by Linn Chapel
The stranger growled, “Aye.”
Luke went on. “She’d picked a spot with an occult atmosphere for her purposes, but she never realized that a diabolus was around, or that it would try to possess a half-Mysterium like me faster than she could blink an eye. Have you heard of the Mysterium?” he asked, pausing again to look at the stranger as they strode along together.
“Aye,” the stranger replied again, more comfortably this time.
Luke blinked and seemed ready to question the cloaked man, but then he cleared his throat and went on with his account. “As I came closer to the paranormal residue, I could tell that a demon was waiting for my spirit in the Unseen World. That’s when I left the Earthly Realm to try to save myself. When I came here and spotted streamers of smoke, I knew that the demon was a diabolus. I thought I was done for. My only hope was to fool the diabolus with a fake, one that was so perfect it would seem just like the real me – for a while.”
“Luke, how could you make another spirit that seemed so much like you?” exclaimed Tressa.
“Practice,” said Luke. “I’d already devised my own pseudo-spirit about a year ago as a sort of experiment. I used the idea behind ventriloquism and Internet location-casting, along with some psychological case studies from my research. And a bit of lucky guesswork. I wouldn’t have been able to keep up the effort to cast the spiritual body from a distance for much longer, though. The shell of my fake was coming loose from the demon’s efforts, and the solid core was about to break up when I noticed a huge gust of wind. Then I heard your voices. I couldn’t catch the words, but I could tell you were relieved. I knew I was safe, then.”
As they waded onward through the mist, Tressa told him how fearful the rest of them had been when they’d learned he’d been captured. When she described how she’d discovered his location by layering her psychic ability on top of the one Holt had gained for himself, Luke whistled in admiration. Everything that had happened at the Devil’s Dance came next, and when she was done, Luke was speechless with gratitude.
Just then, the bearded stranger raised his hand, bringing the little band to a standstill. Fresh sparks emerged from his fingertips and fell in a small shower to join the sparkling points of light swirling about his lower legs. “Now that we have left the shadows behind, we must tend to the lady’s wounds.”
A glance downward told Tressa that her gashes were still oozing with pale, bluish fluid. Now that she wasn’t so rushed and desperate, she noticed that the fluid glowed a bit, as if it were phosphorescent.
Turning to Holt, the stranger said, “John, a poultice of sweet thoughts will heal your lady.” When Holt only looked confused, the stranger urged him a second time. “Verily, she will be healed by your thoughts.”
As Tressa looked up into Holt’s dark eyes, his desire to heal her was so strong that it filled her body with a sense of warmth and light. “I can feel your thoughts, Holt,” she told him softly. “They’re helping.”
“I only wish I could touch you, too,” he murmured, “but that’s not possible in this world.”
The sense of warmth and light increased. Ever since Tressa had met Holt, she had felt as if she were waking up from a deep sleep. Holt had always made her feel intensely awake, and that feeling was even stronger now as he gazed down at her with such focus and concentration.
Her pain seeped away under the spell of his thoughts and his very presence. Soon she could feel only a tingling sensation where the incisor had slashed her chest and upper leg.
Holt’s eyes left her face to inspect her condition. Amazed, he said, “Your wounds were so deep, but now they’re gone!”
Relief from the pain coursed through her. “Holt, I always feel this way when I’m with you, even when you’re not trying to heal me. The effects are visible in this world, that’s all.”
“Apparently so,” he breathed.
Tressa turned to face the stranger, who was standing nearby with swirls of light foaming about his cloak and lower legs like surf. His long, wine-red cloak and archaic speech mystified her, and the neatness of his beard was at odds with his loose, shoulder-length auburn hair. Strangest of all, his dark eyes seemed familiar to her. “Who are you?”
“John has surely guessed by now,” he said.
Holt bowed respectfully. “You’re Stephen Langley, aren’t you? I never thought to see you with my own eyes.”
