Kitty was staring fixedly at one spot by the railing, but it was evident she didn’t like what she saw. If she had still been a cat, she would have taken off running.
“Man in lots of clothes. Man wet.”
Seeing how upset she was, Armand took her hand. It occurred to him, not for the first time, really—Annabella told him daily, for one thing—that he needed to get over their former relationship if he had any chance of developing a new one with her.
“Does he look mean? Angry?”
When she gazed at him, her eyes were almost pleading, as though asking Armand to take up his old role to keep her safe. Nodding, he tried to convey that he would, and she calmed a little more.
“He looks . . .”
Focusing back on what—to Armand—seemed to be a railing and empty air, she squinted.
“. . . sad.”
Starting to pull back toward the door, she was obviously struggling not to let out cat noises.
“But don’t like him.”
Armand had noticed that Kitty was very good at human speech most of the time, but, when she was upset, she reverted to just whatever sounds or words got her point across.
Annabella chimed in, Apparently, several tourists have seen a dapper man in ‘30s evening dress walking beside this stretch of railing. No word on him being wet, though. Many of them thought he was a costumed member of staff.
I take it they don’t do costumes?
Not according to Lara, although I very nearly got an eye roll for that question.
Annabella appeared to think about it.
They all say he was extremely polite, doffed his hat to them, even gave them directions. No one besides Kitty seems to see him as anything frightening.
Somehow, between himself and Miss Janeway, they convinced the ex-cat not to run off, but she seemed very relieved when they moved on.
The tour took them all over the ship, not always in what seemed a straight line. Eventually, they were down in a tunnel near the engine rooms, where, apparently, a worker had been killed by the closing of an ill-timed waterproof door back when the ship was being drydocked and made into a hotel.
Kitty tugged at his coat, her eyes wide. When he leaned over to her, she whispered, “Wants out.”
For a moment, he wasn’t certain whether she meant herself or the ghost.
“Rides escalator, ends up back here.”
It was probably fortunate that the tour ended there, Kitty’s fear a little too obvious.
As the group broke up, Miss Janeway stood beside her, rubbing her hand over her back and saying, “Yes. There now. It’s all right, my dear. It will be all right.”
Armand realized he was a little jealous. With Sheba in human form, too often naked for a while there, petting her had just been out of the question.
I told you, Annabella broke in. You’re the only one who’s noticing that. She’s still who she always was, and she’s afraid you don’t love her.
Sighing, Armand put his arm around Kitty. Her vague trembling stopped instantly.
Thankfully, Annabella was too kind to gloat.
With a small spell Armand noticed from Hubert, the tour group who weren’t part of their party broke up. Miss Janeway even went off to try to distract the detective. Perhaps he was on their side—he did seem likely to want to clear up the murders, anyway—but the whole, Hi! We’re all witches! aspect was one he clearly wasn’t ready for.
“Where to now?” Hubert wondered.
“We haven’t seen the propeller yet,” Annabella put in when no one had any clear ideas.
Apparently, one had been left attached to the ship, and there had been some renovations which allowed visitors to walk through the hallways and see the giant, now still, object in the water, where it would have been hidden during its real life on the sea.
“I don’t know if they’ll be useful,” she continued. “. . . especially as I don’t see how anyone could have died there, but it’s probably best to see everything.”
One arm around Kitty, then, and his fingers entwined with Annabella, they left the ghost who, according to Kitty, was glaring and moved on to the propellers.
Armand hoped nobody noticed them, as he was embarrassed to realize that he must look like the horndog of the year.
Chapter 6
Annabella
If anything, Annabella was amused by Armand’s discomfort at having his arm around Kitty while still holding her hand. Granted, it was best that there were some “don’t notice” spells on their group, as Kitty was moaning, which was about the closest a human throat could get to a purr, but it was nice to see the ex-cat so happy.
Brutus just looked on with a whine.
I know it looks odd, she told Armand, but I also know you want her to be happy.
She didn’t quite want to say “get over it,” but she hoped her point was gently made.
Their odd party continued on through the hallways and over to where the signs said the propeller was, but, the closer they came, the more Kitty, and even Brutus, began to growl.
