Mortals: Heather Despair Book One

by Leslie Edens

  “Everybody take a seat,” said Art. “Abuelita will be here to lead you upstairs. I can go no further.” He opened the door and slid back outside. Then he poked his head in. “Have a nice séance,” he said, grinning. He popped out and slammed the door shut.

  “He was interesting,” I said, as we settled in chairs around the long table. “What was all that about ‘can go no further’ and ‘can say no more’?”

  “Cousin Art is kind of eccentric,” said Lily. “He got burned in a fire some years ago. He doesn’t want anyone to see his scars, so he covers himself up. And sometimes, he gets confused. But he’s a wonderful driver. Always there when you need him.”

  “Didn’t you also have an uncle named Art who got burned in a fire?” I said. “Or am I mixing those two up?”

  “That was Uncle Arturo Benavidez,” said Lily. “Completely different from Cousin Art and my brother Artie. But yes. Uncle Arturo died in a house fire. They think he burned it down himself, when one of the potions he was making exploded. Don’t mention it to Abuelita, though. She gets upset.”

  Potions? What was her uncle, a warlock?

  “You certainly have a lot of people named Art in your family,” I said.

  Lily shrugged. She opened her mouth to say something, when a cackling laugh filled the room. A tiny, bent woman in a long black dress hobbled toward us. Her white hair peeked from under a black lace mantilla.

  “Mijita!” she said, “Come give me a hug!”

  “Abuelita!” Lily stooped to hug her great grandmother, very gently. Abuelita clucked at her, then stood back and looked the rest of us over, her sharp brown eyes flicking back and forth.

  “There are four of you,” she said. “So, this is the New Four.” She caught sight of me and poked at me with her gnarled finger. “I know you. You one of them espers. Them desperados.”

  “I’m Heather Despair,” I said.

  “And where is your hermano?” She folded her arms and waited, staring into my eyes.

  “My . . . brother? He’s missing,” I said. “That’s why we’re here. Max said you could help us, and—”

  “Max said!” She spat. “That man don’t mind his own business. He needs to stay where he was put.” She rapped her knuckles on the table. “You better come upstairs. Bring them.” She waved dismissively at Oskar and Trenton.

  “Thank you for helping us, Abuelita,” said Lily in an overly polite voice.

  “Oh, mijita! For you, any time!” The ancient lady’s scowl dissolved into smiles. She pinched Lily’s cheek. She waved for us to follow her and hobbled through the door that led to the hall. As she walked, she pounded a huge, twisted walking stick along the ground.

  “Is she blind?” I whispered to Lily.

  Lily shook her head.

  “I’m not deaf, either,” shouted Abuelita. “You got to let the spirits know you’re coming around here, less they trip you up.” She pounded her stick twice, for emphasis. Then she smiled back at us, kindly. “It’s mostly a problem for us old folks. You young ones can just jump over the ghosts.”

  She pounded her way along a dark, narrow hall, then took a sharp turn to the left, through a little door. She stopped suddenly. We all piled up in the doorway behind her, waiting to see what she’d do.

  “The coast is clear,” she said. “Be quiet until we get to the stair.”

  “Okay, Abuelita,” said Lily.

  I said nothing, gazing around the enormous first-floor ballroom in awe. It was even larger than I remembered. This truly looked worse for wear. Chunks of the marble floor were missing, the tall windows were broken and patched with cardboard, and graffiti tagged the floral wallpaper. The remains of a squatter’s camp marred the sweeping expanse of the room: a torn sleeping bag, trash, and empty cans.

  I leaned back. Overhead, the pressed-tin ceiling remained as pretty as ever, shiny silver with furled patterns. I smiled.

  “Come on!” Abuelita crept up the stairs that led to the next floor. Lily hastened after her, guarding her so she wouldn’t fall. I followed too, tiptoeing along with Oskar and Trenton up the stairs. They were magnificent, these stairs—a wide, sweeping staircase with marble handrails. They wound their way up through five flights, a bit too wide and showy for the house. I pictured Sam and I, mounting the bannister on the second floor, sliding with lightning speed down to the first. That was before he got too serious to play. Before Dad got sick and tried to teach him everything all at once.

