Whispers.
Barely audible, hissing, the whisperings are Despair. Harsh syllables, not at all like the ghostly voices I normally hear. Fear trickles in my fingertips.
“Poe?” I yell into the gale.
“Hurry,” he calls back.
“Do you hear the voices?” I scream. I can’t tell if they’re in my head or not. Something about these voices isn’t right.
“What voices? Jesse, hurry!” Poe screams at me as I bite off my glove and stretch my bare fingers, desperately reaching for Bethany’s ankle.
Black feathers brush the exposed flesh of my wrist.
The angel beats its wings, battling the gusts of wind to make another pass at Bethany. Its robe flutters, seemingly hung on a wire it’s so flat. The head with its hood, in contrast, is cavernous. Its black form swoops in the swirling snow.
I know the moment Bethany sees it. Raw fright pops her snow-crusted eyes. Her mouth gapes, but there’s no scream. Letting go of the Dali with one hand, she reaches for me.
The painting tilts vertical. Bethany free-falls.
I stare down, clinging to the icy rock. The angel’s black form swoops in the swirling snow, becomes lost in it before reappearing atop the receding form of Bethany. Its enormous wings unfurl as it catches her at the waist.
Bethany snaps violently. Her ghost separates. Draped in bulky chains, the spirit plummets like a boulder.
The angel races away, dangling Bethany’s limp body. I watch, dazed, until the flapping black wings climb high into the sky and melt into the steel shadows of the blizzard.
The Dali twirls away, lost to the storm.
“Forget her,” Ava shouts. “Come back!”
My knee finds Bethany’s diary. I recognize The Story of Me written on the cover. It must have fallen from a pocket of her robe as she cycled. Picking it up, I marvel at how heavy it is. As heavy as Bethany’s ghost with all its chains.
Poe’s talking to me, using the rope to reel me in.
“Did you hear the voices?” I repeat again and again, needing him to answer me.
He grabs me, looks at me with concern. “No. I don’t hear the voices, Jesse. I’m not an exorcist.” He squints into the storm, where Bethany used to fly her bike. “Oh, God, Jesse. Did she need an exorcism? Did you get it done before…before…”
My secret is crushing me. I can’t do this alone. Something bad is happening to me. And I think I know why.
“Help me, Poe,” I plead, my face pressed to his. “I’ve sinned. Poe, I didn’t tell you why I hear the voices. It’s because…because they possess me. The ghosts I exorcise. It’s always been this way. I allow it, Poe.”
Horror stretches his face into a mask. He clutches his crucifix. “Why, Jesse? Why would you do that?”
He’s appalled. Revolted. “Why?” he mouths at me, his eyes full of betrayal, as if I’m not who I pretend to be.
There are no words to explain. “Elspeth,” is all I say, and of course he doesn’t understand. Suddenly, I want her. I want Elspeth. She understands; she told the coven she possesses out of loneliness. I’m the reverse. I get possessed out of loneliness, out of some unholy desire to touch the other side.
Not a desire. A need.
I pray, ask God to take me to Elspeth.
There’s a flash of black feathers, and I hear the whispers again. I realize the hissing belongs to the angel. It streaks past in the gloom.
“Lean on me,” Poe says, and drags me away from the edge.
49
mix brilliance with horror
We’re freezing to death.
Leesel has lost her way inside the blizzard. Trees are sparse at this elevation. If there are any caves or other shelter, we can’t find them with the driving snow. My elbows are so stiff that it’s easy to carry Leesel. She’s buried inside my robe, her little face pressed into my neck. Her breathing rattles. She’s feverish.
From the moment the vortex dropped us in Memento Mori, a small hope took hold in my mind. Faith. It’s hard to hold onto, but if I don’t, I won’t be able to do this anymore.
The undisturbed surface of ice is so beautiful, but my steps are ruining it. I pray silently.
I’m desperate to save Leesel.
Ava has become too exhausted to cry. Poe prays aloud: Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid God didn’t send us here, afraid there’s no meaning to this journey. And that makes me alone. It makes me responsible for saving my friends. What if I can’t do it?
I look up into the whirling sky and imagine a vortex there to take us home.