As none of them wanted to force the ex-animals, they stopped.
“What is it?” Armand asked.
“Evil,” Kitty growled, then let out an actual hiss.
Brutus was whining, twisting first one way around her, then another.
This left Armand, Annabella, and Hubert to look at each other.
Without a word, Hubert put a protection spell on them—which was one of his specialties—told Brutus to look after Kitty, and then took Annabella’s other side, as they entered. Somehow, it seemed hard to even do that.
The room was small and dark, and there were no other visitors anywhere nearby. Despite telling herself to relax, there was a heaviness to the atmosphere which threatened to bring Annabella to her knees. Except for the still-disconsolate sounds of an ex-cat and ex-dog who were keeping well clear, it was utterly silent, as well.
Annabella had to admit its intense creepiness, although she couldn’t really say why that was. She was even a little short of breath, as gooseflesh crawled all up and down her body.
Still, it was just a square walkway with a very sturdy railing around an open hole in the floor which allowed the visitors to look down to where some rigging beneath the ship lit up the gigantic blades of the propeller in the water. There didn’t seem to be any earthly reason to be so affected.
Unaware of when she had started shivering, Annabella stared down. The propeller was absolutely gigantic, and, for some reason, it scared her to death.
“Are you all right?” Armand wondered, putting his arm around her and holding her close.
Her gaze fixed, Annabella barely noticed, shaking violently. All that existed were those giant blades, completely still in the murky waters beneath the ship.
“Annabella?” she thought she heard Hubert call to her, although it now seemed to be from many miles distant.
“Can you imagine what it’s like to be in the water with those turning?” she heard herself saying. “All the pressure pulling you toward them. All the screaming on every side.”
“Annabella, this isn’t the Titanic. The Queen Mary was never wrecked” a voice a million miles away seemed to say, but she didn’t really hear.
Unblinking, she stared, as reality faded quickly to nothing.
Now, she was no longer in a well-tended tourist attraction. She was in the water, miles from land, fighting for her life.
But it was a losing battle.
With every spin, her death came closer. With every pump of the blades, she neared the one which would spill her blood. The more the crowd in the water around her panicked, the more inevitable it became.
The water was freezing, and her end was coming, and the giant ship which passed above her was not going to stop or even notice the dead it left behind.
No matter what she did or how she prayed, she was going to die, to be severed until there was nothing.
The screaming and the sound of escaping steam grew louder.
N
ow, she was only inches away from the whirling blades. She could feel the suction as they pulled her in, drawing her toward her terrifying, painful death.
No swimmer was strong enough to fight. No matter what, her death was coming.
Drawing her toward them . . .
“Annabella!” Armand screamed, at the same time she heard Hubert yelling, “Sancti!”
Gasping, she found both Armand and Hubert holding her tightly, knew that Hubert had just screamed out one of his favorite anti-possession words.
Still shivering, she looked at them both. “What . . .?”
But they didn’t answer, instead bustling her out of the small room as quickly as possible and, their ex-pets following, taking her back toward the cabins.
Armand? she wondered.
Hush. You’re safe. It was all he would say.
They were met on the way by Miss Janeway, who had lost her detective somewhere but fussed over both Annabella and Kitty, insisting they be taken to her cabin to be looked after. Annabella barely noticed any of it.
After that, for a half hour or more, Annabella was still shivering and had to endure the significant looks exchanged by everyone around her. Only after Miss Janeway was setting tea down in front of her—which she couldn’t help but notice had been made by something small, blue, and furry—did anyone speak.
“Drink it all, dear. It will help.”
Annabella realized a moment later that she was staring into the yellow eyes of the small, blue furry thing, which sat on the table, looking up at her worriedly.
Whatever had just happened, which she didn’t quite remember, it was disturbing. That no one would say anything, even Armand—Hubert working furiously on his laptop—was even more so.
That she was hallucinating blue furry things was somehow the worst of it, though.
Taking up the cup and swallowing the hot tea down in several long gulps, she felt it burn her throat a little but barely noticed.
Beside her, Kitty was so out-of-sorts that she actually leaned down to the teacup and lapped up the first few sips of her cream, before she came to herself enough to pick it up and gulp it down, much as Annabella had. They both put their cups down and looked up piteously.
