Her eyes close. Jiggling her, I try to keep her awake. “Leesel. You’re working so hard. What is it the coven has asked you to do?”
She talks around her thumb, keeping her eyes closed. “They keep bothering me,” she says, sounding petulant.
Ava gives me a wry look. With the drug wearing off, Leesel sounds more like herself.
“What do they want from you?”
“A new equation. To make the ten thousand things into one.” With her free hand, she draws numbers in the air. “But I like quantum options. I work on the new equation for awhile, then they teach me theories not in books at school. It’s a deal. Otherwise Elspeth doesn’t get to keep me here.”
She’s mumbling so that I can hardly make out what she’s saying. I jiggle her until she speaks louder. “…quantum options and…manipulating strings of probabilities to obtain…in parallel worlds without creating a reactionary event…minus given universe operating within.” Scowling, she ‘erases’ a mistake in her calculations.
“Leesel. What do the sisters think about ghosts?”
“Bad.”
“What do you mean?”
“They want rapture.”
I’m familiar with the old religious beliefs about the rapture of saints, but I doubt this is what Leesel is referring to. “What is rapture? Can you tell me?”
“Find the equation to chant. It’s very important. Find the equation or the sisters will sleep forever. Elspeth makes a face. Elspeth says what they really want to do is to melt, and it disgusts her.” Though drowsy, Leesel grins. “I told her on our world you can melt a witch with water. Elspeth didn’t get it. She asked if we baptize witches. She’s read all about your religion getting ready for you, but she gets it mixed up.”
Ava strokes Leesel’s hair. “What does Elspeth want with Jesse, baby?”
“Want Elspeth to pay attention to me. I’m tired of hearing her talk about Jesse. I like it when she’s nice to me.”
“Elspeth is nice in some ways,” I say, trying to tread carefully. “But not in others. She healed me and your mommy when we were sick. She’s taken care of you. But she’s also drugged your tea, to keep you awake and exhausted so you’re too tired to question anything she says. The coven has brainwashed you. Do you know what that means?”
She scowls.
“Leesel, sweetie,” Ava wheedles. “Look at yourself. You can hardly stay awake. Jesse spilled your tea, and gave you his—undrugged—tea. That’s why you’re so sleepy. Haven’t you wondered why you don’t have to sleep much anymore?”
Leesel’s eyelids flutter. “Elspeth loves me more than anyone.”
“No, Leesel,” Ava says in a flat voice. “I love you more than anyone. Elspeth stole you from me. Don’t you remember?”
“Elspeth didn’t steal me.” Leesel yawns so big her next words are distorted, but I hear them. “Chastity stole me from you. Elspeth came and saved me. Bad Chastity. Stole me twice.”
Hell. I can’t believe it. Chastity was the one who abducted Leesel?
“Tea…can’t sleep…” Leesel struggles to sit up and get away from me.
“What are you doing?” I ask her. “You need to sleep now.”
“No. If I go to sleep…it may be for a long time.” Her words are slurred, and she stumbles. Ava tries to help her, but she resists, slapping her mother away. “Leave me alone! You’re glad that Elspeth doesn’t really love me.”
“Baby, no, you had to understand.” Ava’s voice rises in despair. “Come back! Where are you going?”
Leesel staggers out into the rain. I lunge to pull her back in, but Saint Thomas blocks me. “Let the child go,” he says. I watch helplessly as Leesel gets away, but I see she only goes as far as the next hut over. Hannah is there, throwing her arms around Leesel and drawing her inside.
“Should I doubt your sanity?” Saint Thomas queries, looking down his nose at me and rattling his key chain at my ear.
A covenist appears behind doubting Thomas, her fist full of needles. She points, indicating I should get back in the hut. Over her shoulder, I see witches gathered. I nod, step back in the hut. The witches outside disperse, but I’ve no doubt they’re watching.
Saint Thomas steps inside as well, but he stands quietly against the wall, studiously ignoring the covenist. Her soaked dress clings to her angular body, dripping. Apparently she’d been standing in the rain for some time, keeping guard.
“Why did Leesel leave?” she demands.
