Mortals: Heather Despair Book One

by Leslie Copeland

  "I am a lot more powerful suddenly, aren't I?" I cupped my palm, let it fill with blue. Lightning zagged along my arm, encircling my hand. I threw open my palm. The lightning arced across the room in a fantastic burst of energy and struck the far wall of the cavern with an echoing thunder.

  "I can control it!" My voice rose in excitement, then I jumped when Emmett offered the ring once again.

  "Marvelous what just its proximity can do for your focus. You ought to try it on," he said.

  "Sure. I suppose I should. Then I'd never get it off, and I'd be bonded to you for life as your little proto- proto- prototype, or whatever it was," I said.

  "Protégée," said Emmett. "My little protégée." His face wore a dreamy look, then he snapped back into focus. "This is your family ring, Heather. It belongs to you. I beg you—take it."

  I held out my hand toward the ring—how my fingers tingled! I gazed again at Emmett's earnest face. He still knelt before me—how long can a spirit kneel? Emmett seemed willing to wait all day.

  But I didn't dare put it on. How could I know for sure what it would do?

  And this protégée thing. I mean, bonded for life? I was only fifteen! I wanted to be a writer, not go into the family line, wrangle spirits like my father. It was too soon to decide. And yeah, Emmett was sweet, as ghosts go, but—bonded for life?

  "I'm sorry. This is all so sudden, as they say." I shook my head no.

  Emmett stood up, a sorrowful expression on his face. He popped the ring back into his side, then he bowed. "Come. I may not get my wish, but let us part as friends, at least. I apologize for my assumptions. You are simply the most talented mortal I've seen in a thousand years, and perhaps I got carried away. I was so worried about what the council would say that I didn't consider what you might want." He offered his arm, and after a second, I took it. He was still my spirit world escort. Being next to him sent a hum down my arm—probably just the effect of the ring.

  "We will try to locate your father and brother," said Emmett. "Then I'll return you to the prior world. If that's acceptable to you?"

  I nodded, and he smiled at me—a rather foolish and sad smile. He locked eyes with me, and I smiled back, just a little.

  "On one condition," I said. "You'll tell me what you know about everything." Enough of his omissions and evasiveness. From now on, nothing but the plain truth—all of it.

  "Everything? That could take a millennium," said Emmett, but his smile flickered wider and wider as he accompanied me from the council room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Artifacts of Esperance

  I expected more labyrinthine passageways outside the council room, but Emmett led me through an arched tunnel that throbbed with light. My eyes dazzled and I almost collided with Sybil and Elvira. They sped around me and plunged into the bright center ahead. The tunnel opened to a lovely garden filled with flowering bushes and trees.

  "Take care," said Emmett. "We are going outside."

  "Is it safe?" I stopped at the edge and peered out.

  "We never know if it's safe," said Emmett, shaking his head. "I can't give you that assurance. But I can tell you when something is right." He held up the ring box again. "Aether, this is right."

  He put his arm around my shoulders—humming lightly—and gazed with great seriousness into my eyes. Again, I was sinking into a well: those black, black eyes without bottom.

  "I mean, can we go outside?" I said in a tiny voice.

  "For you to come to harm is the last thing I want," he said. "But this world is what it is. And you are what you are. Come with me."

  He led me swiftly across the courtyard, around another misshapen statue where the bat-Chi's now perched. I followed, remembering to message Sam in the open air. Still flat and dead—I sensed nothing. A cawing and fluttering above made me run to catch up with Emmett. I tugged at his jacket.

  "Emmett, the birds!" I shouted, but he paid no attention. He had his head poked through a wall, casting around like a duck after sunken bread. I tugged at his hand. He pulled his head out and grimaced at me.

  "Come on, Aether!" he said and stepped through the wall. Miffed, I raced to the nearest door, just as Emmett popped back through the wall. "Oh, sorry. I keep forgetting you can't do that." He whizzed to my side and held the door open. I whistled to the bat-Chi's, who dropped to the ground and trotted inside. Then I stepped through and into a trio of ghosts.

  I backed up in surprise. A tall ghost stood before me, wearing a long duster and a wide-brimmed hat. He had no feet, no face—only glowing eyes. Next to him, a white-haired young woman, clothed also in white, had a definite glow, but not the healthy kind. The last was a relatively normal-looking young man wearing a beat-up bomber jacket.

