Belle Manor Haunting

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  Addison didn’t agree but said nothing.

  “You asked me what makes you different than everyone else, and why I chose to restore the stone after all this time,” Sybil said. “My answer is simple—everything about you is different, and because you’re worthy.”

  “Why didn’t I know about the stone until now?”

  “Some time ago, I gave it to Joan. Well, I didn’t give it to her. I left it with her, knowing she would give it away again when the time was right.”

  “Why make Joan responsible? If it’s yours, why not decide yourself?”

  “I did that once. I allowed the book and the stone to pass from generation to generation until it was bestowed on Grace Sherwood. She was brought up right, but in the end, she decided to use the power she’d been given for her own personal gain. I stepped in and stripped her of it. Afterward, I had reservations about it going to one of my kin again. Joan has had it in her possession for almost three hundred years. She chose you because you’re deserving of it. You are ready, Addison. You just need to believe it.”

  Addison walked to the sofa and sat down, burying her head in her hands. “This past week has been one revelation after the other. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  “Why? Because you discovered you have another father?”

  “Samael is not just another father. He’s a warlock, isn’t he?”

  “What if he is? Does it make him evil?”

  “Doesn’t it?” Addison asked.

  “A warlock is a title. Samael is many things, and you would be wise to keep your distance, for now. Hone your newfound power before you decide to meet.”

  “Why?”

  Sybil polished off her wine, flicked her hand, and the goblet vanished. “I want you to remove the idea of good and evil from your thoughts. You’ve sent worthy souls into the light, and because of it, the unworthy were cast into darkness. It was you who made those decisions, you who decided where they belonged, even if you didn’t put them there.”

  “I have only directed worthy souls to the places they’re meant to go.”

  “You did more than that. You kept the balance. You label yourself a good person because it’s easier for you. It would be wiser to see yourself as you are.”

  “Who am I?”

  “You’re fate, the judge, the final decision. And so is your brother.”

  “My brother is the raven. Joan warned me about him.”

  “No, my dear. He’s not. He’s the son of the raven. He has his blood, as do you. Your given name, the one your father bestowed upon you, was Ravenna. Your mother changed it. Addison is a biblical name. It means ‘of the earth.’ It’s derived from Adam, meaning ‘life.’”

  It should have been impossible to take in, impossible to accept, but somehow Sybil’s words filled her with peace. Today, for the first time, the half she’d been missing all her life had become whole.

  “How do I use the power I’ve been given?” Addison asked. “How will I know what to do?”

  “Imagine what you want. See it. Manifest what you need, and it will be given to you.” She walked to Addison and bent down, taking her hand. “You will achieve great things, and I will always be here if you need me, just like I was the other night at Belle Manor. Now, I must go, and I believe you have unfinished business which needs your attention. You are the judge and jury now, Addison, for all. Wield your power and be afraid no longer.”

  Addison put Amara Jane down for her morning rest and found Luke in his office, searching the internet for a specific type of antique doorknob. After Sybil departed the night before, Addison had woken him and shared what happened. He’d been more accepting than she’d expected, making her willing to share even more.

  “How’s the search going?” Addison asked.

  He spun around in his seat and sighed. “It’s not. This restoration project I’m working on is tough. The Fordhams are hellbent on preserving as much of their house as they ...”

  Luke leaned forward, eyeing her.

  Addison wiped at her face. “What’s wrong? Do I have crumbs on my face or something? I just had a piece of toast.”

  “Your hair. It’s a much brighter shade of red than it was yesterday.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  She stepped into the hall, walked toward a mirror on a wall on the opposite end, and leaned in, taking a good look at herself.

  He was right.

  Her hair was the same shade as Sybil’s.

  Luke walked up behind her. “Told you.”

  “Well, what do you think? Good change or bad change?”

  He lifted a lock of her hair into his hand. “I like it.”

  “Good. I’d guess it’s here to stay.”

  He stepped back, looking her over. “Wonder what else is different?”

  “I’ll show you.” She turned one of her palms up and concentrated. A flame ignited over her hand. She swirled a finger in a circle until the shape of the flame altered, becoming a ball of fire.

  Luke jumped back, his eyes fixated on what she’d created.

  “Sybil said I no longer needed the book,” Addison said. “This is why. I can do things like this just by thinking about it.”

  “What else are you capable of doing? Aren’t you worried?”

  Addison waved a hand back and forth in the air, and the flame disappeared. “I’m not. I’m ... confident. More confident than I’ve ever been. It will take time to figure it all out. I don’t want you to fear who I am now. I need you to see me the way you always have.”

  Luke nodded. “I do. And you’re right, we’ll both need time to adjust. I tried to remain calm last night when you told me. The truth is, I’m freaked out. I’ve become the skeptic, and you’ve become the optimist. We’ve reversed roles.”

  They locked eyes, and it was obvious. He wasn’t looking at her the same way he always did. He looked nervous, like he was afraid what might happen if he touched her. She reached out to him, and he flinched.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Addison, I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s fine,” Addison said. “I ... uhh ... I’m going to take a shower.”

  She’d made it halfway down the hall when he called after her.

