Boston Metaphysical Society

by Madeleine Holly-Rosing

  “Please, take it. You’ve more than earned it. Besides, didn’t I hear you say something about a wife and daughter?” Samuel placed it on the table.

  “Aye. Erin and Caitlin.”

  “Good. Go buy them something nice.”

  Samuel left the room, sparing Andrew the embarrassment of knowing he saw the older man wipe tears from his eyes.

  ***

  As Samuel walked down the hallway to their bedroom, a sense of foreboding swept over him. He had kept his worries at bay by working nonstop, but now it forced him to slow down and take deep breaths. Each step he took felt like he trudged through molasses. He had to shake it off. There was too much to do, too much at stake.

  But it nagged at him. The mental anguish bore down on him, yet he refused to be overwhelmed by it and forced himself to the door. It stood ajar, and Samuel pushed it open to see Elizabeth sitting on her vanity stool in her robe, staring into the mirror. In the reflection, he saw green and purple undulating through her eyes.

  He stopped breathing. If he could describe a color that reflected the malaise that fell upon him, this would be it.

  Elizabeth whirled around, jumped up, and ran over to him. “Samuel! Are you ill? You look terrible!” She hugged him.

  Samuel held on to her as if she was the last person on earth.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” He inhaled a few times, calming himself. The malaise lifted as quickly as it had descended. He looked into her eyes. They were clear and bright. “I’m fine. I think I’m just exhausted.”

  “From what Sampson said, you’ve been running around all day on an errand for Father. What was it?” Her face radiated love and concern.

  Samuel swallowed. “I’ll tell you all about it later. But right now I need you to meet with Andrew in the library. The trail’s run cold. It’s time to find Rachel and the others.”

  “I’m not sure I can, but maybe one of the children.”

  “Why not?”

  “Please don’t be angry. I tried before by myself, and I found Rachel, but she forced me out. She’s not letting me in anymore. I was going to tell you this morning, but you had already left.”

  Too tired to reprimand her, Samuel kissed her forehead. “You were right to try. But you’ve got help now.”

  “Let me get dressed and I’ll be down.” Elizabeth dashed over to her closet. “Will Father and Thomas be here for dinner?”

  “Probably, though Thomas has gone.” Samuel tried to make his tone as neutral as possible so as not to give her any clues that something else might be wrong.

  “What? When?” She grabbed a day dress.

  “He left with Hal earlier today. Business back in Chicago.” Samuel headed for the door. “Do you need help dressing? I can send Claire up since Sampson sent most of the staff out on an afternoon holiday.”

  “No. I mean, yes. It will make this easier.”

  He fled the room before she asked any more questions he didn’t want to answer.

  20

  Elizabeth breezed into the library as if she were holding court. Other than her mother’s little garden, it was her favorite place in the whole house. Two stories tall with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves, Persian carpets, two loveseats, four French Renaissance desks with matching chairs, and a globe so large she could not reach her arms around it. The room brought back memories of both her mother and father reading stories to her and playing games on the floor. Now her husband and the Irishman sat on two chairs they had pulled out from the desks, waiting for her to appear. Andrew sat as stiff as a board with his knees together and his hands clasped in his lap. Elizabeth thought if he breathed too hard, something would break. Samuel had his legs spread apart with one toe tapping in nervousness. Her husband had a long way to go before he was comfortable here. Andrew never would be.

  “Gentlemen.” Elizabeth waltzed over to the loveseat, smoothed down the back of her dress. and sat down with her ankles crossed underneath her skirt. “I may have found the assistance we need to find the missing people.”

  Both Andrew and Samuel frowned, but the Irishman spoke first. “What kinda help would that be, lassie?”

  “When I was in the spirit passageway, I met someone else. Someone who helped me get to Rachel last time.”

  Samuel looked over at Andrew. “Is that normal?”

  The Irishman shook his head. “Not to my way of thinkin’. What did he look like? Did he have a name?”

