Authors: Teri Brown
“Maybe someone is following her?”
“Perhaps.” I can tell by his voice that he doesn’t believe it.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“Harrison and I believe there’s a very good chance that it’s someone inside the organization. Or that at the very least someone from the inside is giving out information.”
I swallow. “To Dr. Boyle?”
He shrugs. “There’s no hard evidence that he’s involved, but you and I both know it’s a very real possibility.”
“Do you have any suspects?”
“No. That’s where you come in. You’re the only person we know who can sense what other people are feeling. The Society is trying the business-as-usual approach, so the scientists are running tests. They are all chomping at the bit to test you, so I thought maybe you could check out the scientists first and then make up something to get close to the board of directors. Most of them are scientists too, but not all of them.”
I nod. “I’ll be happy to help out in any way I can, but as you know, my abilities are still erratic. They’re more powerful now, but I can’t always pick up someone’s emotions by sending out a pulse strand, the way you taught me. Sometimes I need to touch them.” When Cole began training me to control my sensitivity to other people’s emotions, he told me to envision myself connecting to them with an imaginary ribbon that pulses with their feelings. The description is apt if a bit fanciful, and the name stuck.
“I know.” Cole leans back in the seat, thinking.
I bite my lip, knowing what I have to do. “I think I know a way I can touch all of them without anyone being suspicious.”
“What’s that?”
“I can hold a séance. They’re going to want to test me anyway. That would be a perfect way to get a good read off all of them at once.”
He turns toward me and takes both of my hands in his. The gesture and the caring I feel from him bring tears of relief to my eyes. I blink them back.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” he asks, his voice soft. “I know how much they upset you.”
I shiver, remembering how it felt to be a ghost’s mouthpiece. “Maybe I don’t have to have a real séance. I can just pretend to have one until I get a solid read on everyone.”
“If I remember correctly, the séances you were doing with your mother were fake until suddenly they weren’t. We’ve practiced trying to control how and when you feel someone’s emotions, but we haven’t played around with your ability to conjure up dead people or your visions of the future.”
He has a point. “But Walter is the only spirit I’ve actually brought up. Perhaps that was just an anomaly?”
“Do you really want to risk it? What if we summon something or someone we can’t control?”
I chew on my thumb, wishing I had a deck of cards. Shuffling calms me, and right now my nerves are pinging around my stomach like manic grasshoppers. I think of Jonathon, a young man I didn’t even know, and poor Pratik, who I had only met once before he was brutally murdered. I’m connected to both of them in a way that is both baffling and frightening. Then I think about Leandra, Calypso, Jenny, and the other Sensitives who I
do
know and I’m sure of what I need to do. If someone is targeting Sensitives and someone within the Society knows about it, shouldn’t I do anything in my power to stop it? Wouldn’t that be worth the risk?
I turn to Cole.
“Let’s do it.”
He nods slowly. “I’ll talk to Harrison and Leandra as soon as possible.”
We cart my things into the lobby and then he kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll let you unpack and rest. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
I nod and he’s gone, leaving me feeling orphaned and alone. I try to shrug it off, but the feeling clings to me, soft and limp, like a damp blanket.
I check at the desk for messages and mail and receive a handful. Clutching them, I follow the porter who hauls my trunk up three flights of stairs, because the lift is broken again. I wish Louie had at least sprung for a hotel with a lift that didn’t threaten to plummet to the ground with every groan.
After putting my trunk in my room, he hovers, waiting for his tip. I cover my sigh with a smile as I hand him a coin. I’ll have to get more money from the bank tomorrow. Payday isn’t for another week.
Unpacking my clothes, I make a pile to send out to get washed tomorrow. At least the hotel has a laundry service. I rinsed my black beaded dress several times over the three-week tour to get the blood out, but even laundered it will never be the same. Not to mention it smells bad, which made everything else stink, even after Billy found me a cloth bag to wrap it in.
I empty my trunk and am about to close the lid when I notice a lump about two inches long under the lining. Some sort of object is stuck under the silk, but I don’t see any loose spots where something could have slipped underneath. The silk lining is pulled tight and sewn under the leather of the trunk. Frowning, I run my finger around the top and find an area that feels different from the rest. I bend for a closer look. The spot is only about an inch long, but it appears as if it’s been glued instead of sewn.
Working it with my fingernail, I pull the hole open and then yank on the threads to make it large enough to get my hand in. Tilting the trunk to make it easier, I pull out the object. It’s warm to the touch and I drop it the moment I realize what it is.
A poppet.
