Fort Denbury wasn’t terribly far south or west, two adjoining brick townhouses along Waverly Place, just off Washington Square Park. The nickname for the properties had come fondly from Maggie, and she, along with the other Ghost Precinct regulars, kept to Eve’s somber-looking side out of respect for Eve’s parents who lived in the one next door. Lady Denbury held a notable dislike of ghostly intrusion, a seemingly incurable tension between her and Eve.
Eve glanced up Waverly toward the edges of trees nearly leafless as autumn drew cooler. Her eye caught a few luminous forms floating a stroll along the stones, losing sight of vague outlines against the white of the Washington Square Arch.
“I’m trying to see if I can see the ghosts that catch your eye,” the detective said, as if by being around her he might pick up on more of her talents. He’d started their acquaintance an unapologetic skeptic, but he’d grown more aware and able since they’d been working together and he seemed to be warming to the ghosts’ chills.
“I can’t help it here; I always try to see any that pass along the park, even if only an echo. I want them to feel seen and known. The bones below the park are so numerous and so forgotten in this now prized neighborhood, thousands piled together from the epidemics of the last century. They lie there all unnamed. No plaque, no memorial. The more recent dead of the city fear they’ll be similarly neglected.”
“It is good of you to honor the forgotten, Eve, in a way no one else I know can,” Jacob said as they climbed her stoop, facing the black crepe mourning wreath she maintained on the outside of her door.
“The occasional spirit that floats across the bricks and paths are the only monument to that pit of bones,” Eve explained, turning back to the edge of the park visible from her doorstep, “whispering to anyone who cares to listen that this is a place where hordes rest. I try always to hear the voiceless, in everything I champion.” She shook her head, frustration rising in a wave of heat. “I don’t want to lose track of that battling Prenze. I hate that this living man who was supposed to be dead is taking so much time away from the actual dead that need me to help them help the city. It’s maddening.”
“It is, and we’ll stop him.”
For all the ways that her Sensitivities made her feel volatile, the detective was a welcome force of balance and determination. She turned the key in an ornate silver scrollwork lock.
As Eve entered, she heard commotion in her parlor, the clinking of glass. Stepping forward into the center of the entrance hall, she looked through the open pocket doors to see Gran, backlit by a fire in the parlor’s brick fireplace. She sat at the large circular parlor table that hosted séances when the girls chose to work from home rather than their offices.
Turning to the window at the sound of clinking glass, Eve was surprised to see Clara Bishop, already there and at work with curious glass vials in her hands. The distinct features of the birdlike woman seemed more pronounced by the gaslight sconces casting her dark blond hair in a halo. A flowing silver evening dress brought out the silver streaks in the braids coiled atop her head, especially the one that hung low to hide her scar.
Clara clinked one of the vials with her fingernail, and the material inside, soil or something of the sort, settled. Gran had spoken of wards before. This must be how the Bishops had crafted them.
“Hello Eve and companion,” Clara said. “I’m protecting thresholds. Come in.”
Gesturing beside her, Eve brushed her hand across Jacob’s sleeve as she introduced him. “This is Detective Horowitz, Mrs. Bishop. He has been a part of all my recent cases and has also been threatened by Albert Prenze. He is a vital asset to my team, and I want him to learn any strategy of advantage and protection.”
The detective bobbed his head. “Mrs. Bishop, a pleasure.”
“Ah, yes, Detective.” Clara cocked her head to the side like a songbird, listening. “Evelyn has said wonderful things about you, and your presence complements the young Eve stunningly. And that’s not an easy feat seeing as she’s so distinct a tone, she’s loud, like me, but...” She gestured around her good ear, as if she were hearing something, and smiled. “You’re harmonious.”
Before Eve or Jacob could react to any of this, or before Eve could explain to Jacob that Clara heard energies like music, the force of nature continued. “Forgive my barging in and working ahead of you.” Mrs. Bishop turned toward the furthest of the two front windows, where she sat down one of the vials against the window in the corner of the sill. “But there’s no time to waste. A character like Prenze will stop at nothing, and I sense that he feels he is above capture or prosecution. Power drunk, wealth has afforded him being above the law, and this is vastly heightened by his discovery of his own psychic powers.”
