way the new spirit had left so suddenly. The princess came and went as she chose. My actions had little or no effect on her.

  I locked up the house again and went back to waiting on the curb. Banishing the memory of the strange phantom’s appearance and forgetting the gleam in his eyes proved impossible. Between princesses trapped in silvered glass, faceless memories, and Alina’s guardian lurking in the background, I was already chin deep in spirits I couldn’t explain. That they were all tied together, even this newest spirit, was undeniable. The question I couldn’t answer was how.

  Dora arrived a short time later, and the reason she’d been so firm about driving became clear. Her new car had arrived.

  The car was a perfect fit for Isadora. Sleek, with long, low, flowing lines, the yellow 1919 Roamer was every bit as racy and sporty as Dora had claimed. With the rumble seat folded up as it was now, the car looked to be the perfect two-passenger roadster. She’d invested in the company on a lark, drawn to their slogan, “America’s Smartest Car” and that the company’s sales brochures quoted the poetry of the Irish playwright Oscar Wilde. The car was fresh from the factory, a tangible return on her investment.

  She’d given up wearing her driving goggles and matching hat, replacing them with a plaid newsboy cap stuffed down over her blond hair. A hat like that would have looked ridiculous on me, but on Dora it was very flattering. The colors made the blue of her eyes brighter and brought out the roses in her cheeks. Randy’s eyes lit up each time he saw her wearing the cap, and I suspected that was a large part of the appeal.

  Dora leaned across the black leather seat and opened the door, greeting me with a bright, triumphant smile. “Hop in, Dee. Then tell me what you think of the car.”

  Unlike her last car, the Roamer’s door latched securely on the first try. I ran a hand that trembled only a little over the smooth leather of the seat and the polished wood dashboard. Chrome trim gleamed in the sunlight. “I can see why you wanted this car so badly. It’s every bit as beautiful as you said. I assume the motor is equally as impressive.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken the trouble to have one shipped here otherwise. The man who delivered the car said it would easily do forty miles per hour on the open road. He assured me that every part of this car is top of the line.” She frowned and peered at me, the triumphant smile replaced by concern. “You look absolutely ghastly, Dee. Please tell me this isn’t a result of being nervous about speaking with Sadie.”

  “Of course not. Sadie is my oldest friend. She might be angry with me for a time, but things will work out between us.” I plunged on, as certain Dora would help me find an answer as I was that Sadie would stay my friend. “But it appears that I haven’t reached my full complement of bizarre spirits. Another one tried to take up residence on my porch just before you arrived. I can’t even say for sure if he was a ghost or something else entirely, but he made my skin crawl. The cat came to my rescue or he’d still be lurking in the shadows. He was much more afraid of Mai than of me.”

  She looked away, fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel. When Dora turned back, she was oddly calm. “Tell me about what you saw as we drive. Sadie’s expecting us.”

  We didn’t have far to go, and for once Dora drove at a reasonable speed, pausing at intersections longer than usual and not careening around corners. Even so, the time passed swiftly. I told Dora everything I remembered, from the ghost’s bare feet to the wild gleam in his eyes. She remained silent until we pulled up and parked across the street from Sadie’s house.

  “I have a few theories about your phantom, Dee.” She tapped a long red nail against the steering wheel and crinkled her nose in distaste. “You’re not going to like them.”

  I managed a laugh, shaky and weak given the circumstances, but a laugh nonetheless. “Of course I won’t like them. That’s never stopped you from telling me in the past.”

  “You’ll enjoy this even less, but I thought it only sporting to warn you in advance. What you saw most likely wasn’t a ghost, at least not in the way we normally think of ghosts.” Dora tugged off the driving cap and shook out her hair. “This is related to what I told Melba about raising illusions to frighten people. What I didn’t tell her is that people have been known to take their own lives to escape images they thought were real. Necromancers in particular are very fond of perverting the power of death that way, or shaping ghosts for their own purposes. This one failed because you have the ability to see through the illusion to the person who created it.”

  “A necromancer in San Francisco? Surely you’re joking.” Lodging even a token protest helped ward off my own revulsion for a moment longer. I needed that time. Dora stared in that calm way that meant she expected better of me. I waved my protests away and surrendered. “All right, you’re not joking. Was the crazed gleam in his eye an illusion as well?”

  Dora’s smile was small, quickly given and just as quickly gone. “No, Dee, whatever you saw in his eyes was undoubtedly real. The type of person who sinks to that level of the dark arts and the kinds of spells required isn’t completely rational to begin with. Rumors circulated for years that the Kaiser sought the services of a necromancer at the beginning of the Great War. And though many of his followers refused to believe, Rasputin was called the Mad Monk for a reason. Necromancers are seldom sane for long.”

