A Signal Shown

by Yvonne Montgomery

  "Spirits who have passed beyond,

  I call to one of whom I'm fond.

  I ask for guidance, pray for aid,

  To understand the signals made.

  For clarity, for meaning true,

  Presence, I now ask: ensue."

  The pungent smoke from the three dishes of dittany, balm of Gilead, and amaranth wafted upward, drifting into the currents created by the candles. Aura Lee breathed deeply, eyes closed, sitting motionless for a long moment. She tugged open the center drawer of the desk and peered into it. From it she pulled a thick paper with uneven edges upon which were written the letters of the English alphabet in three rows. At the top of the page, the word HELLO was in the left corner, the word GOODBYE in the right. On the bottom of the page, the word YES was in the right corner, the word NO in the left. She upended the crystal wineglass and placed it on the paper.

  Aura Lee closed her eyes again and chanted softly,

  "Goblet placed to spell your meaning,

  Parchment ready to reveal.

  Part the veil intervening,

  Let your signal break the seal."

  Resting her fingertips on the edge of the base, she again closed her eyes. "Come to me, Cottie. Please." Her whisper was faint, but heartfelt.

  Her eyes flew open at the tiny tremble of the glass. Aura Lee held her breath as it moved, shivering into life, then slid slowly across the paper toward HELLO. When the glass stopped atop the word, she sagged in her chair. "Cottie? Is that you?"

  Under her fingertips the wineglass began to move, this time toward the bottom of the page, coming to rest over the word YES.

  Her breathing uneven, Aura Lee bent toward the glass, trying to get closer to it or to what moved it. "Oh, Cottie. I knew it, I knew if I kept trying..." Her fingers shook on the edge of the stem base and the wineglass rattled against the paper and the desk beneath it. "No," she muttered fearfully, "mustn't tip it." She inhaled again, struggling to contain her feelings.

  The glass was motionless. Aura Lee waited, taking shallow breaths. Then it stirred, swerving toward a letter on the paper. "M," she whispered.

  The glass moved on to the letter I. In a slow, faltering dance, it slid next to R, moved off it and then returned again to the R. "M-I-R-R..." whispered Aura Lee. The glass glided to the O and back again to the R. There it stopped.

  "M-I-R-R-O-R." Aura Lee studied the letters on the paper, her fingers still resting on the stem base. "Mirror?" she asked in a puzzled voice. "Is that what you mean, Cottie? Mirror?"

  The wineglass twitched and slid toward the YES at the bottom of the paper.

  Aura Lee was still, waiting for the wineglass to move again, but it remained stationary. Finally she lifted her gaze to search the room. "Cottie, I don't understand what you mean." Immediately, the glass began to vibrate, and soon afterward moved, more quickly this time, among the letters: M-I-R-R-O-R.

  Aura Lee's lips trembled with her effort to hold back the flood of words she longed to speak. "I don't know what you mean. What about a mirror, Cottie?" Her voice quavered on the name.

  The wineglass beneath her fingers was still. In the silent room the aroma of burning herbs intensified. From the corners of her eyes, Aura Lee glanced at the deepening shadows, unconscious of the shudder moving through her.

  In an instant the candle flames went out. Aura Lee gasped, her attention drawn to the mirror above the bureau. Within the oval frame the murky reflection of the room roiled with swirling clouds. From the center of the vortex, a glowing light sparked and grew, resolving into the features of a woman's face. Her eyes were large and imploring, her cheeks ashen, her countenance intent.

  Aura Lee strove to breathe, horror spreading through her as the image in the mirror sharpened into clarity. The woman stared at her, and in a jerky, horrifying effort moved her mouth, struggling to speak. Aura Lee let out a shriek and pushed away from the desk. The crystal wineglass rolled off the edge and shattered on the floor.

  * * *

  "Rose? Rose!" Aura Lee hammered on the workroom door. "I know you're there. Let me in. Let me in now!" She waited as Rose unlocked the door. It swung open. "Hurry! It's important."

  Moments ago Rose had felt the day would never end. She was tired of Wisdom Court, of the problems, of questions with no answers. If she hid for a while, perhaps she could come to terms with what was wearing away at her. Now she saw Aura Lee, heard the tremor in her voice, noted signs of tears. And wished she could be alone. "What is it?"

