“I don’t have many details yet. A groundskeeper at the Conservatory of Flowers found two bodies in the orchid exhibit. From the description, there’s a chance one of them is the chauffeur who stole Daniel’s car, Nathan. The officers on the scene identified the other man as Maximillian Roth. I’m leaving the guards in place until I’m sure it’s really him.” A strange expression passed across Gabe’s face, as if he’d remembered something. He gathered up his suit coat, pausing to take a small picture frame from the pocket. Gabe studied the photograph briefly and held it out to me. “Take care of this for me. It’s a picture of Ella Wolf, Effie Fontaine’s daughter. I think this is the little girl you keep seeing. It’s a long story, but Ella’s dying. Funny, but I didn’t realize until now how much she reminds me of Penelope.”
He kissed me good-bye and left in his sleep-rumpled shirt. I sat on the sofa, studying the face of the happy little girl in the photograph, a face full of life and promise. Gabe was right. Brushing the edge of death and the spirit realm had changed her, made her features appear older and harder than a young child’s, but Ella was the little girl I’d seen so often. I suspected she was the little girl in Gabe’s dreams as well.
Someone bound her to this world, an unnatural tie she couldn’t break. I understood more of her anger now.
I finished tidying the parlor and went to the kitchen to make breakfast, trying not to think that Maximillian’s death might be the key that let Ella rest and unlocked the remainder of Dora’s life. And I so desperately wanted Isadora to live, to continue being my friend and teacher. That one life resuming might depend on another ending struck me as an unfair bargain.
Randy yawned and wiped a hand across his face as I entered the guest room with Dora’s tea. The cat opened one eye, but Mai never stirred from her place. “Did I hear Captain Ryan go out?”
“Jack called. They found two bodies in Golden Gate Park.” I shooed him out of the chair and tucked a napkin under Dora’s chin. Nothing had changed, but I refused to stop hoping. “There’s a chance that one of the dead men is Maximillian Roth. The other might be the missing driver, Nathan. Gabe’s meeting Jack at the park to make certain.”
Randy raked fingers through his hair, staring at Dora’s still face. “If Roth is dead, why isn’t she awake?”
“I can’t say. She may need time to find her way back. Go wash up. I left your breakfast on the back of the stove.” The same unanswered question swirled through my head. I truly didn’t know the answer. This was unmapped territory, a place I’d never thought to find myself.
“It’s safe to come back now, Dora. Maximillian is dead. Gabe’s gone to make certain, but I know it’s true. I can sense it.” Dora swallowed each teaspoon of tea, but she’d done that from the start. “Randy’s going to worry himself to a shadow if you don’t open your eyes soon.”
Mai lifted her head, eyes wide and staring toward the foot of the bed. The little girl spirit—Ella—shimmered into view, her china doll clutched tight. Ella appeared faded, her ties to the world weaker.
She was dying.
The flock of child ghosts I’d seen in the church hall shimmered into view, surrounding Ella. One by one they became wisps of pearly mist, twining around each other as they rose toward the ceiling and winked out of view. I heard laughter and scraps of song, but the sound held only joy. They were free.
I’d no doubt Ella was a true ghost now, growing more transparent and tattered as I watched. The door into the bright summer day I’d seen before opened behind her. She smiled happily and skipped through, singing in a high, clear voice:
Hush-a-bye dolly on the treetop,
When the wind blows, her cradle will rock,
Father’s a nobleman, mother’s a queen,
And Ella’s a lady who wears a gold ring
Sunshine and birdsong faded, taking Ella with them. I brushed away tears and muttered a charm, sending all the lost children on their way to find rest and peace.
Mai meowed and jumped off the bed, sauntering out of the guest room with her tail held high. The cat had refused to budge from Isadora’s side until now, a small fierce guardian protecting her from any spirit creatures that crept near. I’d been grateful. Mai sensed things I couldn’t, and several times I’d entered the room to find her crouched over Dora, growling. All the spirits were truly gone from the house if the cat left Isadora unguarded.
I turned back to Dora. She batted the spoon away.
“Dear God, Dee, are you trying to poison me? I don’t know what’s in that tea, but it tastes utterly vile.” She coughed and made faces, wiping a hand over her mouth. “The least you could have done was mix in a little whiskey to make it palatable.”