  "May I introduce the Hitchhiking Ghosts!" said an exhilarated Emmett. "My favorite spectral band!"

  "We still on for the gig at the reception?" asked the young man.

  "Oh, that. I'm afraid it's been cancelled," said Emmett. "But I'd like you to meet someone."

  "Cancelled? But come on, man! We need this gig!" shouted the young man. "What happened?"

  "Look, can we talk about it later?" said Emmett. "This is my mortal friend. She's not going to be here long, so I'd like to introduce you."

  "Hey!" said the tall, faceless ghost. "I've heard of you. Aether, ain't it?"

  "Heather," I said in a choked voice, staring at his glowing eyes.

  "This is Robert Orestes on the drums," said Emmett.

  "I go by Bubba," said the tall ghost. He tipped his hat to me.

  "The lady on bass is Mariana, and the lead singer and guitarist is Billy Badbreaks," said Emmett.

  Mariana shook my hand and glowed, but when I tried to shake Billy's hand, it came off, and I found myself holding it! I shook and shook the hand, but it had a powerful grip and would not let go.

  "Sorry 'bout that," said Billy. "Ernesto! Get back here!"

  The hand finally released me and hopped down, crawling over to Billy on its fingers. Billy picked it up and stuck it back into the sleeve of his jacket.

  "It's pretty handy to have a free hand when you play lead guitar," said Billy, winking at me. "I just have to make sure Ernesto doesn't get loose during one of the sets. Last gig we played, he ended up in the chip bowl somehow."

  "Ugh. I bet the guests like that." I snickered.

  "Ernesto's a hoot!" Billy chuckled. "This hand keeps jumping out of the chips and spirits were throwing their dip and punch all over! It's a good thing that had the punch that floats."

  While I tried to imagine what floating punch looked like, Emmett whispered something in Billy's ear. Billy grinned and said, "Heather, how 'bout we play for you once? Emmett thinks you'll realize what you missed if you hear us play."

  "I just thought perhaps—" said Emmett. He smiled at me weakly.

  "One two three four!" shouted Billy and the band started in.

  I'd never heard music quite like it. The beat, the guitars, the rhythm were all rock and roll, but the sound quality was so odd—like music played inside a tube far away, but getting louder and closer. Then it would fly away again, and get high and tinny, like a record from the 1920s. During the guitar solo, Ernesto detached from Billy's sleeve and wandered up and down the frets on his own, playing with manic energy. Bubba manifested as at least three drummers that phased in and out, somehow playing in rhythm with one another. Mariana's back-up shrieking sent shivers down my spine. Billy sang quite soulfully until the end, when he, too, burst into moans and screams.

  In the realm of the spirit world,

  We're welcoming an unusual girl,

  Name of Heather, Emmett's protégée,

  When you meet her, you'll be blown away.

  As mortals go, you'll find her quite charming,

  Her spectricity is almost alarming,

  We're so glad she crossed to the other side,

  To become Emmett's spirit bride!

  I tapped my foot and hummed along—until that last line. I scowled. "Spirit
bride?" I mouthed at Emmett, who spotted with pink again.

  "It's, ahem, just an expression," he said.

  After we clapped and thanked the band for playing, Emmett wandered off with Billy and Mariana, engrossed in telling them some story about his ectoplasm. Bubba ushered me aside.

  "Seen the painting on the back wall?" he said, rather cryptically. He pointed one of his long, brown fingers behind us, to a wall dominated by a large, framed portrait. I stared into Bubba's glowing eyes, and one of them went out and lit up again, like he was winking. I walked to the portrait and studied it.

  The canvas contained an image of a sumptuously dressed lady, sitting formally. A gold plate below the frame read "Bronwyn Pearl Despair." One of my ancestors, perhaps? I'd never heard of her. However, when I looked into the portrait's eyes, I found I was looking back at myself. This sensation made me gasp and shut my eyes. It felt like some camera in my head had been reversed. I grabbed my head with my hands and held on, like I was trying to keep it from flying off. Yet I felt a weird sense of familiarity, too. What was it?