  Aura Lee pushed past her and collapsed into the fat chair with the worn blue corduroy cover. She didn't wait for Rose to sit down opposite her. "I made contact today." She was rubbing her hands together as if they were cold, though the room was still warm from the afternoon sun. "I used some amaranth with the dittany and balm of Gilead, and—"

  "Skip that part," Rose said. "What's going on?"

  "Yes, I'll tell you." Aura Lee's voice trembled. "I was trying to reach Cottie, and I did it. Oh, God, Rose. I did it. She spoke to me-—well, she didn't speak, exactly, but she did show herself."

  Rose sighed inwardly, wanting to put her head in her hands. Was this for real? Trying to tiptoe through the minefields of Aura Lee's obsession wasn't easy on an ordinary day, let alone now. "What do you mean?"

  Aura Lee swallowed and dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief. Her hands were shaking. Rose looked more closely at her pale cheeks and the bewilderment in her eyes. "I used a makeshift Ouija board. I know, I know," she added before Rose could respond. "It's an amateurish trick, but I thought it might work. And it did." She began rubbing her hands together again. She laughed a short, shocked chuckle, sending a cold shiver down Rose's spine. "It did work."

  Rose realized something had terrified her. "What happened?"

  Aura Lee glanced up from her hands. "I was going to ask for clarification. You know, to explain what's going on with your fountain rocks. But I asked for Cottie to come and she did. And what she spelled out on the Ouija was strange. I didn't understand it," she babbled. "It spelled out MIRROR. Twice it spelled out MIRROR."

  "That's it?" Rose tried to figure out why the word would be so shattering, but nothing occurred to her. "Why is that so upsetting?"

  "That's not what upset me—" Aura Lee stopped and then burst out with, "I saw her face in my mirror." Aura Lee's features twisted, and it took her a moment's struggle to go on. "I saw her, Rose. I saw her."

  "Who?"

  "Who? Cottie! I saw her face in my mirror! She appeared there!" Aura Lee stared into Rose's eyes with desperation.

  Oh, Lord, Rose thought. What do I say? What can I say?

  "Didn't you hear me?" Aura Lee demanded. "I'm not joking. It happened. I really did see her."

  "In your mirror."

  "Yes." Aura Lee laced her fingers together, but they pulled apart and she wrung her hands.

  "What was she doing?" Rose asked in spite of herself.

  "She looked so troubled. I always thought if I did reach her, she would be happy. But she didn't look happy at all." It was a cry of distress, and Aura Lee pressed her lips together to silence herself.

  "She stared at me, and I acted like a ninny. I was scared—-scared of Cottie! I probably hurt her feelings, gaping at her like a fool. But it shocked me, seeing her like that." Tears were slipping down Aura Lee's cheeks. Her words tumbled over each other more quickly as she tried to explain herself.

  Rose pushed herself out of her chair and came around the worktable. "It's all right," she said as she put her arm around Aura Lee. "Hush now, it's all right."

  Aura Lee leaned into her for a moment and wept. Then she straightened. "No. It's not all right. It's anything but all right. If you could've seen the expression on her face—so haggard, so troubled. And all I could do was sit there." She looked up at Rose, radiating distress. "We have to do something to help her. This isn't just a parlor game anymore, Rose. Cottie needs our help and we've got to give it."

  Rose felt at such a loss. Where to begin to unravel this unholy m
ess? "She's dead, Aura Lee. How can we change that or any of the circumstances surrounding the fact?" She patted Aura Lee's arm, wanting to soothe her desperation. "I can't imagine anything for us to do. I haven't got a clue."

  "I can't help but feel I let her down." Aura Lee dabbed at her eyes with a tissue pulled from her pocket. "I've been babbling on about connecting with the Other Side, and when it happens, I fall apart. I'm ashamed of myself. I didn't help Cottie at all."

