Valentina stared up at the huge dark horse that was descending on her, feeling her blood run cold with fear as she bit her lip to keep from screaming. If she were a different person, she thought fleetingly, if she were brave like Charlotte, perhaps she could save herself, not freeze like a rabbit and wait for rescue that could surely not be in time.
The horse was snorting and growling in a distinctly un-horse-like way, its nostrils flaring with hellfire or fury, its huge hooves ringing in the aisle. The chanting of the Supernatural Authorities appeared to roll off its heaving sides; Valentina had a sense of the great horse shaking off strands of nothing more strong than spiderweb, unbothered by their puny efforts.
Lord Jamison was gibbering in fear, trying to crawl away under a chair that he had no hope of fitting through and Valentina spared a moment of scorn for his cowardice just as the hat on her head gave a curious little tingle of reminder.
He had been so concerned with the fact that ghosts could not hold onto their memories. His wife had been wearing one of Valentina’s own memory hats. If this spirit horse was not a kelpie, and not the horse that had trampled her, could it be Lady Jamison herself? And if it was?
The horse was so close that Valentina could feel the floor tremble beneath each deliberate hoof, see the sweat beading on its shining coat. Its lips were curled up in an un-equine snarl, and there was nowhere for Valentina to flee.
Charlotte gave a cry of frustration and unbuckled her sword, scabbard and all, from her waist. Valentina released her own lip to beg the woman not to do something foolish, but it was too late, she was vaulting the railing into what little space that remained between Valentina and the advancing horse, her sheathed sword high in an act of defiance.
The horse didn’t even pause, but continued straight through her and Valentina had only a moment to hiss and hold her breath before it was stomping into her like a cold chill.
Lord Jamison shrieked as it reared up, and Valentina turned to see him cover his head as it rose up and fell onto him, ferociously savaging with its front feet, but unable to do any actual damage to him. It was sound and fury, and even vibration through the auditorium’s floor, but it was not corporeal. She sucked in her breath and exchanged a look of alarm and relief with Charlotte, who dropped the tip of her sword and staggered forward to catch Valentina in a fearful embrace.
The Supernatural Authorities were chanting louder now and Valentina thought that the dark horse looked less solid. Was their enchantment working? Would they be able to dispatch the spirit entirely? Valentina felt Charlotte tremble against her and she wondered if the woman was actually afraid. She clung to Charlotte in return, and the warmth of her lithe body was distracting, but Valentine’s hat was tingling again, urgently now. She reached cautiously to touch the brim and her fear seemed to disperse into understandable patterns, like soap chasing oil on the surface of water. She clearly remembered Lord Jamison, fearfully asking if ghosts had memories.
If this was Lady Jamison, returned for half-remembered vengeance in a half-corporeal form, what could Valentina possibly do to banish her?
The question after that was of course, did she wish to?
Perhaps Lord Jamison was a murderer who deserved his just end, even if the ghost horse seemed incapable of dealing out more than simple terror.
Valentina felt more vexed than afraid now, thanks to the clarity of her hat. She’d had a perfectly amicable plan for her future, one that didn’t involve drama or spirits or distracting rivals. Charlotte was still diverting entirely too much of her attention, her close proximity as intoxicating as the scent she wore; the hat’s magic seemed to have no effect on the way that Charlotte jangled on Valentina’s nerves. She had the sheathed sword held up before Valentina, like she was still hoping to protect them with it.
The Supernatural Authorities were closing in on their location, and the horse looked twitchy, like it knew its time on earthly planes was growing short. They would dispatch it, and Valentina could return to her original goal.
Unfortunately, her hat would not let her forget that Lord Jamison still might be a murderer...and that if Valentina did not marry him, then Charlotte would.
With a sigh, Valentina reached up to undo the pins that held her hat on her head, then stepped from the safety of Charlotte’s arms to dash up beside the horse and drop her hat as far up on it as she could reach.