  "How can something be so odd, yet so exactly right?" I whispered. I looked directly into the eyes of the woman in the portrait. Instantly, I found myself looking into my own eyes. I marveled at their golden strangeness. I hated to admit Bruce was right, but I did have weird eyes.

  I pulled myself from my own transfixing gaze long enough to glance down. I recognized the rich dress and sparkling black ring of the woman in the painting. I was within the painting! The ring so resembled the one Emmett had offered me that I jumped to see it on my finger.

  "How did that get there?" I said. I jumped again, because my voice sounded quavering and brittle, like an ancient lady's.

  I stretched out my hand to view the ring. It passed over a book in my lap, which opened up to a chapter entitled, The Ring of Esperance of the Family Despair. I squinted at the last word, for "Despair" flickered on the page, not quite solid.

  I inspected the book, entitled A Disturbingly Complete History of Spiritualist Artifacts. The author's last name was Benavidez, and I wondered if Lily's uncle Arturo might have written this book. Then I noticed an illustration of the ring in the book—the same high, ornate setting and huge black diamond, like a cocktail ring for the Victorian era.

  I read aloud the first words of the chapter. "A powerful ring of mystical origin, this artifact is known as the Ring of Esperance. The artifacts of Esperance are associated with the spiritualist family Despair."

  I blinked as the letters in "Despair" again flickered and jumped around. I rubbed my eyes and read on.

  The Ring of Esperance focuses the wearer's paranormal powers. Its origin is said to be thus: long ago, in the ancient town of Esperance, twins were born, a brother and a sister. They both had beautiful golden eyes that seemed to see right through a person. As they grew, they developed strange abilities. They could talk to each other without speaking and move objects without touching them. They could foresee the future and receive visions about the past and things hidden. Soon, they discovered they had the ability to talk to the dead.

  The dead came from far and wide, crowding the children's minds with their messages, until it took all the children's strength to avoid going insane. Their family feared the forces these children called forth, and gave them up to a temple where a prophetess would care for them.

  Afraid to be outcasts, the children called upon an ancient spirit for help. The spirit god Omni, known as the All, took pity on the children. He commanded that no spirits should speak through them until his return. Then he traveled to a faraway place, where he took a piece of the night sky and forged the Ring of Esperance. This he did for the girl, Aether.

  The All then forged the Pen of Esperance from the light of the morning star. This he did for the boy, Aeriel.

  The All gifted the Artifacts of Esperance to the children, with a warning to never part from them. For a time, all was well. The spirits worked in harmony with the children to deliver their messages. Aether and Aeriel, protected by their artifacts, grew into talented spiritualists.

  Legend has it that Aether never put her ring away from her. However, Aeriel allowed his wife to use the Pen of Esperance. Deceived by the Bellum, Aeriel's wife stole the pen and disappeared. She and the pen remain lost in the mists of time.

  From that day forward, the All issued a command. Anyone who removed the Ring of Esperance from the finger of the heir would face immediate and terrible consequences.

  I resurface from the depths of the story and turned to a page of illustrations. I traced my finger over them in awe. The children's golden eyes—they looked just like mine.

  If the story was true, then the ring would protect me and make my spiritualist powers manageable. It might even keep me from going insane. I didn't know if I believed that part about the All crafting it from the sky, but—

  A muffled, underwater noise made me look up. Emmett was rapping on the surface of the painting from outside. He gritted his teeth and drew his finger across his throat. For a moment, I thought he was expressing his opinion about the artwork, but no. He wanted me to exit.

  I was unsure how, but I gazed out of the painting. I could see myself standing there, as if stupefied. I gazed into my own vacant eyes. This created a great whirl and when I could see clearly, I was again outside the painting, holding my spinning head.

  "All right, Aether?" asked Emmett. He beckoned to me.

  I groaned and said, "My name's Heather."

  "I see you found your ancestral portrait," said Emmett. "Bronwyn Pearl Despair held the ring before you did."

  "I've never heard of her," I said. "This had to be several generations ago. Why didn't my father have the ring, to pass on to me?"

  Emmett tutted and shook his head. "Oh, no, no," he said. "Your father would look silly wearing this ring. The male heirs receive the Pen of Esperance, not the Ring of Esperance."

