Authors: Goldie Browning
“Yes, ma’am. My name’s Cordelia. I’m looking for Ivy.”
“Cordelia! How wonderful that you came.” Ivy grabbed the woman by the hand and pulled her inside. “How did you know I needed you? I tried to come see you days ago, but Earl stopped me—Theodora, Anna, this is Madame Cordelia, the psychic I tried to visit on Monday.”
“I’m a medium, dear. I’m not gifted with precognition.” Cordelia embraced Ivy and shook hands with Theodora and Emma. “I’m simply a messenger—a conduit between different plains of existence.”
“But what made you come here?” asked Theodora.
“Ivy’s mother has been bombarding me with messages all week, but today is the first time I’ve been able to slip through the guards.” Cordelia pulled off her wet shawl and draped it across the register to dry. “Did you know they’re stopping everyone who tries to come up here? And they’re carrying machine guns!”
“Machine guns? Oh, my goodness. You’re so brave,” said Ivy.
“How did you get in?” asked Theodora.
“Jennie distracted the guard on duty by flirting with him and giving him hot coffee long enough for me to slip in. But if they find out I’m here, she’ll get in trouble.”
“Then we must be quiet,” said Ivy. She smiled and her face lit up.
Emma’s heart lurched. When Ivy smiled, her mouth and eyes looked just like Zan’s.
“We haven’t much time. Let’s all put our chairs in a circle, shall we?” Cordelia pulled Theodora’s card table into the middle of the room and they arranged their chairs. She pulled a small, cone-shaped object from her bag and laid it on the table, along with a short, fat candle. A glossy wooden board with scrolled letters and numerals, along with a small planchette came next. She then brought out some incense sticks, laid them on a metal tray, struck a match, and lit the incense and the candle. The spicy aroma wafted around the room.
“Is that a Ouija board?” Theodora’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Those things scare me to death.”
“We don’t have to use it if it makes you uncomfortable.” Cordelia moved the talking board and planchette to a dresser in the corner.
“Shall I close the drapes?” asked Ivy.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Cordelia. “Oh, I almost forgot. Do you have something that used to belong to your mother? Any kind of small object will do. It’ll help make the channel more clear.”
Ivy thought for a moment and then headed toward her room. “I think I know just the thing.” She returned a moment later with a musical powder box. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.” Cordelia ran her fingertips across the box and then positioned it on the table next to the voice trumpet. “If a spirit decides to speak, we’ll be ready.”
Emma froze when she saw the powder box. She recognized the round pewter base and the dainty porcelain top—a picture of a woman and a little girl wearing hoopskirts. It looked just like the one she’d owned as a child. Ivy opened the lid. Inside was a toy whistle. The music box began to play
Tea for Two
. Amazing. She hadn’t seen hers in years. She wondered what had become of it.
“Ahem.” Madame Cordelia cleared her throat and reached around the table. “Are we ready to begin?”
The four women sat around the table in the darkened room and held hands. The wind blew mournfully around the building turrets, contributing to the eeriness of the moment. Madame Cordelia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to hum. Goose bumps rose on Emma’s arms. She’d never been to a séance before, but she was fascinated. Remembering the accuracy of Moonbeam’s palm reading session and everything else that had happened recently, she wouldn’t dare be skeptical.
The room grew quiet as they all concentrated. The only sound now was the moaning of the wind as Cordelia fell deeper and deeper into a trance. Emma tightened her grip on Ivy’s hand, wanting to cry from the poignancy of the contact. She’d never felt closer to Zan, yet so far away.
Cordelia’s eyes closed and her head swayed gently as she spoke. “I’m walking through a forest. The air is fresh and birds are singing overhead. I feel the warmth of the sun on my shoulders as it peeks in and out through the trees. I hear the sound of water, like a babbling brook and smell the fragrance of the cedars. My path makes a turn and I see a stream; its busy waters rush over and around smooth stones, producing tiny rapids.”
She paused and inhaled deeply before continuing. “Up ahead I see him, standing tall and proud, like a sentinel. Such a regal bearing, his face so wise, his feathered headdress so colorful. I approach and he greets me warmly, as always. He is my spirit guide—Nantan.”
Cordelia’s head began to sway faster and her breath became labored. “I’m following him through the forest. The path is now descending, becoming steeper and steeper. Large boulders lie across the path. I’m afraid I’ll twist my ankle. It’s difficult to keep up with him. Nantan—slow down—please.” She moaned, her head snapped limply to the side, and then her neck became rigid.
Suddenly, the scent of roses overpowered the incense and its curling smoke changed direction. The candlelight flickered, sending shadows dancing across the slanted attic walls. The temperature in the room plummeted and the hairs on Emma’s arms and neck stood erect.
Cordelia’s head slumped forward and then she twitched. She opened her eyes, stared around the darkened room, and Emma was instantly aware of the difference. There was a noticeable change in the personality of the hand she held. The face was the same, the body was the same, but Cordelia was gone.
“II….veeeeeee…” A strange, sad voice spoke from Cordelia’s mouth.
“Mama! Is that you?” Ivy tensed and stared at Cordelia. Tears welled in her eyes.
“II……veeeeeeeee…I’m sorry…so sorry…”
Emma shuddered at the plaintive voice of the indwelt spirit, but she didn’t break the circle. She glanced at Theodora across the table; her wrinkled face and sunken eyes made her appear even older in the flickering candlelight. Emma’s heart went out to Ivy, as well as to the poor, tortured soul who spoke to them from beyond the grave.
“It’s okay, Mama. I forgive you,” said Ivy, between sobs. Tears flowed freely down her face. “I understand now. You didn’t know what you were doing. I love you.”