  Rose tried to shake off a growing sense of unreality. "Just listen to yourself. You're talking about an—an extraordinary event. How many people could handle seeing a ghost in the mirror?" How many would believe it if they did, she added to herself. And what the hell am I going to do about this? Did Aura Lee really see Caldicott Wyntham? Had she been right all along in her belief that Cottie was trying to get through to them?

  Aura Lee looked up at Rose, her features hardening. "I thought I was ready to see apparitions, and everything that comes with them. I'm supposed to be a professional, Rose. A seeker of truth in however many worlds there are! I didn't just let Cottie down today. I let myself down." She crumpled the tissue in her hand and pushed herself out of the chair. "I won't let my failure be the final word in this matter. I'll contact Cottie again. And next time I won't get woozy and act like an idiot. Next time I'll find out what's wrong with her. She needs our help, Rose, and I'm going to see that she gets it." Aura Lee marched to the door and, with a grand gesture, flung it open and swept through it.

  Rose closed her mouth and sank into the old chair.

  Chapter 9

  Brenna shoveled the last of the sesame tofu into her mouth and closed the carton as she chewed. The Imperial Lotus wasn't bad, she thought. Decent food, reasonably cheap, speedy delivery. And it didn't clash with the Australian Shiraz. Who could ask for more?

  The fortune cookie wrapper crackled in the silent kitchen. Even the refrigerator had stopped running. "I need some music," Brenna said aloud and wished she hadn't.

  She shot a look at the window over the sink. The panes were darkening—time to go back to the studio. The feeling that someone she couldn't see was looking in at her was freaking her out. Way too Freddie Kruger. Gotta stop forgetting to ask Rose for some damned curtains.

  She hunched her shoulders. Sliding the fortune cookie out of its sleeve, she broke it in half. "Your lover will arrive tonight," she chanted hopefully before looking at it. If only.

  The small strip of paper unfolded between her fingers. She peered at the tiny print, frowning. She could make out: Kind acts result in new friends, or so she thought. Over the printed words someone had clumsily scratched another message in what looked like gray ink. Behind circle.

  "Weird," Brenna muttered. So much for quality control at the old fortune cookie factory. She crumpled the paper and tossed it, aiming for the sink, but it fell short. "Balls." She pushed herself out of the chair to retrieve it and threw it in the wastebasket.

  Her eyes were bleary after screening film all afternoon. Most of the canisters she'd brought from California had been developed. A few hadn't surfaced since she hadn't unpacked everything yet. Raymond, the deliveryman, had brought another batch of film the day before and she'd been reviewing a series of coastal shots. Back when she'd shot the footage she'd played with the idea of creatures from an ancient race of beings still hiding in the craggy formations carved by wind and waves. To counter the evil sorcery at work in her grandmother's brain she'd sought evidence of magic, of a secret language of affirmation in the world around her. "I was wicked crazy then," she whispered. Maybe she still was.

  Brenna rubbed her eyes and raised her arms toward the ceiling, reaching with her fingers toward the white shell patterns in the plaster. She had in her mind an image of Dink stretching out his back muscles after hours spent hunched over his guitar. He'd always made her think of a tawny cat luxuriating in his flexibility.

  A mixture of longing and desolation rose in her. "Okay, okay, back to work."

  The studio was dim, and she realized why the uncovered overhead windows here didn't bother her like the ones in the kitchen. Because I can't be seen.

  Brenna loaded the next reel onto the projector and made herself comfortable in the plush chair next to it. She hummed music from the 20th Century Fox opening logo and pushed the ON button.

  "Oh, God, more waves." Here were similar shots of tidal waters swirling at the base of a large haystack rock chiseled by the wind. What was it she'd been after that day? The suggestion of a gargoyle face threatening to emerge from the rough stone?

  Before her eyes, the rock vanished from the shot, leaving only the water on the screen. The waves began to rotate, almost in a whirlpool, and as she watched, stars replaced the water, five-pointed stars swirling round and round. "Holy shit," she whispered. The glowing stars spilled onto the shoreline and then slid back, some remaining behind, caught on the sand.

  Barely breathing, Brenna stared at the screen as the film went through the sprockets. The end of the reel slapped against the body of the projector until she reached over to turn it off. Stars, like the stars from the first reel she'd viewed several days before, had been added to her shot. But how could someone add those onto film? Okay, there were ways: animation, computer-generated images and the like. But why would somebody do that to her film? And who?