“Dr. Jodes said whiskey was strictly forbidden until you woke.” I set the tea aside, trying to dig up more wit and not let on how tight my throat had grown, or how badly I wanted to cry. “He suggested denial might even bring you round sooner.”
Dora tried to sit up, but couldn’t manage. She sank back on the pillows, shaking and pale. “How long have I been here?”
“Three days. Four if you count the night in the hospital. Randy and I took turns sitting with you. We’re both quite fond of you and didn’t want you waking up alone.” I rearranged the pillows behind her, ignoring her annoyed frown and token protests. “The truth is, both of us were afraid you’d slip away without ever opening your eyes.”
“Really, Dee.” Dora quirked an eyebrow, her smile full of false bravado and a little afraid. “Aren’t you being a tad overdramatic?”
“Not in the slightest.” I sat on the bed and put my arms around her, hugging her tight and not caring if she disapproved. “You scared the life out of me, Isadora Bobet. Don’t ever do that again.”
“I won’t, not of my own accord. That’s a promise.” She sighed and hugged me back. “I’ve never been so frightened, Dee, but I’ve never grappled with a demon before now. Maximillian weakened at the last moment or you might have lost me. I’ve no idea why I suddenly had the upper hand. Now, tell me what I missed.”
I suspected Mr. Sung was at least partly responsible for Dora’s victory, but I left that part out while recounting events. By the time I’d finished, Randy was back, his heart in his eyes. “Dora … you’re awake.”
She smiled flirtatiously, doing her best to hide weariness and fear; pretending nothing had changed. “Why, Randolph Dodd, I’m disappointed. You sound surprised.”
“No, Dora, not surprised.” Randy sat in the same chair he’d spent the last three days in and took her hand. “Relieved. More relieved than I can say.”
I left them alone and went to call Sadie.
* * *
April 1917 began with cold rains, but had redeemed itself by the eighth with clear skies and warm breezes. Sadie took full advantage of the change in weather, throwing an impromptu garden party for Stella’s first birthday. I agreed that an outdoor party was one of her better ideas. Winter had been dreary and frightening, a season I’d just as soon forget. Sunshine and warmth would go a long way toward that.
Wanting to forget didn’t mean I should. Some lessons were too hard and painful to be learned again. And far too many reminders remained.
Effie Fontaine was still in a cell in Gabe’s station, a broken woman awaiting trial for murder. Her following in San Francisco society had melted away as her crimes came to light. Other cities and towns squabbled with the mayor and chief of police over the right to punish her, each far-flung community wanting justice for the lives she’d stolen. Gabe and Jack fought just as stubbornly to keep Miss Fontaine in San Francisco. Her trial was scheduled to start in a few weeks.
The dead men found in the conservatory had been identified as Maximillian Roth and the missing chauffeur, Nathan. Being relieved to discover another person dead was an odd feeling, one I didn’t much like. Gabe knew, as I did, that Mr. Sung had a hand in their deaths. He opened a murder investigation, but the case file was a formality, the trail cold and untraceable before Gabe started.
On Isadora’s advice, Maximillian’s and Nathan’s bodies were cremated, and Randy borrowed a small sailboat to scatter their ashes over the bay. We all slept better once that was done.
Knowing Maximillian was never coming back, his ashes spread thin on the outgoing tide, had another unforeseen effect. My fear of spending time with Sadie and the baby vanished. We’d taken up where we left off, the best of friends.
Watching her now, I was doubly glad. Sadie was the perfect hostess as always, attentive to all her guests and dressed in the latest style. No dress, no matter how fashionable, could disguise how large her belly had grown, but Sadie didn’t care. She brimmed with good health, radiant and smiling. If she doubted for an instant that she looked beautiful, all she need do was look in Jack’s eyes.
Adele Wells and Marshall’s fiancée Adeline sat at a small table near the house with Sadie, trading gossip. I’d volunteered to look after Stella, leaving Annie free to overload the table with food and enjoy the party with the rest of us. Watching the baby toddle after the ball I rolled across the grass and her delighted laugh each time she caught it made me smile.
I scooped Stella up and hugged her, envious of her innocence. There was little enough laughter in the world.
Jack and Gabe stood under a plum tree in the corner of the yard, discussing President Wilson’s declaration of war with Marshall, Robert Lindsey, and Sam Butler. A draft of young, able-bodied men had been proposed to swell the army’s ranks. While Gabe’s and Jack’s ages and jobs made them exempt from conscription, Marshall and Sam could well be called to war. Grim faces were the order of the day in their corner. I couldn’t fault them for that.
