by E. E. Holmes
I also recognized the signs of imminent hyperventilation within myself. “Oh God, please,” I thought. “Please tell me she was too smashed to remember seeing Finn and me last night!” The last thing I needed now was trouble from the Council, or Seamus, but it was Milo’s guaranteed snickering that I dreaded the most.
“Good morning, sunshines,” Marigold said as she arrived beside us, clutching a water bottle for dear life. “You’re in the first session this morning?”
“Yes, we sure are!” Hannah said in an unnaturally loud voice, which had the dual effect of making Marigold wince and alerting Finn to Marigold’s having joined us outside of the room.
“Whoa there sugar!” Marigold said, putting a hand to her head as though trying to keep it from tumbling off her neck. “Could I trouble you to kick it down a notch? Mama had just a bit too much to drink last night.”
“A bit? A bit!” cried Harold, who had appeared at Marigold’s side quite suddenly; it was all Hannah and I could do to keep from jumping back in surprise. He was very focused on his wife, though, and paid us no attention. “Woman, if you’d drunk any more, you could’ve bled into a whiskey barrel and sold it for profit! What in tarnation’s the matter with you?”
“Sorry about that,” said Hannah, with her voice lowered to just above a whisper.
“Not as sorry as I am,” Marigold muttered. “I’m a gold mine of regret right now, I’ll tell you that much.”
“I’ve got some Tylenol in my bag here somewhere, if you want some,” I offered.
Marigold shook her head and instantly regretted it. “Thank you kindly, but I’ve already had enough painkillers to take down a horse. I might add that so far they’ve done diddly-squat.” She paused and squinted at me through her tinted lenses. “Didn’t I see you last night?”
“Of course,” I said, as offhandedly as I could. “At dinner. I’m pretty sure you sang a whole verse of ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade’ to me.”
Marigold made a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Oh, good, Goldie came out to play. She’s my lounge-singer persona. Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Wish I could say the same!” Harold barked.
Marigold made a movement as though to reach toward the door. I stepped in front of her. “It’s still locked, we just tried it.” To stall her further, I asked, “Do you know if anyone else is going to be in this session?”
Marigold dropped her hand to her side again. “I’ve got no idea. I almost wasn’t in this session. I don’t know what he calls this ungodly hour, but I’m going to complain,” she replied.
“Good! Complain! Get good and riled—then send yourself packing before you ruin everything I built for us!” Harold cried. There was a genuine note of desperation in his voice now. I wanted so badly to put him at ease, to tell him that we were going to break the hold this place had on Marigold and end things once and for all. But that wasn’t an option; I had to satisfy myself with the knowledge that Harold wouldn’t have to suffer much longer.
Two more figures rounded the corner. Campbell and Talia walked side by side, deep in conversation. Campbell gesticulated supplicatingly, while Talia kept her arms folded tightly across her chest.
Two figures? No—make that three figures.
Several paces behind Talia was Grayson, whose eyes still blazed with anger. Thank goodness I was accustomed to hiding my reactions to spirits, or else my jaw surely would’ve hit the floor. I didn’t think it were possible for Grayson to be any angrier than he was yesterday, but the fire in his eyes was even fiercer today.
I nudged Hannah subtly with my elbow. She followed my gaze and audibly gasped at the sight of Grayson, but luckily the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side had caught Marigold’s attention; she had turned away from us and had noticed nothing.
Campbell spotted us; he instantly transformed his troubled face into a winning smile. Talia, despite being a celebrated actor, felt no such need to put on a show—she looked defensive and miserable as they came to a stop beside us.
“Good morning, ladies!” Campbell said, and although his tone and expression were bright, the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. He had also apparently nicked himself shaving; a tiny round adhesive bandage was tucked discreetly at the corner of his jaw, just under his left ear.
“Good morning,” we all said together.
“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Campbell? No offense, but you look like you barely got a wink of sleep,” I said.