  The stairs wound up and up into the dim reaches of the higher floors, Abuelita hobbling steadily upward. Even I got tired after the first two landings, but Abuelita kept a steady pace.

  “How much farther?” Trenton whined at the third floor.

  “Shh.” Abuelita kept moving upward. “Don’t awaken the mortals.”

  The mortals? I did hear some coughing and banging as we passed the third floor. Lily and I gave each other worried looks.

  “It must be the college students who rent rooms here,” she whispered.

  “Or the squatters,” I whispered back. Actually, that torn sleeping bag had given me a pretty good idea. Maybe I could live here, too. Plenty of other people seemed to be camping out in my old house.

  We reached the tiny landing of the highest floor. Maybe the heavy wooden door appeared foreboding to me because it had locked me out so many times. Abuelita eased it open with a squeak. I guess it wasn’t locked now.

  “Come in, all,” she said. She waddled through the door, again thumping her stick.

  “The medium room!” I said. I took a deep breath of the musty air. Still smelled of books and dust, but there was a faint baking odor too. I turned slowly in the center of the room, taking it all in. It had been surprisingly well kept, the cushions on the floor plumped, the couches clean, the books dusted, the tall windows clear. The fireplace still held piles of volumes instead of a fire. I settled down on one of the thick floor cushions, took in the rounded walls of this high tower room. Covered with books, of course. The medium room was where my father held séances. He did all his work here and sometimes slept here, so it doubled as his library.

  “Somebody’s been cleaning,” I said. I released Sybil from my backpack, to sniff around. As the others arranged themselves on cushions and couches, I followed my nose through a swinging door, into the small kitchenette. On the counter, between the oven and the sink, I found a silver tray containing cookies, sugar, cream, teacups, and a hot teapot. I carried it in and set it before the Paranormals.

  “Tea?” I said. “Someone’s been baking in here.” I threw Sybil half a cookie and started pouring out the tea.

  Abuelita took a cup of black tea. “Spirits,” she muttered.

  “Sure . . .” I said. A memory flashed in my mind, as I took my first sip. Clinking teacups, a woman in a maid’s uniform, serving tea. So pale, her skin was almost translucent.

  I shook my head.

  Abuelita flicked her sharp gaze over me. “Lookit them eyes.” she said, her voice thick with her Spanish accent. She prodded me with her stick. “My grandson Arturo knew your father. I’m one of the last alive who remembers the original Four. All gone now. Your father. What was his name?” Abuelita stared straight at me.

  “My father? His name was Able Despair,” I said.

  Abuelita squinted her wise brown eyes, then said, “No. That was not his name. He had a different name. Everyone forget.”

  “I’m pretty sure that was his name,” I said.

  Abuelita shook her head, no, no, no! Her lower lip pouted out in defiance.

  “A different name. Max don’t remember—maybe Arturo would know. Ask Arturo,” she said.

  We all went silent, staring off in different directions. Bright sunlight danced on the floorboards, lit up the spines of the books. I admired the flowering gardens outside, way down below.

  Lily broke the silence. “Okay, Abuelita! We’ll ask him when we see him.”

  Trenton whispered into my ear, spitting a little. “Arturo’s been dead for twelve years.” I wi
ped my ear.

  “I know,” I whispered.

  “We’ll hold a séance. The first séance of the New Four. She can do the honors,” said Abuelita, pointing right at me with her gnarled finger again. Why did this old lady keep picking on me?

  “Why me?” I said.

  “You’re a natural,” she said. “Or maybe an unnatural.” She cackled wildly at her own joke. She patted my hand. “See if you can get a hold of Arturo Benavidez. I want to ask him some things.”

  “Such as?” I said.

  “Where did he put my reading glasses? I can never find them,” said Abuelita. “I think he borrowed them when he was making his potions.”

  Lily snickered. “While you’re at it, Heather, you can ask him what he was doing in his house that day. Mom says he thought he was a wizard! Then he set his place on fire, and, well—” Lily stopped, snapping her mouth shut. Didn’t she just say not to mention the fire?

  “The fire killed Arturo!” Trenton spit into my ear.

