The Hall of Shadows

by M. L. Bullock

  I hummed as I drove down the road. It was a peppy tune. No words, just humming. It wasn’t until I left the car that I realized it was an old number. A song from the Victrola record collection.

  Mississippi Melody, I think. Yes, that’s what it was.

  It had always been one of my favorites.

  Chapter Nine

  I held the book in my hands tentatively and whispered the title aloud. “Blood Magic: A Spiritualist’s Guide.” Did I really want to open this Pandora’s box? That’s what this book was. Granted, I’d opened it in the library, but never by myself. Never here at Morgan’s Rock. It seemed wrong, but how could I not? How could I not see what Vivian left behind?

  Knowing isn’t always a good thing, Punchanella. Knowing brings responsibility.

  Despite the memory of Joanna’s father’s warning, I did open it. I sat at the counter in the kitchen and spread the book open carefully on the light blue fabric place mat. It occurred to me that Aimee had purchased this set of place mats. Would I ever know what happened to her or who she truly was? I shook my head at the memory. The coffeepot gurgled as the machine brewed my coffee.

  Okay, be objective. This book could be someone’s idea of a joke. Lots of people know you’re writing about Joanna now. Can you really trust Loretta Bradley?

  No, that was stupid. What a complicated ruse that would be. I examined the worn leather binding and the soft vellum paper. It was beautifully printed with lots of handwritten notes in the margins, as if someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to add their own thoughts. Perhaps this was Vivian’s own handwriting? Maybe these were her notes? Nope, this couldn’t be a fake. Who would go to such trouble and why? Vivian was hardly a household name, then or now. But regardless of whether she actually wrote the book, I had to read it.

  It wasn’t a big book and I had long excelled at speed-reading books, but this wasn’t just any book. As I turned the first page with careful fingers, I studied the symbols drawn along the edges of each page. With the magnifying glass, I examined each one and could tell they were drawn by the same careful hand. I wasn’t proficient with symbology, but a few of these did appear familiar. A strange-looking bird standing on one foot. An owl with one eye. Here were three squiggly lines together. What did that represent? Water?

  That’s when it struck me. These weren’t merely symbols. Not simply decorations or doodles. These were some form of hieroglyphs or something like that. I gasped at the connotation. I grabbed my notebook and flipped it open to the first page. With a pen, I carefully began drawing the symbols as they appeared on the pages. I remembered reading somewhere, or maybe I saw it in a movie, that hieroglyphs had to be read from right to left. I began recording the symbols starting on the right page working from top to bottom and then to the second page. After I wrote out the symbols, I read each page carefully.

  Vivian Kemal had taken a great deal of care to tell nothing at all about her “magic” in these first few pages. Instead, she talked about her lineage, about the Kemal family, her time in Ankara and the patronage of Zea and Yancey Storm. I have to confess I was riveted by her writing. She wove a good story, that was for sure. Only I knew the truth about her. That she’d been rescued from an orphanage in Ankara, that her grandfather, a notable scholar and friend of Yancey’s, had not arranged for Vivian’s care before his untimely death. She’d been brought to Morgan’s Rock not for patronage but to be a companion to Joanna. One would think that being close in age and sharing similar features, they would have become fast friends, but this had not been the case at all. Joanna resented Vivian from the day she met her. If anyone had enjoyed “companionship” with Miss Kemal, it had been Zea Storm.

  Yes, I knew that because I remembered. I tried to recall more, but it did no good. There was an invisible wall between the past and me, one that I could not penetrate at will. I sighed and read the passage aloud.

  In the end, Magic makes fools of us all. I have no illusions on the subject, and neither should any of us. Magic comes at a price, but it is a price I am willing to pay because what is life without power? What is life without magic? Know this, once you step into the Hall of Shadows, you can never turn back. You will not be able to look away from the mirror, and you may not like what you see. But then again, you may.