  I glanced toward the house, half expecting the front door to fly open and Stella to come barreling down the walk to greet us. That all was quiet meant she hadn’t spotted us yet. “Let me take a guess at your next theory. The illusions Mr. Mullaney’s men saw at the parade were sent by the same person.”

  “Oh yes. The chances of two different people practicing that kind of filth in our city are very slim. I’ve no doubt the monsters and angels the union men reported were designed to start a panic and fuel the riot.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “And the entire point of the riot was to flush Alina and her family out of hiding. Someone wants her very badly.
They won’t stop until they find her.”

  “Dora … could the Bolsheviks be looking for Alina?” The truth of that settled in my middle as soon as I’d said the words. “Gabe told you Mr. Mullaney’s story last night. The watcher, the mirror ghost, they all point to Alina being more than the daughter of a minor Russian noble. That has to be why they hunt her so relentlessly.”

  Grief and regret moved through Dora’s eyes before she hid them away again. She dropped her hat on the seat. “I’ve come to the same conclusion. That someone went to such great pains to protect Alina underlines her importance. She’s less likely to let her identity slip if she can’t remember her past life or her true name.”

  I knew Isadora Bobet well. Asking straight out was the best way to get an honest answer. “You know who she is, don’t you? You’ve known since you first met her.”

  “No, Dee, not at first. I had my suspicions she might be one of Sunny’s daughters, but I wasn’t sure. The last time I saw her girls was twelve years ago, and they were very young, not grown women. For Alina to be here in San Francisco and hunted this way means the rest of the family must be dead.” Dora brushed away a tear and cleared her throat. It was a small sign of grief, no doubt the only one she’d let show. “And if the family is all dead, that makes Alina very important indeed. She may be the only surviving heir to the throne. I wasn’t ready to face that possibility earlier, but avoiding the truth is always foolish.”

  I touched her arm. “But now you’re certain of her identity.”

  “As confident as I can be, yes. Once Alina was inside my house and under my protection, she began remembering small things. Most of her memories are fragments and disjointed images at this point, but that will change. Sam talked with her until well after midnight and drew more out of her than I’d expected. He was back early this morning to stay with her while I’m out.” Dora sifted through her handbag, checking for her cigarettes before snapping the bag shut. “The wall around her memories is crumbling. I’m not at all sure that will turn out to be a kindness for her or for Sam. He’s smitten with her already, and she’s less than a half step behind in adoring him.”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it? Both of them are very alone, Dora.”

  “Sam’s already risked his life for her twice.” She frowned and threaded her arm through mine. “And most love-struck young women aren’t hunted by necromancers and revolutionaries.”

  Dora looked both ways down the deserted street. Not a car nor a horse-drawn wagon was in sight, but Isadora hurried us across as if trying to navigate Market Street at high noon. “I just wish there wasn’t this predestined aura around the two of them. Every sign points to the fact that Alina and Sam were meant to find each other again and they’ve picked up their past life. Her parents had that same air of fate about them.”

  “That turned out well enough.” I watched her reaction, trying to discover what troubled her so much. “From the little you’ve said, I got the impression Sunny and her husband adored each other.”

  “They did. Both refused to marry anyone else.” She lifted a hand and let it fall, clearly annoyed. “Predestination always makes me nervous. Especially so given the dangers and complications swirling around Alina. I’m very fond of Sam. I’d rather he didn’t end up badly hurt or worse.”

  The finality and bitterness in her voice had surprised me. I stopped on the curb and held to her arm, more than a little angry and determined to force Dora to face me. “There must be something we can do to keep that from happening. You make this sound as if the two of them were doomed characters in a fairy tale.”

  “Most fairy tales end quite badly, as I recall. The original tales are quite gruesome.” At first she looked me in the eye, calm and unmovable, but that didn’t last. She knew from experience I wouldn’t back down. Dora rolled her eyes and tugged me toward the front walk. “You might be the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, Delia Ryan, more so than your husband. Patterns of joined lifetimes are extremely difficult to break.”

  “But not impossible.”

  Her smile was reluctantly given, but real for all of that. “No, Dee, not impossible. Just don’t get your hopes raised. Once we’ve spoken with Sadie, we can begin tracking this necromancer to his lair. Dealing with him is our first priority.”

  We got as far as the top step before the front door opened. Stella slipped out and trotted across the porch to Dora, unusually quiet and subdued. Dora scooped her up and hugged her tight. “Hello, poppet. How are you?”

  She buried her face in Dora’s shoulder. “I’m being quiet while Papa’s sleeping. Mama said to be careful not to wake him. And I am careful, Aunt Dora, honest I am.”