There was another clinking sound from down the hall, and as Eve turned her head toward the open downstairs door, Clara explained the noise. “That would be Rupert downstairs with your colleagues, who are showing him any place that they feel could be vulnerable to intrusion, psychic or otherwise. And thank you for keeping your ghosts at a distance. I don’t mean to be inhospitable to them, but you know my condition....”
“Oh, of course, they understand!” Eve said, winking up the stairs when she saw Zofia poke a spectral head out from the top landing, the child eavesdropping from a safe distance.
Their absence was particularly evident to Eve as the room was far warmer than usual, the roaring fire notwithstanding. At any given time, at least three of their regular haunts were generally present, up to five if their resident spirit tethered to music felt like playing piano. Sometimes they’d attract seven full manifestations, not to mention those spirits that were simply and quite literally passing through.
Gran must have urged them out ahead of the Bishops’ arrival. Not that Clara wasn’t a gifted Sensitive, but due to her neurology, too many ghosts gave her seizures. Eve recalled her saying that there was “always a cost to these powers.”
A visceral hope that there would be a cost to Prenze’s powers hit Eve in a fervent prayer. As she’d indicated to the detective, her anger seethed. That a whole houseful of good, talented people cultivated protections when other worthy cases in the city needed their ear and attention was an egregious injustice. But that was the way of the greedy and selfish. Eve wished that immorally taking the talents and energies of others for personal gain was considered as criminal as theft of money or property.
“You’ll want to reinforce the wards with your own beliefs and traditions,” Clara added, clicking a fingernail against one of the vials. “Some find salt helpful, but…” She gestured outside. “From your descriptions, this is an astral projection of one unwanted, living man rather than what we would consider a demonic force. So”—she gestured to the vials then to Eve—“add to these vials any ingredient that you find resonant and synonymous with safety and fortification. I’ve lent some of my energy; you must bolster it and seal it with yours.”
“What is in them?” Eve asked, sitting next to Gran at the séance table. Jacob took the seat to Eve’s left, listening to Clara intently.
Mrs. Bishop gestured out the window toward Washington Square. “Soil from your park. As I know you respect the dead there, so too will they respect your protections. There’s water from the confluence of the rivers, a leaf and petal from plants known to be protectors—juniper and ash. And a bit of ley line magic I’ve placed in there myself.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bishop, that’s wonderful.”
If Eve wasn’t mistaken, the dark vial of ingredients held a slight, ethereal glow. Spirits must have been lending a sliver of their own light. Eve was accustomed to the nuances of a wider spectrum. Sometimes an object or a piece of clothing, a portrait, or perhaps someone’s favorite chair had a slight glow to it that only the spectrally trained eye could see, a bit of living essence left behind in the inanimate. So it was with these wards. Light protecting life.
Something must have amused Jenny, as the little girl tore up the stairs into the entrance hall, snorting a giggle and smiling at Eve.
She gestured toward the man behind her. He’s fun and very kind, the girl signed.
The tall and distinguished silver-haired ambassador was around Gran’s age of seventy. He looked at Jenny as he ascended the stairs with a wistful smile; it was the first time Eve had wondered if the man had once wanted to have children but didn’t or couldn’t. Jenny was a wonderful addition to the patchwork family of friends and acquaintances that Gran had helped bring together, and there was something about the child that disarmed everyone and accentuated emotion.
“Hello, Eve,” Rupert Bishop said warmly, turning to her at the landing of the main hall. “I’m glad to see you.”
“And you, Ambassador.”
Cora and Antonia rejoined the landing, and everyone gravitated to the séance table save for Clara, who stood near the window as if standing guard.
“Indeed, it is good to see all of you again,” the ambassador said, gesturing at the girls. “It’s been some time.”
“It’s been since you helped us into our offices,” Cora offered. “And we spoke about my family.”
“Yes!” Bishop said brightly. “How are your dear mother and father?”
“Still busy in New Orleans as private investigators,” Cora replied. “They’d love to come visit if they can escape their clients.” She laughed. “They’re doing a lot of good, for many who dearly need it, but I wonder if they’ve taken any time for themselves in a while. Perhaps you could convince them; they’re dearly fond of you both and I’m sure they’d listen to your advice,” Cora said, turning to Clara.
