Phoe had never felt so ill used in her life as she dragged herself up the steps of the pension. She and Cage were out all day chasing ghosts completely without reward. After examining the body of Arabella Postlethwaite, Sigerson had insisted that they all go to the police station to question Jasper Wittrock, the former lover and castmate of Arabella. Tuggingham had been resistant to let them in, but after a few calls to Maurice that involved begging, apologies, and promises not to expect any pay, Cage and Phoe managed to buy themselves a few minutes with the suspect. Though uninvited, Sigerson tagged along. At the end of their talk with Wittrock, Sigerson determined that while Wittrock was clearly mad; his only crime was being in love with a fickle harlot.
“Yes, the two of you should go inside and get some rest,” Sigerson droned to Cage. “Tomorrow, we’ll need to go through the files on the previous murders. I need data. Autopsy reports, possible suspects, associations…”
Phoe whipped around, stopping at the landing with hands on hips. “Pardon me?”
Cage, evidently sensing that she was about to explode, chuckled nervously and laid a calming hand on her wrist. “Sigerson was only suggesting—”
“I know what he was suggesting,” Phoe snapped, jerking away from him. “Over the course of the last two days, I’ve witnessed a horrific murder, had a spirited run across town where all my clothes burned off, aroused the suspicion of the police, examined a dead body, and questioned an insane murder suspect. And in case you hadn’t noticed, Macijah, I’m on vacation. Now we’re supposed to spend our day tomorrow in the basement of a grimy police station staring at autopsy photos?”
“Sounds like an excellent way to spend a holiday to me,” Sigerson mumbled.
“Shut it,” Phoe and Cage shouted in unison.
“Phoe, I know it isn’t exactly how you envisioned our getaway to Absinthia.”
Phoe laughed so loudly that it scared passersby. “No, Cage. This actually is exactly how I envisioned our getaway to Absinthia. That’s what infuriates me the most. You can’t leave the job behind for a single month.”
Sigerson cleared his throat. “I think I’ll, ah—go. Now.”
“You act like I’m doing this on purpose.”
“Aren’t you?” Phoe put her hands on her hips.
“I didn’t ask for those women to be murdered.”
“No, but you don’t have to get involved. You could let it go this once.”
Cage made a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh of exasperation. “People are dying, Phoe. And the body count is rising. Is it not our responsibility to help?”
“It’s our responsibility to cooperate. We’ve done that. End of story.”
“Do you think you two could possibly not have a domestic in the street?” Sigerson gestured to the small crowd that had gathered to watch the two of them go at it.
“Stay out of this, Copper-top,” Phoe snarled. “This is all your fault anyway.”
“My fault?”
“You’re the one snooping around crime scenes and dragging us all over the colony.” Phoe marched down the steps, jabbing Sigerson in the chest with an angry fingertip. “Everything was going along fine until you showed up. So why don’t you get out of here?”
“Phoe, don’t be rude. It isn’t Shercroft’s fault that you’re overreacting.”
For a terrifying moment, Phoe could feel the phoenix fire burning under her skin. Throwing a ball of flame was quickly becoming a real possibility. “You’re absolutely right. It isn’t his fault that you’re an asshole.” With that she turned and stormed into the pension, slamming the door behind her.
She didn’t have much time to be angry, as when she walked in she noticed that the entire foyer and parlor had been decked out in black silk bunting. The shades had been drawn and the entire place was lit with dim lantern light. Miss Abecrombie flitted around the room fussing unintelligibly, her gears grinding. She regarded Phoe with a harrumph and moved on.
“Phoebe, I was wondering where you were.” Eleanor swept down the stairs, the Professor in tow. They were both dressed in black from head to toe.
“Macijah and I have been out,” she replied. “What’s going on here?”
Eleanor giggled and wound her arm through Phoe’s. “Isn’t it exciting? We’re in mourning.”
“What?”
“…damn charlatans stomping through the house,” Miss Abecrombie grumbled, roughly relieving Phoe of her overcoat before rolling away again. “Inviting evil into my parlor, they are…”
“What’s she on about?” Phoe asked. Her voice had taken on an exhausted tone. Right now, she really didn’t care much about the Alice & Ludwig’s décor, murders, or Miss Abecrombie’s latest gripe. All she really wanted to do was retire to her bed with a book and a glass of brandy until morning.