  I shivered at what I’d read. What foolishness was this? She was making no sense at all, yet I could hear her sing-songy voice in my ears. She had such a strange accent, so otherworldly. I flipped to the next page and immediately began sketching the symbols in my notebook. I don’t know why. I couldn’t even be sure that this was going to mean anything. Perhaps much like her writing, this book wasn’t anything at all, just the ramblings of a troubled young woman who died too soon. Here was a weird triangle, that was easy to draw, and then the stick figure, and something else that looked like a heart. I read the next passage, hoping to uncover something useful. But it’s not likely that she’d write down her confession in this book, Megan.

  I continued to scribble down what I felt was important, but I was disappointed in the content. Granted I wasn’t too far into the book when the kitchen phone rang, but I was beginning to think there wasn’t much to it. Except the symbols. That had significance. Those symbols had meaning, but what exactly? I was no Egyptologist.

  “Hello?”

  “Megan? It’s me, Alex. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, just having some coffee. Doing some light reading. What’s up?”

  “Does something have to be up? I’m in town and would like to see you. Are you free this evening?”

  I paused as I paced the kitchen and stopped to stare out the window. The sun was going down. Where had the time gone?

  “I’m kind of tired, thinking of calling it an early night tonight. What about tomorrow morning? Will you be available then?” Okay, so that hadn’t been my plan. Not originally. When I left the supermarket, I had been convinced that I would have company tonight. I wanted to get to know Micah better and had been prepared to cook a meal and possibly talk about the house and the Storm family, but no dice. He was working the late shift at the station tonight, but he did ask for a rain check. Embarrassed at having asked him and gotten rejected in a way, I agreed but didn’t make any further suggestions. If he wanted me, he’d have to do the asking.

  “I guess, if I need to wait. I’m not flying out until Wednesday, so I have a few days to kill. How is the search going for a new housekeeper? Did you talk with Lori yet?” I ignored the disappointment I heard in his voice.

  “To be honest, I haven’t even thought about it. I’m managing okay without anyone.”

  Alex laughed. “You’ll have to hire some staff, Miss Pressfield. I’ll ask her to come visit you in a few days. A representative from the publishing company is coming to town next week. They’re talking about an option for the book. A film option, Megan. Think about what that means.”

  “What? I haven’t even finished the thing yet,” I whispered. Why did I have the feeling I was being watched? I peeked out the window but saw no one there. I thought I saw a shadow pass in the hallway out of the corner of my eye, but it was probably just my imagination. I was exceptionally tired all of a sudden. I hadn’t been lying to Alex. I really did plan to turn in early, now that I wasn’t having company. Of course, I hoped that by doing so I might step back into that Otherworld. The world where Paden and Joanna existed, where they loved one another madly.

  I will never forget you, Paden. I will never stop loving you.

  “This is a good thing. Don’t let this be a discouragement but an encouragement. Circuit Publishing believes in your work so much that they are willing to go out on a limb here. But I think we can help this project along, Megan. I’ve got a great idea for the party, one I was hoping to talk to you in person about.” Again with the disappointed voice. Poor Alex. He was a great guy, really dedicated to my work, and to me. But the truth was, I didn’t love him. Not like I loved Paden. But you’ll never see him again. He’s dead and gone, Megan. Let the pa
st go.

  “Oh, right, the party…I’ve been thinking about that. Do you really think that’s a good idea? This place’s history of disastrous parties seems proportionally more dangerous than even the haunted Queen Mary.”

  “We want to remind them that Joanna Storm was so important, and we should show them what this place would have been like during her time. I’m sure we could get the film people here too. Hey, here’s a question for you. Would you object to filming at Morgan’s Rock? Just think what that would mean.”

  Ah, yes. This was what I liked least about Alex. His ambition knew no end. In a strange way, he reminded me of Vivian Kemal. Always working behind the scenes. Always plotting.

  “I’ll have to think about it. As I said, I’m really feeling tired today.”

  He didn’t speak right away, and when he did it surprised the heck out of me. “Not too tired to go have lunch earlier. Is that why you wanted me gone?”

  “Alex, have you been spying on me?” I demanded angrily. “You have no right to check up on me.”

  “I wasn’t spying. I was driving to Rockville’s one and only hotel from the airport when I saw your car in the restaurant parking lot. It’s not like I hired a detective to follow you around.”