  “Hey, what do you say we have a nice dinner together tonight?”

  Seconds before, she’d been crushed by his behavior, but she could see he was trying his best. It was all she could ask of him. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

  “It’s a date. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  The gate on the road below Belle Manor was closed when Addison approached it. She flicked her finger in the air, and it came unhinged, blowing open. She grinned and drove on. She was met at the front door by the same man she’d met before. It was time for his identity reveal party.

  He crossed the threshold to the outside, his arms stiff at his sides. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not coming in here. I’m calling the police.”

  He jammed a hand into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and shoved it in front of her face.

  “Go ahead,” Addison said. “Why don’t we get Detective Harry Briggs? If you don’t have his number, I’d be happy to give it to you.”

  “Who’s Harry Briggs?”

  “I get it,” Addison said. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. Allow me to refresh your memory. Briggs is the guy who was investigating the disappearance, or should I say murder, of Libby Carrington. We’ve been chatting, working on reopening the case.”

  He swished a hand through the air. “Bull crap. I don’t believe it. Why would he care after all this time? They didn’t find her before, and they won’t find her now. She took off, ran away. No one knows where she is.”

  “Someone knows.”

  They locked eyes, and Addison saw him for who he really was—a weak, old man.

  She swept past him and entered the manor, surprised to find an older woman in the sitting room. The woman leaned back in an armchair, drinking a cup of tea. She appeared
to be the same age as the man, and she was dressed in a pair of colorful, striped rayon slacks and a black blazer. Her short, gray hair was permed and somewhat covered by a scarf.

  “You’re not Cecilia,” Addison said. “Who are you, and why are you in her house?”

  The woman set the cup on the table next to her, crossed one leg over the other, and glanced at Addison. “Well now, maybe you ought to tell me who you are before you start ordering me around, eh?”

  “All right, I’m Addison. And you are?”

  The man stormed through the front door and slammed it behind him. He glared at the woman and said, “Don’t you say a word. Not one word.”

  “You’re not in charge of what I say or don’t say,” the woman said. “I’ll do what I like.”

  The woman gestured at a chair to her right. “Sit down, Addison, and tell me what this is all about.”

  Addison faced the man. “You’re not Lawrence Belle. Who are you? And why does Cecilia think you’re her husband?”

  “CeeCee isn’t in her right mind, dear,” the woman said. “Not anymore. She doesn’t even remember who she is most days.”

  “Is it because of all the drugs she’s taking?”

  “The medications, you mean?” the woman said. “She needs them.”

  “All of them?”

  “She’s not well, and to be honest, they make it so she doesn’t remember.”

  “What kind of a life is that?” Addison asked. “She deserves better.”

  “Does she deserve to be in a psychiatric hospital?” the woman asked. “Because she’ll end up in one if she goes off her meds.”

  Addison shifted her attention to the man. “Why did Lawrence plow into a car his own daughter was in? What kind of person murders his own child?”

  The woman crossed her arms in front of her, her face ripe with emotion. “She was such a sweet girl, our Sara. The day she died was the worst day of our lives, one none of us will ever forget. You must understand, Lawrence wasn’t innocent by any means, but when it comes to Sara, her death was an accident.”

  “Shut up, Flora!” the man said.

  “I will not, Harold,” she replied. “You shut up.”

  He shook his head. “Good hell, woman. How many weed gummies have you had today?”

  “Two,” Flora said, “and they seem to be kicking in. Hallelujah!”

  Flora flashed a devilish grin at the man. It was clear she relished infuriating him. She seemed relieved, happy to share the family’s secrets.

  “Lawrence didn’t know Sara was in the car the day of the accident,” Addison said. “That much I know.”

  “He thought Sara was with her grandmother,” Flora said. “He didn’t know at the last minute Josephine had said she couldn’t take Sara for ice cream, and Scarlett offered instead.”

  “I assume he asked Scarlett to run errands on purpose,” Addison said. “But why did he want her dead? What did she find?”

  “I don’t know,” Flora said. “If she found something, he didn’t tell me.”

  Addison pulled the locket out of her pocket, dangling it between her fingers. “Was it over this?”

  “I’ve never seen it before,” Flora said. “Whose is it?”

  The man swiped at the necklace. His fingers brushed across it, and he jerked them back, wincing in pain. “What the hell? Why is it so damned hot?”

  Flora pressed a hand to her chest and roared with laughter.

  “Who knew today would turn out to be such a fun,” Flora said. “I must thank you, Addison. I haven’t felt this good in ages.”

  Gripping his charred fingertips like he thought they would fall off, he scurried out of the room.

  “What’s with the necklace?” Flora asked.

  “Let’s just say it’s temperamental. Who is Harold to you? And, are you related to Cecilia?”

  “Harold is Cecilia’s brother, and I’m his unfortunate wife.”

  “Where is Lawrence Belle?”

  “He’s ... ahh ... he hasn’t been seen for a long time, not in the flesh.”

  “Has Harold been taking care of Cecilia all these years?”

  “I suppose he helps out here and there. I’m her main caregiver. We’ve been close friends ever since we were kids, long before I dated her idiot brother. Worst mistake of my life, by the way.”

