The Strangely Beautiful Tale Of Miss Percy Parker (22 page)

“Oh, quite a lot.”

“Well?”

“The academic life is gratifying, noble work, but it does not constitute what you would call a ‘thrill.’ The excitement in a professor’s life often comes from what he does away from his profession—but for me to answer that, my dear, would be rather personal,” he intoned deliciously. He looked her over then added, “All in due time, my dear. I’ve told you what I do, Percy. I’m a bit of a police officer, nothing more.”

“Did you have…lady friends in this time?” Percy blurted, having no idea how else to continue, and wanting desperately to know.

“Why, Miss Parker, how bold of you! I have had thousands of lovers.” When Percy gasped, he added nonchalantly,
“We all have, at one time or another, from one life to the next. For each spirit, a thousand lives.”

Percy narrowed her eyes. “You believe in reincarnation, then?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

She took a long moment of consideration, enough to stop bristling from her sudden jealous reaction to the thought of the many possible lovers Alexi had enjoyed, and then answered. “I’ve always been conflicted. Everything I was taught at the abbey denounced such a theory, yet surely it could happen; otherwise—”

“How could you see the things you’ve seen, or fall upon your knees in my office, spouting a foreign language while trapped in a painting? Or be so offended by the smell of a pomegranate?”

“But if this is so, my former life must have been wretched, for I see dreadful things.” Percy fought back a sob.

“Tell me more of what you see.”

“All in due time, Professor,” she retorted.

Alexi pursed his lips. “Answer me this. You once mentioned there were certain aspects of your particular faith that fascinated you. May I ask what?”

“I don’t suppose it will be of any use to you, but I have always been enthralled with the idea of the Immaculate Conception.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. The idea of something holy and godlike taking residence inside a mortal, to me, is a most beautiful thought. For something greater than humanity to inhabit a simple body, forsaking divinity for simple mortal flesh…” She sighed. “It seems so incredible.”

Alexi was struck. “So, do you remember being queen of the underworld?”

“What?”

“Do you remember being a goddess?”

“I…No. Why would I?”

“You’re Persephone.”

“Hardly!” She laughed. “A name does not a goddess make. Though I clearly identify with that story—”

“Then why is Cerberus hunting you?”

Percy gasped. “You think that’s what that thing was?”

“Perhaps. Do any of your visions give you a sense of your history?”

Percy searched her mind. Soaring angels, horsemen, cracking skies and fire…a patchwork, nonsensical history. She shook her head. “No. Surely, all my visions were to lead me to you. I think I’m just a strange, mortal girl with a strange fate who happens to have a coincidental name.”

“Hmm.” Alexi looked lost in thought.

A few small homes became visible in the moonlight. “Ah, we have arrived.”

Alexi tethered Prospero to the garden gate of a quaint cottage. The appealing edifice of stately grey stone was surrounded by flowers of all kinds. Lace curtains rustled behind open windows. Prospero nudged his master, stamping as if expecting remuneration for his fine work. Alexi smiled and fondly stroked the horse’s muzzle. Percy drew behind him to follow suit, quelling the urge to slide her other arm around Alexi’s waist.

Imagination got the better of her, and she experienced a thrilling rush while gazing at the cottage. She dreamed she was to be mistress of the place, and that the man who had taken her by the hand was her newlywed husband, ready to whisk his young wife inside and…

Alexi stopped to examine her. “What now, wandering one?” he asked.

She turned to face him, and the thought struck her that all she wanted in the world was to proclaim three simple words of her heart—words he might accept and return. But staring into his stoic face, she could not go against his wishes. She instead turned to the flowers, shaking her head.

A maid rushed out the front door and stopped in her
tracks. “Professor! What brings you and—oh, goodness! Milady!” The mousy young woman seemed baffled.

“Isabel, would you rouse my sister and apologize for my late and unannounced arrival?”

“Certainly! But I need not rouse the mistress, she keeps such terrible hours. Come in! Come in!” the maid exclaimed, running back to hold open the door. Percy smiled sweetly at her, but Isabel just stared back in shock.

A woman in a wheelchair, dressed in folds of black taffeta and slightly older than Alexi, rounded the corner of the entrance hall. “Brother, darling!” she cried in a deep female voice. At that moment, the maid remembered her place and took their cloaks.

