The Ghost of a Chance

by Vivien, Natalie

  "She could, if you permitted it, but it would be unprecedented in my experience. I couldn’t guarantee your safety. I am the medium; I am paid for this service, practiced in possession, and it is I who should—"

  "But you said it tires you, that Darcy would have to hurry, that she wouldn’t have much time to talk. If I did it… If I were the vessel, then you could reserve your strength. Darcy and Catherine would be able to speak more freely and…" Alis gives me a shy, apologetic glance. "I think they have a lot to sort out."

  Genevieve pierces Alis’ blue gaze, her mouth twitching with disapproval. "My dear, I can’t take responsibility for—"

  "I’m offering of my own free will. Anything that happens as a result…" Alis swallows, eyes hooded and focused on the table, "Will be wholly my fault."

  "Well, if you insist—"

  "No, wait." I try to wrench free of both of their hands now, but they won’t let me go, and I groan in frustration.

  "Darcy, let me do this for you."

  Alis’ face is set, determined—and all the more beautiful for it. In the candlelight, her fair skin glows, and when she smiles at me, the gentlest, most affectionate smile, my defenses dissolve, melted like ice in summer. "But Genevieve said it’s dangerous."

  "I don’t believe that." Her smile falters, but she leans nearer to me, pressing against my shoulder. "Catherine was one of the kindest people I ever knew. She’s possessed you, without causing harm. I know she wouldn’t ever harm me, even though…" Alis lowers her long lashes, blushing. When she lifts her gaze, there’s something new in her eyes: a gleam, diamond hard, unbreakable. I marvel at her strength.

  "Even though what, Alis?"

  In a quick but graceful movement, Alis brings my hand to her lips, kissing my fingers, one by one, lightly. "Even though I love you," she says, then, exhaling a deep breath. Flames dance in her eyes as she watches me, smiling nervously. "There. I’ve told you. Finally!"

  "Yes, finally." I feel nothing but love as I look at her, my eyes roving her sweet face, memorizing the curves of her mouth, the arch of her brows, the startling shade of her eyes at this awaited and sacred moment. "I love you, Alis."

  And with another long sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath, Alis smiles invitingly at me and returns my hand, still in her grasp, to the table’s shadowed surface.

  "Well!" Genevieve, stunned, blinks her brown eyes several times, her thin brows drawn together, as if trying to make quick sense of the exchange she just witnessed. "How will we carry on, then? The spirit is restless. She may leave if we don’t make our intentions known—and soon."

  Alis implores me. "Please let me help you and Catherine, Darcy. Let this be my gift to you both. I know it’s strange… But I think it’s what she wants. I don’t know how I know that. I just… It feels right to me, like when I painted her portrait."

  "But will it frighten you?" I watch her lips part, curving upward; I long to kiss them, can, shamefully, think of little else...

  "No," she smiles. "You’ll be right here beside me. And I’m never afraid when I’m with you. Did you know that?"

  "I don’t think I’m worthy of such confidence, Alis."

  Her smile softens. "You’re worthy of far more than you think."

  "Make the decision, ladies." Genevieve stomps her foot against the floor firmly, cutting us short. "Who will serve as vessel?"

  "I will." Alis looks to me for agreement, and I swallow, bowing my head faintly, though doubt still wracks my heart.

  "Fine. Then let’s begin." Genevieve stares intently at Alis, and Alis’ grip on my hand loosens as she, herself, stares hard into the medium’s eyes. "You must not resist when you feel Catherine’s spirit weave with yours. You must not try to push her away. If you do, she may leave too abruptly, tearing some of your spirit, taking it with her."

  Alis flinches, eyes wide, but nods her head.

  "You must let go, let her have control of your limbs, of your voice. It will feel like an invasion at first, but you mustn’t think of it that way. Instead, think of it as a temporary reprieve: for these moments—and perhaps never again in your lifetime—you will be simply spirit, without physical restrictions. Cherish the freedom of it, Alis, and ignore the rest."

  Drawing in one last deep breath, Alis closes her eyes, clutches my hand tightly, and whispers, "I’m ready."

