[Anthology] The Paranormal 13- now With a Bonus 14th Novel!

by Dima Zales

  Lucy beamed at us both and blushed as bright as a radish. "I was better at it in school. I'm a bit nervous, see, being my first day and all." She turned to go but I called her back. She stopped and bit her lower lip, the smile and blushes gone. "Yes, miss? Something wrong, miss?" Her hands twisted together in front of her and I was reminded of Maree Finch. Thankfully Lucy wasn't holding a knife.

  "No, no, the tea is fine. I just wanted to ask you something. I met a girl from the North London School for Domestic Service today," I said, trying to sound like this wasn't important and we were having a casual conversation. I didn't want to unsettle her any more than she already was.

  Lucy blinked. "Oh? Who?"

  "Maree Finch. She's recently gone into service for the Culverts."

  "I remember Maree."

  "What was she like?"

  She shrugged. "I didn't know her too well. She was nice, I s'pose. Quiet. Don't really remember much more than that. We weren't good friends or nothing."

  "She has an older brother, doesn't she?"

  She nodded then frowned. "What's his name? Lord, I can't remember. Thomas, Timmy … something like that. He was at the school too for a bit, but got sent away. No good for service, Mrs. White said. A troublemaker. I saw him at school once, after he wasn't s'posed to be there no more."

  "Oh? What was he doing?"

  "Came to see Maree."

  "Ask her if Maree was a thief too," Jacob said.

  "Maree's a good girl though, isn't she." I worded it like a statement rather than a question. I didn't want to give Lucy the idea that we were fishing for information. I wanted her to open up to us on her own.

  "I think so. Mrs. White never said anything bad about her, just that she was a bit … what's the word?"

  "Violent?" Jacob offered.

  "Unpredictable?" I said.

  "No, something that means she gets talked into doing stuff easily. Stuff that's not always good for her to do, if you know what I mean."

  "Impressionable," I said.

  "That's it! Impreshun-able." She frowned. "She hasn't stole nothing from her employer, has she?"

  Jacob and I exchanged glances. He nodded and I nodded back. If we wanted answers, we'd have to at least tell her part of the truth.

  "She might have stolen a book from Mr. Culvert on demonology."

  "Demon-what?"

  "Demonology. It's the study of demons and angels."

  "Oh," she whispered. She glanced at Celia, perhaps because she thought her the normal one of the two of us.

  "Rest assured we have nothing to do with demons," Celia said. "We only deal with good spirits, happy ones."

  Jacob snorted but I admired Celia's ability to lie so convincingly. She was really very good at it. There wasn't a hint of a blush on her fair skin.

  "Mr. Culvert would like his book back," I said. "Indeed, it's quite important that he does get it back. You see … " Oh dear, this was the point at which I should tell her about the demon on the loose. But her face looked so innocent with those big hazel eyes and pale, pale skin, that I didn't want to frighten her anymore than she already was. It was hard enough starting a new job and moving in with two strangers, I didn't want to be responsible for her nightmares too.

  Celia, however, seemed to have no such qualms. "You see Mr. Culvert fights demons and the book is vital to his work."

  "Why doesn't she just tell the girl he's invisible and can move mountains too?" Jacob said with a shake of his head.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Jacob, seeing my distress, gave me a self-satisfied smirk.

  "Vital?" Lucy repeated.

  "Yes," Celia said. She set down the embroidery in her lap, all seriousness. Perhaps she even believed her own lie, or part of it. "Unless Mr. Culvert gets the book back, the people of London could be in grave danger from demons. So you see, if you know anything that could help us, we'd very much appreciate it if you would let us know. Your role is terribly important, Lucy. In fact, you could save London."

  Jacob groaned and rolled his eyes. Since I was used to Celia's fondness for melodrama, I simply looked on, somewhat stunned because her method seemed to be getting results. Lucy's forehead crinkled, her brows knitted and her mouth twisted to the side. She was thinking hard.