A low laugh rumbled from the cloaked man. “How long have I been dead in the other world? One loses count here, for it matters not.”
Holt lifted an eyebrow. “More than four hundred years have passed since you were martyred.”
Stephen Langley laughed again, causing sparks of light to dance upward along his cloak. “That long? But John, I must take you to task. You should have guessed when you were a child that someone was watching over you from afar. Mayhap you recall the very first book you read for pleasure when you were no more than a stripling. It required heroic patience on my part. I had to make a score of suggestions to you here, in the spirit world, before you finally paused in your customary sport of tormenting your sisters. That was the day you went into the manor’s library and opened a book, instead.”
“I remember. I was twelve years old, and it was one of Shakespeare’s plays. The Tempest.”
Stephen Langley gave a satisfied nod. “It was I who sent you the title of that play, floating like a little boat, coming to you on the waves of thought. You took a fancy to the idea and plucked it from the waters.”
Holt stared back at him. “You have my thanks. Books became more and more important to me from that day on. Vital, even.”
“Alas, there was naught I could do about the serpent-woman, Eleanor,” said Stephen with a frown. “Your bore your curse well, John. My own trials were mercifully short.”
“Mercifully short?” Holt repeated wryly. “That’s a fine way to speak of such a martyrdom! The rope you carry is the one that hung you, isn’t it? Was it too hard to carry the axe they used on you, as well?”
Their helper’s good humor returned and he chuckled. “Much too cumbersome! But my rope is a boon.” As he slung the length of rope from his shoulder, Tressa could make out the knotted noose at one end. With a practiced motion, Stephen flicked the other end so that it created a trail of searing white sparks in the mist.
Then he slung the rope back onto his shoulder and addressed them all with a steady look. “John, gentle lady,” he said to Holt and Tressa, and then turning to Luke he said, “and young brainling. It is time for you to return to the other world.”
He pulled his hood over his head and light climbed in winking pinpricks up the outside of his cloak so that his whole form glowed.
“Why did you hide your light earlier?” asked Holt.
“Why, to fool the dark ones, of course,” replied Stephen. “May we meet merrily again at Langley! I can be found for the price of a song.” As he moved away, the jaunty sound of whistling drifted back to them, light as a breeze.
Holt murmured, “I wonder what he meant by that?”
“It must be the song, Holt,” said Luke.
“Ah! I know that melody quite well. It was already old when I was a boy.”
As the cloaked figure moved off, Holt called out to him.
“Stephen!”
The martyr’s spirit paused and turned.
“A few more boats set adrift on the waters would be most welcome.”
“Aye, John. I know that you’ve taken up the pen once more. Keep careful watch, then.” The cloaked and hooded figure turned and disappeared into the mist.
Luke said wonderingly, “Holt, I knew you had to be related to him because of the resemblance between you.”
“Yes, it was Stephen Langley, one of my ancestors. He lived during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Sadly, he was captured and executed for harboring a Catholic priest. His wife and four children survived the terrors of that time, and I am the descendant of his heir. Long have I known of Stephen, but never did I realize how much he knew of
me.”
“Holt, how did you manage to enter the Unseen World with your eyes open?” Luke suddenly asked. “Traveling this way is a lot more dangerous than you might think.”
“None of you should be wandering for long through this world with open eyes!” interrupted a gruff voice from some distance away.
In a moment, Brother Brendan hurried toward them through the fog, holding a brightly flaring candle aloft for protection. As he came closer, Tressa could see that his bushy white eyebrows were drawn together in a severe line.
“I just saw some incisors running away from this spot like a pack of scared hounds. Luke, I’m more relieved than I can say to find that you’re in possession of your own spirit! When Peter called for me, I came as quickly as I could. Tell me what happened.”
Another figure appeared just then, running forward through the mist with a protective candle. It was Peter, and when he caught sight of Luke standing in the midst of their little group, the fear and dread hardening his features suddenly melted away.