Campbell chuckled. “In my younger days I might’ve been insulted by that remark, but you just happen to be correct. I’m so over the moon about the new plans for Whispering Seraph that I was up most of the night working! But don’t you trouble yourself about me. I’ll take a nice long nap this afternoon, when the communication sessions are over for the day. And…” he waggled a finger at me, “I really must insist you call me Jeremiah.”
“Right. Jeremiah,” I replied.
“Are we waiting on anyone else, Jeremiah?” Marigold asked with an especially saccharine simper.
“No, this the entirety of our little gathering this morning. Aren’t I a lucky man?” he said, oozing, as usual, with charm.
Harold muttered something; I didn’t catch all of it, but the words “hunting rifle” were distinguishable. Then he shouted, “Just you try communicating with me now, you two-bit hustler!” and popped out.
Campbell, who—without the assistance of his angel—had heard none of this, was all gallantry as he unlocked the doors, which fortunately Finn had remembered to re-lock behind him. “Shall we go in ?”
“No!” Hannah cried loudly, making us all jump. Campbell stared at her in surprise. “I just, um… want to make sure that Milo is with us,” she said sheepishly. Then she threw her head back and shouted, “Milo! Milo, are you there?” as though she were calling for a lost dog.
Campbell chuckled. “Ms. Taylor, I assure you there is no need to shout. Milo’s presence was positively shining around you yesterday, I’ve no doubt he’s ready for our little meeting.”
“No harm in checking, though, right?” Hannah said, laughing as well—although her laugh was a bit hysterical.
“No, I don’t suppose there is,” Campbell said with a grin. He grabbed both of the French doors’ handles and opened the doors widely.
For one heart-stopping moment, I was sure we’d see Finn cornered inside, with the makings of a Circle strewn around him; he’d barely had ten minutes to complete his task. The room, however, was completely empty—not a knickknack seemed out of place. Only the keenest of observers would’ve noticed that the settee had been pushed forward a few inches so that all four of its carved feet rested on the large Persian area rug; only a Durupinen might ever have suspected that there was now a Circle beneath that rug waiting to ensnare the angel.
As we followed Campbell into the room, a voice breathed in my ear, “I’m here. It’s ready.” I spun in shock to see Finn standing just behind me. He gave me a fleeting smile as he, very gently, brushed a finger along the inside of my wrist, melting away the better part of my anxiety.
“How did you get back here?” I whispered.
“Out the window and across the porch, then circled back behind you,” he replied. “Now we need to see if the angel cooperates.” I keenly felt the absence of Finn beside me as he broke away and took his place as my security guard against the wall by the door.
Hannah was trembling from head to foot as we sat ourselves on the settee. I grabbed her hand, willing her silently to keep a grip on herself. In the absence of the angel, I took a chance and reached out, as subtly as possible, to Milo though our connection. While it was true that we weren’t supposed to communicate in this way when Campbell was around, I was also afraid one of the other spirits might somehow pick up on it; our Masking bracelets had a limited lifespan, and I didn’t want to push it.
“Hurry up!” I thought-spoke to Milo. “I don’t know if you can feel her nerves through this connection, but Hannah nee
ds you here.”
Milo popped between us almost instantly. “Ask and ye shall receive!” he trilled. At the mere sight of Milo, I felt a tiny part of Hannah relax.
“Good. Now keep your freaking cool, because Grayson is here.” I warned, before snapping our connection shut.
“What! What?” Milo asked aloud, looking around wildly. He sucked in his cheeks to show his cheekbones to their best advantage while simultaneously smoothing out his hair.
Luckily, Grayson only had eyes for Talia, who had sunk into the chair closest to the fireplace and was twisting her fingers together apprehensively. There was such agony in both of their faces that I had a hard time looking directly at either of them—which I guess was fortunate in a way, since I was supposed to be pretending that I couldn’t see Grayson in the first place.
“Well, my friends, I think this new format will ensure that we are all a bit more protected from the more unpredictable aspects of the spirits,” Campbell said. For the first time, I saw just the smallest hint of strain behind his smile. Was he nervous about communicating with the spirits after yesterday’s events? Or maybe he was starting to realize that all was not as it should be?