  "Well, let me see now," she said. "Maree might have taken the book if her brother asked her to. I told you I saw him, didn't I, after he was s'posed to have left school. He sneaked into the room all us girls shared to talk to Maree. Caused a right stir but no one told Mrs. White. She'd have blamed Maree and it weren't her fault. She can't control her brother any more than I can control the clouds."

  Celia and I sat forward. Even Jacob focused all his attention on the girl.

  "Do you know what Maree and her brother spoke about?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "No. They whispered."

  "Would she have confided in anyone afterwards? A friend perhaps?"

  "She didn't have any friends. She was so quiet, see, and a bit … you know." She drew little circles at her temple with her finger. "Maree kept to herself and did what she was told mostly. She looked up to Mrs. White I s'pose, we all did. She's a right good teacher is Mrs. White and she cared 'bout us all too. If Mr. Blunt tried to skimp on our meals, she was onto him right away. Told him it was 'gainst school reg'lations and she'd report him to the board. The board's the gentlemen who run the school, see. There's some right toffs on the board, there is. One's a lord and all."

  Her chatter had veered a little off the topic but Celia and I let her go. I wanted her to just talk and see what she said in the hope there was something useful among all the gossip. Unfortunately I'd not detected any so far.

  "So you can't think of anyone else, other than her brother, who Maree might steal a book for?" Celia asked.

  Lucy shook her head.

  "Have you ever overheard anyone talking about demons at the school?" I asked.

  "No! It's a Christian place, it is. Mr. Blunt sees we always say our prayers before dinner. The devil, now that's diff'rent. Mr. Blunt's always talkin' 'bout the devil comin' to get us in our beds if we don't behave. Course it's never the devil but Mr. Blunt hisself who comes."

  "What?" I blurted out before I could reign in my shock. "Into your beds?"

  I expected Celia to admonish me for my outburst but she simply stared at Lucy open-mouthed. Lucy had managed to do the impossible and render my sister speechless.

  "Bloody hell," Jacob said, rubbing his chin.

  "Oh yes," Lucy said, oblivious to the heavy blanket of horror she'd thrown over us. "Mostly only the pretty girls. Tried it once with me, he did, but I was so scared I couldn't move and he said he didn't like that so he never bovvered me again." She said it as if it were an every day part of life, like dressing or eating. Is that how it was in the workhouses and ragged schools? The children simply accepted their plight because they didn't know any better?

  I felt sick to my stomach. And then I felt angry. A hot, gut wrenching anger. Lucy was such a sweet girl, how could anyone take advantage of her like this Mr. Blunt had?

  But I didn't want to show my anger in front of her. She didn't seem too upset by what had befallen her, so why make her feel degraded? Hadn't she already endured enough?

  Fortunately Celia remained silent although she'd gone very white and still. The only movement she made came from her throat as she swallowed.

  Since Celia didn't look like she would begin talking any time soon, I dismissed Lucy. "Thank you for your help. You may go. Oh, and make sure you enjoy a cup of tea yourself."

  Lucy beamed. "Thank you, Miss Chambers. You're not all that scary really, are you?"

  I couldn't help laughing, despite my heavy heart. Lucy left and as if she'd been wound up, Celia moved once more. She reached for her teacup. "Such a sweet girl," she said and sipped, as if she'd not heard a thing Lucy had said about Blunt's late night visits.

  I stared at her in disbelief. Did she think if she ignored the situation it would g
o away? Or was she avoiding the topic for my sake? Sometimes I suspect my sister thinks I know as little about what happens between couples as I did when I was ten. I may be a virgin but I wasn't naïve.

  Jacob moved away from the mantelpiece and stood before me. "You shouldn't have heard any of that," he said, his voice sounding like a roll of thunder, deep and low.

  "Good lord, not you too," I muttered. Did everyone think I was an innocent in need of protection from the realities of the world?

  "Pardon?" Celia asked, cup poised at her lips. "Is that ghost here again?"

  Before I could answer her, Jacob said, "I'm going to pay the school a visit. Let's see what Mr. Blunt thinks when the devil appears to him tonight in the shape of one very angry ghost. With luck he'll turn to God instead of the girl's dormitory from now on."