  It was my turn to clam up. This conversation was going nowhere, and I was ready to end it as quickly as possible.

  “Now what? What’s going on with us, Megan?”

  “I don’t know, Alex, but I was on a business lunch with Micah Todd, an editor for the local paper. He had some rare pictures to show me and is giving me access to some research. I swear, you could have just walked inside and said hello. How long did you sit out there and watch me?” I couldn’t shake that feeling again, the feeling that someone was watching me. I heard a door slam on the other side of the house. “Hold on a second.” I put the phone to my chest and yelled, “Hello?”

  Nobody answered.

  “I’ve got to go, Alex. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I didn’t wait for him to argue with me. I hung up the phone and stood quietly in the kitchen, listening carefully for any further sounds. Just when I thought it had been my imagination, I heard another door slam, only this sound came from the second floor. My least favorite place.

  Well, there was nothing to do but check it out. Sliding a kitchen knife out of the block, I walked toward the stairs.

  Chapter Ten

  February 1923

  I’d come to the balcony to smoke and watch the fog, but I woke up sometime later. The air was cold and damp, as a heavy dew had fallen. The sky was that strange dark blue color, the color of night fading, as the sun threatened to rise. How long had I been here? I felt as weak as a kitten, and my face was wet.

  “Vivian?” I whispered. She’d said goodnight to me before I walked out here. She was the last person I had seen. “Vivian?” I said a little louder. It wasn’t Vivian who answered me but Dan.

  Dan without his coat, his hair a mess, his shirt not neatly buttoned. “Joanna? What happened? You’re bleeding.”

  “I must have fallen. Help me up, Danny.” I said as I sat up slowly. As I did, my nose dripped blood. It spilled on my shirt, and my hand immediately flew to my face.

  “Here, put your arm around my neck.” He leaned down, and I did as he instructed me. He helped me off the balcony and tucked me into a nearby chair, then raced away to find a towel and returned with Vivian in tow. The servants must be busy with Mother. Why else would I be left lying outdoors all night? Yes, it would be morning any minute now. I felt so tired, but the blood continued to pour.

  Vivian said, “Tilt your head back. Dan, go pull her sheets back. She is as cold as ice. Now, now, Joanna. It will be okay. It is just a nosebleed. You won’t die from a nosebleed.”

  I was in no position to argue with her, but I did feel sick and dizzy. I couldn’t have lost that much blood. But something had happened to me.

  Try to remember, Punchanella. You must remember.

  I stepped out to smoke. I could see the fog coming in, Father. That horrible dragon’s breath, the one that took you away from me. I watched it crawl closer and heard the whisperings, the voices. Oh, there were voices in the fog. I heard the dead talking—talking to me. Oh, Father! What do I do?

  Danny returned, and I clutched his arm. “It was the dragon’s breath, Danny. I saw it, I was watching it. That’s the last thing I remember, but I heard something. I heard voices…”

  “Now, dearest. Don’t fret. There’s no telling what you saw.” Despite his words, his face paled at my description. “Calm yourself, Joanna.”

  “Listen to him, cousin. Keep your head back and stop talking.”

  I practically jumped from the chair. “I know what I saw and what I heard. If you two hadn’t been so preoccupied, you might have known I was lying on the balcony all night.” I had a few more things to say, but the dizziness threatened to overtake me again. I wanted to go to my room, to my own bed. Emma would help me. Yes, I would wait for Emma.

  “Joanna, please,” Dan said in a soft voice that warned me to keep my own voice down. What did I care what he and Vivian did in their own time? I didn’t care, not one little bit, but I wanted to go to bed. I was so tired now. I slapped Vivian’s hand away as I walked clumsily toward my room. I managed to kick off my shoes and peel off my bloody shirt before climbing into bed with my camisole top and pants on. The door closed, and I heard voices outside. They were talking about me. I wanted to yell at them, to tell them to go away, but I was too tired. I could do nothing but succumb to deep sleep.

  I fell into it gladly.

