by Russ Linton
“Don’t go into that room, Ace. Please.” Urgent, I heard her voice crack. I turned my back on the study.
“What room?”
“The mirror room.” She paused. “I saw you in a mirror room. There was a woman there, but she only lived in the mirrors. My God! I sound crazy, don’t I?”
“Tish, you are the most down to earth person I have ever known. Except your cooking. That stuff is like intergalactic.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. That’s my gift. But this sight...” she trailed off.
“I need to know what you saw.” Phlegm tickled as I spoke and I cleared my throat.
“You sick? You sound sick! Honey, you need to come by and get you some...”
“Tish,” I said firmly, patiently. I got how difficult this business was for most people to accept, but I needed answers.
“I don’t know much else. I saw you in the room and the door closed behind you. But I got this weird feeling. The woman in there, she was all old and frumpy and...Ace...she wasn’t really alive. Like a ghost! And somebody else was watching. I think...I think they saw me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. But I swear on my mother’s grave somebody was there! As creepy as that old woman was, they’re the one you need to worry about. Whatever they do, it’ll put your life at risk. I don’t know how, but it will.”
“I appreciate you telling me. I know it was hard.”
“Honey, I am done with all this mystical hoodoo!” She stopped herself, a hearty laugh dying. “This is what you do, ain’t it? All day, every day? You live in this place I only see when my mind wanders.”
“Have been. Far too long.”
I heard her click her tongue. “You be careful and don’t go in no ghost rooms! Something’s going to happen to you and it can’t be good.”
“Thanks, Tish. Take care.”
“Only if you do. You stop by and let me fatten you up, okay?”
“You know I can’t stay away,” I said.
I hung up the phone, not sure what this latest vision meant. Was this the future? I never verified when she’d seen the vision of the prison yard if it was before or after the attack. This one had to be a premonition. Powerful mojo, for real. Could I even choose not to go into this mirror room?
“Ace! We got something!”
In the study, Caleb was bouncing on the couch, waving a slip of paper. His giddy excitement had loosened Araceli up and she begrudgingly wore a shadow of a smirk. When she noticed me looking, she let it fade.
“Go ahead then.”
“This was a client he’d been working with the week before. Araceli says, based on what you described when you found Sykes’, you know, body,” Caleb’s throat constricted and he swallowed, “he was trying to perform a necromantic ritual from the book. Right?” He was eager for Araceli to speak and wasn’t left hanging this time.
“Vampirism, remember?” she said. “I think Sykes was consuming an alchemical mixture of blood to try to create that transformation.”
“Why?”
Araceli shrugged. “Figuring out he’d finally gained access to real power, maybe he wanted to take advantage of it. Maybe he knew the end was coming and wanted to survive. Or maybe he just thought being already dead would protect him from worse.”
“Maybe he was on a keto diet,” Atofo grumbled. He hadn’t lifted his head yet, still slung over the chair back. We stared until he sat up. “What? Cosmo. You learn a lot about white people in those smutty pages. Want to hear how to please your man?” He waggled his eyebrows at Araceli.
Caleb blushed. Araceli scooted away from him. Right then I knew their love connection had broken down over a plunge maybe Caleb wasn’t willing to take. Poor guy thought he was still in the kiddie pool. Didn’t know he’d been led up to the high dive.
“What would he need for that ritual?” I asked. If I couldn’t track down the blood, maybe I could follow the other ingredients.
“Alchemical reagents,” Araceli grudgingly said. “But he had one more step to take.”
“What’s the missing mojo?” I asked.
Araceli and Caleb had already discussed this part while I’d been making phone calls. They exchanged a look and he blurted, “Congress with the dead.”
I dropped into a chair and buried my face in my hands. “Please don’t tell me he dug up a corpse and...”
“Noooo! That’s just how Araceli says the spell in the book worded it!” Caleb waved a slip of paper at me. “My theory is that he just had a discussion. You know, advice.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because he went and found a ghost to consult.” He tapped my arm impatiently with the slip of paper. It was a receipt for a tour of the Flagler College Campus downtown. “There’s a ghost there!”