Nothing happens to save us, and my prayer ends. I lift a boot, pitch it forward, grunt as it sinks deep into snow again. I was wrong. This landscape is wretched, not beautiful at all. This is no divine journey. There are my steps, and the steps of my friends, but that’s all.
Poe’s wrong. Jesus does not walk beside us.
I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you, my friend prays on.
No. We’re alone.
Leaning into the wind, trying to keep my balance, I catch sight of a dark form moving in the blizzard, pacing us. An angel. Flitting in and out of view among the trees. Damned things are everywhere, hiding and watching, eager to reap.
“What’s that?” Poe yells over the screaming wind. With difficulty, I twist my upper body, see his blue face. He’s pointing at the ground.
Silver spoons.
A trail of silver spoons.
“Elspeth,” I yell. Poe nods his head. Ava stumbles forward, bends to see the spoons.
“She’s a healer,” Ava reminds us, her eyes moving to Leesel. We follow the trail of bread crumbs to find the witch.
It’s too late when I lift my face and see angels huddled against a wall of ice in front of us. One of them steps forward, and I realize that this one, at least, is no angel. He has no wings. Staring at me, he lifts a hand and motions the others behind him to come forward.
None of them are angels.
“We see you are freezing,” the first one calls out. “Come. There is a hidden passage into the City. A warm passage. Come.”
I exchange looks with Ava. Poe, stiff with cold and hugging his skinny arms around himself, nods at me. We follow the man and his brooding companions inside the wall of ice.
It’s a cave. With the howling of wind left behind, my shoulders loosen. It’s warm. Leesel squirms loose from my arms but leans against me as she stands.
Torches are spaced along a jagged corridor. I run my hands along the wall. It’s smooth, balmy, and reflective of the torch flames. The corridor ends, and I face a spectacular cavern. Poe, Ava, and Leesel crowd around me.
Pungent incense burns. Glistening with gold in the torch light, stalactites and stalagmites grow together to form walls where thin streams of water trickle down, pooling in bowls carved out of the cave floor. Statues sculpted from the walls depict persons kneeling in prayer. They hold chains, not beads, in their clasped hands.
What is this place?
Poe stops, shakes his head. I have to pull him after me.
A single small fire burns. Several men, wrapped in torn sackcloth, crouch beside the flames. A single fish fries in a pan on the grate. Leaning over their dinner, the men inhale deeply. One of them sees us and quickly turns his scarred face away. A sick yodel comes from his throat. I can’t help gaping. He wears white. A headband runs around the top of his head, and attached to it, at the back, is a stick topped with a halo.
Angel werewolf.
He sees my staring, glares, and shifts position so that my view of the fish is blocked. It doesn’t matter. I can still smell it. My stomach rumbles with hunger.
The others take notice of us. Blue moons cradle their eyes, their cheeks are sunken, and their robes fold on a crease over their angular shoulders. They’re starving. Close by, in shadows, cries of pain follow the sound of leather whipping the air.
Ava and I both have hold of Leesel. Her eyes are wide. �
��I don’t like this place,” our little girl whispers.
“Come,” our escort says. Picking up a lantern, he motions us forward. We leave behind the other men, their fish, and the self-scouring of the flagellants. Our guide pauses at a jag in the stone corridor and dims the lantern’s glow. “I apologize for the lack of torches the rest of the way. The ones who cage themselves prefer darkness.” Glancing over our faces, he looks concerned. “Do flagellants in cages make you uncomfortable? The City will be unpleasant for you, then.”
Poe breathes hard. He trips up Ava when he stumbles. She swears at him.
I hear rattling up ahead. Sounds like the jingling of keys. A chorus of voices reverberate on the walls around us.
Pray with doused light.
Bring darkness to hide me.
The Holy Ghost is a jealous ghost!
The last voice I know. “It’s Saint Thomas,” I blurt.
The man pushes me forward. “Here. Take the lantern. Go to him.”
Ava, Leesel, and Poe crowd around me as I crank the lantern high and push through a hanging, ragged shawl, which I suspect is a shroud. Loose threads brush my face like spider webs as I step into a cramped space.
Cages.