  "But in the story, it said the pen was missing," I said.

  "Therefore, they do not receive it," said Emmett. "There has not been a female heir in quite some time. But here you are!" He waved the ring box before me again.

  "So, I get the ring and Sam gets nothing?" I watched Emmett wave the box around.

  "Indeed." Emmett opened up the box. The ring flickered and flashed.

  "Put that thing away." I blocked it with my hand. "What about my father? He didn't get any artifact? That isn't fair."

  "I do wish it had been rectified. But we cannot find the pen, you see," said Emmett.

  "Oh, my All," I said. "That's your excuse? And my father is missing. And Sam is missing. Can't the spirits find anything?"

  "Missing?" Bubba drifted over. "You mean Sam Despair? Naw, he was just in here recently. He's not missing. You just missed him. He's around."

  "Where?!" I demanded. "The council believed he'd gone to the far dimensions!"

  "He liked our music," said Bubba, nonplussed. "He had an older guy with him, too. A real cool cat, in a long coat and boots."

  "Dad!" I said, jumping up and down. "Please, Bubba. Where did they go?"

  Bubba scratched under his hat, on top of his invisible head. "Think they said they was going down to the mortal world for a while. Something 'bout a house."

  "A house?" I scrunched up my nose at him. "What house?"

  "Yeah, I remember," said Bubba. "They was talkin' on and on about a house that used to be theirs. The old guy wanted to get it back."

  Suddenly, it clicked. "The Vic! That was Dad's house. Shirleen sold it ages ago. Dad must think it's still ours." I saddened, thinking of how much had changed since I'd last seen my father.

  "The Hollow Hill Hold," said Emmett. "That is your house."

  "No, it was sold," I said. "I know the Coterie was meeting there, but I'm pretty sure it's also full of squatters. I think the bank foreclosed on it after the last owners couldn't keep it going as a hotel. Nobody owns it, really. It's falling apart."

  "That is your house," insisted Emmett. "It's a spiritualist bequeath
al. No one but the Despairs can own the Hollow Hill Hold." He folded his arms and floated, a stubborn frown on his face.

  "You'd better not argue," whispered Bubba, making my ear tickle. "Spirits don't view property the same way mortals do. If Emmett says it's yours, it's yours."

  "Okay." I decided this was wise. "If that's where they went, I want to join them."

  Immediately, Emmett took my arm. He drew me toward the door.

  Bubba saluted. "Good luck, Heather Despair. Be careful out there."

  Billy and Mariana waved good-bye. Emmett and I approached the door, and Emmett almost walked through it, then at the last second swerved and went through the wall. I groaned.

  Outside, the gray sky overhead looked clear. Emmett held my hand, and lifted up, floating me with him. At ten feet up, I could see over the castle wall, to the shining sea that surrounded Dead Town. Then I saw something else. A blackened cloud, moving toward us with screeches and cries.

  "All's crux!" Emmett dropped back down. "They see us!"

  He whistled to the bat-Chi's, who had cruised after us. Emmett tucked them one after the other inside his waistcoat, where they disappeared. Then he led me across the courtyard and through another door, this one dark and heavy, creaking with age. As the birds darkened the sky above, we slipped through the door and into a low-ceilinged hallway.

  "Come on! This is one of my haunts!" said Emmett. At the end of the hallway, we entered a long, dark room that smelled strongly of coffee and baked goods. A coffee shop, smack dab in the middle of the castle. I leaned over a display case of cakes and cookies shaped like tombstones, coffins, and spiders.

  "We can get out through my tower," said Emmett. "Lay low for a short while here, Aether. Allow me to order some refreshment." He held a chair for me, and seated me at a table.

  "This is terrible, how you're plagued by these evil birds and dogs and Feeder things all the time," I said. I was starting to worry that I'd never get back to the mortal world.

  "Oh, it never used to be this bad. But the Bellum's turned so much against," said Emmett, sitting opposite me.

  A waitress floated over two cups of black coffee and tombstone cookies that read "RIP" in black icing. I didn't usually drink coffee, but this smelled spectacular, so I took a sip. It tasted rich and chocolaty, like nothing I'd tried in the mortal realm. I crunched down on several light-as-air cookies.