“Madame Theodosia Bigglet,” Eleanor replied. She handed over a small flyer.
“Madame Theo, world-renowned spiritualist and medium,” Phoe read. “Let the spirits guide you through a better tomorrow.” She narrowed her eyes, highly suspect of a psychic that carried business cards. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” Eleanor beamed. She seemed so excited, despite her husband’s obvious discomfort. “Alfie and I were walking down Carmody Street this afternoon and a boy was standing outside a theater handing out these cards. It looked interesting, so we went inside. Madame Theo was giving a demonstration. It was simply amazing, and Phoebe—I was hit with a brainstorm.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Eleanor went on. “That we should bring her here to try and contact the spirit of Misses Merriwhether.”
“Who?”
“The young lady slaughtered in the alley by the pension. A séance might be just the thing to bring the poor soul back to tell us who the killer is.”
Phoe could feel the headache that had been lurking behind her right eyeball since the morgue flare like a white-hot poker to the temple. She couldn’t take any more ridiculousness today. “I hope you all have a wonderful time, but I think I’ll sit this one out, El.”
“Oh Phoebe,” Eleanor whined, clasping Phoe’s arm gently. “You simply must come too. It will be so much fun. You know how popular spiritualism was in the nineteenth century. Your trip wouldn’t be complete without a foray into the unknown.”
Phoe considered all the places and circumstances she’d been through in the last year or so. “Honestly, El. I think I’ve had enough of the unknown for one evening.”
“Please?” she asked, her eyes pleading. “Alfie is such a goose about these things, but even he’s coming.”
Phoe groaned, knowing she was defeated, and allowed Eleanor to lead her into the parlor.
The whole place looked like something from an old Vincent Price movie. Even the weather seemed to be cooperating as a clap of thunder shook the windows. In addition to the black bunting, a round table had been set up in the center of the room under the enormous gaslight chandelier with chairs all around it. There was even a crystal ball. Phoe nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all.
The residents of the Alice & Ludwig began to wander in, all of them dressed in funerary finery. Phoe stood out like a sore thumb in her form-fitting beige skirt, waist-cincher, and high-necked white blouse. The girl, Lisa, who hadn’t participated in the cosplay since their arrival, was wearing a long mourning gown and veil. Phoe was surprised to see that everyone’s curiosity had been piqued by Eleanor’s séance. Even Mr. Brown, who didn’t seem the whimsical type, was there with his eyes wide. When Cage walked in, Phoe made a point to turn away with her nose in the air. He sat beside her anyway.
Phoe leaned over to Eleanor, seated on her other side. “Where is Mr. Sockersby?”
“He’s gone out for the evening, as per his usual. It’s lucky, really. Men of the cloth can be so narrow-minded, you know.”
It seemed unusual to Phoe that the vicar was so scarce around the pension. It was her understanding that he, like Miss Abecrombie, was an employee of the colony, there to play a part in their collective play. The kindly vicar on holiday. It was a time-honored trope of every Victorian cozy mystery Phoe had ever read, but it was hard to play a part when you were never on stage.
Before she could mention this to Cage, the lights flickered, and Madame Theo entered the parlor. Theodosia Bigglet was everything one might expect from a psychic medium. She entered the room on the arm of a sallow-faced valet who led her toward the table. Her black dress was not like the others with full skirt and bustle, but rather a sparkling drape of a thing more akin to the Champagne Lady on those old 1970s variety shows Phoe’s mom liked. Her hair was a shade of red not found in nature, but it matched the hideous hue painted slapdash across her mouth. To top it off, Madame Theo had an iridescent turban accented with a large emerald brooch and a peacock feather that flapped in front of her face with every breath. Phoe wasn’t sure she could watch that thing bounce all night. When she sat down at the table, Phoe noticed the woman’s milky white irises. Madame Theo was totally blind. Nice touch.
“Welcome, Madame Theo,” Eleanor gushed, clasping the old woman’s hand. “We’re so glad you could join us tonight.”
“You are so welcome, darling,” Madame Theo said in a heavily accented voice so that it came out, You ah so velcome, dahlink. “I always come to friends in need.”
Cage snorted and Phoe kicked him hard under the table.