Haphazard metal bars form six small cages. A solitary prisoner resides in each one. Flagellants. One of them sits naked, his back to us, shivering in the cold dampness of the cave. Others shield their eyes against the light of the lantern. They’re frail, bruised, moaning. I quickly dim the light of the lantern and push Leesel behind me. I don’t want her to see this.
Movement catches my eye. I swing the lantern to the left. A girl in a thin dress and bare feet throws up her arms to block the sudden bright light. Slowly, her arms lower.
Elspeth.
She’s healed, in part. Her cheeks and eyes are no longer sunken. The gray is gone from her hair. Yet bruises remain.
No surprise shows on her face. She knew Leesel would bring us this way, knew we needed to get to the City of Sacristies. Keeping tabs on our progress must have been easy for her. She’d simply been waiting for us.
For me?
Here. In a cave.
Elspeth’s eyes flit from me to the others, and her face softens when she sees Leesel. “Do not be afraid, my pretty,” she says. Her voice is weak, her eyes red. She’s been crying. Her hand opens to the flagellants. “Please, they are to be pitied. I do not agree with their religious practice, but we have in common a desire to find the Holy Ghost. You needn’t be afraid. They harm only themselves.”
“Leesel’s sick. Help her, please,” Ava begs.
Elspeth beckons to Leesel. “My pretty,” Elspeth coos. “Oh, my pretty. This altered world does not agree with you or Jesse, does it?” She kisses Leesel’s forehead, as a mother would do. “The fever is advanced,” she says, her voice suddenly clinical. She signals our escort. He vanishes, reappearing a moment later with a syringe.
“What is that?” I demand to know.
Elspeth looks at me in surprise. “Do you believe I would harm Leesel?”
I’m surprised to feel ashamed. “Of course not. We…need your help.”
Busily running her hands along Leesel’s neck, she suddenly and deftly pricks Leesel’s shoulder with the syringe. “My most powerful medicine,” Elspeth murmurs. “Ava, hold her still in your lap. I must examine her.”
Ava complies, her jaw clenched, her eyes shining with desperate hope.
Elspeth sits. Her eyes close. A moment later she sags against the cave wall.
Leesel sighs heavily.
“What’s Elspeth doing?” Ava asks, panicked.
“Looking inside the girl,” the man with us says. “There’s no need to be alarmed. Elspeth will not truly possess her. It isn’t necessary.”
A sigh escapes Leesel’s lips, and her fingers twitch slightly.
“She’s come back out of her already,” I assure Ava, who appears ready to faint at the idea that the witch is inside Leesel. I place my hand on Ava’s shoulder, squeeze. She reaches up to place her hand on top of mine.
Her fingers are slim. Fragile. I wish I could comfort her, make everything better. Us being here is my fault. My lips part to say her name, to apologize, but instead a sigh escapes my lips. My fingers twitch slightly.
I know what’s happening.
I hear her voice. Fate has brought you to me again. Do you not see? Do you not believe? Have ye so little faith?
My eyes close. I feel her.
Oh, Jesse. Believe in me. Believe in us.
I sigh again as she moves within, exploring me. The idea of her within me…it’s intimate. It’s more than erotic. I want more of her, and in response, I sense her connecting to me in a way that’s never happened before. I’m aware of my body relaxing. She’s moving through every part of me. I want to know you, she says, and I want to tell her the same, but I’m unable to speak.
Tell me your secrets, Jesse.
My heart beats faster.
I’m resisting. I don’t want to reveal my spiritual secrets.
But it feels right, to not be alone, to hear another voice within me. It’s normal for me.
We’ll save your sister. We’ll save Thomas. We’re meant for the spiritual revolution. And then death will come…
Something’s wrong. My pulse is throbbing in my neck. My heart is beating too fast. This isn’t normal. It’s like the ghost that possessed me outside the coven forest. “I don’t want to die,” I mumble, but my voice sounds strange.
“You’re not going to die, Jesse,” Ava’s voice says. I can’t see her. Her slim fingers squeeze mine, but as Elspeth connects more fully to my body, my hand jerks back. “Jesse?” comes Ava’s concerned voice.
Elspeth abruptly leaves me. Vision returns and my body heaves a sigh.
