Dominic's Nemesis (2 page)

The miss who had questioned her during
spin-the-phallus piped up. “Who in Hades are we supposed to be
contacting? Shouldn
’
t we
know so everyone will conjure up the same entity?”

“Shhh! I will act as a medium and recite the
invocation.” Their host commanded. “Empty your mind ladies…”

“A feat easily achievable by some.” Her niece
murmured near Eden’s ear.

Eden coughed to stifle the laugh that bubbled
up. She quite liked Lady Haversdale’s niece.

“Now, concentrate…and center yourselves on
promoting a safe, inviting atmosphere for benevolent spirits.”

Unconvinced, the bold redhead persisted. “But
what will we do once it gets here? Offer it tea?”

“Certainly not.” One of the triplets joined
in the jest. “Its the dead of night. A glass of port, or some
brandy perhaps.”

Lady
Haversdale sighed.
“Each lady will have a turn to address
the spirit. Try to think of a matter on which you need advice or
guidance.”

“Humph.” Huffed the redhead. “I do not think
it wise to discuss private matters with an unknown spirit.”

“Particularly after it
’
s had a glass of port.”

A chorus of giggles followed.

“All eyes closed.” Haversdale ordered. “We
must evoke a harmonious, spirit-friendly environment, if we have
hope of making contact. Even your breathing.”

The room grew quiet. Eden glanced around the
circle of shadowed faces. After a moment of indecision, she sighed,
and closed her eyes. In through her nose and out through her
mouth—-she tried to empty her mind of morose thoughts. She
concentrated on her parent
’
s souls reunited in the afterlife and pictured
herself joining them in heaven.

A tremor ran up her arm when Lady Haversdale
began murmuring something…a chant she realized after several
successive recitations. With each incantation, the words became
more forceful. Eden began to sway to the pull of the words, and the
lulling scent in the air. She found herself chanting along with
their host. The other ladies joined in until they were all chanting
in unison.

Eden felt the sensation of being an observer
instead of a participant in her mind. She heard herself…speaking,
but the words were different from the chant. There was no rhythm to
them, and they did not feel calm. She could not discern what she
said but knew that the words were desperate, her existence or
someone’s
depended on the message she conveyed. And then,
she felt slack, as if being released from a grip. The sensation
vanished with no warning, her consciousness slammed back into her
mind like a stampeding horse. She heard herself scream, and her
arms come up in a protective cross over her face as the fleeing
sensation ended.

Eden awakened sprawled on the floor with her
arms in a defensive position. She slit her eyes to find the room
over-bright. She blinked, and experienced a moment of vertigo, then
blinked several more times. When her head cleared, the first thing
she saw was a cushion contraption in a heap nearby. Hers?

“
Look!
She
’
s come out of
it.”

The others ringed her as if approaching a
rabid animal. Expressions ranged from horror to confusion.

Millie hovered nearest, a deep furrow in her
brow. “Eden?”

“Ms. Prescott?” Lady Haversdale stepped
forward.

She jerked at the sound of her name, and peek
at their host through the cross of her arms.

“Miss Prescott, please speak if you are
coherent.”

“What…
happened?
” She lowered her arms, feeling silly. “Why
is everyone staring at me?”

“Her voice is back to normal.” She heard
someone murmur.

“Time enough for explanations later.” Millie
bullied her way back to the forefront, bending to offer assistant.
“I take it, Lady Haversdale, that this is the end of the
festivities.”

* * *

“Psychic phenomena, gentlemen…and ladies, is
our topic this evening.” The speaker tipped an imaginary hat to his
audience.

Burlington
’
s Lecture Hall bustled near capacity. The crowd
consisted of gents with the odd flock of thrill-seeking ladies
sprinkled here and there. The smoldering lanterns built into the
baroque architecture threw off more shadows than light adding a
mystical quality to the proceedings. A contrived effect, no doubt,
Dominic thought.