“Dee, honey.” Annie stood framed in the back door, twisting her apron with both hands. “Give Stella to her daddy, please. I need your help inside for a minute or two.”
Gabe glanced between me and Annie, and crossed the yard. He wrinkled his nose at Stella, mugging outrageously to make her laugh. “I’ll take Stella. Jack monopolizes my goddaughter too much as it is.”
Jack raised his glass and grinned. “I’ll be happy to let you have the midnight shift, Gabe.”
Annie went back inside before I’d handed the baby to Gabe. I hurried after her, a cold that had little to do with an early spring breeze creeping across my shoulders.
I found her in the kitchen with Randy Dodd. He looked haggard and sleepless, the circles under his eyes dark as overripe blackberries. Dora and Randy had planned to come to the party together, but I hadn’t given a thought to them being late. Their friendship deepened more each day, but even Randy couldn’t make Dora punctual. “Randy, what’s wrong? Where’s Dora?”
“She asked me to bring Stella’s birthday gift. Dora didn’t want to spoil Sadie’s party, but she wanted you to know why we can’t be here.” He held out an elaborately wrapped package. “A letter from Daniel’s sister arrived by courier last night. Daniel’s dead.”
“Dead?” I took the package, the cold that had brushed my shoulders growing to fill my chest and numb my fingers. Annie put her arm around me. “How?”
“A Portuguese coronel was conscripting men to fight in France. Daniel had finally arranged passage for his family to England and on to New York. The coronel caught them just as they were boarding.” Randy raked fingers through his hair. “Daniel refused to get off the ship. The coronel shot him. His sister wrote to Dora once they reached New York.”
I leaned against Annie, too stunned to cry. “Oh God … Daniel. Dora must be shattered.”
“I’m grateful I was there when the message arrived. She … Dora cried all night. She asked that you not tell Sadie. Not yet.” Randy buttoned his jacket and smoothed down the front. “I need to get back. Dora was laying Daniel’s ghost to rest, and she shouldn’t be alone. Give Sadie my apologies. I’ll see myself out.”
Annie and I held each other a few minutes longer, listening to the sounds of laughter and cheerful voices drifting in from the yard. Adele’s baby fussed fretfully, but quickly hushed again. I could picture Adele cradling her little girl close, soothing her child back to sleep.
This war cast its shadow across all of us. Sadie’s and Adele’s children would grow up in a world far different from the one we’d known, transformed in ways I couldn’t begin to imagine. No one knew what changes the war would bring, only that change was inevitable.
I hugged Annie and stepped away, pulling myself together. Some things would remain the same, no matter how dark war’s shadow grew. Love and friendship would endure, unchanged, as would the need to keep our children close and watch them grow. We’d still protect those we loved and nurture hopes for the future.
If I ever needed proof of hope, I’d only to look toward Stella’s smile and the longing in Gabe’s eyes as he held her.
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
—Wilfred Owen, “Anthem for Doomed Youth”
Also by Jaime Lee Moyer
Delia’s Shadow
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jaime Lee Moyer is the author of two paranormal romance mysteries featuring the evocative heroine Delia Martin: A Barricade in Hell and Delia’s Shadow, which won the 2009 Columbus Literary Award for Fiction. Jaime has sold short fiction to Lone Star Stories, Daily Science Fiction, and the Triangulations: End of the Rainbow and Triangulations: Last Contact anthologies. She was poetry editor for Ideomancer Speculative Fiction for five years and edited The 2010 Rhysling Award Anthology for the Science Fiction Poetry Association. She lives in San Antonio with writer Marshall Payne, three cats, three guitars, and a growing collection of books and music.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A BARRICADE IN HELL
Copyright © 2014 by Jaime Lee Moyer
All rights reserved.
Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint excerpts from “Spring Offensive” and “Anthem for Doomed Youth” from Wilfred Owen: The War Poems, edited by Jon Stallworthy (London: Chatto & Windus, 1994).
Cover art by Larry Rostant
Cover design by Jamie Stafford-Hill
A Tor Book
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The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-3183-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4299-4818-0 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781429948180
First Edition: June 2014
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A Barricade in Hell Page 33