“You’re exhausted, trembling,” Ava tells me. She looks alarmed as she rubs my arms vigorously.
Clasping my hands together, I massage my tingling fingers. “I’m okay.” My eyes go to Leesel. Then to Elspeth. She’s back in her body. Her eyes flutter open.
“No need to worry,” she says, sounding a bit drunk. “There is no damage to Leesel. The illness will quickly pass with the mixture I injected. A second dose will not be necessary, which is good as I have none to offer.” She nods at the man with us, and he goes away.
I look away when she tries to hold my gaze.
Saint Thomas holds his key ring through the bars of his cell. “You can’t have these,” he taunts, rattling his keys.
Elspeth reaches for him. Pats his hand. “I can’t get him to come out of his cage. He—” Her voice breaks. Our escort brings her water. She sips. “So I stay with him. He has lucid moments, moments where he comes out of the past. It is hard. His chains are heavy. He needs to be freed, Jesse.”
Saint Thomas jabs a finger in my direction. “I know what you are. Or what you think you are. What grandiose ideas you have about yourself! I doubt your sanity. Where is your shame? Humility is not your virtue. Believe me. I can see.” As if to offer proof, he plucks threads from his eyes.
Poe stifles a noisy gasp with his palm.
“We should go,” I say.
“It’s too bright in here,” Saint Thomas complains.
Elspeth dims the lantern and moves to stand beside me. “Do not fear me, Jesse,” she whispers in my ear. “I need you. Yes, Chastity betrayed me. She tricked me into bringing an exorcist to the coven camp. I was very angry. It frightened me to think what you might have done to Thomas.” She leans closer, and I avoid Ava’s intent stare. “But I think you know, Jesse, that if you try your talents on him, I will never forgive you. But that is not all. The ghost possessing me may harm those you love. No, do not pull away. I am honest, always, wanting to hide nothing from you. Do you want to hear more truth, Jesse?”
She’s frightening. But I can’t look away from her.
I want to know her truth.
There’s brilliance there, mixed with the horror.
50
presence and presen
ce
“Everyone may hear my story,” Elspeth announces. “This is fair, is it not? Then you may pass judgment.”
Saint Thomas scoots forward on a stool, eager to listen to Elspeth. Poe and Leesel shift uneasily. Ava takes my hand.
“It is no secret that I often possessed Bethany, my favorite,” she begins, making Poe grasp his crucifix. “William, traitor of Memento Mori, approached me, believing me to be Bethany, and asked me to steal the clock of the Holy Ghost. He believed his brother George to be in possession of this clock.”
Saint Thomas whimpers.
“I agreed to William’s proposal,” Elspeth says as she pries loose Saint Thomas’s fingers from the bars of his cage.
“But why?” I ask. “What is the value of this clock?”
“Ghosts often keep proximity to the clock that was used to mark the time of their deaths. They turn the clock backwards, trying to turn back time, attempting to escape death. At least, this was common for ghosts of long ago, before the New Beginning, before the resurrection of bones. Now, only those ghosts not captured in crystals are free to turn back their clocks. But the Holy Ghost is without chain or crystal. William therefore presumed if the Holy Ghost Incarnate were truly dead, the Presence would be found at Its clock.”
Poe forgets his crucifix. His head moves in grooves. “Rapture,” he says. “So that’s why clocks run backwards in haunted houses. It’s so sad.”
Ava takes deep breaths, her impatience with Poe evident.
“So were you going to keep the clock for yourself?” I ask Elspeth. “To contact the Holy Ghost and learn the secret of how to break the chains of ghosts, like the ones Saint Thomas wears?”
Her gaze is even with mine. “Yes. That is true.”
Water drips in the cave, echoing.
“You’re holding something back, Elspeth.”
She offers me a smile. “Shall I continue my story? George possessed no such clock. William and I parted ways. Then, behold, strange celestial happenings across Memento Mori! Spirals in the sky. Thomas discovered the City of Sacristies to be the most affected. Though the New Beginning defied the release of dead to other worlds, vortices suddenly appeared with regularity. Memento Mori assumed the death of the Holy Ghost Incarnate. And then, word of exodus, of spiritual revolution, drifted into the coven village.”
The Ghosting of Gods Page 23