Eve noticed Clara’s eyes flutter a bit, and she recalled that Cora’s uncle Louis, a ghost that was a great help to Cora and the precinct, had been Clara’s lover long ago. Relations with Cora’s father, Louis’s twin brother, were also complicated. Yet Cora was rightly and unapologetically proud of who she was and where she was from. In part, Cora wanted to work in the Ghost Precinct because she saw Eve and herself as children of great talents continuing a spectral legacy to be celebrated, no matter if it brought up old pain.
Clara shook off whatever had passed over her and smiled at Cora with genuine enthusiasm, coming over to the séance table and placing her hands on her husband’s shoulders. “Yes, we shall, Rupert; let’s write to Cora’s dear family straightaway for a long overdue reunion!”
“Wonderful!” Cora clapped her hands together. Eve wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her friend so hopeful. It occurred to her then how much Cora had to give up at the age of seventeen, leaving her family and a city she loved to become a member of the Ghost Precinct, when all Eve had to do was go next door, or up Fifth Avenue to Gran for family connection.
Detective Horowitz watched all of them intently, and Eve was struck again by Clara’s declaration of him as harmonious to her—how lovely. Eve couldn’t deny the truth of it. He was a wonderful addition to anything she was involved with, and any room was far better for his being there. She turned to him, smiling. He reached out to briefly squeeze her hand, a small gesture that made Eve’s heart soar. The detective then turned to Rupert Bishop attentively.
Once Clara took her seat beside her husband, the ambassador addressed them all, looking each one of them in the eyes. As he did, everyone leaned in and Eve was struck by how intense his gaze was, as if he were visibly pulling them forward.
“Now, my friends, we’ll keep this simple, as the principle is simple, but very personal. Much like Clara has told you of the wards, shielding only works if it comes from the core of you and your inspiration. As for this Albert Prenze character and his mental manipulation, he may be trying to show you a grey nothingness, but that must be because there’s a very scared and overcompensating person underneath that façade. His astral projection is a phantom cast in hopes of looming over. Lording over. The practice of astral projection was never meant to be used as a threat, but unfortunately here it is. Have each of you seen his form at the window?”
“That’s only been me,” Eve clarified.
“Well, now that he’s made it a point to interact with all of you, he may feel emboldened to terrorize you all. So, all must shield, not only from seeing the form, but from any manipulation.”
“He did try to turn our own weapons against us,” Jacob offered. “Eve and I had gone after him and there was a confrontation. Eve managed to break from his thrall, thankfully.”
“But that’s where his mesmerism went far beyond anything I expected,” Eve said. “My hand was being moved forcibly before Jacob and I both fought back against his pressure.”
Bishop nodded, his expression grave. “The power of persuasion ratcheted to a preternatural level. I wonder how he came to it.” He rubbed his chin.
Jenny signed the answer to this query, and Eve translated to the assembly.
“Jenny has been able to channel the spirit of Dr. Font, found dead in the Dakota of poison. He unwittingly signed off on Prenze’s death certificate. Font says the day he thought Prenze died was when the path he was on took an even darker turn. Font presumes a nearness to death opened his mind, but not toward the godly and good. Quite the opposite.”
“I see,” Bishop said. “Trauma changes a body, for better or worse,” he said, absently clutching one of his wife’s hands as she pressed the braid over her ear with her other.
“Each of you is a sovereign state with distinct borders,” the ambassador declared, pinning them again with his intense stare. “Never forget that. This man is trying to make you question your own boundaries. You must reinforce them. Protect yourself beyond yourself.”
Bishop stood suddenly, towering over the table. “You do not end here,” he said, tapping his forearm. “You do not end where your skin and bones contain you.” He gestured the length of his arms, gracefully, as if opening wings. “Your energy naturally extends past you. Your existence is larger than your body.”
He turned to Eve. “Now if you send energy…” Bishop made a gesture as if he were throwing her a ball. On impulse, she reached out and caught what did feel like some impossibly palpable thing. The ambassador’s vibrancy was as potent as if it were a tactile object. “Energy can be received as Eve did, and I hope you feel it.”
“I do.”
“Good. Now return it to me?”
Eve closed her eyes, trying not to overthink it, but pushed forward what felt like a warm ball of light in her hand, giving it an intentional shove toward the ambassador.