“We’ve asked you here tonight because…” Eleanor began, but Madame Theo stopped her with a raised hand.
“Please. Do not tell me anything. I will let the spirits tell the tale.” The old woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Is everyone in this house here at this moment?”
“Well…” Eleanor started. “Our vicar, Mr. Sockersby, is out for the night.”
Madame Theo nodded. “You ask me here because…because…” She paused as if listening to someone unseen whispering in her ear.
Cage leaned over to whisper to Phoe. “Is this woman for real?”
“Shush.”
“There has been a great unpleasantness in this house, recently,” Madame Theo said.
“That’s an understatement,” Cage grumbled, earning him another kick. “Ow…”
Suddenly, the door opened and Phoe could hear the muffled sound of someone talking to Miss Abecrombie in the next room. She looked up to see Sigerson pushing his way past the old woman and into the parlor. “Unhand me, dear lady. I was invited by one of your guests.”
Phoe put her head down on the table, wishing that she could slide under and scuttle away upstairs.
“What are you doing here, Sigerson?” Cage asked, standing up.
“You can’t just walk out in the middle of a murder investigation.”
“Who is this?” Brown said with his usual bluster.
“Shercroft Sigerson,” Sigerson answered with a low bow. “I’m investigating the Ripper murders.”
“I thought Inspector Tuggingham was the lead investigator,” the professor said.
“Tuggingham’s an idiot.”
“Please.” Madame Theo shook her head. “All of this back and forth. You are jamming my frequencies. Please. Sit down.”
To Phoe’s surprise, Sigerson accepted the invitation, taking the chair between Lisa Brown and the professor. She wondered what he was up to. Given everything she knew of Sigerson so far, he wasn’t a believer in the unexplained.
“Please, lower the lights,” Madame Theo commanded Miss Abecrombie, then nodded to her silent valet. He sat down at her side and took out a book of blank white paper and a charcoal pencil. “The spirits in this house are frightened. They will only move in shadows.”
“Of course,” Sigerson grumbled. “I’ve never met a ghost that would show itself in the light.”
“Now, everyone join hands,” Madame Theo told the group, ignoring Sigerson. “We must create a circle of energy.”
Sigerson crossed his arms, sitting back from the table as if challenging them.
“You do not believe, Mr. Sigerson?” Madame Theo asked.
“I don’t doubt that there are those things which are beyond my understanding, Madame,” Sigerson replied. “But these are things that science has not yet worked out. There is nothing supernatural about them. Or even particularly remarkable.”
“You must have an open mind, Mr. Sigerson, or you must leave.”
Sigerson looked around at the expectant faces of the other guests. Phoe saw a twinkle in his eye, not unlike that of a child who plays a nasty prank and sits back to watch the chaos. He wanted to dismiss Madame Theo and her spirit guides as insufferable hokum, but his curiosity would inevitably get the better of him. With a roll of his mechanical eye, he leaned forward and joined the circle.
“We call to the Great Watchtower,” Madame Theo began. “We ask for your guidance this night. Show these troubled spirits the way.” As if on cue, the lightning outside flashed once more, illuminating the old woman’s milky eyes. Then an ominous rumbling of thunder rattled the windowpanes. It startled Eleanor and she grasped Phoe’s hand tightly. “I can feel them, all around us, drawn to the table by our energy.”
“Dear Lord…” Sigerson whispered.
But Madame Theo didn’t hear him. She was too busy in the throes of her performance. Phoe watched as the old woman’s head lolled in circles as if the spirits were whirling around her like a halo. She was panting and moaning, her body thrashing around so that her valet had to hold on to keep her from pitching backward in her chair. Cage gave a small grunt. Phoe could tell that he was trying desperately not to laugh. Admittedly, the whole thing was ridiculous, but Eleanor was transfixed. In their few days in Absinthia, Phoe and Eleanor had forged a friendship, and she wasn’t about to have Cage make fun of her friend’s beliefs.
She leaned over. “Shut it, St. John,” she hissed.
“I can’t help it.”
Before Phoe could respond, a lightning bolt struck close and the room shook. The wind howled around the eaves of the old brownstone and a few of the lamps around the room flickered out.