  “I didn’t see his body. Just a manlike form. I call him ‘the emissary’ since we couldn’t speak to each other, only gesture. I assumed that’s how he saw me as well.” Elizabeth’s excitement grew even though she felt a little guilty about not telling them earlier. “He must be another medium. Why else would he be there?”

  “I don’t like it,” Samuel groused. “I may not be a medium, but why does this feel odd?”

  “It be the first time I be hearing anything like this, but you be a lot stronger than I am. Rachel knew we had just touched on your gifts, lassie.” Andrew shrugged. “Maybe it be another medium. Can’t think of what else it could be.”

  “We don’t have a choice. We have to find the missing before they are moved, even if I have to enter the mind of someone else.” Elizabeth insisted. “Unless one of you has discovered another way to solve this mystery.”

  Both men shook their heads.

  Andrew squinted at her hand, then motioned for her to show it to him.

  “It’s nothing.” She hid the burned hand in the folds of her skirt. “I burned it on a hair iron.”

  “You don’t use a hair iron. Sally does.” Samuel scowled. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  Resigned to having to show it to them, Elizabeth pulled her hand out to reveal the imprint of the trinity knot on her palm. “It doesn’t hurt much, but it’ll probably leave a scar.”

  “That be Rachel’s charm.” Andrew pointed at it. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I think it may have had to do with the emissary helping me reach Rachel.”

  “This is way beyond anything we’ve discussed.” Samuel stood up, shaking his head. “We need to find another way.”

  “Stop it, Samuel. I’m fine. If the emissary had meant to do me harm, he would have already done it by now.” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed in frustration.

  “That does not make me feel better.”

  “And you need to trust in me. This is who I am.” She insisted. “Don’t box me in like my father has all these years. I’m more than just Jonathan Weldsmore’s daughter. And I can save those people.”

  Samuel knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “I know that. And I believe in you. I also love you, which is why I worry.” He sighed and kissed her hand. “So what do we do?”

  “First, we need to do this before Father gets home and sees Mr. O’Sullivan here,” Elizabeth urged them. “He’s not as broad minded as you think he is.”

  “I don’t think he’s broad minded at all,” Samuel retorted. “But you’re right. Let’s get this done.”

  Andrew stood up and walked behind Elizabeth, placing his hands on her shoulders. His touch was so light, yet a warmth emanated from his fingertips that spread down her back and arms. It made her feel safe and secure.

  “I understand why Rachel uses you as an anchor. Your presence is very calming. Like a nice cup of hot tea,” she remarked to him.

  Andrew chuckled. “Now if only me wife thought the same, life would be perfect.”

  “What do I need to do?” Samuel asked.

  “Make sure we’re not disturbed. And let Sampson know we’re in here and that if my father arrives, he’s not to come in until we are done.”

  “He knows, but I’ll lock the door anyway.”

  “I’ll try to reach Rachel again, but if I can’t, I’ll search for Abigail or the boy,” Elizabeth added.

  “As you can tell, the lass has it all well in hand,” Andrew reassured S
amuel. The Irishman took a deep breath and exhaled. “Let me know when you be ready,” he told Elizabeth.

  While Elizabeth closed her eyes to concentrate, she heard her husband get up, lock the door, then sit back down again. He began to fidget.

  “Samuel, you need to be still,” she told him with her eyes closed.

  “Sorry.”

  Confident in her ability to reach at least one of the missing people, Elizabeth relaxed her mind and allowed it to flow into the spirit passageway. She imagined tendrils of light searching for kidnap victims and was surprised at how easy it was to find and recognize them. They appeared as scarlet beacons of light writhing in the distance. She wondered if she were getting stronger or if something else had agitated them, thus making them easier to find.

  Elizabeth cast her thoughts out for the emissary, but she got no response. She hoped if she needed him, he’d appear like before.