Grinning, Alexi darted to lift the woman from her wheelchair and into his arms, and he squeezed her tightly before gently lowering her back down. “Hello, Alexandra—and before you chide me, yes, I know, it has been too long. Please forgive this strange visit; we simply had to escape the city.

“Alexandra, Miss Persephone Parker, whom I mentioned in my last letter. Percy, this is my sister, Miss Alexandra Rychman.”

Percy, thrilled to have been mentioned in a letter, smiled nervously at Alexandra. The woman’s wide, watery eyes and chiseled features were similar but more feminine than her brother’s, and her dark hair with streaks of grey was swept atop her head in a severe coif. Her pale lips nonetheless curved into a welcoming smile.

When Alexandra held out her hand, Percy took it, bowing her head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rychman.”

“And you, dear. My, my, Alexi certainly has a way with acquaintances. Never a dull moment or an ordinary soul. Though I must say, it is unlike him to take such care of a
pupil.
”

“This one is rather special,” Alexi stated. Percy turned a mottled pink.

“So it would seem. Come, my dears. I’ll have Isabel put on some spiced tea.”

Alexandra led them into her parlor, where she gestured for her brother and Percy to sit upon a divan accented with embroidered pillows while wheeling her chair to face them. The room was decorated with paintings that Percy recognized to be of Josephine’s style that was neither classical nor modern but simply
lovely;
there was no other word for it. Moonlight spilled through the lace curtains of the French doors and mixed with the light of several stained-glass lamps.

“Alexandra, where is that large wooden trunk I brought here years ago?” Alexi asked.

“Upstairs in the guest room, where you left it. And yes, it remains locked!” his sister teased, before turning to Percy. “He can be so maddeningly secretive.”

“Indeed,” Percy agreed.

Alexi seemed to delight in the pointed glance she gave him; he appeared lost for a moment. Then, jumping up, he said, “Excuse me a moment, please.”

The ladies watched him go in a swirl of dark fabric as he darted out of the room and up the stairs. Alexandra sighed. “I learned at an early age that it’s best not to ask too many questions about my brother and his work. But whatever it is,” she said, “it—he—is good. Despite his secrecy and strange friends, he’s never faltered from a noble path in life. Never.”

Percy nodded. A long silence followed in which she felt excruciatingly examined, but she sat and sipped the tea Isabel brought all the same. “When did you come to this lovely place, Miss Rychman?” she asked politely, admiring a bronze statue, a graceful couple dancing a stationary waltz across the mantel.

“Alexi bought this place nearly fifteen years ago, when it was clear that my state would make it difficult for me to be married off,” the woman said.

“Ah.” Percy nodded. “You have made it a lovely home.”

“Thank you. I do my best. Fate dealt me a harsh blow,” Alexandra stated.

“I take that to mean you were not always as you are?”

“I was eighteen. Alexi was fourteen, I believe. We don’t talk about it. That day—it was the strangest thing, as if some sort of demon swept through our house, a horrible tempest of a being. I was knocked from the top of the stairs in my parents’ old estate, where Alexi now lives alone. My family claimed it must have been the wind that crashed through suddenly and startled me, opening doors and cracking windows and causing my fall. My grandmother was there, and the shock of it stopped her heart! Alexi found us just after. He didn’t think it was the wind, either, but no one said a word. But something was…different. And one day our parents simply left.” Alexandra traded her grimace for a sudden smile. “A
demon
. You must think us mad!”

“Not in the slightest,” Percy replied.

The woman stared at her for a long moment. “You believe in such things, don’t you? I can see it on your face.”

“I do with all my heart.”

“You, Miss Parker…you have led a hard life, I can imagine.”

Percy held the woman’s stare. “I have led a
strange
life, Miss Rychman, and at times it has seemed hard. You understand. But I have been provided for. I’m grateful for Athens. I often wondered if I would ever be able to leave the walls of the abbey where I grew up. The sisters there were afraid that someone might whisk me off to some terrible sideshow”—Percy grimaced—“and there are moments when I still fear such an abduction. But your brother has taught me much, rallied me from self-pity, helped me to find confidence and makes every effort to keep me safe. So, I am blessed—at the very least by his presence in my life.”

“Indeed, my brother has taken an unusual interest in you and your welfare. He told me a young lady was in his
care, and that he was sure that I would see you both soon. I have been waiting so long to see him, I wish I had more prepared.”