  "Good." Genevieve closes her eyes, too, and she begins to intone words in a voice so low that I can scarcely hear them, despite the heavy silence of the room. Something about a pact and a goddess, about beginnings and endings, circles and stars. But then she raises her voice, raises it to the verge of shouting: "We await you in eagerness, beloved one, and here before me is your willing vessel, Alis, whom you knew in life and whom you may now know in death. Come now. Weave with her now. And say what you must, for as long as you are able."

  Alis’ hand is ripped from mine as her body flings backward in the chair, nearly tipping it over. Unthinking, I shove Genevieve’s hand away and fly to my feet, gripping the back of the chair and righting it again. But when I gaze down at Alis, when I ask her if she’s all right, I know, with a certainty that makes my blood run cold, that it’s not Alis I’m speaking to. Not Alis I’m looking at. I know it as surely as I know this scent: a purple scent, sweetly floral, lilacs and violets.

  Catherine’s scent.

  Catherine is here. She’s gazing out at me through Alis’ eyes. And gradually, as I watch, the blue gives way to a rich, earthy green. Catherine’s eyes, eyes I never thought to glimpse again…

  My heart seizes; for a moment—far too long—it stops. But I don’t clutch my chest, don’t move, don’t breathe. I do nothing but stare into my dear Catherine’s eyes and feel the familiar knives of grief slice at my heart once more.

  When my eyes weep, I make no sound; my throat is too dry, too tight for speaking.

  I think I might faint.

  "You were never a fainter, darling," Alis says, then. But, no, not Alis. Alis’ face, Alis’ mouth, but not Alis’ voice at all. "You’ve got an iron constitution—or…did. I realize things are very different now."

  "Yes…" I agree dimly, falling into my chair as my legs collapse beneath me. "Things have been very different since…"

  "Yes." Catherine turns her chair to face me, knees against my knees, and reaches for my hands. She takes my hands possessively, intimately, as if they belong to her, as surely as her soul belongs to her. There is no hesitation, as there is between Alis and me.

  I feel dizzy, looking at Alis, seeing Catherine, and both of their images seem to whirl before me, shifting and melding, until I can’t tell one from the other, can’t separate them in my sight or my memory.

  "I’m sorry, Darcy. I’m so sorry," Catherine says softly. I watch, heart sinking, as the light fades from her emerald eyes. "I kept it from you, my illness. I didn’t want to worry you. But I had selfish reasons, too. I ignored the signs. I couldn’t stomach the thought of the cancer returning, couldn’t face the treatment, the hospitals, the pain. I thought, if I denied it, maybe it would go away. Mind over matter."

  "I hate to think of you suffering alone."

  "I didn’t suffer, not really. I just had some dizzy spells, passing symptoms. That day…" She shifts uncomfortably, moving her gaze to the candle flames. "That day, I was feeling worried and restless, and the words wouldn’t flow, so I went out for a walk. I hoped to clear my head and jar some inspiration. And it worked! The scene came to me in a flash as I stood on top of The Rock, and I turned to hurry back to the cabin and type it all out, but…" Her lower lip begins to tremble. "But I had a dizzy spell. I lost my balance."

  "Oh, Catherine…"

  Her eyes find mine, and something electric passes between us—the old desire, the passion, the love and the longing—reanimated, alive. I watch as her mouth—Alis’ mouth—moves to form Catherine’s sly, closed-mouth smile. "Do you know how I’ve missed the sound of your voice, Darcy? The way that you speak my name? Say it again, will you?"

 
; "Catherine, I’ve missed—" But my voice fails me because my lungs have no air. I can’t breathe, can only sob, and Catherine rises from her chair, pulling me up with her, and wraps her arms around me, holding me so close.

  "I know, darling," she whispers into my ear. Then she presses her lips to my brow, and it’s Alis’ mouth, but it’s Catherine’s kiss. I could never mistake her kiss, her particular way of touching me—gentle but fervent.

  She draws back until our faces are only a breath apart. "That’s the funny thing: I know everything now. Your thoughts, everyone’s thoughts, even the trees’ thoughts. At first, I thought it was wonderful, but it makes things very dull, to be honest. I used to love trying to figure people out—their secrets, their motivations—so that I could write their quirks and histories into my plays. But knowing takes all the mystery out of it."