I hook a thumb in the direction Leesel went. “She just left on her own. I think we bothered her by talking too much. She couldn’t study. If you ask me she needs to lay off the books, get some sleep. She was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open.”
The woman’s eyes travel to Leesel’s tea cup, just as I knew they would.
“By the way, can I have some more tea? Leesel’s got spilled, so I gave her mine.”
Understanding dawns on her face.
“I’m thirsty,” I add, and she leaves.
“Can I speak with you, Saint Thomas?” I ask, purposely not looking at Ava.
He follows me outside the hut. As does Ava. I push her back inside, take the saint’s arm, and pull him along. Covenists watch from doorways, but no one stops us. Maybe they think Saint Thomas won’t let me get away. Or they know I won’t leave without my friends.
“I need to see Elspeth,” I tell the saint. “Do you know where she is?”
He taps his square chin. “I do. Let us go speak with her. If she says you are not an exorcist, I will believe her. I doubt her sanity, but never her honesty.”
34
chains beneath his robes
Raindrops bead the cowl of Saint Thomas, rolling to the creases and down the back of his robe. Leaning on his staff, he leads me through the drenched coven village. My own coat isn’t waterproof. It grows heavy with rain and stiff with cold.
Every hut we pass has a fire burning within. Covenists work inside, bent over their papers at long tables. Several of them cook at stoves, and the aroma of food mixes with the earthy smells of the village in rain. Children stuff two of the huts. Their high-pitched voices chant numbers. Fun and games are over. It’s time for work. Their faces are focused, solemn. Like little nuns.
I recognize the path we take. Saint Thomas is leading me to the graveyard in the hollow where I witnessed the coven attacking Ruth’s ghost.
This is my chance. “Saint Thomas, I need your help. I have a question.”
“You may ask, child.”
Weird for him to call me a child when he doesn’t look much older than me. His wavering voice, though, reminds me there’s age to him despite his youthful appearance. “Where should I seek the Holy Ghost?”
He slows, glances at me, shudders. “I believe atmospheric disturbances worsen in the City of Sacristies. But I would stay clear if I were you.”
“Do you know where to find the City?”
Leaning on my arm, he wheezes. “Keep far away from the City and the Holy Ghost, unless you want to die, child. No other offering will suffice.”
“Excuse me? Are you saying the Holy Ghost will kill me?”
“Enough on this subject. Look here. Elspeth.”
I want clarification, but my next question dies in my mouth upon sight of Elspeth, upon sight of what they’ve done to her. Involuntarily, I curse.
“It does look painful,” Saint Thomas says thoughtfully, “but then, Elspeth is accustomed to pain.” He catches me with his staff as I step toward her, to help her. “We must not cross the circle, young man.”
Bits of metal form a thin line, encircling Elspeth so that if I obey Saint Thomas’s instruction, I am unable to touch her. Tied to the tallest tombstone in the graveyard, Elspeth is five feet from my reach. Rope criss-crosses her knees, waist, and chest, holding her upright though her head hangs to the side, as if she’s trying to rest it on her left shoulder. Her arms fold awkwardly, with elbows jutting out parallel to the ground and hands yanked behind the tombstone. With disgust, I
see that dozens of nails pierce the rope to fasten it to the tombstone. As if that’s what it takes to restrain the slight girl that Elspeth is.
Maybe that is what it takes. A chill comes over me.
I get as close as I can, with my boots next to the metal filings of the circle.
“Elspeth?”
Her eyes flip open.
I flinch.
Tilting her face up to the sky, she opens her mouth, catches raindrops on her tongue. “Who are you?” she croaks.
Saint Thomas pats his chest. “I have no idea! I’ve lost my crystal. Bless the Holy Ghost, I’ve lost my bones as well.” He turns on his heel and marches off back the way we came.
Taken aback, I watch him trudge away.
Elspeth stares in my direction. Her pupils are contracted to the size of pinpricks. “I can’t see you very well. Come closer.”
Nudging the metal files with the toe of my boot, I consider her request. Remembering Chastity’s warning about Elspeth, I hesitate. “I’m not supposed to cross the circle,” I tell her.