I got up, agitated. Undead, vampires, ghosts? I’d had my fill of the horror show. I could feel the pressure building in my chest. I could see my own future — a restless night of clearing my throat, struggling for air. Where would I go when I was gone? I went to the window and pulled back the curtain.
Traffic had peaked. The noise of cars a block over on the main drag provided a constant background hum. An occasional horn blasted or stereo bumped in the sea of sound.
The world would grind on without me. If I died, that was only my end. Maybe I could just find peace with it all. Finally, get some rest. Being dusted into spiritual oblivion like those undead, would that be so bad? Close my eyes and really sleep.
But there was Izaak, a thousand miles away. If I went now, he’d never know. If Araceli had it right, the whole world was on borrowed time not just me. Izaak, my family, the old neighborhood, they needed saving as much as I did.
“Everything okay, Ace?” Caleb asked.
I rubbed at my chest as if I could loosen the congestion. “All good,” I lied. “Maybe you’re on to something.” Araceli didn’t look too convinced, but she was reluctant to mess with their temporary truce. “Tell me about this ghost, Caleb.”
“Well, I’ve worked with enough of the tour operators in town to know the ghost scene. Flagler College used to be a high dollar resort back in the day. There was always this rumor that the former owner kept his mistress in a room he designed just for her. People would see her wandering around campus. Creepy stuff, you know? Watching them sleep, shutting the lights on and off, that sort of thing.” I was quiet long enough, he added, “It’s, you know, probably not true.”
Atofo let out a loud snore, twitched in his chair and curled to one side. The aging wood joints creaked and popped. A bottle slipped from his fingers to thump onto the rug and roll. I stared after it.
“Tell me about this room Flagler made,” I sighed, moving to pick up the bottle. Thanks to a phone call, I knew exactly where this conversation was going.
“The floor isn’t accessible to students or visitors so I can’t verify any of this, but the room was designed around some outdated psychological techniques to help regulate a person’s mood. Occultists though referred to the design as psychomanteum—”
“A room with mirrors?” I asked, tiredly, still squatting next to the beer bottle.
“You’ve heard of them? Yeah, mirrors on all the walls. The story goes when Flagler’s wife came to visit, his mistress kept getting hidden and locked in there so much she went mad.”
I let my shoulders sag, head wagging, the beer bottle held loosely in my hands. I stared at the carpet where a swig of unfinished beer had blossomed into a dark spot. Tish did have a vision of the future. One I didn’t plan to change.
“Araceli, you’re with me. You want to be protector of my soul or whatever, now’s your chance. Caleb?”
“Yeah Ace?”
I motioned toward Atofo. Eyes still closed, the shaman craned his neck and scratched his barely covered nuts. “Watch him. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”
“Uh, okay, Ace.” Caleb wasn’t sure about his job. Neither was Araceli by the look she gave me.
“I should stay with the de
mon,” she insisted.
“He’s flesh and blood now. And he sure as hell isn’t safe around you.” I went to put on my jacket which had seen better days. Araceli hadn’t budged. “Okay, I’ll go talk to this ghost myself. Maybe make some new deals for that soul you’re protecting or whatever.”
Her jaw flexed and Caleb touched her knee. “I’ll be fine. He’s probably just going to nap.”
That touch seemed to mean the world to her. Her posture relaxed for the first time during our impromptu meeting and she took his hand. A silent exchange and she was on her feet.
“Hey, Caleb,” I said, startling him as he stared at the sleeping giant. “What happened to this mistress?”
“Oh, she hung herself on the chandelier in the room. But that’s not historical fact or anything.”
“Of course it isn’t,” I muttered.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I found a long box for an old slide projector screen in Kitterling’s garage. Perfect length to hide the sword, not so perfect for a bop through the crowded Old Town tourist district. It would at least keep campus security off me when we got there.