  His conviction made me feel marginally better. If anyone could punish Blunt and force him to change his ways it would be Jacob. I'm not sure I'd like to be on the end of his anger. Although he seemed to keep his emotions in check most of the time, I suspect once his temper was unleashed it would be like a terrible storm—destructive and unpredictable and anyone in it's path had better get out of the way or suffer the consequences.

  6

  I knew someone was in my room even before I was fully awake. I don't know how I knew—I couldn't hear any movement or smell any scent and it was too dark to see more than shadows.

  Then one of those shadows moved. It was man-sized and it was right by my bed. My heart leapt into my throat and I opened my mouth to scream but a hand clamped over it.

  "It's me," came Jacob's voice. "If I take my hand away, will you be quiet?"

  "Try it and find out," I mumbled into his palm.

  He removed his hand, somewhat tentatively. "Sorry I scared you." He sat on the bed beside me, so close his thigh almost touched mine. I could just make out the whiteness of his eyes and the shape of his face in the darkness but little else. My heart, still in my throat, hammered so loudly I was sure he must be able to hear it.

  "I could have woken the entire household if I'd screamed!" I hissed at him.

  "But you didn't. I was waiting for the moment you registered my presence and opened your mouth."

  "You can see in the dark?"

  "Better than I could before I died."

  I pulled the bedcovers up to my chin. "What if I'd been indecent?"

  "It's all right, I checked and you weren't."

  "Very amusing."

  His low chuckle rippled through the darkness. "I give you my word as a gentleman that I won't ravish you."

  Could ghosts ravish? Did his … masculine parts work the same as when he was alive? Now there was a question that had my curiosity piqued. Instead I said, "You're in fine form tonight. Is there a reason or are you just happiest when you're tormenting me?"

  "I'm tormenting you?" There was a long silence in which I think he was staring at me. It was disconcerting knowing he could see me when I couldn't see him, particularly when my hair probably looked a mess and my eyes must be puffy.

  "Yes," I said huffily, "you are. Please light the lamp so I'm no longer at a disadvantage."

  He stood and I heard his footsteps cross the room followed by the scrape of a striking match. The single flame threw patterns of light and shadow over his face, highlighting his beautiful contours. He lit the gas lamp and set it down on the dressing table opposite the foot of the bed. He remained there, looking at the items on the table's surface. No, not quite at my things, but at me, in the mirror's reflection. His good humor of earlier seemed to have vanished and he was back to being brooding and unreadable, but that could have just been the lack of light cast by the lamp. It wasn't particularly effective in the thick darkness.

  "What's brought this behavior on?" I asked, sitting up. I drew my legs up and rested my chin on my knees, making sure the covers still hid most of me. "Yesterday you knocked and turned your back when you entered my room. Tonight you just appeared with no warning."

  "I didn't knock because I didn't want to wake anyone."

  "You woke me!"

  "Anyone else. I don't think your sister would forgive me if I got her out of bed in the middle of the night."

  "I'm not sure I'll forgive you either," I said. I do like my sleep. If I get less than eight hours a night I'm generally not the nicest person the next day. Jacob would learn that the hard way if he wasn't careful. "So is this the real Jacob Beaufort I'm seeing now?"

  "No, it's the dead one." He crossed his arms and challenged me with that glare of his in the mirror's reflection.

  My own glare faltered. I looked away, mortified and at a loss for words. There was no suitable comeback to his response, let alone a witty one.

  He sat on the foot of my bed with a sigh. "I didn't want all the fuss and formality of you and your sister meeting me in the drawing room and your new maid serving us tea as if this were a proper social call. There is nothing proper about my visits, Emily. Nothing at all." His voice faded towards the end, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to say it.

  "It's just a little disconcerting," I said. "Most of the ghosts I see are ones I've summoned. Occasionally I come across a spirit haunting a building but I've never had one come and go in my house before. Besides which, I'm not used to male company in the drawing room let alone my bedroom."