  The beacons sparked then settled down. Something was happening. She had to get to Rachel. With a force that startled her, Elizabeth thrust her psyche toward the beacon. Her hope was that Rachel had left it as a signal in the passageway, but when she arrived there was only a cascade of scarlet stars, so she chose one and poured her mind into it.

  When she opened her eyes, Elizabeth found herself once again in the room that held the missing people. This time they were on the move. They shuffled and stumbled forward in uneven lines between the cots toward the door. Elizabeth looked down and recognized the hands of the girl called Abigail. She tried to take control of the girl’s body, but it was impossible. Somehow, the girl’s mind had been blocked off by someone who knew how to do such things. It was as if Abigail and the others were sleepwalking. Elizabeth suspected the well-bred man she had encountered before had something to do with it. She would have to avoid him if at all possible.

  Abigail kept her head down as the door opened. One by one they filed out. When Abigail got near the door, the stench of fish and rotting trash assaulted Elizabeth’s senses. It was then she realized where they probably were. There was an old refuse site by the bay that had been used to deposit waste and other unmentionables from the city. She had thought they had closed it down after the sewage system was built, but she’d obviously been wrong.

  About ready to return to her own body with this information, Elizabeth stopped when she heard two men talking. One was the older Irishman who had beaten Rachel; the other was the educated one. She had to learn what they were planning without being detected.

  “Where be my money?”

  “Here.”

  The jangle of coins in a leather pouch distracted her as Abigail stepped forward in the line. There was a snort, then a grumble as the sound of small metal pieces hitting the wooden floor then rolling away.

  “Is this be a joke? What you playing at?”

  “I play at nothing.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw a short-lived scuffle. The older Irishman screeched in agony and fell to the floor, spittle drooling from his mouth. She assumed he was dead.

  “Stop!” The young man’s voice rang out. “Look here!”

  Abigail’s head involuntarily cranked up, but the man in front of her blocked Elizabeth from seeing who was speaking. However, she recognized the woman standing next to him—it was Rachel.

  “This is your leader. She will guide you. No one is to stop you. If they do, what will you do?”

  “Kill!” The group said in unison.

  “You will march through the Middle District and to Beacon Hill. What will you do there?” His voice rose with a little more passion.

  “Kill! Destroy!”

  “What?” he yelled.

  “Kill! Destroy!”

  “Very good. Rachel . . .” Elizabeth saw the man squeeze her mentor’s hand. “Lead these people out of here. And be a dear and try to kill Jonathan Weldsmore for me. That should please my uncle.” Rachel’s nose twitched as if she was trying to encourage a fly off her face. “Don’t be that way and fight me. You’re not strong enough. Now go!” he ordered.

  Rachel marched like a wooden nutcracker as she turned and led the group out of the building.

  Torn between wanting to stay and help Rachel or fleeing back to her body to warn the others, Elizabeth made the safe decision to return. As she prepared her mind to leave Abigail, she felt a hand on the girl’s shoulder. For a second she thought it was Andrew, but when it passed across her face, grabbed her by the chin, and yanked it up, it shook Elizabeth to her very core.

  “Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Mrs. Hunter.”

  Elizabeth stared up into the eyes of Leland Tillenghast, the young dandy who had bumped into her at the Gardner party. The image of him kissing her hand and then feeling nauseous afterward made sense now. He was medium. House Tillenghast must have known about her ability and sent him to trigger it. She was mortified that a Great House would threaten and terrorize not only herself, but Rachel as well. But why? The only answer she could come up with was that they were trying to take over House Weldsmore.

  “What perfect timing,” Leland said with glee as he scooped Abigail up in his arms. “I can’t believe my luck. Just like at the Gardner party when I sensed what you really were.”

  Elizabeth tried to push out of Abigail’s body, but it was as if he had put a massive wall around her psyche. She was trapped.