  “Of course you are. Delia and I will be quiet too.” Dora smoothed a hand across Stella’s curls and frowned. I couldn’t sense emotion to the same degree as Isadora, but even I knew that Stella was upset. Streaks of navy and gray muddied her normally sea blue aura. “Where is your mother?”

  “In the backyard with Connor. He’s too young to be quiet.” Stella relaxed against Dora, her aura growing clear and bright again. I’d no doubt Isadora had something to do with that, protecting Stella from emotion in much the way I’d protected Connor from ghosts. She was only three and a half, but all the fear and strain on the adults in her life were bound to have an effect.

  “Dee and I need to talk with your mother. I’m afraid it’s more boring grown-up talk and I need you to wait inside with Annie.” Dora hugged Stella and set her down. “After we finish talking with your mama, we’ll ask Annie for some cookies. Would you like that?”

  “I’d like cookies, but Annie’s cross with me.” Stella peered at Dora. “Would you ask her?”

  The truth was that Annie was often cross these days and short of patience, even with Stella. We’d almost lost her to the Spanish flu the year before, a brush with death that she hadn’t fully recovered from. Her good humor had drained away with her strength.

  I wasn’t sure Sadie and I had recovered either. Annie’s illness was a reminder that far too soon she’d be gone. Neither of us was ready for that. Annie had been a constant in our lives since we were little girls, and we were as close to her as we’d been to our mothers. Watching her grow frail, fading a bit more day by day, was difficult.

  Poor Stella was too young to understand, but not too young to have her feelings hurt. I traded looks with Dora. That I felt the need to make excuses for Annie said much. “Annie isn’t really angry with you, sweetheart. She’s worried about your father and still very tired from when she was sick. That makes her sound angry when she’s really not.”

  She watched me, big eyed and wanting to believe, and twisted her curls around a chubby finger. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I lived in this house with Annie and your mama for a very long time.” I opened the front door. “Go back inside now. Everything will be all right, promise.”

  Each step was reluctantly taken, but Stella went into the house. I shut the door again and followed Dora back down the front steps. We rounded the corner of the house and into the backyard. Sadie sat in a whitewashed wooden lawn chair with Connor nestled in her lap, the perfect image of motherhood and contentment. Shade dappled her face, alternating modes of light and shadow shifting with the breeze. She looked up and smiled as we entered the yard, but continued to point out animals in an open picture book, waiting after each one for Connor to repeat the name. That all the names Connor said sounded like “cat” or “bird,” or even “train,” didn’t bother either of them.

  Guilt welled up again, but I dragged two chairs close so that Dora and I sat on either side.

  Dora put a hand on Sadie’s arm. “We need to talk, Sadie. I wanted Jack to hear this too, but I can fill him in once he’s recovered. The best way to do this is to come right out and say it.”

  Sadie looked between me and Dora, and her smile dimmed. We must have appeared especially grim and dour. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Sam or Gabe?”

  Connor
squirmed out of his mother’s lap and came to me, arms outstretched. I picked him up, extending my protections around him without thinking. That I held Sadie and Jack’s son close, protecting him as if he were my own child, gave me pause.

  “Nothing so drastic or dire.” Dora took Sadie’s hand and smiled. “But it has to do with Connor, and we didn’t think letting it go any longer was wise. For some time now, Dee and I have seen hints that Connor might have the ability to see ghosts much the way Esther did. He wasn’t in any danger, you have my word on that, but we didn’t want to say anything until we knew for sure. We’re sure now, Sadie. He’s a fairly strong sensitive.”

  Sadie sat expressionless as Dora and I took turns explaining. Once or twice, she nodded, and tears filled her eyes when I spoke about ghosts seeking Connor out during the riot, but she didn’t say anything. Sadie was a rock, stronger in many ways than I’d ever be, and never shy about voicing her thoughts or questioning what she didn’t understand. Silence was new. I didn’t know what that meant.

  We finished and Sadie left her chair, pacing a few feet away to stare into the flowerbed. Fat black and yellow striped bumblebees moved between the blossoms of white and crimson poppies, primrose and strings of bleeding hearts, their hind legs growing heavy with pollen. Sadie seemed quite taken with watching the bees, but I knew that wasn’t the case.

  She covered her face with her hands, just for an instant, and I went to her. Hugging her was awkward with Connor on my hip, but I managed. Sadie hugged me back, a huge relief. “Connor will be fine, I promise. Dora and I won’t let anything happen to him.”

  “You’re sure about this, Dee?” Sadie’s voice was barely above a whisper. She stepped back and wiped a hand over her eyes. “No mistake?”

  “I’m very sure. No mistake.” I searched her face, looking for anything that said our friendship was broken beyond repair. “I know I waited too long to say something, and I’m so very sorry, but I kept hoping he’d grow out of it. And there was always the possibility that I was wrong.”