The lecturer was Professor Davide Greyson. An
American, Dominic was surprised to learn…and also younger than
he
’
d imagined. Judging
by the lean build and silver-free hair, Greyson could be no more
than eight and twenty.

Careful not to call attention to himself,
Dominic edged the spectacles off the bridge of his nose to study
the speaker as the younger man tilted his brow and smiled at a
giggly threesome several rows out from the mahogany podium.

“Psychic phenomena. We are all familiar with
the term, but do you know what it means? What comes to mind?
Mesmeric trickery. Table-turning in the parlor. Spirit photography.
These social amusements are just that…amusing. When I, as a
scientist, approach psychic phenomena, I am speaking of mental
awareness and in extraordinary cases, mental influence over
external objects without physical means.” Greyson spoke in a voice
as eloquent as his attire, employing graceful gestures to
illustrate his points. “I further believe that,
Adepts
,
people gifted with such abilities are not a myth, but a reality.
There is no reason to be frightened or distrustful of adepts. They
are people just like you or I, but with the ability to utilize a
greater portion of their brain.”

Just then, a haphazardly dressed gent ejected
himself out of his seat. “Then where are they, mister?” He pitched
this way and that. “I say, I could use a bit of parlor trickery to
get me senses reelin
’
.”

A few snickers followed, but for the most
part, the drunkard was treated to a good many annoyed glares. He
seemed to realize the audience around him was hostile and collapsed
down into his seat. Dominic glimpsed neither anxiety nor hesitation
from Greyson. He ignored the outburst and dived back into his topic
with gusto.

“The problems lie with manifestation and
control. Think of the human brain as a locomotive engine. Having
worked primarily with—”

Dominic left off listening as he caught sight
of a familiar figure making a laborious trip down the aisle towards
him. He sat at the very back of the lecture hall and had struggled
to maintain an empty seat on either side of himself, but the effort
was in vane. Cael was alone.

His gaze remained trained on the podium.
“You
’
re late. And where
is Ethan? I thought he was coming with you.”

“A midnight lecture, Dominic? This is a
little perverse even for you.”

He let the comment go. Cael, like Greyson,
was American after all.

“Where is Ethan?” He branded his younger
brother with as hard a stare as he could manage through the tinted
barrier of his spectacles.

Cael returned the stare without flinching.
“Why do you persist in donning that ridiculous eye-wear?
It
’
s the middle of the
night in a darkened auditorium. No one is likely to—”

Dominic tensed. “Where. Is. Ethan?” He shoved
the spectacles back up the bridge of his nose and turned away. The
cravat restricted his movements somewhat, but he could still catch
his brother
’
s profile
out of the corner of his eye.

Dark blond brows and amber eyes registered
defeat as though he
’
d
just remembered to whom he spoke. “Settle down, Dom. I
haven
’
t the vaguest
notion of Ethan’s whereabouts. He muttered something about madcap
colonists run amok in polite society just before he commandeered my
hack and thundered off. I did however insist upon his promise that
the endeavor was not life-threatening.”

“
Good.
” Satisfied, Dominic returned his attention to
the podium. “The midnight venue was the only one where our presence
here would not draw attention…or questions.”

Cael glanced to the speaker before looking
back to his brother. “You still have not explained why you wanted
us here.”

“
Just
listen.
” Dominic raked a hand through tar-black locks, which
hung over the back of his collar. Ethan would have just listened.
Cael demanded more. He always had.

“Who is he, Dom?”

“An American radical. He is
university-trained, and has published multiple articles on science,
medicine…and spiritualism.”

His brother
’
s head snapped to face him. “
He’s
a
spiritualist?”

“No.” Dom frowned. “His publications
regarding Spiritualism are not supportive. I
’
m surprised you haven
’
t heard his name before.”

“Perhaps I would have if you did not object
to my applying for membership into the Royal Society. All the
respected practitioners-”

“Please do not change the subject.” Dom cut
him off. The last thing he wanted was another convoluted argument
about the validity of that scientific gossip club.

Cael exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “Dom. The
Society promotes the improvement of knowledge in the natural
sciences.”