“No, please, it is we who apologize,” Percy leaped to say. “Especially as the nature of the urgency which deposes me to you is still uncertain.” Her heart had warmed at the idea of being thought of as in Alexi’s “care.”

His sister smiled. “Alexi and his many secrets. Ah well, it is good to have company. And it is excellent to see my brother with company. He’s kept himself so bitter and lonely all his life, I feared he’d keep on with his odd friends and never take a wife. And so I welcome you as his lady, and as a sister to me.”

Percy’s jaw dropped. “His wi—His
lady?
Oh! I…Why, no—”

“You needn’t explain yourself, dear girl. Isabel has put on a hot bath for you upstairs if you care for one. I am sure you have had a harrowing night.”

“Oh! That would be grand!” Percy’s grateful smile held many kinds of thanks.

Michael sat with a mug of cider, staring at the fire in his modest hearth. He kept a rustic little nook with sparse decor, priding himself on simple pleasures; he’d always saved the gilt and pomp for the church. In this room that boasted only a few threadbare chairs and a mantel topped with trinkets from various ancestors, Michael was content with his fire and cider. His abode lay near the academy, a few blocks from its unmarked passages, just up Montague Place. He was closer to Rebecca and Alexi than anyone else—though they
tended to forget he was so near, pairing up and darting off toward work, leaving him often to fend for himself. He had gotten used to that, but every now and then he would confess to himself and to God that he was a bit lonely.

He had attempted to sleep tonight but couldn’t. Even his impervious humour was rattled by the events of the past few days. He had smiled regardless, giving his friends the benefit of his warmth and light, but now in the privacy of his home he allowed his face to fall. A parochial vicar at a nearby Anglican parish, he tried to reconcile his melancholy as penance to an Almighty power. He was relieved to believe in something larger than him or his companions’ odd fate…but he could not, however, admit that faith was an infallible salve. Especially not when he thought of Rebecca Thompson.

The very woman in question suddenly burst breathless through his front door in a rustle of thick linen skirts, her eyes wide and searching. “Michael, have you seen Alexi?” she blurted.

Always Alexi,
Michael thought. Usually this sentiment was pondered with a sad smile and only a tinge of jealousy, but on this strange night everything pierced more acutely.

“No, my dear, I haven’t,” he replied. “Why, is something wrong?”

“You feel the air, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Michael replied. “But it has been this way for some weeks—or building to this. Alexi should be found round one of his usual haunts.”

“I fear he’s left without notice. I cannot sense the slightest trace of him.”

Michael frowned. “And you received no note?”

“Nothing. I am at a loss! Come with me, Michael, we must all meet in town. I feel it in my blood.”

He rose and worriedly accompanied her out into the night.

The bright moon glared down from above as four car
riages sped through separate streets to halt in Trafalgar Square. The horses seemed to converge at the same instant, as if some great hand was guiding them to this confluence. Hopping down from their respective cabs, each of The Guard stood milling about, speaking in hushed whispers.

“Where is Alexi?” Elijah asked.

“It would appear he has left town,” Rebecca replied.

“What?”

“He is not currently in London.”

“Well, where in the holy name of the saints is he?” Jane demanded, adding a few well-chosen Gaelic curses.

“I can’t say, but evidently he felt his business pressing enough to keep it from us.” Rebecca shook her head and snorted. She was still burning with resentment, though she tried to shake it off.

“What do we do?” Josephine asked. “Something is about to descend at any moment.
Certainement,
Alexi has reason for his actions, but really, his timing is horrible!” She was taking note of how the clouds were making beautiful yet foreboding patterns, a nightmare scene she might be compelled to paint.

“It’s Prophecy, isn’t it?” Elijah asked.

“I’m sure he believes it has something to do with that,” Rebecca replied.

“Well, what?” Michael demanded.

“I know very little, but he thinks he has found her.” Rebecca sighed. “He will bring her to us soon, so he says, but he’s being…difficult. He doesn’t believe it’s Miss Linden.”

“Difficult isn’t the half of it!” Jane insisted, suddenly shivering. “To abandon us at this moment?”

They could all feel the approach of something terrible. Wind whipped through Trafalgar Square and the temperature dropped drastically. The ladies pulled their cloaks tighter around them; the men buttoned their greatcoats. They all looked to the sky, worried.

“Let us not speak ill of him before we know the circum
stances,” Rebecca suggested, but her irritated tone betrayed her generous words, because she was tired of always making excuses for him. She had to remember that she owed him nothing. She was simply his
friend
.

