I looked at the address the demon had scribbled for me. I knew that I must seek Meredith Mae’s help. If we did, indeed, have magic, I needed that revelation now to rid the earth of this slime.
The address was not far from Montague Street, and I knew I could walk there in under ten minutes. This time, it was I who pulled Annascha forward as I nearly ran toward Lafayette Street, stumbling once again over my own feet.
I was pleased to find a beautiful home on the corner of Lafayette and Carroll, shielded by lovely maple trees that gracefully swayed before tall, white columns. I was relieved that my precious granddaughter had not been living in abject poverty all these years and wondered briefly how she had avoided Ursula’s evil hand.
I paused a moment before the door to catch my breath before ringing the chime. Annascha sat at my side with her ears pointed up, and her head cocked to one side as if she wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
I also anticipated what I would find, and I paced anxiously as I waited. Finally, a rather pleasant-looking woman of about fifty answered the door and stood nervously looking beyond me. When she was sure that I was alone she looked into my eyes and smiled in friendly fashion.
“Yes?” she said and stared curiously at my rather ill-fitting clothes.
“Oh.” I was immediately disappointed. “I was looking for Meredith Mae Guyon.”
“She’s inside resting, Father. Can I help you? I am Miss Eugenie Anderson.”
Annascha suddenly broke from my grasp and jumped up on the woman.
“Annascha!” I called. “Oh, I am so sorry but she appears to like you.”
“Annascha? That is an interesting name. Well, I love dogs, Father. It is perfectly fine,” she said as she petted the top of Annascha’s head. “Now, what can I help you with?”
“Well, actually it is rather important that I speak with Meredith Mae.”
She looked at me for a long moment before she spoke.
“All right, please, come inside, Father, and I will tell her you are here. Who should I say is calling?”
I thought for a moment. I knew that Meredith Mae would not be able to see me behind Julian’s features, but I would remove the cross and reveal myself the moment we were alone, for I could not trust exactly who this Eugenie Anderson was.
“Tell her I am Father Julian Rouvrey. I have a message from her grandmother.”
Eugenie Anderson stopped dead in her tracks and turned to me.
“Her grandmother? Are you quite certain?”
“Well yes, I am quite certain.”
The woman stared at me. She studied my face. After looking into my eyes for several seconds, she threw back her head and laughed.
“Really, Father? How very strange. You see, I know Meredith Mae so well, and you certainly do not appear old enough to have known her grandmother.”
“Well, the message has been passed down,” I blurted out quickly as she led me into a very simple but pleasant parlor.
“We have lived together for many years, and I have never even heard her speak of her grandmother. How very unusual,” she said as she moved some books and made a place for me on the couch.
Annascha jumped up before I could sit and made herself comfortable by kicking all the cushions to the floor and curling up in a little ball.
“Oh, I am terribly sorry,” I said and clapped my hands at Annascha.
Eugenie Anderson laughed again.
“I don’t mind, Father,” she said. “But Meredith Mae will have herself a fit if she sees the poor, sweet dog on her couch.”
“Off!” I commanded as the dog continued to sit.
“You know, I knew a shepherd once with the same beautiful white fur.”
“You don’t say?” I answered over my shoulder as I removed Annascha and had her sit on the floor near my feet. I was thinking how out of character it was for Meredith Mae to have a fit over a dog on her couch.
“How strange, Meredith Mae always loved dogs.”
“You knew Meredith Mae?”
“Well, no, but her grandmother told me.”
“People change.” She smiled.
“How many years have you lived here?”
“Several,” she answered, and then very abruptly added. “Which parish did you say you were from, Father?”
“St. Joseph’s.” I smiled. “How long do you know Meredith Mae?”
“I met Meredith Mae over twenty years ago. You are French?” she asked me.
I nodded.
“Meredith Mae wanted to return to France, but we so love this house.”
“Really?”
She smiled again and crossed her arms over her chest.
“You look surprised, Father.” she said.
“Well, I am surprised that Meredith Mae would want to go to France when she is an American.”
“Ah, yes that may be so, but she was born in France, and it is such a beautiful country.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“You will see that her dialect is still rather thick,” she said nonchalantly over her shoulder as she left the room.
I sat there with a disturbing sensation in the pit of my stomach. My Meredith Mae was not French. I wondered why she felt it necessary to tell this woman that she was, and how in God’s name could she have a dialect?
I stood up and walked to the window. As I looked out over the pretty street I began to feel that something was terribly wrong.
I did not have to wait long for Miss Eugenie Anderson to return to the drawing room with Meredith Mae. At first, I could not see her face. She was over seventy years old and walked with a bit of a stoop. But when she stood before me and raised her eyes to mine, I fell back and tripped over those colossal large shoes, and wound up on poor Julian’s derriere. From the floor of her parlor, I stared up in horror. There stood the evil familiarity of an aged Ursula Boussidan.
“Father?”
“My God!”
I was appalled to see that she must be passing herself off as my granddaughter and had obviously been doing so for years. My mind raced quickly. She must have successfully murdered my darling Meredith Mae, just as Jeanne Elemont had successfully gotten rid of my son.