  “Okay, Trent! I got it,” I said, wriggling away.

  “Arturo wasn’t no wizard,” said Abuelita. “That’s loco. Arturo did important work for the Coterie. He was their historian.”

  “Historian?” Lily’s forehead wrinkled. Probably thinking that wasn’t very paranormal.

  “The Coterie?” I frowned too. That word. I’d heard it somewhere before. In whispered conversations, echoing down quiet halls of the past. The Coterie, society of the dead among the living and the living among the dead.

  Abuelita cackled so low and loud that I jumped, startled from my memory. She leaned in close, held my gaze without flinching. “A coterie of kindred spirits,” she said. “The Four—they were the mortal faction of the Coterie. Twenty years ago, they ruled this town. One by one, they all disappeared. Your father Able—he was the last.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Séance

  “Your notebook,” said Abuelita to me. “Lay it out before us.”

  “My notebook?” I said.

  “The spirits need an artifact. Something to manifest through. It’s either the book, or a crystal ball—or they can use you. Would you like that?” She grinned at me, showing mottled teeth. “Spirit possession? They can speak through you directly.”

  “Uh, no thanks,” I said. “I’d rather not.”

  “It don’t hurt,” she said. “As long as they’re polite, it’s not a bad way to do things. Say you get stuck without your notebook—”

  “Is all this going to help me find Sam?” I interrupted. “I’ll try whatever you say, if I have a shot at finding him.”

  Abuelita cocked her head at me, took a cookie, and dipped it in her tea. “You can talk to your hermano in your mind,” she said. She smiled and slurped on the soggy cookie. “Why don’t you call him through there?”

  “I can’t,” I said. “I could always reach him before, but this morning, it stopped.”

  Lily took a deep breath. “You can speak to Sam with your mind? That’s telepathy!”

  “OMG!” said Trenton.

  “The brother-sister connection,” said Oskar, nodding.

  “Sí, the connection is strong between those two. All the more puzzling how he became lost,” said Abuelita. “And the father, lost as well.”

  “Yes, but my father died,” I said. Then I put it together. “You mean—Sam could be—dead?” I started to quiver, the energy sparking in my hands.

  “Is one possibility,” Abuelita admitted. She stepped back, spilling her tea, as the blue electricity flickered up my arms. “Everybody back!” She pointed to the middle of the floor. “Put your notebook down there!”

  I reached into my backpack and flung the notebook to the floor. It opened up exactly in the middle, the words Cross over showing plainly.

  “Lay your hand upon it!” shouted Abuelita, as my glowing grew brighter and the sparks traveled up and down my body.

  I obeyed and pressed my sparking hand onto the page. The words glowed bright blue. To my surprise, new words began scratching themselves into the paper. New words, flickering and spidery and weird. From nowhere.

  “She’s an unnatural,” said Abuelita, cackling loudly. “Just like I said.”

  I sat back and studied the glowing words. Spindly and crawling hand—not my own—and when the glow faded, the ink turned a dark wine color. The letters shivered and morphed into a weird script that bristled with symbols and pictographs, characters to spin my eyes and spell my mind. I couldn’t make it out at all.

  At the top of the paper, an image appeared—a circular symbol, morphing and changing. A dark mandala, then a ship’s wheel. A compass rose, then a twisted Ferris wheel. The image turned intricate spokes on the paper, round and round. So strangely natural, it came to me what to do, like a bone-flute melody rehearsed in another lifetime. I tapped the symbol with the tip of my finger. It reacted by spinning across the page, weaving translated English words in its wake. A decryption wheel! I read the words.

  Who are you, please, and are you among the living?

  A message from beyond! I drew in a deep breath, rubbed my hands together. I was relieved to see the blue charge had mostly gone out of them. Without knowing why, I stretched forth my finger. I wrote, with my finger, on the page.

  My name is Heather. Yes, I am among the living.

  My finger left long, blue lines on the page, which glowed for a second, then faded to invisibility. I sighed.

  “Where’d they go?” I said.

  Abuelita waved her hands around, like she was shooing a fly away. “It went to the spirit. You’ve captured some spirit’s attention, Heather Despair. Mira, how quick he came to you.”