“It
’
s an unholy mixture of science, politics, and
gossip.” He snapped. “But that
’
s neither here nor there. I called you here because
this assembly of his is the first in a series of academic campaigns
promoting the acceptance of a new field of science. Psionics. The
study of psychic deviants…
us
. His ultimate goal is
anyone
’s guess.
”

“I see.” Cael returned his attention to the
speaker. “You think he
’
s
a threat.”

“You don
’
t?” Dom groaned at his brother
’
s toneless reaction. He knew he
wouldn
’
t get an answer
from Cael. The man was impossible to read when he chose to be.

The ladies piled into Eden’s chamber like
children eager for a bedtime story. Millie fussed around her while
the bold redhead and Haversdale
’
s niece each sat at her right on the bed. The
remaining redheads and the giggly triplets alternated between
whispering to themselves and gawking at her. They were all agog to
see what would happen next. Eden did not blame them. She
’
d be intrigued too, were she not
the object of their fascination. Lady Haversdale, armed with a
stern expression, resumed her questioning.

“Now then, tell us the last thing you
remember.”

“I remember chanting along with everyone
else. I…eh…” Eden hesitated, not sure how to explain the other
impressions she
’
d
experienced.

“Do not fret.” Lady Haversdale smoothed,
reading her fears. “No one here is likely to label you a heretic or
a madwoman.”

“Aunt is right.”
Her niece concurred.
“We all participated. By
accusing you we would incriminate ourselves as well.”

The others dutifully nodded their heads.

Assuaged, Eden labored to explain. “I
remember feeling disconnected…from myself. As if, something else
had control of me and I was just the vessel it used to speak. It
did speak, did it not?”

“Yes.” Their host confirmed. “Quite
forcefully.”

Despite her increasing fear of knowing just
what had happened to her, Eden
’
s curiosity got the better of her. “What did I
say?”

Her question caused an uneasy silence in the
room.

“Well, tell her.” The bold one ordered. “Or I
will.”

One of the triplets spoke up. “Your voice
was…different. Husky. The sound of it took us by surprise…my
sisters and I. I
’
m
Primrose, by the by.”

Eden eyed her, then the two on either side of
her. She found their alikeness rather dizzying.

“The point, Prim, get to the point.” One
sister ordered.

“Yes, of course. You…the other you, I mean,
garbled something about sins and punishment. You sounded sort of
eh, desperate.”

“Hysterical more like.”

“Hysterical then.” Prim amended. “Over and
over again, perhaps with a few variations. Then, the most
frightening thing happened.”

Enraptured, Eden leaned towards her.

“For an instant, only an instant mind you,
you did not look like yourself. An energy of sorts emanated from
you. Then, your plaits were undone and flying around. Your hair is
so ashen…eh, it appeared to…
glisten
…a little.” She rushed on as if apologizing.
“It could have been just a trick of the light, because
you
’
re…also pale.”

The sister to her right took over the
re-telling. “That is when Lady Haversdale ordered us ladies to
break the circle and put out the candelabrum. We heard an awful
crash in the dark and then Prue, Prim and I helped re-light the
lanterns. I’m Sephie…its Persephone, really, but who could be
bothered to say all that. Anyway, we found you on the floor next to
what was left of your cushion seat.”

“Has anything of this magnitude ever happened
before?” Their host asked.

“One might ask the same of you.”
Millie snapped.
“Aren
’
t you the professed medium?”

“No.” And Eden hoped it would never happen
again.

* * *

A multitude of low-burning sconces lined the
walls, mirroring the shadowy atmosphere of the lecture hall.
Dominic stood alone, dead center of the room, sipping brandy and
debating the wisdom of loitering about in society. He longed to
discard his specs so he could get a clearer image of the people
around him, but he dared not. Cael had gone off under the guise of
fetching himself a brandy. Where the devil was he? Dom suspected
he
’
d been ditched until
he spotted his brother’s dark blond head a few yards away.