Authors: Lisa Ann Brown
Arabel strode toward the full-length looking glass in the small sitting room. The fabric moved and rustled about her legs as she moved across the room. When she surveyed herself, Arabel was pleasantly surprised at her reflection. She’d picked a rich, ruby-red satin material for her Autumn Ball frock and it appeared that she had indeed made a wise choice. The vibrant colour set Arabel’s eyes off merrily, enhancing their deep blue depths to an astonishing degree, and the simple cut of the gown was designed show off Arabel’s lithe figure to perfection.
Mrs. Ingemyer pulled and tugged at the material, bunching it in the back so Arabel would have a slight bustle and then the dressmaker adjusted the neckline somewhat so that the cut was quite low, in a deep v shape that accented Arabel’s long, graceful, swan-like neck.
“You’ll have your hair up, Miss Arabel?” the seamstress inquired and Arabel nodded.
“Yes, I believe that’s what Morna has in mind,” Arabel replied easily, enjoying the feel of the cool satin upon her skin.
“You’ll not sit out one dance, I’ll wager,” Mrs. Ingemyer prophesied with satisfaction.
Arabel quickly changed out of her new ball gown and thanked the seamstress for her hard work, and then she went to seek out Morna. Arabel had not had a chance to ask the maid where her grandmother was and she wanted to know, as Amelia Bodean had made herself scarce since two nights ago when she’d shown up from her club and drunkenly confronted Arabel.
As Arabel passed the formal sitting room, she paused. The door was closed. Arabel leaned in closer, to listen at the door to see if voices could be heard, but there was nothing. Puzzled, she sought out Morna, who happened to be catching up on gossip in the kitchen with Cook while sipping a large cup of hot cocoa.
“Shall you join me, miss, in a cup of hot cocoa?” Morna asked as Arabel entered the kitchen.
“No, thank you, Morna,” Arabel replied. “Have you seen my grandmother today?” she asked.
A barely imperceptible look was exchanged between Morna and Cook. Arabel sat down at the table, staring Morna down with her astute blue eyes.
“What? What is it?” she asked.
Morna took her time in replying. For all her eagerness to gossip and speculate, Morna was not an unkind person, and she was incredibly fond of Arabel. She wanted only to spare Arabel’s feelings.
“She’s gone, miss.”
“Gone?” Arabel echoed blankly. “Gone where?”
Cook coughed lightly and Morna stared into her cocoa.
“Tell me!” Arabel demanded, a sliver of fear slicing into her.
“She’s gone, miss. Gone to see the Gypsies.”
Arabel was astounded. “But she hates them!” she declared. “What business could she possibly have with them?”
Morna eyed Arabel sadly. “Why, ‘tis to do with you, of course,” she replied.
Arabel was rendered speechless. What trouble did her grandmother intend on stirring up now?
“What does she want with the Gypsies?”
“I dunno exactly, miss. She said she needed to clear some matters up.”
Arabel rose to her feet slowly. “I’m going into town,” she said uneasily. “I should be back for supper.”
“Aye, miss,” Morna answered and Arabel left the room as Morna and Cook exchanged further worried glances.
Arabel was unclear as to where she was going to go or what exactly she wanted to achieve. She only knew that she could not sit at home and wait for her grandmother to return. It was enough to drive her out of her mind with speculation and worry. Arabel quickly donned her stout black boots and her thick cape and fastened her
black woollen hat upon her head
. She grabbed her black velvet gloves on her way out and rushed into the crisp morning air.
Arabel did not turn toward town but instead headed to the path which led down to the ravine nearby. Arabel realized she didn’t want conversation, or company; she wanted silence and nature. Ira swooped down to join her, landing perfectly upon her left shoulder and Arabel knew the bird was the only company she desired at the moment.
The events of the previous evening were very much on Arabel’s mind. They’d destroyed the wheel of death in the same manner as the previous one, only this time, Xavier, Francesca and Madame de Lorimar had performed the necessary rites from within the circle of sacred flame. Arabel had stood witness with Eli, Zander, Baltis and Mireille, and other Gypsies she did not know, and even though Arabel was merely an observer, the power of the evil shield had reached out to her and everyone else assembled.
Arabel had seen the determination in Xavier’s eyes and the resolute faith in Francesca’s, and she’d been buoyed by their strength. The shield had been doused in very powerful evil
,
but
thankfully
the
blood of poor Minnie seemed scarcely dry before the blue, flickering flames of freedom had licked eagerly at it and the darkness had
been forced to
let her go.
The cries had been heart-wrenching and Arabel had heard her own whimpers, coming from inside of her head, echoing the pain back to her. But the three Gypsies had done it; they had dismantled the evil force and burnt the shield into embers, thereby breaking the spell. The souls had been released and Arabel took a certain small pleasure in knowing she’d had a tiny part in helping the victims find peace in death at long last.
She’d come home late, weary, and Eli had not come in. He’d dropped her off and had held her tenderly for a few moments before leaving; every motion intended to provide Arabel with further proof of his abiding love.
“Be safe, sweet Arabel,” he’d whispered in her ear and then he was gone, riding away on Jovah back to Murphy Estates.