  I stared at the page.

  “Do you think the spirit is a he?” I asked.

  “He, she, what do I know. I don’t speak English so good,” said Abuelita.

  “I think you speak it just fine,” said Trenton, with a big, sappy smile.

  Abuelita made her fly-shooing motion at him. “Cállate!”

  “Shh,” said Oskar to Trenton. “This is Heather’s show.” Oskar wrapped his arms around Trenton and hugged him. “I’m so excited! My first real séance!”

  “Mine, too,” whispered Trenton. They both leaned forward, watching the page with me.

  Scritch, scratch!

  I bolted up. There! New script skittered across the page. Hands tingling, I pushed the wheel and willed it to decrypt. Words, in that same spidery hand.

  Hello, Aether. You’re a mortal among the living right now? Extraordinary. How are you writing to me in spectral script, pray tell? You must be a very wise and studied individual of great age and experience.

  Abuelita slapped her knee and cackled. “He likes you! To get that much out of a spirit on the first try! Fantástico! Ask something else.” She clapped her hands together like a little girl and watched me write.

  My name is Heather. You wrote to me first, and I wrote back. Who are you?

  We waited. Lily scrutinized my message and said, “What’s that mean, ‘you wrote to me first’?”

  “The spirit wrote to me yesterday,” I said, pointing to the Cross over.

  “How do you know that’s the same spirit?” Lily demanded. She lowered her glasses to inspect the handwriting. “I can’t tell if it’s the same spirit.”

  “I don’t know. It just feels like it,” I said.

  Abuelita patted me on the back. “That’s right. Go with your feelings. They won’t lead you astray.

  The spirit writing sounded again, scritching across the page. I decrypted the results, which took a minute. There were a lot of words.

  Abuelita shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I never seen a spirit write so much!”

  I am a very wise and studied individual of great age and experience. Maybe you are too, and you don’t realize it at this moment. Good-bye for now, Aether. I imagine we shall meet again, when the spirit world needs you and your not-inconsiderable talents.

  “Uh-oh. You’re losing him,” said Abuelita
. “Quick, try to get him back.”

  “I still don’t see why it’s a him,” I said. My hands shook violently as I penned a message back. I hadn’t realized it, but calling a spirit was exhausting.

  Please wait. I’m searching for my lost brother, Samhain Despair. Do the spirits know where he is?

  The answer came back in seconds, and it was short.

  Yes.

  I panted and groaned, trying to lift my tired hand to pen another question.

  Could you please, please tell me where he is? I would be so grateful.

  The reply came back swiftly.

  How grateful would you be, Aether? Enough to grant me a favor?

  Abuelita was shaking her head. “I don’t know ‘bout this. I never had one ask me that before.”

  It sounded risky. But Sam! I had to know! I just had to!

  Yes. If there’s anything I can do in return, I will do it.

  “You have a big heart, Heather Despair,” said Abuelita. “Either that, or you’re real stupid.”

  “Stupid!” squeaked Trenton.

  Oskar play-punched him.

  “Big heart,” he said.

  I massaged my aching hand. The message came.

  Indeed. Then I will help you. Samhain Despair traveled to Cuidad del Muerto to find his father.

  “Cuidad del Muerto means . . . City of Death,” I said.

  “City of the Dead,” corrected Lily.

  “He went to the City of the Dead to find our dad?!” I shouted. Then I shook all over, all my limbs going numb, and I fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

  “So that’s why the cushions are there,” I heard Trenton say.

  “Sí, exactemente.” I felt Abuelita prod me with her walking stick. “We better let her sleep. I’ll close up with the ghost.”

  I cracked one eye open. Abuelita waved her hands over the notebook.

  “Spirit!” she said. “Fantasma! Thank you! Muchas gracias and farewell!

  The book snapped shut with a crackle of blue lightning and lay still. When Abuelita poked it with her stick, it shot sparks.

  “Aye mi! Okay, we better leave that alone. Let Heather pick that one up,” said Abuelita.

  My brain fogged over, and I drifted into a haze of sleep. The one thing that passed through my mind before I lost consciousness: How would I ever find Sam in the City of the Dead?