He quickly joined them and demanded an account of everything that had happened. Luke obliged with a brief but thorough summary.
Brother Brendan shook his head and groaned when Luke was done.
“You should never have gotten yourselves into such a fix in the first place,” he said. “It’s a good thing your helper arrived so quickly. The spirit of Stephen Langley must have been in the habit of watching over Holt. But I wish he had stayed. I would have liked to have paid my respects,” Brendan added, peering off into the mist.
Tressa spoke up then. “Holt, this is Brother Brendan, the family friend I told you about.” The two exchanged greetings in a measured way, and then Tressa said to the old friar, “Holt knows that you’re a Mysterium. Luke told him all about that, and about the lost compendium called the Mysterium Erectus. And Brother Brendan, I have some news to share – Holt and I are engaged to be married.”
Brother Brendan’s eyebrows went up and his thoughtful gaze swept from Tressa to Holt. “I won’t deny that I’ve been worried about you, Tressa, but seeing you together with Holt is easing some of my fears.”
He turned to Holt with a mellow look. “Although how you learned to enter the Unseen World with open eyes, I should like to know some day. I’m pleased to find that at least you know how to protect yourself here,” he added with a gesture at Holt’s candle. “Which is more than I can say for the two of you!” He turned and bent the full force of his attention on Luke and Tressa. “Where are your protective candles?”
Tressa had forgotten to conjure up another candle after her wounds had been healed, and Luke had not remembered to make one for himself, either.
“I –” Luke started to say.
Just then, another voice hailed them from a distance.
“Well, well, well.” The familiar mocking tone of the newcomer’s voice caused Tressa to sigh and close her eyes briefly in resignation. “The danger’s over, I take it.”
An older and leaner version of Peter approached them through the mist, holding forth a protective candle. Her father’s eyes, dark blue like Brendan’s, glinted in the light.
Briskly the old friar introduced Holt to her father and then in his gruff but efficient way, he related the dangerous events in both worlds that had just taken place.
When Brendan had finished, her father spoke up. “It was even worse than I thought, but at least everyone survived. And you must be Tressa’s vampire.” Her father’s gaze ran over Holt, inspecting him. “I’ll grant you double points for courage. Standing up to a diabolus is chancy business.” He tipped his head to the side and gave Holt a considering look. “But let’s see if you can pass all the other tests that I’m going to give you before the wedding. Oh, I know all about the engagement.”
“None of your tricks, Quinlan,” interrupted Brendan. “There are too many demons in the mist to relax our guard. In fact, it’s time for all of us to return to the Earthly Realm.”
As the old friar was speaking, a flash of white appeared overhead, capturing Tressa’s attention. A seagull had emerged from the mist and was circling above them without a sound.
“You’re right. We should leave,” said her father in a reasonable tone. “And I won’t play any tricks – on them, at least.”
The white gull veered and passed directly above Brother Brendan. Something small dropped down from the bird. It made a faint plopping sound as it passed through the top of the friar’s bald head and disappeared inside of his spiritual body.
Brother Brendan gave a little shudder. “Stop that!” he shouted, but Tressa’s father had already retreated into the drifting vapor. As he waved farewell to the little group, the seagull wheeled and flew after him.
With a huff of exasperation, Brother Brendan glared a moment longer in Quinlan Newman’s direction. When he turned back, his frown melted away and he gave them all a kindly smile. “I’ll see everyone again at the wedding. Let me know when you set the date, Tressa.” Then he, too, strode away into the mist and disappeared.
“We should leave, now,” said Luke nervously. “Holt, it’s not possible to travel through someone else’s doorway, so you’ll have to make one of your own. How did you manage to get here, anyway?”
“I watched Peter as he made his preparations, and then I convinced Albert to hold up a match for me. Making a doorway was difficult, but having some psychic ability of my own may have sped the effort.”