  The full significance of this admission is not lost on me, though I struggle to find the words to broach it aloud. "Catherine, did you… Those Scrabble tiles—"

  "You’re a naughty girl, Darcy." She tilts her head and sweetly smiles. "Of course it was only a suggestion, but you might have considered taking my advice. You used to say I was as wise as an oracle. Do you remember?"

  "I remember."

  She glides a hand over the side of my face, traces the angles of my neck and shoulder, and then slips her grasp down to my hips, holding me confidently there, her fingers curled through my belt loops. "Then why do you hesitate, my sunbeam? No, no, don’t answer that. I know why, and I love you dearly for it, but when life gives you a gift, something very special"—she gestures widely, indicating her borrowed form—"you must embrace it. As was your philosophy when you first met me."

  I lean toward her until our foreheads touch, hers cool, mine feverish with pain. "Things were different then. I was different. I hadn’t ever been in love before."

  "And now you have," she says quietly, laying her palm against my cheek, angling my chin. "And you know how very precious it is."

  When we kiss, I forget where we are, the odd circumstance of our coming together, the ache of loss or the knowledge that this reunion cannot last, is a transient, stolen thing. I forget Genevieve’s presence. I forget that it is Alis’ skin against mine. All I know is now, is Catherine, is her taste and her scent and her nearness—never near enough.

  We kiss, and there’s nothing but this kiss.

  Until we part and I look into her eyes, shining with tears, and I remember it all. The weight of the truth is unbearable, as if The Rock itself were strapped to my shoulders.

  "I can’t stay, my darling," Catherine tells me, as I knew she would.

  "But I can’t let you go," I tell her, as she must, too, have known I would.

  She pulls me against her, and I feel her heart beating in rhythm with mine, and I take comfort in its corporeality, its harmony. But Catherine whispers, "It isn’t my heart, Darcy." I can only weep against her shoulder as her arms tighten around me. "But it does belong to you—I can assure you of that. She loves you, sunbeam, so very much. I can see far now, so far…"

  "Catherine." Suddenly frantic to look at her, I step back, holding her at arm’s length, staring with open desperation into her soft green eyes. "Are you leaving me? When this is over, will you vanish? Will I lose you when the séance ends?"

  She smoothes the hair from my forehead and kisses me passionately, her hands pressed hard against the small of my back. I love the pressure of them, their calm self-assurance. "Not quite yet, love. Soon. But not yet. Listen, though… I’ve been selfish, haven’t told you what I must tell you, the thing that has kept me here with you all this time. I’ve tried to warn you, but I couldn’t quite get the message through."

  "What message?"

  Her face sobers, stills. "It’s about Alis’ husband."

  I recoil at the mention of Jason. "We have so little time. I don’t want to talk about that horrible man. Catherine, I—"

  "No, Darcy." She presses a finger to my lips. The mirth has vacated her eyes, leaving an unsettling apprehension behind. "I can see far, and ahead for you, very soon now, your future diverges: it may take one of two paths. I will do what I can to protect you—and Alis—but I need your help. You have to be prepared."

  "Prepared for what? Is he coming? Alis said he threatened to murder us both."

  "And his threat is not an idle one. It’s futile to say this, I know. You won’t listen, but stay away from the cabin. You and Alis both."

  "The cabin?" My stomach falls to my feet, thinking of Alis, my eyes lingering even now over the purple bruise, Jason’s mark, violating her face. Her gentle, moonlike face. A coldness grips me, but it is fast overcome by the heat of my rage. "I won’t let him hurt her. Not ever again."

  "I know you won’t, darling." Catherine smiles softly, caressing my hair. "You are fierce and brave, a golden lioness. But someone must look out for you, too. When you need me—remember this, Darcy—I will be there. Please don’t be afraid."

  My heart splits apart, recognizing in her tone something like a farewell. I reach for her, cling to her, kiss her with a fire that I have tempered for the past several months. Untended, it smoked down to embers. But now, despite the ash, it rises to consume us both.

  "I will love you forever, Darcy," Catherine gasps between kisses. "Promise you’ll be happy—for my sake."

  "I love you. Stay with me. Catherine—"

  "Promise, please."

  "Yes, yes, I promise. I love you. I promise."

  "Love her, as you loved me. And let her love you."