One of my friends from the circus, Alice Brown, a former maid from Atlanta, also known as Komatchu, the Last of the Zulu Princesses, taught me about poppets, or voodoo dolls. Her mama used to make them on a regular basis to curse people she thought had wronged her. Alice, a devout Baptist, didn’t believe in them, exactly, but said she had seen too many strange things happen to people after her mama fashioned one of those dolls.
Gingerly, I pick up the poppet and sit it on the dresser. It’s made of wax and molded into the crude figure of a woman. Bright blue beads make up the eyes and a bit of red ribbon is worked into the wax to resemble the mouth. A scrap of cloth is wrapped around it and there are a few human hairs stuck to the head. The hair is dark brown.
Like mine.
My heart vaults up into my throat and my stomach churns. No. It can’t be me. Why would anyone want to curse me? Maybe it had been there when Jacques and Mother gave me the trunk? No. It had been brand-new from the shop.
My legs give out and I sit heavily on the bed, staring at the little effigy meant to be me. I think of the lights in the mirror and the mental confusion that has plagued me like it did at Cole’s house and at the Society meeting. Cold runs through me as I remember that Pratik had been killed ritualistically. As much as I detest Dr. Boyle, his lust was for money and power. This, this is something else.
One thing is certain. I need to tell Cole right away.
C
ole and I discussed my little stowaway at length during dinner with the Wrights last night. He and Harrison both went on high alert and I could barely get Cole to leave the hotel afterward. His alarm is balm to my bruised heart.
Harrison took the poppet to a friend of his at Scotland Yard to find out more about it, in case there’s something that would give us a clue about where it could have come from, though that seems highly unlikely to me.
Because they now believe that I’ve been targeted, Cole and Harrison tried to insist that I have someone protecting me at all times. Like Leandra, I refused. Neither of us wish to feel like we’re prisoners and both of us promised to be careful. While neither man liked it, they are forced to see the logic of it. They can’t conduct an investigation while on guard duty.
We did rush the séance along to try to ferret out the mole. I’m standing at one end of the conference room with Leandra, Jenny, and Cole, keeping a close eye on the door. Everyone, it seems, is eager to see what the new girl can do. Besides the eight board members, four of whom are researchers, three more scientists join us.
Then, because Leandra wanted to be involved, we had to invite the other Sensitives. Including Cole and me, that makes seventeen people at the séance, more than I have ever had. My mother and I never allowed more than seven or eight people and our reasons were simple. The more people there are, the more difficult it is to pull the wool over their eyes. Like the old saying goes,
You can fool some of the people all of the time, all of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time
.
I’m just elated that I don’t have to try to fool anyone this time. These people know abilities are erratic, and though they’ll be disappointed if the séance doesn’t work the way they hope it will, it won’t take anything away from me or my abilities.
According to Leandra and Cole, I have to pass three tests to prove my psychical abilities to the Society and become a member. At this point the jury is still out on whether I actually want to join or not. None of the Sensitives I’ve met seem terribly happy, and if the only advantage to membership is learning from other Sensitives—well, I can do that without formal membership.
“Are you all right?” Cole asks.
Jenny lays a hand on my arm and my nerves ease a bit at her touch.
I nod. “It’s strange to be doing this for so many people whom I haven’t even met, and even stranger not to be preparing for it.” I glance at Cole, and he understands that I mean it seems odd not to be preparing to cheat people.
Mr. Gamel enters the room and immediately joins me. “Is there anything you need?”
I pull myself up to my full height and look him in the eye. “I don’t need any props, Mr. Gamel. I’m not a charlatan trying to swindle money from people.”
Cole chuckles next to me, and Mr. Gamel looks confused. “Of course not, I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” Then I raise a finger as if I just remembered something. “Oh, I do need one thing. I need to touch everyone’s hand before we get started. It’s important that I have a sense of everyone who is in the room so I can recognize any unfamiliar spirits that respond to my presence.”
Mr. Gamel tilts his head to the side as if considering my request. I hold my breath.
“You do know that some of the scientists and board members don’t like to touch Sensitives? In the past, we’ve had Sensitives use touch to read minds. It’s very disconcerting for the researcher to have his subject know about the argument he had with his wife, for instance.”
“I can understand that,” I tell him. “But I do not read minds.”
Mr. Gamel’s thin lips stretch into a smile. “We don’t really know what you can or can’t do, Miss Van Housen. Between the incidents here at the Society and your outside activities, we have not had time to test you yet.”
“True. But it is my séance. If someone doesn’t want me to touch him, he is more than welcome to leave.” Remembering the whole point was for me to get a read on everyone’s feelings, I put my hand on Mr. Gamel’s arm, placating him. “Please inform everyone that I do not read minds.”