“Shall we wait for a while, together?” Jane asked, feeling an instinct to maintain close proximity to her comrades. Oddly, eerily, Trafalgar Square was utterly empty. Where were London’s finest? Her helpless?

“Why not,” Elijah grumbled. “It doesn’t appear we’ll be getting much sleep this evening.”

As if to prove Elijah’s assessment, a gruesome form suddenly slithered, ran, galloped and skittered all at once above their heads. Terror breathed down upon them, a terror that had become sadly familiar.

“The hellhound hath returned!” Michael proclaimed. The barking, frothing creature glared down at them with one pair of eyes and a hundred. It hovered; growling, snorting, snarling.

“Bind!” Rebecca cried. All five friends took hands.

A glorious hum began to emanate from their circle, a light hanging on each of The Guard like halos.

The abomination was not impressed, and reached down vapourous paws in assault. The five stood fast against the constricting pain that tore at their lungs, and Michael breathed loudly, purposeful, reminding them that they indeed had control of their own organs. The pain eased.

“Benediction!” Rebecca commanded her compatriots. A verse lifted from their lips and into the air as a murmuring wave.

The ungodly creature spat and lashed. Though strained, The Guard held their ground, wondering if they could withstand the beast long enough for it to at least lose interest. Tears rolled silently down several cheeks. Even Michael’s determined smile was belaboured.

Josephine coughed suddenly, faltering; the circle was broken. The creature turned a ghastly set of heads in her direc
tion and pounced, and each of the five were knocked to the ground by chimerical claws. Wounded, their clothing torn and their skin scraped and bruised worse than ever before in all their years of The Grand Work, the friends cried out in alarm and cursed Alexi for his abandonment. If he were here, they had a fair fight; without him, they were doomed.

And then, suddenly, there was a door.

Alexi stared at the well-worn black leather-bound book in his hands, and opened to a nineteen-year-old entry, written two years to the day after his young life changed forever:

Today is my anniversary. It is the anniversary of the day I became something new in that chapel, the day I—we—began patrolling the dead. Today I awoke from restless sleep with a keen sensation. Something additionally cataclysmic has occurred. I’m filled with longing, as if touched by a long-lost love upon waking. I yearn for that sensation again; the voice of that goddess is calling my name…

I heard a newborn’s cry in my sleep. When I woke, a feather lay at the foot of my bed. The specimen is unlike any I have ever seen. Translucent, iridescent and twice the length of my palm, the feather is luminous as I hold it. Life seems to hum within—and a strange blue light. It seems a talisman.

I am unsettled by a torrent of emotions I cannot place nor discern, but something is indeed coming to find me. I long for it…for her, that voice. My destiny was born today…

He shut the book with a triumphant exclamation. October 16, as he’d thought! That was the date recorded for this entry. He thought back to the date in his office that Percy had mentioned as her birthday, and it was the same. How had they never thought to celebrate their turning? How was it that they failed to celebrate becoming more than simply mortal? Perhaps because The Guard was as much a curse as a blessing. Yet if Prophecy’s alleged door was never to be seen,
he’d need every last scrap of proof to bring to The Guard over to his side, to help them realize what he knew in his gut was the truth: Persephone Parker was their seventh.

“Percy!” he cried, bounding into the hall and toward the nearest door. He flung it open without thinking.

Percy squealed, hastily covering her body with her long white limbs. Alexi, seeing the bright blur of that slender, alabaster body, closed the door to the washroom with a similar exclamation. His heart became spasmodic, and a flood of heat sent him reeling. “Oh! Percy! Terribly sorry! I found something you should see, and…sorry!”

“What is it?” Percy called, still breathless from shock.

“Never mind. Take your time, Perc—Miss Parker. I’ll tell you…later.”

Inside, Percy stifled a giggle. She could hear Alexi fumbling at the door like a clumsy boy, and while she was scandalized that he’d seen a flash of her naked body, she was flattered near tears that it should affect him so. She’d never before seen him blush, and the look on his face seemed one of rapture…at least, it had been before his horror at the impropriety of the situation.

