Authors: Lisa Ann Brown
“I beg you, sister, leave and the dark will not find you.”
A loud sob burst from the woman clutching the blue hanky.
“Klara! Is that you?” she sobbed out and Arabel realized where she had recognized the woman from, this was Klara’s grieving sister.
Francesca’s hands swirled over the crystal globe at a rapid pace while she channelled the spirit of Klara.
“He will find you if you stay, and I do not want you to suffer further, dear one.”
Klara’s sister’s sobs increased in volume, her eyes were open and she stared at Francesca in a mixture of sorrow and anger.
“Who did this to you?” she demanded.
Francesca remained silent. The woman looked ready to snap.
“Who did this to you?” she repeated, her voice taking on the not-so-subtle edge of hysteria.
“I am gone and far away. Do not trouble yourself, but leave, leave this place and save yourself.”
Francesca suddenly pitched forward toward the table, but was caught immediately by her mother’s large hands, and placed gently back against the chair, where she rested and became herself again as the spirit of Klara departed. Her mother resumed the ceremony.
“Thank you Klara, for heeding our summons!” Madame de Lorimar spoke huskily in the gloomy darkness. “Alice-May, are you near? Your loved ones have assembled here, they must speak with you, show yourself, spirit!” She clapped her hands three times, as she had earlier in the night, and Francesca righted herself in her chair, and her hands moved over the crystal ball once more.
Arabel thought she saw something moving, forming, by Francesca’s head, but she blinked twice, and the image and sensation were gone. Eli sighed deeply beside her and Arabel could feel how tense he was, how tense the entire room was. It was as if no one could breathe or dared to try, and the pressure of the sorrowful expectation was hard to bear.
Only Francesca seemed oblivious to the energetic charge. She seemed ensconced within her own world; her hands moved quickly over her crystal ball, her lips forming inaudible words and her back was held impeccably straight as she stood. The only relations to Alice-May that had been found, her older brother Michael Turner, and his wife Ellie, sat stiffly together, their hands clenched in one another’s, their serious faces pale and drawn, their eyes closed tightly.
“Why? Why have you summoned me? Am I to have no peace, ever?” Francesca whispered.
Michael pushed back from the table noisily, his eyes snapping open. “Alice-May? Honey, is that you?”
“I was known as she once, now I have no name,” Francesca answered softly.
“Alice-May! Oh honey, we miss you so much!” Michael’s voice broke on the last word, as he began to sob. Ellie stood up to embrace him, and they clutched each other as he cried.
“He is dead now, that killed me,” Francesca pronounced, and her voice was barely above a whisper.
“What’s that, honey?” Michael managed. “The man who – did this – to you, is dead? Who was he?”
“He used his body to betray me and now he, who loved me, lies in water, face down, never to breathe again.”
“Who, Alice-May? Who are you talking about, honey?” Ellie asked.
“He used him to reach me, and now one is dead and another lives to kill again. I am sorry, dear brother, I am so very sorry.”
Francesca swayed slightly, and again her mother was there to catch her and gently place her back down in her chair. A Gypsy servant placed the indigo satin cover overtop the crystal ball and began to light candles in the wickets on the walls, signalling the end of the séance.
Arabel was surprised at the brevity of the proceedings. Michael and Ellie Turner stood, stunned, unwilling for the contact with their dead loved one to be broken so quickly.
Madame de Lorimar stood and held her arms open wide, embracing the room.
“Thank you spirits, for granting us access to the other dimensions, we are pleased to connect with you!”
With a deep bow, Madame de Lorimar concluded the ceremony, just as above Francesca’s head, Arabel saw the grey swirling energy forming, and the man with the blank grey eyes, staring. Arabel clutched at Eli, and he turned to her, and saw the figure forming at the same time.
The room seemed to shrink in dimension, becoming smaller and smaller. The table seemed to lurch forward; some magnetic force was pulling it and pitching the seated occupants off of their chairs to the floor, and the candle was tipped over, catching flame to the wood table, trapping the séance goers underneath of it.
The crystal ball rolled wildly off of the table, caught luckily at the last moment by an astute Gypsy handler. Vicious fingers clamped down on Arabel’s throat, clenching tighter and tighter, Arabel was soon fighting for air. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if through mud, as if through heavy solid substances.
Screaming, shouting, someone shaking her.
The energy above Francesca’s head was funnelled like a grey tornado, swirling viciously and Arabel watched as the man gained strength and shape and the choking sensation increased. The other séance goers were frantically beating at the flames of the burgundy draperies as they engorged themselves with fire and still others were trying to open the doors of the room to escape, but the doors were steadfast and would not budge.
Madame de Lorimar lay on the thick rug near Francesca, and Arabel was unsure if either of them were breathing. Arabel tried to make her way over, with Eli clasping her hand tightly, but they could not make it through the invisible layer of magic the grey swirling energy had placed around the medium. The tornado above Francesca’s head was increasing, the screams in the room were deafening and the heat from the hungry fire fed eagerly upon the ancient window dressings.
Mr. Hill, the proprietor, banged on the door frantically, calling out “Fire! Fire!” to anyone who might be on the other side to open the door as it was still jammed from within the room. Arabel was finding it harder and harder to breathe; the air was getting choked with smoke and the fingers on her throat were pulsing and pressing mercilessly.
