Lars cast a circle around them and the fire. Amanda played Sue’s harp. Sue burned incense and talked and invited and thanked the spirits for being with them. Tom, Sanders, and Rhys sat and waited.
“Lars, will you hold a pendulum for us?” Sue gave him one on a silk cord and Lars settled back in his chair. “Manda, you can keep playing until we have to listen.”
Amanda nodded.
Sue stood before the bonfire that was leaping higher than her head, keeping well back, the heat had grown so intense, and played her bansuri in that same trancing, repetitive beat that she had used last night. Despite having slept all day, Tom felt the stupefying effects almost at once, while staring into a wall of dancing firelight was no help at all.
Next thing he knew, Sue was speaking again. All the music, besides that of the flames, had ceased, though Tom had been unaware of the moment the songs faded.
“We invite you to move on when you are ready. We invite you to places of serenity and joy and understanding. We invite you to freedom from this realm of existence. We invite you into the light and out of your suffering.
“We bless your journey with our thoughts, our intentions, and our energies. We wish you rest and new beginnings when you are ready for them. We ask the Goddess and God, the spirits and the guardians, to embrace you in peace and guide you to enlightenment. We thank you for your gifts, your stories, and your perseverance. We are better and more enlightened for having known you and we hope that we have given you what you need and helped you cross.”
Sue stepped to Lars, who sat with his hand out, the crystal pendulum hanging limp and still from his fingers. She pressed her hand over his.
“If you have anything more to communicate, use this and we will listen. Back and forth for yes, circular for no.” She stepped back once more, releasing Lars. “Do you understand?”
Nothing happened. The fire cracked and popped.
Then the crystal swung gently but definitely back and forth.
“Thank you,” Sue said. “Are you unbound?”
Back and forth.
“May we do more for you in this physical realm?”
Back and forth.
Sue looked at Tom and Sanders. “Tell them,” she said.
Tom was not quite sure why he did not need an explanation to a request like that, but he nodded and said, “I’ll find your people. Research is my way of life. All your descendants who can be found, I will find. I’ll personally make sure your letters reach your great grandchildren, or anyone else I am led to.” He looked at Sanders.
Sanders nodded, though he looked uneasy. “For those without descendants, or without enough information here to find, I have many contacts in the museum and historical archive worlds. Between the two of us, we will make certain everything goes where it should. Your letters and personal effects will bear witness to your stories as we have done here this morning.” He looked to Sue.
“What about the book that was never supposed to have survived?” It was Amanda asking all of them, or none of them. “Do we honor those wishes by destroying it, or preserve it as well?”
Sue looked to the pendulum, but there was no time for her to ask a yes or no question because Tom was already answering. He stood up, surprising himself and unsure why a tingling surged through his limbs like a rush of fear adrenaline.
“This was so much him. The tea, the ‘listen’, maybe a lot from the cat, that was Easton, and all of them. But the mirror, the hand on my arm—” Turning to Sanders. “All the bedroom stuff, that was Rickman. I know it was. He didn’t do all that, struggle and struggle more than any of them, to make himself seen and felt by humans so that he could get us to destroy something that was already dead to the world.”
Tom looked around at the others, still not sure why he felt so agitated, almost panicky with the need for this to be understood.
“He did it because the nature of what he’d done changed with his own shift in consciousness. From a mortal man bound by the confines and society of his day, to a spirit with a set of moral values bound by love and understanding rather than fear and social stigma. In that moment, what he left behind changed from a damning document to an immortalizing tribute to the only person he loved, his whole reason for mortal life.
“Of everything here, what could be more important to save than this story? Surely it is unique—something like this actually being recorded? But this is no case of struggling to find long lost family when Rickman left no letters and no addresses. Parker was his life, no one else. This book should go to archives, to scholars of the war, or a history of gender studies collection.” He looked at Sanders, swallowing.
“There is a large LGBTQ historical collection at the museum in San Francisco,” Sanders said. “But I would suggest keeping Rickman’s story closer to home, and where more people can discover him and add his story to our understanding of the First World War. The Imperial War Museum, I am sure, would be interested.”
Tom nodded. He looked at Sue. “That’s what’s right. That’s what he needs. I know it is.”
“Then I have faith in you.” Sue smiled.
Tom let out a breath, suddenly aware of an ache in his chest. “And one more thing...” He swallowed again.
“The sketchbook stays with the journal,” Sanders said quietly behind him.
Tom half-turned, meeting his eyes. He nodded.
Sue faced the pendulum. “We have your blessing?”
The crystal swung back and forth.
“Thank you.” Sue’s voice remained soft and gentle, merging with the noise from the fire. “And thank you, Tom, for speaking for them. Does anyone else need to speak?”
Tom was unsure if she meant the humans or spirits. He sat back down, his hands shaking slightly.
The pendulum did not stir, yet there was still a long moment in which Sue stood and listened with more than her ears, the others watching her.
“Easton,” she said. “Have we done all you need? Are your people free?”
The pendulum swung.
“And you are still holding on.”
Back and forth.
“But you are at peace. You are light now.”
Back and forth.
Sue shut her eyes and bit her lip. After a pause, she turned to Tom and Sanders. “Do you know what a house familiar is?”
“Oh, sure,” Tom said weakly. “My second cousin has one.”
Sue smiled. “Would you be terribly bothered to have one here?”
Tom and Sanders glanced at one another.
“Would it ... scare the cat?” Tom asked.
“No. Because he wouldn’t be trying to get anyone’s attention any longer. He wouldn’t be discontent. He may even leave after a time on his own. I think, right now...”
“He just wants to stick with the ship a while longer,” Sanders said.
“Yes, that’s what I’m feeling,” Sue said. “A benevolent house familiar is a blessing. We can make a welcome space for him with the house altar and place it wherever you like.”
“In his room,” Tom said. “My office. Or ... maybe where it is? On the hearth? At the heart of the house?”
Sanders nodded.
“That’s very gracious,” Sue said, then to the pendulum, “We invite you to remain with peaceful spirit and kindly intent. You may share this space and this home in goodwill until such time as you are ready to move on. You will please not frighten the cat, but conduct yourself in a chivalrous manner around her, as you would with a child. In return, we will make you a space and make you welcome. Is this agreeable to you?”
The pendulum swung back and forth.
“Is there anything more we can do for you?”
It swung in a small circle.
“Then thank you, all of you, for sharing your stories and allowing us to help. Go in peace and know you are lovingly remembered in this realm.”
The pendulum swung back and forth once, then in a strange zigzag.
Lars looked up, smiling, and Sue and Amanda returned it as if some secret had passed between the three of them.
“You’re welcome,” Sue whispered.
Tom felt as if someone had just knocked a fifty-pound sack off his shoulders.