“Yes. Yes. Come to us, restless spirits. You may use my body as a vessel to tell your secrets.” Madame Theo fumbled, feeling around for the large white notebook. The valet passed it to her and placed the charcoal pencil in her hand. She immediately began scribbling across the page. Her writing was erratic and too fast for Phoe to see from her vantage point. The valet began reading in a monotonous voice as she wrote.
“Help…me. Help…us. The…knife…blade…silver…blinding…help…no one comes…no…one…”
“Isn’t this exciting?” Eleanor made air claps from Phoe’s other side.
“Knife…tearing into…flesh…help…pain…”
Madame Theo pressed so hard against the paper that the pencil point broke with a loud snap, but she kept writing. Soon the words became random lines and then drawings. It was difficult to make out, but Phoe thought she might be drawing a man’s face.
Phoe could almost feel Sigerson’s disdain from across the room. He hadn’t interrupted so far, but his mouth was fixed in a smirk that said it all. He caught her staring and winked. “Tell us who you are,” he said finally.
“My…name…is…my…name…” Madame Theo choked. “Is…”
The woman paused and suddenly her body went rigid. She stared blindly up into the chandelier above, her eyes growing wider. Her grip on the charcoal pencil tightened until it splintered, pieces of it flying across the table. Her hands trembled as the valet tried to calm her. Her mouth worked as if she was trying to speak, but no sound would come. Slowly, she began to rise from her chair.
Phoe stared over at Cage, clutching his hand until she could feel her nails digging into his palm. “What’s going on?” she whispered.
“I’m not sure.”
“Should we stop her?”
“I don’t think we could.”
Madame Theo began to thrash, her body seeming to be in the grip of some kind of seizure. She tore away from the valet, throwing the notebook to the floor and nearly taking the tablecloth with her. Eleanor tried to hold up the psychic. The crystal ball toppled from its stand and rolled toward Madame Theo. Her fingers reached for it, but as soon as they touched, the ball cracked and popped like a balloon. Out of the corner of her eye, Phoe saw Mrs. Brown crossing herself.
“Dear God,” Eleanor cried, desperately trying to help the valet soothe Madame Theo, who had risen to her feet, and if Phoe didn’t know better, off of them. Her body was fixed in a contorted rictus, her back arched and her hands like claws. Cage pushed Eleanor aside and took hold of Madame Theo.
“We have to stop this.” Phoe turned to Sigerson. “Help us. What’s wrong with her?”
“A case of bad theatre,” Sigerson murmured.
Another bolt of lightning, this time striking the house. The wind roared and sparks from exploding gaslights outside illuminated the room momentarily. Then, pitch black darkness.
“No one move,” Sigerson said from somewhere off to Phoe’s right. “Absinthia’s power grid will reboot in a second.”
“I thought all the lights were gas,” Brown grumbled.
“You do realize that you aren’t actually in Victorian London.”
As Sigerson predicted, the lights came back within seconds. “Everyone okay?” Cage asked.
Madame Theo was still, looking a bit shell-shocked as her valet whispered in her ear. The others had come out of their seats, trying to shake off the cold fear that had encircled them before the lights had gone out. Miss Abecrombie was already relighting some of the lamps.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” the professor was saying, trying to reassure Eleanor. “Thanks to the weather and a bit of theater, we all got a bit freaked out.”
“Lisa? Are you all right?”
Mrs. Brown was fluttering around her daughter who stood by the window. Funny, Phoe hadn’t seen her cross the room. The girl’s gaze was glassy, and her expression was blank, but she didn’t appear to be afraid. When her mother spoke to her, she did not even glance in her direction. Had the sudden loud thunder temporarily deafened the girl? Lisa made no move to respond until Cage approached.
“Lisa. Are you hurt?”
“Thank you for the concern, luv.” She turned and offered a sly smile to Cage. “I was waiting.”
“Pardon?”
“Girl like me is always waitin’, ya see.” She ran her fingertips down Cage’s arm and clasped his elbow. “Do us a solid, lover, and walk us back to the road.”
“Miss Brown? Are you well?” Cage asked. He tried to move her hand away from his arm, but she clasped his hand and brought it to her chest.
“Of course,” she replied, batting her eyelashes. “I could be better, though.”
In all the months Phoe and Cage had been together, Phoe had never once seen Cage look uncomfortable or unsure, but the way Lisa Brown held his hand and sidled against him was clearly making him uncomfortable. “Oh?” he asked, his voice climbing in pitch.