  “Now, now. We can’t have you wandering off again. This is glorious. It’s like killing two birds with one stone. Or a hundred birds.” With a chuckle, he carried her to the door. Elizabeth watched as his army of sleepwalkers lurched out of the warehouse and into the twilight. Men, women, children—they all did his bidding, with Rachel leading them into certain death. Once the violence began, the police would crack down hard and not think twice about killing a band of marauding South Siders.

  “You, there!” Leland called out to a young man in his early twenties who shuffled over. “Take her,” Leland ordered. “I want you to keep her safe until you reach Beacon Hill, then let her go. The police will do the rest.” He dumped Abigail into the man’s arms. “It’ll be interesting to see what happens to the real Elizabeth Hunter when this girl’s body dies. Will you die? Become a vegetable or just go mad? I guess we’ll find out, won’t we? Goodbye, my dear.”

  A horse whinnied. Then came the sound of hooves galloping off. Leland must have left to watch what chaos this plan of his would bring. What was he going to do with all these people? Elizabeth thought to herself. And why?

  Elizabeth poked round in Abigail’s head searching for a way out. Her mind generated the image of a brick wall to represent her prison. Using the techniques Rachel taught her, she focused her psychic energy through imaginary hands and blasted the wall. It wavered, so she hit it again. A piece of brick blew off. Emboldened by even a bit of success, she blasted it again. By the time she had bored a small hole through it, she noticed that Leland’s army had entered the lower part of the Middle District. Most people stared at them but did not interfere. She knew that would end soon.

  A flash through the hole she had made caught her attention. She peeked through it and saw the swirl of amethyst and emerald green stars. The emissary had returned.

  ***

  Sampson paced outside the library door as instructed by Mr. Hunter. Additional guardsmen had been stationed outside and throughout the house, but none of that would be useful if something went wrong with these visions Elizabeth had. He knew they had saved people, but since seeing her eyes change, he wondered if these visions had affected her. What if the little girl he had loved and watched grow up was becoming a threat to House Weldsmore, and specifically her father? What would he do? Whom would he chose to protect? The very idea of making such a decision horrified him.

  He had decided to inform Mr. Weldsmore about what he had seen as soon as he returned home. Attempting to explain something like this would be impossible over the phone. So he paced. And he waited.

  ***

  Jonathan watched the steam from the engine blow past h
is window as the train rumbled down the track. He had a difficult time enjoying the well-appointed Du Pont train car knowing those alliances he had depended upon for support might no longer exist. As he jotted down a diagram of the relationship between the Great Houses and the minor ones who had changed their allegiances over the last few decades, a pattern emerged. While he had been looking outward to other countries for new business and other ways to expand, the most powerful Great Houses in America had been methodically consolidating power since the House Wars. Even seeing it on paper, the changes were almost imperceptible.

  But why target House Weldsmore now? What was different?

  Jonathan sighed. His mind shuffled through the various pieces of information he’d discovered over the past few days and paused over something possibly significant. Demons. Did they really exist? And if so, had Tillenghast discovered a way to control them? And what the hell could Jonathan do against an enemy like that?

  As for why, perhaps Tillenghast had decided the new ships or weapons Jonathan was working on could thwart his plans. That had to be it. If Alfred Tillenghast believed this were true, then House Weldsmore would of course be in in his crosshairs.

  Jonathan jotted down a few notes on whom he could approach for support. Perhaps it was time to solidify his relationship with the western Houses. Most were subservient to larger Houses in the Midwest and the east, but they would not stay that way forever. So why not reach out to Zhou, Garza, and even Stellmacher? The idea of a federation of Houses with broad base support from their constituents who no longer had to kowtow to the Great Houses had a certain appeal to him. He chuckled to himself. Perhaps he was a Republican after all.

  All of these political machinations were well and good but did not solve the immediate problem of House Tillenghast working against him. They might take the easy way out and try to assassinate him, but tearing him down and letting him suffer was more Tillenghast’s style.

  “Sir?” One of his guardsmen approached. “We’ll be in Boston in twenty minutes. Do you want me to telegraph the house to send a car to meet us?”