“Take me home,” the tintype had whispered to Maggie, seeing through Arielle Prenze’s eyes near the mouth of the bridge, once she’d given the detective Albert’s journal. The edge of the metal plate was bloodied from Arielle catching it roughly during the tumult on the bridge.
The mouth of the stern woman in the image actually moved, and Maggie realized what had happened. Mrs. Prenze had gone into the object, what was left of her. She wasn’t the manifest whole spirit, but there was enough of her to command attention and possess an item with her essence. Perhaps, Maggie and Arielle thought in tandem, the blood made for that much more of a spell. It wasn’t the first time that woman had drawn blood, Arielle admitted to herself, and to Maggie, and the weight of abuses twisted knots in the woman’s stomach.
Arielle Prenze, possessed by Margaret Hathorn but not entirely overtaken by her, as the two had reached an accord of companionship within one body, returned to a darkened house as her mother bid. Maggie wasn’t done with the Prenze family or the mansion yet. Arielle turned on the gas lamps in the front hall, and glass sconces leapt to a frosted golden life, the pipes still installed and at the ready. Even though electricity had been implemented, many fine homes maintained both, just for good measure. As she took to the stairs to find Alfred and see if he had recovered from Albert’s drugs and toxins, a great wailing roar took over the sky and the temperature around her plummeted drastic degrees.
What looked like a wave of silvery light swept over the house, a tsunami of eerie, luminous vapor. Arielle’s hair was blown back, her body wracked with shivers.
“What’s happening?” Arielle asked the spirit within her, terrified.
I think the spirit world is taking revenge, Maggie replied in Arielle’s mind.
“Will they come for me?” Arielle said in a panic. “I did help Albert in the beginning. I did think I was doing the Christian thing, by trying to move spirits on, but I see now it was torture. I see now it’s best to let spirits be. I’m sorry…” she cried to the air.
If they’re not causing harm, that’s usually best. But it is complicated, as I can see that there were tortures you and your brother lived through, in life and through your mother’s spirit. I can’t say I wouldn’t have wanted her gone too. But the way he went about it… I wish you’d all have called an exorcist instead. I know a very good and handsome one.
As the luminous wash of spectral energy passed over Arielle, the tintype of her mother began to glow, and the form of Mrs. Prenze lifted from the frame, a dimensional projection of the face below.
“I should have found a way to care for you better,” Mrs. Prenze whispered. “I see that now. Can that possibly be enough?”
“It helps,” Arielle said.
“Will you tell him that? Albert? It may ease him. It may not. I would like to be done with this anger. With this restlessness.”
“I will tell him.”
“I would like to rest.”
As the spectral tide flowed, Mrs. Prenze, the wisps that were left of her, lifted from the image and into the current.
“Goodnight, Mother,” Arielle called.
“Goodnight, Elle,” replied a whisper that blended into the wash.
The tintype went still. Arielle bowed her head. She set the tintype on the mantel of the parlor and said prayers over it, for herself and for the spiritual river flowing past her. A cold caress of luminous silk as it passed over her, the flow of the dead in an airborne torrent was uncannily beautiful, profound. Something she’d never forget. Whenever it reached Albert, he’d have far less of a peaceful time of it, but at that point it would be justice.
* * * *
In Eve Whitby’s parlor, Jacob dove to catch Eve’s falling body lest she strike her head against the wooden arm of the settee.
“What’s wrong,” he cried, cradling her. “Is she under a psychic attack again?” He looked around as Rachel did, but even to her trained eye nothing was there.
Rachel lifted a finger to tell him to give her a moment and closed her eyes, reaching out her hands in front of her as if she were feeling for a wall. As Jacob held Eve, Rachel bent near Eve’s head, looking up at Jacob, and nodded. She gestured toward Eve’s mind and made a motion as if something was trying to get in.
“The Bishops taught us shielding. Maybe we can shield for Eve too?” Jacob offered.
Rachel nodded eagerly and stood, pulling a hand-shaped pendant from around her neck, clutching the hamsa as she mouthed a prayer. He joined in the Tefilat HaDerech with her, a traveler’s prayer, as good as any, as Eve’s mind was indeed traveling uncharted waters.
Jacob wrapped his arms around Eve’s shuddering body tightly, clutching her head against his. “Come back, Evelyn Whitby,” he demanded. “I’ll not have you taken again. No one shall have power over this mind but herself!” Jacob declared to the air around them. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and released it slowly.
Rachel held her hands out as a shudder of power and fortitude expanded through Jacob; she could feel his energy lifting up Eve, enswathing her.
“Wake, Eve,” he urged. “Return to us. To your power. Your control. Come home.”
The response was immediate.
Eve sighed as her eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at the man she adored. “My brilliant love…your light and strength pulled me from the depths!”
Jacob beamed. “I’m so glad it helped.”
“You always do,” she sighed happily, reinvigorated. “Thank you both,” she said, making sure Rachel knew she was just as appreciated, their efforts both helped her fight back the clutching darkness she hadn’t wanted to fall victim to again. “I could feel Prenze trying to slither back into my consciousness. But he was weakened by the day. He’d gone so long without censure I’m sure he thought he’d just slip back into the shadows again after all this.”
With a deep breath, Eve sat up and cried, “I renounce thee!,” pushing her hands up as if shoving away unwelcome presences. The gas lamps flared as if directly responsive to her calling forth elemental forces, and Eve felt certain the collective shielding did exactly what it was supposed to do this time; a muse of fire.
“Finally.” She tapped the center of her forehead. “A bit of peace and quiet!”
Zofia appeared before Eve in a sudden sweeping motion, all cold air and moonlight in her ethereal form.
“Dearest little one!” Eve cried, reaching out and through her as if to hug her.
“Fondness soon, Eve, but now, right now, plug your spectral ears,” the girl exclaimed anxiously, and motioned to Rachel the instruction, tapping the center of her grey, transparent forehead just as Eve had done and then putting fingers in her ears, signaling the need to block and protect her third eye and all Sensitivities. Rachel nodded.
“What’s happening?” Eve asked the ghost.
“Prenze lashed out against the whole spirit world,” Zofia explained. “It is lashing back. You will be overwhelmed. I must go and scout.” She disappeared again.
Eve turned to Jacob, reaching up to touch his face.
“We must shield again, just as you did a moment ago, Jacob. How brilliant you were! In the darkness I felt your embrace pull me away from his violence, your blessings sustaining me. I felt my feet underneath me again, representing how you ground me. Right now, we must shield not only from malevolence but from the world of wraiths entirely. It will get very loud in here, even for someone who is spectrally adjacent such as yourself.”
Jacob nodded and went to the bottle of headache tablets he’d brought down and offered a fresh pair. Eve took them and swallowed with cooled tea.
Eve heard it before anyone saw it. “It’s coming…” she murmured. “We should sit.”
Everyone did, just in time for a wave of silvery light to crash over them as if a dam had burst, covering them in cold air that blew their hair back and swept around them in a torrent. The flood lasted a few moments, and the assembled company stared at it, following it to the door and looking out as it swept over the park, collecting more light from the memory of the bones there, and onward downtown, toward its target.