Percy couldn’t hold back a beaming smile as she began to lather her body with scented soap and contemplate how perfectly magical it was to be even considered by a man like Alexi. Their strange behaviour aside, just to be anywhere in his private sphere was a blessing, especially as it dared scandal and expulsion for them both. She decided that even if he never revealed a single other thing about his mysterious ways, or about her possible part in it, she didn’t care so long as she could be near him. To perhaps steal illicit kisses…

As she caressed herself with a small washcloth, she closed her eyes, leaned back into the water and couldn’t help imagining his hand dragging the lathered linen across her, lingering lovingly on her bare white skin. Ashamed yet invigorated, her body tingled. The sensations overwhelmed and intimidated her. But, surely no one could see the entirety of her
queer skin and yet be attracted to her…Percy was suddenly certain that Alexi had withdrawn in shock and horror. His arousal had been her imagination. He was repulsed, and so a frown replaced her girlish, giddy smile.

Percy dried and powdered herself. She appreciated the sensation of the thick satin nightdress she’d been given as it slid around her chilled body. The long braid of her hair damp against her neck, she slipped into the hall…and heard crackling music from a phonograph downstairs. A waltz?

Cautiously, Percy peeked between the rails of the staircase to behold Alexandra sitting in her wheelchair at the center of the living room, and Alexi bowing slightly across the way. His sister chuckled and batted her hand in the air as Alexi approached.

Carefully he bent over his sister, lifted her out of her chair and held her around the waist; her legs dangled limply beneath. She laughed a tired yet happy laugh, and laid her head upon his shoulder while placing her hand in his. Alexi effortlessly carried her around the floor in slow circles, as if he were dancing with a child.

“I remember when I taught you this dance. You were twelve,” Alexandra said softly. “What an irony now, eh? I’m so lonely, Alexi. I don’t know how much longer I can carry on.”

He pressed his cheek to his sister’s hair and replied softly, “I know, dear. I understand. I always have.”

“Not now, dear, you don’t. Not now that you have her,” Alexandra countered. There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. “She is gentle and strange, Alexi…but charming. How those unbelievable eyes glitter for you!”

“I do not
have
her, Alexandra. You must not make such assumptions. And I shall forever understand loneliness,” Alexi replied.

“Let’s not speak of it. Simply dance with me.”

As they silently moved around the floor, Alexi, as he often
did, indulged in regret that his sister had been struck down so many years prior, that her paralysis and his grandmother’s passing were both somehow his fault. It was as if all evil in the spirit world had swung a warning paw that day, reminding him that no one close to him could ever truly be safe. No one but Prophecy.

Had he just cursed the sweet and gentle Percy Parker by bringing her into all this? Would she grow as frightened of him as his parents, who sensed something they’d never confronted? No. She was fated to be involved. Fearless. She was Prophecy. She
had
to be.

The disk bumped and scratched, the waltz complete. Alexi and his sister continued moving in the hissing absence of music for countless moments, unaware and unconcerned, but then, as gently as he had lifted her, Alexi returned her carefully to rest. There was a rustle of taffeta and a squeak of the wooden wheelchair.

Sensing another’s eyes, Alexi looked over to behold Percy watching him, her face aglow and her cheeks glistening with tears. The moment she was spied, however, she ducked out of sight. Alexi smirked. “Good night, Alexandra.” Then he climbed the stairs, tingling with anticipation for what waited above.

Catching sight of Percy standing wide-eyed in the hall, dressed in a flattering satin nightdress that Isabel must have procured for her, he moved forward, gently wiping away her tears. “My dear, what’s this?” he asked, ignoring how utterly unheard of it was for him to see her in such a state of dishabille. Percy didn’t seem to think of it, either.

“You are so beautiful, Alexi!” she sobbed.

With a warm little laugh, he opened his arms and Percy fell into them. His embrace closed around her and wrapped tight. Numerous moments passed as they slid closer and closer, their arms entwining and their palms pressing tight until there was no space left and they were helplessly and in
decorously locked. Alexi became keenly aware of the fact that she was only wearing a nightdress, and he was quite sure no layers of clothing would have been able to conceal his body’s reaction.

It would be so easy, to whisk her into one of the rooms, part her robe and gaze upon that snow-white flesh again, to worship it as the light of the moon itself, to unleash years of pent-up passion upon that marble body, to take, to claim, to seize and devour Prophecy as his own. It was his right; he had been denied it all his life and—

Perhaps she sensed his burning thoughts, for she pulled back, daring to look up and see the fire raging in his eyes. “Alexi,” she began. “I lo—”