  When our lips part, Catherine’s eyes remain closed, and she sighs so heavily that I tighten my grasp around her waist, catching the full weight of her in my arms as she tilts toward the floor. "What—Catherine? Are you all right? Are you—"

  "She’s left us." Genevieve’s matter-of-fact words pierce, a lance to my heart, because I know them to be true.

  As I gaze down at the woman in my arms, both of us now poised just above the floor, a rush of love overwhelms me. A rush of water, not fire. And when Alis, moments later, opens her blue, blue eyes, I kiss her cheek and inhale her jasmine perfume, relieved to see her return my smile. "I missed you," I whisper. And then, "How are you?"

  "Dizzy," she says, sounding hoarse. She begins to sit up, wobbling a little, grasping my arm and gripping her head. I keep my arms around her, reluctant to let go. "That was so strange…"

  Genevieve mutters some words beneath her breath—I can’t hear her, am too tired to strain my ears—and then announces in her clear, gentle accent, "Blessed be, beloved spirit. May you go now in peace."

  No, don’t go, I think, but then Alis wraps her arms around my neck and begins to sob softly into my shoulder. "What is it, Alis? Are you hurt? Did something happen? Did something go wrong?"

  "No, no, no." Her hold on me tightens. "No, Darcy. But…I remember it all. I was there, with her. I heard it, felt it all."

  "Then you know what she said about Jason."

  She draws back, her face streaked with tears, and scowls. "Oh, stuff Jason. I don’t care about Jason."

  "Neither do I." I grin, planting a kiss on her nose and wiping her tears away. "I’m so glad we share the sentiment."

  But her face is drawn, her eyes as dark as reflecting pools. "Darcy, what she told you, about my feelings for you… It’s all true, you know."

  I reach for her hand.

  "But…" Her hand moves from my grasp to press lightly against my chest, tapping the ring beneath my shirt. "Let’s take our time. We’ve both been so wounded, and we can heal together. We can heal each other. But I don’t want to hurry. I want to cherish every moment that I have with you. I want to cherish you. All right?"

  "All right, Alis." I pull her against me.

  And when we embrace, our seconds-old resolve flies to the wind: my lips linger upon her neck as her mouth draws a line of kisses upon mine. I curve a slow smile against her skin, breathing hard. "Well…there is more than one definition of cherish."

  She lau
ghs huskily. "You should know, Miss Librarian." She moves her mouth to my ear and whispers warmly, "Maybe you could share your knowledge with me."

  "Soon," I growl, nipping at her neck.

  "Uh-hem."

  We both snap our heads round to gaze sheepishly in Genevieve’s direction. But the old woman offers us a tender, easy smile.

  "I hate to interrupt," she says, rising from the table, candlelight flickering over her soft features, "but our time together has come to an end, and it’s late, and there is, of course, the matter of payment."

  "Oh, of course!" I leap to my feet and rummage around in my back pocket for my wallet. "Genevieve, thank you. I mean, I can’t thank you enough—"

  She tut-tuts affectionately, patting me on the head. "This is what I do, girl. No need for thanks. Only mind that you take that warning to heart."

  I sigh. I feel too light, too electric to worry over Jason Baker. But, "I will," I tell her, pressing a stack of bills into her outstretched hand.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I offer my arm and escort Genevieve out to her car, glad to find the driveway clear of fresh snow. She won’t, I hope, have a difficult drive home. "Safe travels, Genevieve."

  "See that you keep yourself safe, too." She unlocks the door and eases herself down into the seat with a groan. "Oh, this weather. It wreaks havoc on my old bones."

  "Well, it’s nearly February. We’ve only got…" I count on my fingers, smiling. "Six more months of snow?"

  "Goddess help us. I hope not!" she laughs, pulling the door shut and offering me a little wave.

  I mouth "Thank you" as she backs up her car, and I then stand shivering, coatless, hands jammed in my jean pockets, while she turns around and drives off, honking her horn merrily until her lights vanish around the bend.

  Silence.

  I draw it close to me, this silence, let it soothe my besieged heart. Head tilted back, I blink up, half-seeing, at the thick scattering of stars above. The sky is dark and clear, not a cloud or snowflake in sight. The beauty of it all makes my heart break a little, but the fractures mend quickly enough. Because I’m not thinking of stars, not really.