Now, as Arabel strolled alongside the ravine with Ira, a feeling of peace came upon her, providing a fraction of relief from the tumult of her thoughts and feelings. The sound of the water ambling downstream in the ravine was a soft lull and Ira chortled approvingly. The crow had been at the Copse during the night, and he dutifully reported back to Arabel that his favourite subject, Jonty Governs, was resting comfortably and his mother had not left his side.
Arabel wondered about Jonty; had he known his attacker?
Eli had informed Arabel that Jonty had not maintained any memory of the attack; it was as if someone had wiped his mind clean. Probably not that difficult to do when the brain’s half empty, Arabel reflected wryly, but it would still require some advanced level of magical skill to attain that sort of memory-wipe. And harder still, she surmised, when the subject was someone as psychically talented and magically protected as Zander Cross.
The ravine wound down toward the old Crow’s Nest Pass graveyard and Arabel’s steps led her unerringly to her parents’ graves. She sat down on the wet wooden bench, glad her cape was long enough to keep her from getting soaked, and she stared somewhat moodily at the limestone gravestones.
Violetta Emily Spade, Patrick Edward Spade. The names rolled off Arabel’s tongue silently, in her mind. Arabel pictured her parents. She saw them floating in front of her, so real she could almost reach out and touch them.
And then Arabel realized that they
were
real. Arabel’s parents were there, right in front of her; their ghostly, milky-white, see-through forms hovered close enough for her to see the shimmering energy in precise detail.
“Mama!” Arabel exclaimed exultantly. “Father!”
The spectres smiled at Arabel, appearing as they had since their passing. Violetta - young and beautiful, Patrick – virile and magnetic. Arabel reached for them excitedly, her hand moving toward the shimmering figures, and passing right through them.
Violetta smiled at her daughter. From what seemed to be very far away, Arabel heard her voice distinctly.
“The Gift has always been in our family,” Violetta explained softly. “It passes down our lineage through the hearts of our women.”
“You have everything within you to defeat this enemy,” Arabel’s father chimed in, his voice a welcome balm to Arabel’s heart.
“What gift do you refer to, Mother?” Arabel asked.
The spectre smiled, shimmered, and began to disappear.
“No! Stay!” Arabel cried out, jumping to her feet, as if to chase them.
But the ghostly figures waved sadly and blew kisses to Arabel before disintegrating into the vast void of nothingness right before Arabel’s wistful eyes.
Ira flew off of Arabel’s shoulder, as if to follow the spectres. Arabel wondered dully if he could still see them and only she could not. Arabel peered within Ira’s mind and saw he was actually looking at something else; a shadowy black figure, moving amongst the trees at the crest of the next hill.
Arabel focused on the shape but could not discern what it was – human, spectre, evil spirit? She could not yet be certain. Arabel reached out for the energy field of the unknown entity and was shocked as she was pushed backward with a vicious force so intense that she stumbled against the wooden bench, bruising her leg, before tumbling violently to the wet ground.
Invisible fingers closed around Arabel’s throat and the burning sensation of choking began. Arabel reached desperately for her athame as she struggled against the negative entity. Ira cawed and flapped his wings and flew off violently in the direction of the shadowy black figure.
Arabel’s breath was forced; it was coming in small gasps as she struggled to free herself from the grip of the unknown evil force attacking her. Black spots began to dance in front of Arabel’s eyes and she realized she would soon pass out from lack of oxygen if she could not release herself. Arabel’s mind reached for the protective spells and her hand gripped her athame tightly. Arabel brandished the magical weapon into the air and uttered the first protective Gypsy spell her mind could remember.
The athame seemed to be on fire. It burned Arabel’s fingers. The athame began to glow strangely, emitting a pulsing blue-white heat. And then Arabel heard the haunting and sorrowful song; the ode of the Ondines.
Arabel could have wept in relief as the glowing mass of the Ondines flowed into and across her vision. The invisible fingers crippling Arabel’s windpipe eased slightly, and then mercifully released their harrowing grip entirely. Arabel fell, sharply, but was easily levitated immediately, and kept strangely buoyant by the very breath of the magical forest guardians.
The Ondines surrounded Arabel. The blissful women healed her bruises and calmed her frantic thoughts. Ira flew within their blue-white mass, basking in the beauty of the floating, ethereal creatures. The crow filled himself with their purity of intention and magical song, chortling softly. The glowing women keened into the rushing wind; they raised their ancient voices in unison. Their light radiated in strong waves, illuminating everything within their environment and covering all in a comforting blue-white glow. Arabel felt a softly cooling mist descend upon her brow.
When Arabel came to, she was lying across the wooden bench in front of the grave of her parents. Ira sat beside her, his black beak nuzzled into her chin, his corvid eyes peered deeply into Arabel’s with concern. Arabel reached out a shaky hand and stroked the bird. It was as if she had fallen asleep, she realized, but she knew there was more to it. The Ondines had rescued her, protected her, and healed her.
I am the luckiest girl alive, Arabel thought to herself.
Ira cawed boldly in agreement and Arabel slowly sat up, shaking her head from the fog of the attack. She looked immediately to the crest of the next hill over, where the shadowy figure had been, but there was no one there. Arabel was inclined to believe it had been a human attacker, one who was able to send forceful energetic waves of evil intent to subdue his victims. Had it been Saul Porchetto, or his unknown and equally evil partner?