“Are you all right, Father?” the bitch asked.
I could do nothing but gasp.
“I will get some water,” Eugenie said and ran from the room.
Annascha came to me and pulled at my sleeve with her teeth.
“Nice dog,” she said. “I have seen her before, no?”
“Perhaps so, Miss Guyon. She attached herself to me while I was walking by Prospect Park, just recently. Perhaps you saw her on the street?” I said as I got to my feet.
“Umm. Yes, perhaps. Pretty dog.” She called to the dog, but Annascha did not go to her.
Eugenie quickly came to my side and handed me the water. I found my way to a chair.
“Are you feeling better now?” Eugenie asked.
“Yes, thank you, Miss Anderson.”
“Now, what brings you to my home, Father? Eugenie mentioned you have a message from my grandmother, but as you can see, I am quite old and my poor Granny is long dead.”
“I am from Loudon,” I said.
“Oh, la campagne est si belle en ce moment. Venez vous souvent?” she asked.
“J’essaie,” I found myself responding. “D’ou etes-vous?”
I watched as she moved her lips in an unusual way, as though settling her teeth. Finally, she responded.
“Bordeaux,” she said. “Je n’y suis pas retourne depuis longtemps mais je m’en souviens comme d’un tres joli village.”
“Oui oui, c’est tres joli.” I smiled.
We went on to speak French for some time. I was amazed at how easily it fell off my tongue. I was amused that Ursula had no idea that Annabel Horton sat in her parlor and conversed with her in French about the wonders of Paris and the glory of the countryside. Finally, I turned to Eugenie and asked if I could speak with Meredith Mae alone.
“Of course, Father,” she
said. “I haven’t been able to follow your conversation, anyway. My French is very rudimentary. However, it is time for refreshments. I am sure you would like a cup of tea?”
I nodded, and she left the room, promising to return with tea and biscuits. I stared at Ursula. She had aged well, but she was definitely not immortal. I assumed she had finally carried out Jeanne Elemont’s wishes and had gone through with Meredith Mae’s murder. She must have taken her share of the money and bought this house. I could tell she was living well.
“You are staring at me, Father,” she said. “Is there something wrong?”
I shook my head. I was not quite sure what I was going to say but a plan was taking shape in my thoughts as I spoke.
“Forgive me for staring.” I ran my hand through my beard. “You are a very attractive woman.”
“For my age? Is that what you are implying, Father?” She laughed.
“Does it matter? Good looks are not altogether fleeting.”
“I’ve sold my soul to the devil, but I am not as blessed as Dorian Gray.” She laughed and looked into my eyes. “Do you like Oscar Wilde?”
“Would you really give your soul for youth?” I asked. “If it meant the devil would walk in your shoes?”
She looked at me seriously and leaned forward.
“Are you making me an offer, Father?” She laughed.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“What an unusual question for a priest. I thought you were a man of God, not a dream weaver.” And she laughed even more.
“Tell me, Miss Guyon, for I am quite serious: would you really sell your soul to me if I were the devil, and if in return for your precious soul, you could skip down the lane like a young girl and throw your legs around your lady friend once again?”
She gasped and threw her head back. She looked at my face for a long time. Then she took a small cigarette from her purse and lit it.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am a magician,” I whispered.
She blew the smoke out from the left side of her mouth and continued to stare at me.
“And what can you do for me?” She grinned and I noticed then that her teeth were rather yellow.
“I can share secrets with you that will transport your soul,” I told her.
“And why would you do that?” she asked.
I stood up and sat by her side. I took her hair in my hands and pulled her face toward mine. I slapped her hard across the cheek and held on to her flesh until it turned a blotchy crimson.
“I need you,” I told her.
She reached out her hands to push me from her but she was too weak to fight me.
“Father Donovan tells me you show up in church with your lady friend. Why do you go to church, Ursula? Why do you defile the house of God?”
She opened her mouth to scream, and I put my hands around her throat and began to squeeze until I saw her eyes bulge. “Listen, bitch. I know who you are and I know you are evil, but you are not favored by the devil. You have a conscience. Your old age has frightened you back to the church of your youth. But now, you must redeem yourself. I will help you. I am going to teach your soul to fly and your flesh to swallow the blood of your enemies. You are going to have eternal life, should you want it. You are going to walk in Jeanne Elemont’s skin. Do you remember her? Well, you are going to take your prayers to Jeanne Elemont’s lips. You will taste the saliva that runs down her chin once again.”
“Please,” she gasped. “She is a witch.”
“That will be your problem, dear Ursula. You will steal her flesh, and you will bear the consequences. You will give me Jeanne Elemont’s money—all of it, including the fortune she has since stolen from all four of her husbands. I will allow you to keep twenty percent of this great legacy. That is more than most people can count.”
“What if I won’t do it?”
I leaned in close, my lips so near to hers I could smell her horrid breath.
“I will kill you anyway,” I whispered. “But your soul will not metamorphose in flesh. Your soul will wither on God’s doorstep. You are quite insignificant. Evil has no weight with God.”