“Your alchemy have any way to shrink swords?” I asked Araceli I pulled Bubonic into a parking spot outside Flagler College.
“Res,” she said in Catalan, staring absently down the street.
“That a no?”
“None.”
We’d found a spot in a lot off Cordova. Palm trees and the elegant stone fountain made it hard to believe this stone and terracotta edifice was a college. Brick arches surrounded the windows and the same red brick lined columns and framed the limestone exterior.
“I’ve never been inside,” I said, taking in the view. Saint Augustine had been a temporary home and a base of operations for a lot of travel. Not much sightseeing.
“The demon better not harm Caleb,” Araceli said out of nowhere. “You’ll answer if he does.”
Sister had on her full battle gear. Leather armor, straps and bandoleers, I’d at least gotten her to hide the knives.
“Fair enough.” I knew not to ask, but couldn’t help myself. “What’s the story with you two?”
“None of your business.” She slipped out and slammed the heavy door.
I had to hustle to catch up, wrestling the box with the Shaw Sword from the back and jogging after her.
“He make a move yet?” I asked. “Dude’s awkward around the ladies, you know?”
“Aneu a escampar la boira,” she muttered, her pace quickening.
Step off in Catalan no doubt. I shifted the box over my shoulder, the sword sliding around inside.
“It’s whatever,” I said, trying to fake disinterest. “Hey, something I need to tell you before we go in.”
She stopped. “What?”
Two students walked past. The guy eyed Araceli in her get up while the girl made plain she was pretending not to notice. Like I said, costumes were common around town but hers had less of a historic flair and more of a steampunk Dominatrix vibe. Some dudes were seriously into that. So into it, the guy nearly tripped over his own feet then skated as the girl shoved him. His balance wavered near the lip of another fountain circled by spitting terracotta frogs and a centerpiece which was way too phallic for its own damn good.
“Tish, the lady I know with a gift for visions?” I said, lowering my voice. “She’s the one who called.”
“Clairvoyance,” she repeated loudly. “Yes, your friend would be sensitive to these magical imbalances. What has she seen?”
I scratched the back of my neck where a piece of tape on the cardboard box had been rubbing. Tish hadn’t been completely clear. She felt there was danger to going inside, but couldn’t say what.
“This room where we’re going. Shit gets real. I maybe get hurt or worse.”
“Sounds fun. Maybe I can relieve some stress. Kill a demon or two and not befriend them, eh?”
“Why you playing bent with me?”
No answer, she stomped up the steps to the main building.
Two wooden doors stood open to the warm outside air. Their inset windows screened with spindles reminded me of a confessional booth. But the door’s intense geometric designs had nothing on the archway above. Carved with vines, the word ‘Ponce De Leon’ had been spelled out on regularly spaced leaves.
The Ponce, like Caleb said, had been a resort before becoming a college. Swank, whatever. I followed Araceli inside, wanting to continue our little conversation, but staggered as my eyes drew upward.
The rotunda rose three stories. Polished balconies circled all the way around, each tier a tighter circle overhanging the one below. Every surface gave off a rich sheen, perfectly maintained since over a century ago. Ceilings between floors were arched and gilded. Robed women watched from enameled perches beside the painting of an antlered skull with Latin phrases and a coat of arms in the background.
Long way from the graffiti trenches of home.
“You asked to be taught? Araceli asked, flipping down her goggles. “What do you see?”
“Rich kid’s tuition,” I muttered, my head popped all the way back.
“And outside? What there?”
I peeled my eyes off the bling and squinted into the sun pouring through the entrance. “Enough landscaping to keep all West Baltimore employed.”
She made a dissatisfied noise in the back of her throat. “Fertility symbols,” she said, gesturing to the phallic fountain outside. “Deities.” She swept an arm toward the figures on the ceiling then to the Latin. “Incantations. I see magic. I see the work of a believer.”