“Jesse? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
A cackle erupts from her throat. “They’ve drugged me.” Her head swings back to the side to rest on her shoulder. “They’ve always hated me. Chastity must have warned them…told them what to mix to keep me here.” She smiles. Winks. “I need not mix. Yet, what sleepy girls they will be.”
“Do you see?” Saint Thomas calls out. Startled, I nearly jump across the metal line.
He’s back, holding a biscuit in his hand. With his cowl down, rain has flattened his thick black hair. “Elspeth is so honest as to willingly reveal her unethical intentions,” he says. Bits of soggy biscuit fall from his mouth. “I trust her completely, but I wouldn’t dare step inside that circle with her.” He taps my boot with his staff. Leaning close, he whispers loudly in my ear. “Her identity is uncertain. Her guilt, otherwise. Keep back, keep back.”
“I forgive you for speaking of me in such ways, Thomas,” Elspeth says with a sob. Her tears are indistinguishable from the raindrops that streak down her face. “Remember me, Thomas. You know me. How can I be dangerous to you? You’re already dead.”
The saint drops his staff. Quivering, he backs away. “Do you accuse me of consorting with traitors?” he shouts. Clawing at his cowl, he folds it over his face. The thick material muffles his voice. “They dig, dig, dig. Hide, hide, hide.” Opening the cowl, he points up in the trees. “Perhaps it’s you who consort with tunnelers. Do you dig? Show me your fingernails!” He stomps around, waving his arms, trampling his staff into the mud, conversing with people who aren’t there. “How dare you. Do you doubt me? The Holy Ghost is a jealous ghost. Bring me the halo!”
“What’s wrong with him?” I say, keeping my distance from his ranting.
He hears, rushes at me, slides to a dead stop.
Noticing the biscuit in his hand, he takes a bite. “It’s good,” he says. Thunder booms. Shrieking in terror, he pitches the biscuit across the graveyard.
“He suffers,” Elspeth says. Pity soaks her voice.
Saint Thomas crawls, fast, in my direction. Alarmed, I scramble out of his way. “I see that. From what? Schizophrenia?”
“He’s a ghost. An extraordinarily dense one, consumed by his past. Did you mistake him for the living? Many do.”
He’s after me. I grab his staff and fend him off with it.
“You!” he yells at me. “You dented the halo! Now it’s ruined.” He holds the invisible halo in his hands, turning it over to better examine it. With care, he settles it several inches over his head. Limping away, he stops now and again to set the halo right. Apparently it keeps slipping off.
I sit in the mud catching my breath. “Did you say he’s a ghost?” I ask Elspeth once he’s out of sight. “Because he doesn’t seem like a ghost.”
Her head is dropped forward. She answers without lifting her face. “You will find chains beneath his robes. He requires a savior, Jesse. I will do anything if you will help him.”
My chest tightens. What grandiose ideas does she hold about me, exactly? I want to know.
“Why do you love Saint Thomas?” I ask her, and when I do, I’m surprised by a pang of jealousy.
“Do you refuse love to ghosts?”
I don’t answer, and she continues without notice, as if she’s not really talking to me.
“I love him for doubting I could do bad things. I confessed to him as he passed by the village—in secret, my sisters would not approve—and he absolved me. He eased my pain, and now I wish to ease his. I wish him to be free of his chains. I wish all ghosts to be free of their chains, for the past to be no more.”
“You wish to be free of your own chains.”
“Yes.”
She strains against her ropes until the veins on her neck are raised blue. The rope holds her tight, and in moments her strength is spent. Whatever drug Ruth gave Elspeth, its effect is dramatic. Little time has passed since Poe reported Elspeth’s arrival in the village, yet she appears sickly, wasted. The flesh which shows on her chest and neck is bruised. Bald spots, though small, glow white on her head where the black hair has uprooted to wash down her robe and clump at her feet. It’s like she has radiation sickness.
What have they done to her? Will she die?
I want to save her.
But covenists are in the trees, watching.
Saint Thomas limps toward us. He finds the staff that I propped against a tombstone and joins me at the edge of the metallic circle.