Tressa glanced around at the featureless mist, searching for a bright spot of light that could be enlarged. “If only our father hadn’t played that trick on Brother Brendan with the seagull! Then one of them would have remembered to help us with a candle flame. You’ll have to let your own flame disappear,” she told Holt, “because you’ll need all of your energy to make your doorway.”
Luke frowned as he scanned the members of their little group. “No one seems to be wearing any jewelry that could make a shiny spot in the mist.”
“Perhaps I can be of assistance.” Holt lifted his hand to dangle his pocket watch in the vaporous air. Its silver case glittered in the light of his protective candle. “A gentleman never travels without his watch.”
Holt allowed his candle to dissolve. The silver case could still be seen, gleaming softly, making a bright spot in the drifting mist.
When Tressa arrived back in the Earthly Realm, she was still kneeling on the loamy ground. Cool, dappled moonlight fell all about her. Everything looked just as it had before she’d left, except for the match. The flame had burned out and only shadows remained in the mossy cleft where she’d propped the matchstick.
Rising to her feet, she passed between the trees in search of the others. It wasn’t long before she ran into Luke, and together they followed the sound of voices coming from just outside the woods, near the lane.
The moment Tressa emerged from the trees, Holt strode forward and pulled her into his arms. A moan of relief escaped her now that everything was over. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against the solid wall of his chest.
Not far away, Albert ran up to Luke and clasped his friend’s shoulders. “Peter just told me about the pseudo-spirit you made for yourself! That’s one of your best ideas, ever!”
Luke said in a hushed voice, “I’ll tell you more about it later, Albert. Right now, we need to find our cars and leave as soon as possible. We don’t have anything to fear from the two vampire experiments, but Margot’s a different matter.”
Tressa raised her head from Holt’s chest and eyed the dim outline of Margot’s vehicle in the shadows nearby.
“She’ll be conscious again, soon,” agreed Holt in an undertone. “I knocked her gun from her hand, but she’s sure to find it once she wakes. She’ll be dangerous, then.” He drew Tressa down the lane. “We must leave quickly.”
Clouds swept over the moon and the land fell into darkness as they walked swiftly to their vehicles.
“Will Margot follow us back to Langley?” asked Tressa in a whisper.
“I think not,” murmured Holt. “She’ll realize that the game is over now that we know everything. Once we’re away from this place, she’ll stand no chance against us.”
As they reached the parked cars, Tressa caught a whiff of something worrisome. It was a smell that was familiar to her from the hospital.
Before Holt could enter one of the cars, she stopped him. “Holt! You’re bleeding, aren’t you?” She parted his jacket, but she couldn’t find the wound in the darkness.
“My arm has just been grazed, Tressa. I was shot as I knocked the gun from Margot’s hand.”
Feeling lightheaded, she cried out softly, “Holt, you’re human, now. You could have been killed!”
“But I wasn’t.” Holt laughed and pulled her closer with his good arm.
She sighed and added, “I’ll have to bandage you up again when we get back to Langley. You’ll never have all those heirs you’re longing for if you’re dead.”
He leaned down to give her a kiss. “Oh, I shall make every effort to stay alive, my love.”
Thirty-seven
A morning rain shower had ended and now sunshine was filling the front garden of Arbor Cottage. The roses on the trellis over the front door had burst into bloom and every corner of the garden was graced with flowers now that it was June. The air was still cool and damp, but tomorrow, on the very day of the wedding, the weather promised to be warm and glorious.
Tressa had been clipping roses that afternoon for the wedding arrangements and now the mound of blossoms in her basket was close to overflowing. She turned to gaze anxiously up the lane. Finding it empty, she turned back to clip a few more roses.
Snip...snip... snip. Her garden shears marked the passage of time.
She’d been filled with nervous anticipation all yesterday as she had waited hour after hour for her family to arrive from the States, but there’d been a flight delay and they’d had to stay in London overnight. When her parents and younger siblings finally arrived at Langley this afternoon, they’d meet Holt for the first time.