  When my eyes flickered open, I still felt tired. Exhausted, just as I used to feel after spending a day in the Egyptian sand, following my parents into dank tombs, shuffling away to find broken treasures of pottery or the rare unique find like my scarab necklace. How I missed that trinket. Such a precious gift, and I had lost it. What a clumsy girl I was. So clumsy that I must have hit my head on the balcony. I always hated the balcony and usually avoided it as much as I could, but I’d had such an urge to go outside and watch the fog. It was like I did not have a mind of my own. Like I had fallen under a spell, but that couldn’t be right. People under spells didn’t light cigarettes. Did they?

  Nomi, nomi, vita…

  Nomi, nomi, ray…

  I sat up in the bed and reached for my robe. My mouth tasted like blood, and I was sure I had dried remnants of it on my face. Where was this disturbing sound coming from? I slid my feet into my slippers and walked to the open window, the smell of rain warning me to close it. I heard the voices more clearly now. They were coming from beneath me, perhaps from another floor? Maybe in the woods? The acoustics at Morgan’s Rock were tricky. It was hard to know for sure where the voices were. I had to go seek them out.

  Nomi, nomi, vita…

  A strange chanting. Yes, that’s right. Chanting. I’d heard it before at the mosque in Cairo. But no, this wasn’t Arabic or any other language I recognized.

  I walked to Mother’s room. I’d been avoiding her since I had witnessed her spell. I knew it was beneath me to do so, but I could not bear to see her like that. Part of me did not believe that she was my mother at all. Where was the sophisticated and intelligent Zea Storm? I opened her door quietly now, hoping to peek in on her without her spotting me, and hurried to her bedside. The curtains were up, and she looked peaceful in her repose. Spinning on my heel, I turned to leave when she whispered my name.

  “Joanna, help me.”

  I paused and fumbled with my robe before turning back around to answer her. As I did, I could see that she still had her eyes closed. She had not moved a muscle.

  “Mother? I’m here.” I cinched my robe tighter. “It’s me, Mother.” I stepped closer to the bed and waited. Had I imagined hearing her call me too? She snored softly and didn’t flinch when I touched her wrist. She snorted but only turned her head slightly away from me. I withdrew my hand and stepped back from the bed.

  I should wake her. I should t
ell her that I love her, that I have always loved her, no matter how broken she became.

  Nomi, nomi, vita…

  The chanting was back. I wiped away the dampness from my eyes and backed out of the room. I never took my eyes off my mother, and she didn’t stir again. Closing the door, I walked slowly down the stairs. The fine hairs all over my body rose up as if I’d rubbed my socked feet on the carpet for a long time. Yes, that’s exactly how it felt, along with a dreadful sickness.

  Nomi…

  The feathers at the sleeves of my robe flitted about as if an invisible breeze blew them. I stepped onto the second-floor landing and waited. “Hello? Emma? Is that you?”

  Nobody answered me. A door creaked on its hinges, and the sound of crystals clinking together gave further evidence that a strange breeze was blowing through this place. That wasn’t hard to imagine. The servants were always leaving windows open. A hissing sound beckoned me from the bottom of the stairs. I clutched my stomach and waited for it to stop. I had a choice. I could go back to my room and hide, or I could investigate this intrusive sound.

  I wasn’t going to hide. I was Joanna Storm. Morgan’s Rock was my home. And I was curious now. No, not just curious. I was being drawn to the sound. Yes, it was beckoning me. The voices were beckoning me.

  Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t on the second floor but downstairs. The front door stood wide open, and the wind was blowing outside. A storm was coming, and quickly too. I wondered who would have left this door open…who would do that? Vivian wouldn’t do such a thing. But Dan had been here. Maybe he’d left it open.

  Oh, yes. Danny and Vivian. I’d almost forgotten about them. What were they up to? Did Danny love her?

  Nomi, nomi, ray se va karu…

  The voices were more insistent now. Demanding. They wanted me, called me. I reached for the light switch, but it did not obey me. I flipped it repeatedly, but the hallway was determined to remain dark. I shuddered in the half-light but kept my head down and walked on toward the sound. Where were these voices coming from? The kitchen? I walked into the room—usually it was warm in here and there were always pleasant smells, but not now. There was a foul smell, like rotting meat.