  “Dating him?”

  “Marrying him. He thinks I use edibles because my back’s in pain. I don’t. My back’s fine. I use it to get through the day with him. You know, his mother tried to tell me he was a bad apple, and I didn’t listen.”

  “Josephine?”

  “Yes, they weren’t close.”

  “Why?”

  “He never was the hard-working type. Hated work, in fact. Struggled to hold down a job, any job. It’s why we never had kids. Couldn’t afford them. He used to steal from Josephine all the time to pay for the lifestyle he wanted to have. Stole money, hawked her jewelry. If it was worth anything, he took it, until she cut him off and removed him from her life.”

  Josephine had never spoken of him.

  Now Addison understood why.

  “Lawrence killed Scarlett and Sara, but not Libby. Who did?”

  Flora’s gaze shifted from Addison to the hallway, and her eyes widened. Addison turned, finding herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

  Hands shaking, Harold said, “Get out of this house. Go on. Git.”

  “Oh, Harold,” Flora said. “Hells bells. Put the gun down, and stop being so dramatic. I won’t cover for you again. Not this time.”

  “Get out!” Harold said. “I will put a bullet in ya.”

  Addison raised her hand in front of her. The gun flew out of Harold’s hand, clanking on the ground behind him.

  He stared at the gun, and then at Addison, backing himself against the wall. “How did you ... how could you do what you just did without touching it? There’s something wrong with you.”

  Addison walked toward him. “You’re right, Harold. Something is wrong with me, and if you don’t tell me what I need to know, I’ll show you.”

  “No offense,” Flora said, “but I think you already have. I’m either having an extra great trip today, or you have a magical hand, which doesn’t seem logical, so I blame the weed. Trying a new strain this week.”

  Addison pointed at Harold. “You killed Libby Carrington. You chased her through the forest and forced her onto her knees. She thought you were going to rape her. You said you’d never forced anyone to have sex. You pulled out a flashlight, and right before you cracked it over her head, you told her she could scream all she wanted. It no longer mattered.”

  Harold slid down the wall until his body reached the ground. He wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “You couldn’t know about our conversation. No one does, not all of it.”

  “Not even me,” Flora said. “Not all those details, anyway. Is it true?”

  “It is,” Addison said.

  Addison bent over Harold. “Why did you kill her? And where is her body?”

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said. “Lawrence made me do it. He was always so private. He’d worked hard to keep parts of his life secret. I’d drunk too much that night. I didn’t know we had an audience. We got caught. Lawrence was furious. And he ordered me to clean up the mess I made.”

  Flora clapped her hands. “Bravo, Harold. How does it feel to tell the truth for once in your life?”

  “Lawrence didn’t make you do anything,” Addison said. “You had a choice. You always have a choice.”

  “I ... she shouldn’t have been snooping around.”

  “What did she see, the two of you with other women? Was he afraid she’d tell your wife?”

  “Afraid of little ole’ me?” Flora said. “Oh, no, honey. You got it all wrong. I knew about the, uhh ... eye that wandered, let’s say. Cecilia was the one who didn’t have a clue, and I never had the heart to tell her. She can’t handle things like I can.”

  “You knew your husband steppe
d out with other women sometimes?” Addison asked.

  Harold glared at Flora. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t, what? Talk about your flirtations with other men?”

  “What? Wait. Are you saying Lawrence and Harold were—”

  “They weren’t having sex when Libby wandered by and caught them. They were kissing, which was bad enough. You have to understand, it was a different time back then. It wasn’t accepted. Lawrence was part of high society. If it got out, if Cecilia found out ... well, it would have changed everything.”

  A sound echoed from behind. Addison turned. Cecilia picked the gun off the floor and aimed it at Harold.

  “You ... you ... bastard!” she screamed. “How could you, Lawrence?”

  “I’m not Lawrence, CeeCee. I’m Harold, your brother.”

  Hands trembling, she tipped her head to the side. “No. You’re lying. You’re not Harold. You’re Lawrence. You’re my husband. My husband who betrayed me with my own brother!”

  Addison considered removing the gun from Cecilia’s hand, but didn’t.

  Why offer Harold mercy when he had offered none to Libby?

  Flora stood, moving in Cecilia’s direction in a slow, somewhat apathetic way. “Now listen, CeeCee. You’re holding a gun on your brother, Harold. Put it down now, okay? Actually, on second thought, don’t. He’s a murderer. He deserves what he gets. He deserves the life he’s taken from us, the one we could have had until he ruined it all.”

  “You’re right,” Cecilia said. “He ruined our lives. They both did. I ... I remember now.”

  Cecilia squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet exploded out of the gun, piercing Harold’s chest.

  “Flora!” Harold shouted. “Look what you’ve done!”

  Flora shuffled toward him and leaned over him, resting her hands on her hips. “What I’ve done? You deserve this, husband. A life for a life. We’re all in this. Every single one of us aided and abetted in some way. We’re all at fault here. Well, everyone except you, Addison. I’d like to point out, you still haven’t told us who you are.”

  “I’m a necromancer.”

  Addison had uttered the words without thinking.

  She waited for fear and regret to kick in, but it didn’t.