Eli could see Arabel struggling and he summoned all of his strength to send a psychic blast to the energy trapping her windpipe. He pictured Arabel breathing freely with no impediments and he placed a seal of Gypsy protection around her. Then he glanced at Francesca and Madame de Lorimar. Eli realized they had to obliterate the funnel of dark energy before the grey eyed man could form in this dimension. Eli was relieved when Arabel pressed on his hand, and he could see the immediate danger for her had passed.
Arabel felt a white cooling mist surround her. She looked to see her parents floating in the room, dressed as they always were dressed, loving her as they always loved her, and protecting her from beyond the grave as she was lucky enough to have them do. Arabel saw them for only a flash, a flash that happened so quickly that she wondered if she had imagined their presence completely.
Then she was thrust back to the games-room, where fire raged and the stubborn doors trapped them inside the burning room. Arabel moved toward the window with Eli. The flames licked at them but they persisted. On the other side of the fire, lay the window and the balcony, offering a chance to escape; if only they could manoeuvre past the angry flames and somehow distract the grey energy from Francesca and Madame de Lorimar long enough to free them from the dark magic imprisoning them.
Before they could make it through the burning curtains, the large wooden double doors burst open. The Gypsy servants of Madame de Lorimar stood there, clutching various instruments of magic and a host of inn occupants and employees stood with them. Buckets of water were thrown into the room immediately and the séance goers rushed out into the waiting coolness of the hallway. The grey swirling energy seemed to buckle in on itself, and then it retreated, vanishing completely within seconds.
Arabel stood, stunned, for a moment, clutching Eli’s hand in the hallway as some concerned woman pressed a glass of water into her free hand and patted her cheek. The stink of the burnt and soggy room made Arabel’s eyes tear and she turned away from the doorway, moving further down the hall. Eli followed Arabel, sipping generously of the cool drink he’d been given. A doctor tended to the injured and Francesca was carried off by a muscular Gypsy and two others helped Madame de Lorimar down the stairs and away from the disastrous scene.
“Are you able to walk?” Eli asked Arabel.
“Yes, I’d like to go to my room,” Arabel replied, turning, and he followed as she threaded her way through the crowded hallway and down the bustling stairwell.
As they moved further away from the games-room, Arabel began to feel more like herself. She glanced at Eli. His face was quite dirty, and his jacket was streaked with wet soot. To Arabel, he’d never looked more handsome. A surge of love for him overcame her, shocking her to her core.
Love? What did she know of such feelings? What did one do with such feelings? How could they come upon one so quickly, with so little warning? Could they be trusted?
Arabel’s room seemed so quiet and still after all of the turmoil and disaster. The cool blue and green tones of the room were soothing, and Arabel and Eli were both glad to be alone and away from the harsh evil of the dark spirit. Eli dipped a cloth in the pitcher of water on Arabel’s dresser. He quickly and efficiently cleaned his face and hands. He changed the water in the basin and then picked it up along with a new cloth.
Arabel was sitting at the window seat and Eli moved to her. He sat beside her and tenderly wiped the cloth over her face and neck, removing the dark streaks of soot and grime. Eli traced the cloth over Arabel’s skin, gently, eager to discover the planes of her face.
He moved away momentarily to clean and wring out the cloth before returning to the window seat and taking hold of Arabel’s hands. Eli massaged the cloth over them, paying special attention to her long, strong fingers, underneath of her delicate nails, and the soft pad of her hand. Eli cleaned one hand, and then the other, moving up over her dainty wrists, to run the length of her pale arms, cleaning, massaging, memorizing.
Arabel sighed, her eyes closed. Was there anything so lovely as this? she wondered. She wanted to find out. She opened her eyes to meet Eli’s beautiful brown eyes staring back at her with unguarded tenderness. Arabel’s lips parted involuntarily and Eli moved to her, pressing his soft lips to hers in their first kiss.
A kiss which went on for some time, as Arabel felt the desire and the anticipation she’d longed to feel surrounding her, submerging her in sensual delight. Eli’s lips were soft yet firm, demanding yet yielding. He nibbled gently on her bottom lip; teasing her, their tongues danced in the ancient exploration of lovers. Arabel sighed, lost in the pleasure of the moment, wanting only to spin it out until neither of them could move away from the intensity.
Eli’s hands moved up Arabel’s back, kneading at the sore muscles; his lips traveled her neck, down to the hollow of her throat. Eli pressed his lips over Arabel’s heart. He could feel the increased tempo of its beat as he moved his lips over it, and it filled him with a physical ache and a romantic desire he’d never felt the intensity of before. Eli pulled Arabel to him, desire heating, the need for further closeness a surge of energy he didn’t want to fight.
Arabel clutched Eli, her hands roaming his back, his arms, his neck, his chest; she wanted to see him, to know him, to discover love with him. She felt no fear, only desire, and she wanted to be with him fully, to love him fully as a woman loves a man. Behind her eyes, deep colours of passionate red, orange and bright pink danced, joining in the elaborately sensual web of mystery. It didn’t feel as though they had just met; it felt as though they had known each other forever.
Eli could feel Arabel’s intention; he knew she would give herself to him this night. Arabel felt as he did, she also allowed the recognition between them, she also felt the ancient connection; it was renewed, and now it was renewing them.