This was a lesson I’d failed before. Atofo’s natural magic and the backwoods Hoodoo had left me blind to more formal signs.
“Old Flagler was a wizard, or magus, or whatever?”
She shrugged. “Could’ve been. Or maybe he was a dabbler like Sykes. Either way, this design had purpose.”
“Can you say what for?”
She made her way to the middle of the rotunda and spun in a slow circle, examining the patterned tile on the floor. Onyx circles orbited a blank space speckled with earth-toned squares. A magic circle?
“Give me a few weeks of study.” She moved to a wooden column carved with women in frilly period dresses on each of the four sides. “Maybe.”
“Can I help you?” A docent with a name tag walked up. Another student by the looks of him, he wore jeans and a baggy t-shirt which had the college seal on the front. His flip flops slapped the tile, echoing off the rounded walls. Seemed like smacking gum in church.
I pretended to examine a nearby hearth as Araceli chatted him up. We’d come after the spring term ended. He mentioned tours were over for the day and we could schedule one for tomorrow. But would he be here tomorrow, Araceli asked, sweetly. She’d all but arranged for her own private tour. When she called me to join her, the kid sounded disappointed.
“I don’t know if I can sneak two people past security,” he tried to explain.
Before I turned, I dipped into my medicine bag for some Calamus root and tucked it in my cheek.
“We’re not looking to get you in trouble,” I said. “But I’m coming along on the tour.”
“I don’t know.” His words came out slow and thick as the magic kicked in. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”
Araceli gave me the stink eye. My turn to shrug. We could debate the ethics or whatever after I’d seen this room.
Preston, our guide, showed us around the grounds. Room to room, he dropped choppy bits of history. By his delivery, he didn’t much care — he was no Caleb, that’s for sure. I barely listened, too speechless over this Hogwarts motherfucker of a building.
The dining hall was all painted plaster and hardwood. Tables, too. No plastic chairs for these rich backsides, their meals got eaten under chandeliers and flooded with perfect selfie lighting filtered through Tiffany stained glass windows.
I tried to look past all the luxury and find the signs of magic Araceli said were there. I watched her examine a row of wi
nged angels towering over the dining hall in their billowing dresses, alabaster skin exposed and more Latin phrases above their heads.
She was so wrapped up, she didn’t notice when Preston announced, “And this is the final room of the tour, folks!”
We stepped into a ballroom with a massive crystal chandelier that set the polished wood floor on fire. Austrian crystal if Kitterling had taught me anything. One of a kind. Likely worth more than his entire shop.
Araceli floated across the room, her feet on autopilot. A marble fireplace filled the center wall. Banks of windows on either side sported red velvet curtains with golden ties. Over the mantle, cherubs gripped a wheel with alternating shells and plants, a clock face in the middle.
“Is that...” she breathed.
Preston spun up his speech. “This clock,” he said, making a robotic motion with his hands, “is one of the first electric clocks made by Flagler’s personal friend, Thomas Edison. It features the largest piece of intact white onyx in the entire Western Hemisphere.”
Fine, the clock was dope. Big shiny face made from a rare white stone and decorated with gold numbers, a stylized sun glowed in the center. But I’d gotten over the swag and awe. ‘Final room’ wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
“What about the upper floors? The fourth, that’s where we wanted to see. All them ghosts.”
“Those floors have been closed for...well...at least since the 90s,” he said, digging for a date that sounded old to him. “They’re doing renovations now.”
I adjusted the box over my shoulder and ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek where the root pulp sat. “In that case, we’re on the reno crew.”
His eyes glazed and he gave an empty smile. “You should be on the fourth floor then.” He turned to lead us away.
I practically had to drag Araceli along. She kept throwing glances back toward the clock room. “What?”
“Edison was an alchemist of sorts.”
I came to a stop in the hallway. “Thomas Edison? No shit?”
Suddenly, school was back in session.
“Remember the schism I mentioned? Where alchemists split between magical traditions, science, and those who pursued darker arts?