“Very good,” Bishop praised. “That, in a sense, is astral projection. Prenze is tossing a manifestation toward you to haunt you. Not to energize or support but to drain. It’s a shame, because he could be using that energy to inspire, to comfort, to protect, but he is an inversion. You must extend your own energy out from yourself so that he cannot get close to you. You must push him back with the strength of your will. If you are shielding well, he cannot get in, to frighten, or to manipulate your minds.”
“Shielding is entirely personal,” Clara added. “It begins with a thought. The first step is connecting with what makes you feel powerful. Be it an image, word, liturgy, song, element, draw strength from it as yours. Breathe in and fill yourself with this strength on an inhale. For myself, I think of the air, the heavens, birds, divine creatures, and as I draw in,”—she breathed in deeply—“I think of angels unfurling their wings.…” And then she breathed out, letting her arms stretch out in front of her. “And so, I extend…”
Eve could feel Clara’s admittedly large, or as she claimed loud, presence magnify.
“Draw in your strength,” the ambassador continued, breathing in, then out. “Expel that strength like a circular wall.”
Eve and her colleagues did as instructed. The room grew smaller as Sensitivities expanded.
“Something to take care with,” Gran added quietly. “Be sure that you’re not expending from your own reserves. Intake from what inspires, powers, and uplifts externally. You have to use an outside engine to draw from an inexhaustible well. We are exhaustible creatures. We can’t power constant protection from our own bodies alone.”
“Draw in,” Rupert Bishop instructed, breathing and extending his palms as he exhaled. “Press out. Extend your energy so that you create a boundary that isn’t to be violated. I can’t tell you what best protects you; that’s yours to decide. Allow yourself more than one element or image.” He let his words sit, as if giving the company time to calibrate. “And try again.”
Eve closed her eyes. Gran had taught her these things in her youth, but she hadn’t revisited the principles recently, and where she pulled her strength from wasn’t always consistent.
Her instinct was to draw vitality from the fireplace crackling with life and raw power at the center of the parlor. In the core of her she imagined lived a lit candle, like the process of calling a séance to order. This would be her visualization. Beyond the firelight, she thought of everyone she cared about. The most important people in her life were in this room and next door.
From this, her light would grow and glow. The darkness would have no room, pushed out of the field of vision, pushed away from her heart, sent away to the shadows from which it came.…
The fire in her vision flickered. Her candle was snuffed out. Her mind’s eye watched the smoke a moment before she felt Gran jolt in her seat, and her eyes snapped open to the movement outside.
A tall, dark form lunged at the window. There was a sound as if of cracking glass, yet no fissure was seen.
For a terrible moment, Eve wondered if somehow, in all this, she’d let him further in.…
The young women gasped while Horowitz jumped to his feet. Prenze. The shadow man. The core of their trouble, now visible to everyone. Not just to Eve’s gifted eye. He’d magnified his power and scope.
“He is but a vision,” Ambassador Bishop reminded the startled group, his pleasant voice resonant and firm. “Yet you must reject this astral presence!” Bishop bellowed. Eve was moved by the ambassador’s vehemence, the strength of his energy. These elders were the kinds of forces of nature Eve wanted to be. Eve threw her own aura out from her like a whip as had been practiced.
Out of the corner of her eye, Eve noticed Clara wavered next to her husband. Gently, subtly, attuned to every move his wife made and every sound of her breath, he placed his hand upon the small of her back, steadying her. That kind of partnership too… She realized she yearned for that as well, an intimacy in these matters.
Reliving how Jacob’s gentle touch had felt upon her own back at the recent soiree, when he too had steadied her, she reached out and grabbed his hand. He turned to her, searching her face, as if asking how better he could help.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. He just nodded with a smile.
Everyone seemed to have utilized the shielding lesson as the figure vanished, lessening in opacity and then finally fading away.
There was a long, strained silence.
“How about some dinner?” Antonia asked hopefully. Everyone nodded and smiled.
Suddenly there was a terrible shriek on the other side of the door connecting Eve’s townhouse to her parents’. Her mother’s shriek. Eve jumped up. There was a clatter of chairs, running footsteps, and a pounding on the door between the homes.
“Eve! What’s going on?” Her father shouted from outside that door, in a panicked, startled tone Eve had never heard. “Why is there a man floating at our window?”