“No,” she whispered, “the devil will avenge it.”
“The devil be damned,” I said, and threw her back in her chair as I rose and stood over her. “Do not fret, Ursula. I am making you rich and beautiful. The devil’s daughter does not age. I have seen her. She still looks thirty-five, and she must be several centuries.”
“What will you have me do?” She sighed.
“Send Miss Eugenie Anderson on a trip. Get rid of her. Get her out of the house. Wait for me to return for you. I will send someone this evening, or I will come for you myself. If you run, I will find you. Death will only be a transition for you, dear, Ursula. You will finally learn to master your vicious soul. It will be an easy journey.”
Eugenie walked into the room at that moment with a tray of biscuits and hot tea. She screamed out when she saw Ursula’s condition, for the wretched woman’s hair was askew, her face a red and blotchy mess, and she gaped at me as if I held a guillotine over her head.
“Oh, my darling, my precious, are you all right?”
Eugenie ran between us and sat beside the old woman.
“Father, what have you done to her?” she asked me with the most horrified expression on her face.
Eugenie held the old hag in her arms and began to straighten her hair.
“Who are you?” Ursula whispered and stared in my face with the most confused expression.
I bowed at the waist but said nothing. And as I turned to take my leave Ursula looked up at me in absolute horror, as if I had given her a death sentence and not the promise of eternity.
Chapter Forty-Five
I ran back to the church as fast as I could in those ridiculous shoes and threw open the doors of the sanctuary. I felt completely lost. I had no real plan, and I was finding it difficult to think clearly. Sobs tore through my chest as I fell to my knees before the altar. My beloved son had fallen victim to evil. My granddaughter had innocently loved the devil’s own disciple and had paid for it with her life. Children were being murdered by a madman, while the world turned around and around, oblivious to the nightmare.
“Do you sanction this, Jesus?” I screamed. “You that have given me magic, give me the Lord’s good grace to apply it. Please guide me.” I screamed. “Guide me!”
The most miraculous thing happened. I swear that I saw it, and even now, when I think of it, I shudder. A bird flew into the church and circled the icon of Jesus, a bird just like the one I had just seen in the painting with the seashell frame. The wooden eyes of the icon looked at me for a brief moment before closing. I held my breath and walked up close to the statue. His face seemed deeply sad. I touched his cheek and felt the tear he’d left there. I stared in disbelief as he opened his eyes again. He did not look directly at me, but he shared my pain. He seemed to take it from my body and hold it in his own. I fell before him. My tears ceased. The bird flew over my head, its long, white wings barely flapping as it flew up toward the crown on the head of Jesus and sat in precious dominion over its Lord.
I heard a whisper from behind, and I turned sharply only to find the nun that I had seen in the kitchen earlier that morning, softly praying in the third pew.
“Did you see that?” I asked as I stood to my feet. “Did you see it?”
The nun looked up. I could see that she was pretty, not terribly young but certainly not old.
“See what?” she asked.
“His eyes.”
“What about them?”
“Come here,” I said to her.
She got up slowly and walked toward me.
“What is it, Father?”
“His eyes moved.”
“Father Donovan will not be pleased to find your dog in the sanctuary.” She chuckled.
“You look familiar,” I said as I stared at her. “Have we met?”
“Yes.” She smiled.
&
nbsp; “When?”
“This morning you passed me with your dog.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yes.”
“I told you that I had given her some meat.”
“Yes, but I meant beyond that.”
“Are you all right, Father? I heard you crying so deeply that I stopped to pray for you.”
“Thank you, Sister,” I said. “I will take my dog down to the basement. I am fine now. Really, I am.”
“What were you saying about his eyes? Did you mean Jesus?” she asked.
Now that the moment of shock had worn off, and my breath had returned to normal, I assumed she would think I was mad if I told her what I had seen, so I decided not to say another word about the blinking eyes of Christ. By then, I was pretty sure I had hallucinated anyway. I was so overcome with grief that I might have thought I saw anything.
“No, it was nothing, really. Well, I must take Annascha to the basement.” I smiled. “Good day, Sister.”
But before I could reach the side door with Annascha, Father Donovan entered in a great hurry, and I almost ran into him as I myself hurried out.
“Father Julian, I was beginning to worry! You made it back all right?” he asked as he put his hands up and prevented me from toppling him over.
“Yes, Father. Annascha and I had a nice walk.”
“Good afternoon, Sister Elizabeth.” He turned to her and bowed his head.
“Elizabeth?” I said.
She looked at me in the kindest way and searched my face as I stared at hers.
Father Donovan turned back to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
“I have located that Father Jacques you asked about.”
“You don’t say?”
I continued to stare at the nun. The familiarity slowly began to make sense. Could it really be, I wondered?
“And what are you doing here, missy?” Father Donovan asked as he bent down and spoke to the dog.
I reached behind my collar and quickly took the chain in my hand. I slipped the chain from around my neck and looked back at Sister Elizabeth, while Annascha’s tail made swishing sounds in the air.
Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem Page 35