Lisa giggled and nodded. By now everyone was staring at the scene before them. They looked from one to the other, obviously trying to decide if they should stop this now. “You know, it isn’t safe for a girl out ‘ere alone these days. Some of me closest friends ‘ave already been victims of the Ripper.”
“My God,” Madame Theo cried. “The girl is channeling.”
“You’re not the Ripper, are you, luv?”
Cage looked to Sigerson, who gestured for him to play along. “Of course not, but would I tell you if I was?”
“Tha’s true enough, I reckon,” Lisa replied, leaning against Cage. Her arms wound around him and she inched closer. “A’course all this talk of death makes one want to enjoy all this life ‘as to offer, eh?”
“Miss Brown.” Cage unwound her arms from around him and guided her to one of the chaises. “I think you’d better sit down. Perhaps Miss Abecrombie could bring you a cup of tea?”
“Oh, sir…a peach,” Lisa said, reaching out for something the rest of them couldn’t see. “Not even one of them engineered kind. How fancy, like.” Cage stepped back, looking to Phoe. He was unsure of what to do and his uncertainty frightened Phoe more than she already was. “Been a long time since there was fruit that wa’n’t grown in a lab.”
“What are you talking about, Lisa?” Mrs. Brown shrieked. “What’s wrong with her?” she shouted at Madame Theo.
“She must be possessed by some spirit,” the psychic replied.
“Can’t you do something?” Mr. Brown boomed. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”
Madame Theo shrugged. Whatever was happening, Theo and her valet appeared to be as flummoxed as the rest of them. “Lord in Heaven,” she whispered, clutching a crucifix at her throat.
“We have to help her,” Mrs. Brown whimpered, starting toward her daughter. Sigerson got to her first, holding her back.
“I think we have to let her do this,” Sigerson whispered to Mrs. Brown.
Lisa laughed. A loud barking laugh that didn’t sound like her at all. “So you are looking for a bit of a tup, then?” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes, ignoring the commotion around her. She was completely lost in the hallucination now, unaware of the rest of them, or of who she was.
“Does Miss Lisa have a port?” the professor asked. “Any sort of alteration?”
“No,” Mr. Brown replied. “I wouldn’t allow it.”
“Let’s go down a ways,” Lisa was telling her invisible suitor. “Bobbies don’ like a tumble in the street.” She turned toward them, her eyes closed. “Don’t be nervous,” she said, hiking up her skirts a little. She slid her hands over her corseted torso, trying to entice the unseen lover. “What’s that? My leg?” She pulled the cumbersome petticoats over her knee. “Don’t let that mech bother you, love. Me insides is warm and smooth like honey.” She drew her fingers over her lips suggestively and giggled.
“Lisa,” Brown snapped. “You stop this now, hear?”
“What’s that?” Lisa asked. “Did you bring toys with you?” Then her eyes went wide. Whatever her ghost lover had shown her was evidently shocking. Suddenly, she let out a bloodcurdling scream that was cut off abruptly. She clutched at her throat, gasping and stumbling. She sank to the floor, thrashing about as she fought some invisible foe.
Phoe sprang into action. She rushed to the girl, not really knowing what she was going to do. She had this absurd thought of the old wives’ tale her grandmother used to spin about dying in your dreams. Whether it was true or not, Lisa thought she was dying and Phoe had to help her break out of this fugue.
Her belly lurched as the girl made a gurgling sound, as if she were drowning and trying to scream for help. “Lisa,” Phoe shouted, grabbing the girl by the arms. “You have to wake up, now.”
“Help her. Please help her,” Mrs. Brown sobbed, nearly swooning between her husband and Sigerson.
Whatever had taken possession of Lisa Brown in that moment gave her the strength of a full-grown man, and it wasn’t going down without a fight. “Get out of her,” Phoe screamed. When she tried to shake the girl, Lisa fought back. She writhed violently then began to shake. Another seizure took hold, the force of the convulsions knocking Phoe back. She stumbled over Lisa’s overturned chair and fell into the table. Her head connected with the corner and bright spots exploded in front of her eyes. She could feel herself losing consciousness.
A moment before everything went black, Phoe noticed that the vicar had come in and was standing in the vestibule, watching everything.