“Beware,” he greets me. He performs the neck strangle with a pleasant smile on his face. Whatever his mania, he seems to have recovered from it. “Should I doubt your sanity?” He asks, rattling the keys on his neck chain at me. “Clearly, you are a traveler, which is an insane occupation in Memento Mori. Unless, of course, you are on pilgrimage to unveil the secret identity of the Incarnate Holy Ghost. To beckon his Presence upon Memento Mori. If so, I have a proposal.”
Relieved that he doesn’t seem to remember I’m an exorcist, I ponder what to say about Memento Mori’s Holy Ghost as I try to figure out how to save Elspeth when the witches are watching me. “I read a headline that said He was dead,” I admit.
“A sinful untruth.”
“Okay. Good. Can this Holy Ghost really get me and my friends back home, like I’ve been told? To our world?”
His chest puffs. “I am Saint Thomas. Perhaps you have heard of me? Why not ask me to get you home?”
35
when it’s safe to commit suicide
I freeze. “You can get me home, Saint Thomas? Me and my friends?”
Elspeth aims her pupil pinpricks in the saint’s direction. “You are confused, Thomas.”
“Do you accuse me of lying? I do so only when I must. The Holy Ghost forgives such lies. What he does not forgive is disrespect. Make no mistake. Anyone who contradicts me, contradicts the Holy Ghost. I am the voice of the Presence. And it saddens me, how the people of Memento Mori plot spiritual revolution, thinking they can decide for themselves what to believe without my instruction.” He smiles benevolently at me. “Leave the Holy Ghost be, as is best for all concerned, and I will help you get home.”
I look between Elspeth and the saint. “Pardon me, Saint Thomas, but I doubt.”
“Is that so?” He fixes me with an odd look. When he speaks, he does so clearly and slowly. In a young, strong voice. “I am the way. I tell the truth. I hold your life in my hands. You won’t get home without my guidance.”
I may doubt my priests, but my faith is precious to me, and I know the scriptures well. His choice of words is not lost on me. Saint Thomas is as clever as he is crazy. I question him. “Has the Bible been channeled to Memento Mori?”
His voice goes old again. “The Bible? What makes you ask?”
I shrug my shoulders. His smirk answers my question. He intended to mock my religion. I wouldn’t have thought, as mentally disturbed as he is, that he’d be capable of making witty Bibl
ical allusions. I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.
“You didn’t answer my question, Saint Thomas. How will you get me and my friends home? Universal Law only allows passage to another world upon death. I don’t want to die. I came here in a vortex, alive, breaking Universal Law. Is that how it’s done? Can you call forth a vortex to take me home?”
He purses his lips. Rattles his keys left to right, in an arc like a rainbow. “I suspect you of treason with the talk of vortices. What is your involvement in the exodus plot? Memento Mori is the rightful home of the Holy Ghost. Sharing Him with your world, or any other, is abhorrent to me. I am a jealous saint.”
Saint. I remember something, something George said about me and Poe being saints…that we wouldn’t be missed on our world…and what Chastity said about bilocation. “Is it true saints can travel worlds so that they’re in two places at once?” I ask. “Did you do it, you know, while you were alive? I realize you’re a ghost now, but you must know how it’s done. Is that how you can help me and my friends? You can stay here on your beloved home, but also escort us to our world.”
He swishes his robe, and chains rattle. “Do I look like a ghost to you?” he warbles. “As for leaving Memento Mori, I simply never had the inclination to bilocate across worlds. Memento Mori is my home. It is a comforting world. Do you know why Memento Mori does not allow exodus for the dead or the living? It is painful. We do not wish to grieve. We seek to keep everyone here. Except you. You can leave. I don’t like you.”
He peeks over at Elspeth, who is straining against her ropes again. “Please stop,” I beg her. “You’re hurting yourself.”
Moving further from the drawn circle, Saint Thomas motions for me to back away as well. Reluctantly, I leave Elspeth to hear what the saint will tell me.
“Insanity, insanity,” Saint Thomas begins. “I have identified one who mistakenly believes the Holy Ghost will participate in the evangelizing of worlds. This missionary holds the power to break the Universal Law of which you speak. If you refrain from coaxing the Holy Ghost out of hiding, I will introduce you to this missionary. He is the one who can take you and your friends home.” He points to himself. “Therefore, I am the one who can get you home.”
The Ghosting of Gods Page 16