Campbell had clearly decided to forego the theatrics this morning; I counted that as a small blessing. “And so, without further ado, let’s get started, shall we?” he began. “Everyone take a deep breath, center yourselves, and tune into the person you so long to speak with. Consider any lingering questions that you want to ask, or any unresolved feelings you want to express. This is your time to find what you need. Open yourselves up.”
A dry sob escaped Talia. Grayson reached a hand longingly toward her shoulder, but then closed it into a fist, which he then brought up to his temple as though he wanted to beat himself with it. With a roar of frustration, Grayson blinked out of view; he reappeared a moment later in the corner, as far from Talia as he could manage without actually leaving the room.
Why was Grayson following Talia everywhere, but then disengaging at the very moment Campbell offered to communicate? It didn’t make any sense. Had the angel been singling him out in some way? Grayson was clearly angry, but was he also afraid?
Meanwhile, Campbell’s own eyes were closed, and his arms were open wide as he readied himself to receive his angel. In his reverence, there was something almost desperate on his face; it was as disturbing to witness as Grayson’s misery. For the first time, I felt something like pity for Jeremiah Campbell: We were fairly certain by now that he was as much of a victim as anyone else here.
I felt the angel before I saw it. A wave of dizziness swept over me, blurring my vision. Hannah tensed beside me, and I knew she felt it, too. Through squinted eyes, I looked around the room for the first signs of the angel’s arrival, and spotted a fog seeping up from a crack in the floorboards near the fireplace.
Something in my head clicked. I whipped my head around, making myself even dizzier in the process, and looked at Finn. “The basement,” I mouthed.
His eyes widened and he nodded. This had to be why the basement was Warded and padlocked. It wasn’t a storage space, it was the angel’s lair.
Foggy tentacles snaked across the floor, wrapping sinuously around each other until they formed a single, undulating mass. Now that I knew I was looking at a concealment Casting, I realized that the cloud form had several layers, one inside the other, with the outer layers serving to obscure the inner ones. I couldn’t make out any more than that, though—each time I attempted to focus on any one part of the angel, a throb of pain shot through my head or stung my eyes.
I ignored the pain as best I could, and watched as the angel approached the center of the room. With my Muse abilities now blocked, the angel gave no sign of recognizing me after last night’s Psychic Habitation. I was thankful for that, but my anticipation was mounting by the second. Any moment now, the angel would cross into the Circle Finn had chalked beneath the rug; once it was inside the Circle, we could hold it there.
“Come on, now, you creepy bastard, just a bit farther,” I heard Milo murmur. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Finn on red alert, practically coiled like a jungle cat about to pounce; he’d readied himself to expel the angel at the slightest provocation.
The upper part of the angel’s cloud form morphed into a nearly human shape as it drifted toward Campbell, preparing, I assumed, to curl itself around Campbell’s shoulders and whisper the words of the dead into his ear. But just as it reached him, the angel came level with the edge of the rug, resting one of its tentacles across the Persian design. There it stopped, perhaps sensing the Casting, but even one stray tentacle was enough: The angel was in the Circle.
§
A deafening, inhuman, agonized screeching assaulted our ears. Everyone, including Talia and Marigold, flung their hands up over their ears desperately. The angel, caterwauling wildly, contracted its pulsing black smoke violently, like an injured spider curling in on itself.
Campbell’s eyes flew open and he gazed around wildly. “What? What is it? My angel, what’s wrong?” His panic became instantly palpable.
The screams renewed, and within them, individual phrases became nearly intelligible. But even though I pulled my hands away from my ears, I couldn’t distinguish a single word.
The angel’s words were clear enough to Campbell, though; he shouted in reply, “Trap you? What do you mean? I would never trap you!”
The shrieking rose in a fevered crescendo. Trying to lift the area rug, the angel shot a tentacle of smoke outward, sending the coffee table toppling. Then the creature rolled itself up protectively, like a giant scroll.