  He leaned back against one of the posts at the foot of my bed. "This is not how I envisaged our talk to go but somehow … somehow our conversations never do seem to head in the direction I want them to." I was trying to decipher his meaning when he tilted his head to the side and looked at me puppy-like, giving me his crooked smile. "I just wanted to speak to you."

  Only speak? If he gave me that smile and that look I'd let him do almost anything.

  The thought made my insides clench. Oh lord, was I the sort of woman my sister called a wanton?

  "What did you want to talk to me about?" If I didn't rein in my wild thoughts I might find myself saying, and doing, something I regretted.

  "I went to see Blunt."

  "Ah. The master of the North London School for Domestic Service. Did you haunt him?"

  "I did." The smile was back but it lacked the sense of fun of earlier.

  "And?"

  "And sometimes I like being a ghost. I gave him the full spiritual experience—flying objects, knocking, emptying the bedpan, and my personal favorite, writing a note ordering him to cease his visits to the girl's dormitory.

  "Do you think he'll comply?"

  "The note told him that if he did not, the hauntings will continue. If his begging for mercy is anything to go by, I think he has seen the error of his ways."

  I clapped my hands. "On behalf of all the poor children at the school who'll never know what you did for them, thank you, Jacob. You're a true hero."

  His fingers plucked at my quilt. "Don't, Emily."

  "Why not? What you did tonight was a wonderful, selfless act. It'll bring about a change in Blunt's behavior, I'm sure of it."

  He shook his head. "That may be, but don't call me a hero. It's easy to do what's right when there are no consequences like grave injury, a ruined reputation or death."

  The sad edge to his voice pierced my heart. I wanted to see his face but his gaze was downcast so I crept out of the covers to the foot of the bed where he sat. I no longer cared if he saw me in my nightgown. It covered me from neck to toe anyway.

  His fingers stilled and he glanced up at me without lifting his head. "Don't come any closer," he said.

  I ignored him and sat knee to knee with him. He shifted his leg away. "Why not?" I asked.

  "Your sister—."

  "Forget about Celia. This isn't about her, or me, this is about what's troubling you."

  He shook his head. "Just don’t come any closer to me. It … disturbs me."

  "What about it disturbs you?"

  He stood and paced the room, going from one side to the other in five easy strides. My bedroom wasn't large but nor was it small. He had very
long legs. "I didn't just come here to discuss Blunt." The conversation was leaping back and forth like a skittish hare. I had no choice but to try and follow.

  "Then what else did you want to talk about?"

  "There was a death tonight."

  I sat back on my haunches. "Who died?"

  He stopped pacing and finally looked at me. "A footman on his night off. He'd had a few drinks at The Lion's Head in Holborn and fell into a drunken sleep in a nearby alley. I don't know his name." He started pacing again. "Bloody hell, I should have found out his name!"

  I shivered. I knew where this was going. "It was the demon, wasn't it?" I whispered.

  He stopped again, nodded, and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired, which was absurd given he no longer required sleep. "This is the second victim."

  "Second?"

  "The first, a woman, didn't die. Yet."

  I breathed deeply in an attempt to calm my churning stomach but it did nothing. I still felt like throwing up. "Do you think … ?" Oh God, it was too horrible to even say it but I had to. "Do you think someone directed the demon to attack these two people? These two specifically, I mean?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. The Administrators are giving me as much information as they have and so far there seems to be nothing linking the two incidents. The victims aren't known to each other and the attacks occurred in separate parts of the city. The first one, the woman, happened in Whitechapel. She's a prostitute, no family, lived alone in a single room she used for her work."

  The poorest of the poor then.

  "The footman died in a better part of town. If he had any money on him, it was gone when his body was found the next morning."

  "So the attacks were completely random?"

  "Possibly. If the demon is out of control then it would attack the easiest target—a woman alone, a man asleep in the alley. Shape-shifting demons may have a large appetite but they don't like to work too hard for their food if they don't have to. But there's more to it that makes me think the second attack at least wasn’t random."