He nods and joins the others. Calypso sails in the door and gives me a jaunty wave. I haven’t seen her since my return, though she did send a welcome note. I’ve been so busy, we haven’t had a chance to talk and I find myself missing her.
“I’m so excited to be a part of this!” Calypso exclaims, kissing my cheek. Her face is flushed and her eyes glitter with anticipation. “Raising the dead, what an incredible ability! I must say I’m jealous.”
“I don’t actually raise the dead,” I tell her, shuddering at the thought. “That would be awful. I merely see and speak to spirits.”
Well. One spirit. And only because of Cole’s involuntary tendency to make other Sensitives stronger. I look around the room, wondering about everyone else’s abilities. I know that Leandra dreams other people’s dreams, Jenny makes people feel better through touching them, and Calypso has the power of influence over people. How has Cole’s coming back to the Society affected their abilities? I stare at Jared, who is speaking to Mr. Casperson. What are his abilities?
I jump when Mr. Gamel claps his hands. “Anna, would you like to explain a little about what you are going to do and what we might experience?”
I swallow as everyone looks at me. The thought that one of these people might be practicing black magic or working with someone who does is terrifying. After describing my symptoms to Cole and the Wrights last night, Leandra said it sounded as if I had been psychically attacked.
I didn’t ask her how she knew.
People start taking seats and Mr. Gamel waves me to the head of the table.
Cole gives me an encouraging nod and I can feel the connection between us, strong and sure. I smile back at him and face the others. “Thank you for coming today. It’s my desire to show the Society one of my gifts—that of talking to spirits. Of course, I didn’t know I would be showing the entire society all at once.”
I smile and several people chuckle. “As many of you know, there are frauds who claim to talk to the spirit world for money, and, yes, my mother and I made our living for many years with séances. The difference is that I am not a fraud. Colin Archer has witnessed my ability to talk to the dead, not once but twice.”
Mr. Casperson raises his hand slightly. I nod at him.
“We’ve done a bit of investigating, Miss Van Housen, and are not entirely convinced of you and your mother’s authenticity. Can you explain your use of such well-known props as the spirit cabinet, the chalkboard, and the laying on of coals?”
I cringe, but Cole and I knew that someone was going to bring my past up, and I’m ready for it. “When I say that my mother and I made our living as mediums, we did commit many acts of fraud.”
There’s a swift intake of breath and I smile calmly before continuing. “While I have other abilities, this particular one is new and didn’t manifest itself until in the presence of Mr. Archer. Also, as you can see, none of the devices my mother and I used during those séances are currently in the room.”
Mr. Price nods as if he has just had something confirmed.
“Now I am going to attempt to contact the spirit world.” I glance over at Mr. Price, who is running a complicated-looking machine, and he gives a curt nod.
Leandra sets out a half-dozen candles on the battered conference table and lights them. I hadn’t thought to do anything like that because in my mind this wasn’t a real or even a fake real séance, but Leandra said we should attempt to keep up some kind of appearances. I glance over at Cole, who gives me the go-ahead with a flicker of his eyes.
“Before we turn off the lights, I would very much like to meet all of you formally and shake your hands. Opening myself up to spirits is frightening and it’s important that I know who all of you are. Besides, I’m trying to re-create the circumstances that led me to successfully channel the dead in the past.”
Some of the researchers look uncomfortable and I hasten to add, “If anyone is uncomfortable shaking my hand, you are more than welcome to leave. I completely understand your reluctance.”
I hold my breath but no one moves toward the door and I think I know why. The Society may include all kinds of psychic phenomena now, but it was founded to research the spirit world and communication with the dead. Cole told me that many of these researchers feel I may be the first person they have run across who may actually be able to do it. His testimony and the fact that I have other abilities they don’t know about has them intrigued.
I take a deep breath. I hope to God I don’t come across any real spirits. All I want to do is find the mole.
Mr. Gamel is directly on my right so I shake his hand. It’s thin and clammy and I work at not shuddering. All I feel is curiosity pulsing through him. I shiver and quickly move on.
Mr. Price holds out his hand. “I don’t think I had a chance to mention at our last meeting that I am a ghost hunter. It’s different from what we do here . . . I don’t try to find ways to make the ghosts come to me. I go find them. I’m running the electrograph machine.”
I reach out my hand and he clasps it firmly in his large one. The buzz of confidence he emits is tremendous, but I also sense an odd secrecy about him. I look into his eyes and he stares back, a small smile playing about his mouth. Yes, this is a man of many secrets, but are they the ones we’re seeking?