“Love…you…too…” the spirit of Winifred paused and then continued. “Dan-nee…I’m here with Dan-nee…and your Papa…”
Cordelia’s face twisted into a half-smile and then her head lolled to one side like a rag doll. Her body suddenly went limp and her eyes closed, but her hands didn’t lose their grip on the circle. The music box began to vibrate, rattling back and forth on its legs before scooting across the table and landing against Cordelia’s bosom.
“What was that?” Ivy stiffened and stared at Cordelia as the music box spun like a top in slow motion. “What did she mean about Papa?”
Emma felt another change in the grip of the hand that held hers. It was strong, powerful, and no longer feminine. The odor of cigar smoke replaced the rose smell. An icy chill ran down her spine when Cordelia’s body twitched convulsively, and then slowly raised her head. She opened her eyes and gazed around the room. Cordelia was gone—Winifred was gone—some other spirit had pushed out Winifred and replaced her.
The plump woman seemed to grow taller and her face changed. “Har-ry…” An agonized male voice boomed loudly from Cordelia’s mouth and then faded away.
“Papa! Is that you?” Ivy’s eyes were wild with fear. “What about Harry? Is he all right?”
“Please help me…” a feeble female voice sounded from the trumpet, then faded away as a different male voice interrupted. “I’m dying…Please let me ou….” Different voices came and went, as if someone were twisting the dial of a radio.
Cordelia’s head bobbed back and forth before her mouth opened again. The voice seemed to labor, struggling against the commotion from the trumpet. “Har-ry…I told …the truth…about Har-ry…he’s free …he’s …coming …for…you.”
“When, Papa? When?”
The trumpet was now a cacophony of lamentations, as if vast multitudes were struggling for a microphone. Emma cringed at the chaotic sound. What did they all want? It was impossible to understand what any of them were saying—but then one of the messages caught her attention.
“Emma…it’s Tommy…”
“What about Harry, Papa?” Ivy’s voice shrieked above the uproar.
Emma sat forward and strained to hear the voice through the tumultuous noise. Had it been her brother Tommy? And then she heard it again. Tommy’s voice. “Emma…tell Zan…lockbox…tea for two…four one nine…” The voice was interrupted again, and then it returned. “They want … your… heart.”
“Papa,” screamed Ivy. “
When
is Harry coming?”
Cordelia’s face twisted grotesquely in the candlelight. Her body moved spasmodically, as if she were battling for control. The rotation of the music box increased. When Caleb’s voice came again, it was barely audible and then drifted off into static.
“Tonight…he’s coming…tonight…in…the…mor...”
Ivy screamed and wrenched her hands loose, breaking the circle. The music box spun wildly across the room, hit the wall, and came apart. Cordelia’s body collapsed forward. Emma grabbed her shoulders to prevent her from falling into the candle’s flame. The babble of voices ceased.
Cordelia stirred and gazed around the room. “What happened?” She shook her head and stared at the sobbing girl. “I’m completely exhausted.”
“I—heard—my father’s—voice,” replied Ivy, between sniffs. “He must be—dead.” She broke down and sobbed even harder. “Harry must be dead too.”
“Oh, honey. Why do you think Harry’s dead?” Theodora pulled Ivy close in her feeble grasp and patted her shoulders. “Please don’t cry.”
“Because—Papa—said he was coming—in the—morgue.”
“I don’t think that’s what he was saying, Ivy. I think he meant
in the morning
.”
Ivy pulled away from Theodora and stared at her. “But he said tonight. He said ‘Harry is coming tonight.’ Why would he then say in the morning?”
Cordelia held her hand to her chest and tried to catch her breath. “What the spirits say doesn’t always make sense to us.”
Emma interjected. “Harry can’t be dead. There were only two spirits speaking through you. Right, Cordelia?” She knew Harry was going to live a long, productive life. Didn’t she? Her confidence wavered when she thought about her own strange adventure. Everything she’d believed in had been turned upside down in the past week.
“Of course he can’t be dead,” agreed Cordelia.
Theodora’s head shot up and she pointed toward the window. “Oh, my God. Ivy, is that your father?”
Emma turned in the direction Theodora pointed. She gasped and grabbed the sides of the table, afraid she might faint. She was terrified, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. The hazy figure of a man had materialized in the corner. He appeared young, had long wavy hair, and wore overalls. Could it be Harry? She felt sick at the thought.
“Nooo. I don’t know him.” Ivy wailed, buried her face in her hands, and curled up in a ball.
“Then who is it?” asked Emma, her heart pounding. It obviously wasn’t Harry, or Ivy would have acknowledged him. Things were growing weirder by the minute.
Cordelia raised a finger to her lips and cocked her head to one side. “Wait…he’s speaking to me…he says his name is Michael.”
Emma tensed, remembering Jennie and Andy’s conversation about a ghost named Michael on the second floor, as well as the story about the Irish stonemason on the Crescent Hotel ghost tour. Could this be the same Michael?
“What’s he doing here?” asked Theodora. She put her arm around Ivy and pulled her close.
Cordelia stared at the specter in the corner and strained to listen to a voice nobody else could hear. “He says he normally stays on the second floor, but he felt the energy from our séance and came up here to see what was happening,” she replied, acting as an interpreter. “What was that?…yes, I know…the people who run this place now are very bad…yes, I agree…thank you, Michael. I’m sure we all appreciate your help.”
The specter disappeared in a windy exit, extinguishing the candle in its wake. The temperature warmed immediately, but the room remained dark even after Emma pulled back the drapes. She flipped on the overhead light.