  She turned on the lights and stared at the silent projector. Well, she could rule out the idea of her memory playing tricks on her. This was something else, somebody trying to mess with her. I guess I'll just have to mess with them. But where could she start looking for answers? The developing people, for a start, but that would have to wait until tomorrow.

  Dink. She relaxed a little at the thought of him. He could listen, maybe even have some ideas about what was happening.

  Brenna reached into her pocket for her cell phone even as she realized it wasn't there. A quick glance at the chair—nothing. Where was the last place? She'd left it in the kitchen when she ordered the Chinese. She walked from the studio through the short hallway, spying the cell on the table as she came through the door.

  As she scooped up the phone, Brenna saw the small folded piece of paper on the table. She reached for it and flashed on the fortune cookie. Her hand froze. The sequence of events clicked in her mind: unfolding the fortune and reading it. Missing the sink when she tossed it. Then she'd picked it up off the floor and thrown it away. Is somebody else in the house? She spun around to look behind her. Heart in her throat, she lunged for the door to check the bolt. It was locked.

  Nobody was going to leap out of a closet. Brenna headed back to the kitchen, her footsteps slowing as she got to the door and saw the dark windows beyond. God, I'm pathetic. Between tripping out over nightmares and freaking at bare windows, she was turning her chance at the big time into a Hitchcock movie. And not one of the Cary Grant films.

  She went back to the table and looked at the paper. She took a breath and unfolded the narrow strip, her pulse pounding in her ears. Kind acts result in new friends, she read. The words behind circle were gone.

  * * *

  "I don't get what you're talking about." The man behind the counter at Images and Dreams hadn't paid much attention as Brenna described the stars on her film. "We developed what you gave us and Raymond delivered it. That's it."

  His face was tight with irritation and Brenna couldn't find a hint of customer service in his small, close-set eyes. She pulled the reel from her satchel. "No, that's not it. Two reels I've had now with stars on the film that I didn't put there. Either your equipment is screwed up or somebody working here is adding stuff for some screwed up reason."

  "Let me see that." He snatched at the reel and headed toward the door behind him.

  Brenna hurried to the end of the counter. "I'm coming with you." No way was she going to let this asshole do anything with her film unless she watched him do it.

  He growled something as she followed him into the tech room. When he pulled a chair over to a desk that held a 16mm film splic
er, she said, "Hey, wait a minute," but he overrode her.

  "I have to check it." He decanted the film and pushed the reel onto the sprocket and laid the celluloid across the steel film tracks, then threaded the end onto the empty reel.

  Brenna had relaxed a bit when she saw the Craig kit he was using. He was abrupt, but his hands moved with care as he cued up the film and switched on the viewing light. He began to advance the film with the rewind handle.

  She watched the images move on the small viewing screen, shoulders tightening as the end of the film drew near. There, she thought, there's the rock, the waves swirling around it, so now the rock would disappear, the whirlpool of stars would start circling... The rock remained, the waves surging around it, and the waves lapped against the shore. The segment ended.

  "So, what stars?" he snarled.

  Her gaze jerked from the screen to his face and his sour smirk slid into a cynical frown. "What's going on? You on drugs or something?"

  "No." She reached over his shoulder to pull the reel off the machine and fumbled to put it into the can. "Sorry I bothered you."

  "Here, let me do that." He slid the cover onto the can and handed it to her.

  "Thanks." Brenna gripped the canister and headed out of the room, the man following behind.

  "You okay?"

  "Sure. Thanks for checking the film. Sorry about the mix-up."

  When the door closed behind her, Brenna felt the steel in her spine starting to melt. She hurried to the car Rose lent her and unlocked it. By the time she fastened her seatbelt she'd encased the fear in ice. She'd had lots of practice at that, her go-to reaction until she was alone.

  Jesus, what if it's in you?

  She shoved the panicky question out of her mind and drove back to Wisdom Court.

  Nightmirror

  The narrow passage goes one way, past shadows along baseboards, past tacked-on smiles and hollow words.