Mr. Casperson is next, and to my surprise he looks very different from the open-faced man I first met for tea. His pale skin is so translucent I can see the blue tracing of veins underneath and the skin under his eyes is bruised from lack of sleep. I sense his tension even before I clasp his hand. As soon as our palms touch, it’s accompanied by a familiar spark and my eyes widen.
Mr. Casperson is a Sensitive!
But before I can process that, his fear hits me so hard it takes all my control to keep from crying out. He may be a Sensitive, but he is also very, very afraid of something.
But what?
Of me discovering his secret?
I let go of his hand, relieved, and glance at Cole. He knows something has happened but isn’t sure what it is. One by one, I meet the other researchers, briefly shaking hands with each.
My mind races as I turn to the Sensitives lining the walls. The little sparks of recognition I receive as soon as I touch them doesn’t surprise me as it did with Mr. Casperson. From Jared I get nervousness and I can feel his shyness with me. Nothing threatening there. Leandra feels tense, and from Jenny I get the sense of calm I always do when she touches me. Cole gives my hand a squeeze and I smile at the slight pressure. Our connection is still strong and true, and I feel his encouragement coming to me on a shining line.
When I feel Calypso’s hand, I get nothing. Surprised, I look up into her eyes, but find they are focused on someone behind me. I swivel to see but she gives my hand a warm squeeze. “Good luck,” she says, smiling at me.
My legs tremble as I take a seat at the head of the table. What did that mean? The four of us—Cole, Leandra, Harrison, and I—had agreed not to tell anyone what we were doing. I bite my lip, wishing I could just cancel the séance—I did what I came to do, after all—but everyone is expecting more.
“Are you ready?” I ask Mr. Price, who has taken his position behind the machine. He gives me the go-ahead and I nod at Leandra to turn off the lights.
The candles splash shadows against the walls and give the participants a strange cast to their faces. Mr. Casperson’s face is almost green. I hope he doesn’t get sick in the middle of the séance.
“Everyone hold hands,” I tell them even though the last thing I want is to hold Mr. Gamel’s creepy skeleton hand. It’s probably too soon to tell everyone it didn’t work and it’s time to go home.
Projecting my voice, I begin chanting the same mantra my mother used at our séances. Might as well go by the script I know until I can call a halt.
“Spirits! Use me as your mouthpiece. I am open, yours!”
The room is silent except for the sound of someone breathing and the nervous shuffling of feet. I pause, my sense of showmanship instinctively drawing out the moment. There is something familiar and almost comforting about the progression. In spite of how much I hated the séances, I spent so many hours doing them with my mother that it almost feels like second nature.
What does that say about my nature?
Then I give an involuntary shiver. Slowly, in that deep, still place that recognizes and fears the unknown, I become aware of something moving that doesn’t feel like fidgeting. “I want everyone to place their hands on the table, palms down, and keep perfectly still,” I order, hoping that it’s just a person.
It’s not.
Whatever it is I’m feeling is still on the prowl. I concentrate, sweat beading on my forehead. A pins-and-needles feeling crawls up my legs and a sense of déjà vu sweeps over me.
This is the same being I felt in the hotel in Budapest.
Dread blooms in my chest as the temperature drops. Several people in the room gasp with the shock of the cold washing over them.
A tendril of fog or smoke dances down the table toward me and warning bells go off in my head. It’s exactly like the fog I saw before Walter possessed me the first time. I want to scream for Cole but can’t open my mouth.
A buzzing starts in my ears and suddenly my mind goes to jelly. Once again, I feel as if I’m trying to think through aspic. Not now!
Suddenly another tendril joins the first one and I moan as they surround me. They merge for a moment and then part, a ghostly dance or fight perhaps. My teeth chatter with cold and my knees buckle.
“Anna!” Cole’s voice is far away and I sense him holding me up, but unlike before, the spirits don’t dissipate at his touch nor does the confused, fuzzy feeling in my head.
Without warning, it’s as if I’m being ripped apart from the inside out like a thousand knives twisting inside my body. The spirits have me. I hear voices in the distance and know that I’m surrounded by people, but can’t reach out to them. I feel like I did when I was underwater after being shot when Dr. Boyle tried to kidnap me. Alone. Paralyzed. Trapped. Suddenly, a magnificent gust blows through the room. The candles go out and I hear the clatter of metal falling against the floor. Several people scream, but I’m still frozen. I feel Cole picking me up, cradling me in his arms, calling my name. Leandra and Jenny surround me, speaking quietly, lending Cole strength as he tries to reconnect with me, but the pulse strand he is frantically sending is glancing off me as if there’s a shield keeping it out.