Finn’s chalked Circle, slightly smudged from the movement of the rug, lay exposed for all to see. When the coffee table had overturned, Marigold and Talia had scrambled into to a corner in desperation. Although neither woman knew it, Grayson was hovering in front Talia as if ready to fight the angel himself, and Harold—having popped into the room when the shrieking began—was now cradling Marigold as she cowered. Campbell himself was shaking his head wildly, lost somewhere between sheer panic and utter bewilderment.
“I swear to you, my angel,” he cried, almost sobbing, “I don’t know what’s under that rug! I’ve never seen it before! Please, you must believe me!” He reached toward the angel with a supplicating gesture as he fell to his knees, genuinely begging.
The angel shook. It writhed. It thrashed. Its screams grew increasingly desperate. The temperature in the room plummeted, and Hannah and I could feel the tension mounting in the air’s energy, like a sudden shift in barometric pressure. Milo felt it too; he threw his arms over his head as if signaling for us to duck. But before we could even begin to think about what to do next, the angel exploded outward, transforming into a violent shock wave of pure negative energy.
The room became a chaotic whirl. Talia, Marigold, and even Campbell himself screamed as books toppled from the shelves, furniture overturned, and the mirror above the mantle fell to the floor and cracked in its frame. Hannah and I toppled backward across the floor as the settee was blown out from beneath us.
I felt it happen as I slammed into the wall; the force of the blow knocked the Masking bracelet from my wrist, throwing it across the floor. Instantly, a familiar tingling began to flow through my veins, and I knew my Gateway was exposed. Harold looked up as if he’d sensed yet another change in the room’s energy, but it was clear he hadn’t recognized my Gateway; he curled himself even more tightly around Marigold, bracing for another explosion. Grayson however, like a predator scenting a kill, whirled around and stared straight at me. And I stared straight back at him.
“Finn, my bracelet! Expel him now!” I cried.
But Finn had seen what happened. He was already tossing the bracelet back to me, and mere seconds later, Grayson was propelled through the wall with incredible force.
I hastily jammed the bracelet onto my wrist and scrambled to a kneeling position just in time to see the last vestiges of the angel—reformed now into its usual clo
ud of smoke—squeeze itself through the floorboards and out of sight.
“Milo! Follow it!” Hannah cried through our connection.
“I’m on it!” Milo cried as he shook himself out of his own shock. Faster than I’ve ever seen him move, he slipped down through the fireplace.
Why hadn’t our trap worked? How had the angel conjured enough energy to break the Circle’s seal? And did it sense the Gateway, just as Grayson had? Was our cover now completely blown?
Meanwhile, Talia, Marigold, and Campbell were picking themselves up off of the floor. Thankfully, they remained oblivious to Grayson’s detecting my Gateway, but there were still plenty of questions to be answered. And Hannah and I had to remember to play along.
“What in the world?” Campbell gasped, placing his hands over his ears again as though the cries of the angel were still echoing in his head. “My angel, are you alright? Where are you? What’s happened?”
“I heard it! Actually heard it! Screaming—fit to be tied!” Marigold cried excitedly, as her eyes darted around the room. “Oh my word, did y’all hear that?” I think the shock of it all—and the accompanying adrenaline rush—had cured her hangover.
“Of course we heard it!” Talia replied in a shaking voice. “Everyone within a mile must’ve heard it!” As she said it, I realized I was surprised that Campbell’s security hadn’t come rushing into the room.
“That was the angel screaming, wasn’t it?” Marigold asked Campbell. Now that the initial shock was over, she was back in her seat, alight with eager curiosity—as if everything we’d just experienced was an exciting, amusement-park attraction. “Is it still here? Jeremiah, can you still see it?”
“No, it’s gone!” Campbell replied as he began searching the room, almost as though he might find the angel crouching behind a chair. “I don’t understand! We were nearly fully connected—I could feel it. But then the screaming started, and… it vanished!” Campbell sounded close to tears.