The blue thing poured Annabella some more, and Miss Janeway took care of Kitty, who looked down in it for a second and then mewed, “Tea?”
Miss Janeway dutifully added just a dollop of that beverage into the cream and let the ex-cat try it. Kitty grimaced slightly but drank more calmly.
That was better than Annabella. It took her to the third cup to finally slow down or blink. While she knew there was no doubt something magical added to every serving, she was willing to let it do its work.
Eventually, Kitty broke the silence, looking at the blue thing. “Why imp?” she wondered.
“Now, dear,” Miss Janeway corrected her.
Kitty looked like she was concentrating. “Why is there an imp on the table?” she managed at last.
Again, she beat Annabella, who just sat there.
“Hi, I’m Ivan,” the imp waved. “I live here.”
Miss Janeway took a seat near him and scratched him on the head. “Who’s a good Ivan, then?” she crooned.
“Ooo,” Ivan closed his eyes and wiggled his toes excitedly. “Behind the ears, please. Oh, yeah. No one pets their imps anymore.”
He was clearly in heaven.
“Let’s leave Ivan’s place in this till later,” Miss Janeway suggested, as Ivan made little humming noises of pleasure. “Armand?” she prompted.
Armand had been watching Annabella worriedly but finally came around and took her hand. Clearly, he had left her to Miss Janeway’s ministrations before, although she was now back to herself enough to realize he’d been pacing.
“You weren’t hearing us when we called you, and you nearly fell into the sea near the propeller.”
Annabella decided she’d have to be pretty determined to fall, as the railing was quite high there, but she hadn’t really been aware enough to comment.
“What was it you saw?”
Embarrassingly, Annabella had no answer. “All I remember is a sense of terror, of being lost in the freezing ocean, and about to be torn apart by those blades.”
Hubert and Armand looked at each other in a way which was never encouraging for the person being communicated about.
“I found something which may be related,” Hubert said, putting his laptop on the table.
Annabella knew it was a magically-enhanced one which would allow him to find what he needed, rather than wander endlessly through the net. Everyone should be lucky enough to have one—and she was definitely going to create one for herself someday soon.
“In 1942,” Hubert informed them. “. . . during World War II, when the ship was doing service as a troop transport, the Queen Mary ran down one of its Royal Navy escort ships, killing over 80% of everyone on board. As they were under orders not to stop no matter what, they left them there to die.”
Annabella shook so violently at this information, sudden flashes of what it must have been like waiting for death in the sea overtaking her, that Armand put his arm around her tightly and held her very close.
To her surprise, Kitty seemed to try to comfort her, too. First, she petted down her arm, then put her hand on her hair, and finally took her hand. Annabella smiled at her, knowing she was trying and very much appreciating the sympathy.
Still, she had a question. “So they were chopped up by the propellers?”
“According to this, most either drowned or died of hypothermia, but if your whole ship’s been cut in half, then it’s not unlikely your propellers are going to get a few of the survivors.” Hubert sighed. “It took till the war was over for a few years for the British government to admit it happened, and, even then, they blamed it on the Curacoa, the Naval ship which got rammed.”
Annabella and Armand looked at each other.
“So, was it their fault?” he asked.
“It doesn’t look like it. The Queen Mary turned and headed straight for them. But the official decision was that it was the Curacoa’s responsibility to get out of the Queen’s way.”
Annabella was disgusted. “How very imperial of them.”
“Yes,” Hubert sighed.
They all sat there for a moment, until Annabella’s eyes landed back on Ivan. “Um, and what do you have to do with this, Mr. Ivan?” Although the whole “imps are real” thing was freaking her out a little, she saw no reason to be impolite.
“With the propeller room? Nothing that I know of. I just mis-aim an air conditioning vent or two, open a door when only a few people are watching, tug off the covers suddenly in the middle of the night, that sort of thing.”
Annabella exchanged looks with a few of her human companions before asking. “Um, why?”
“Imps are useful, usually,” Hubert put in. “Sometimes, they do minor mischief, but it’s often to help in the bigger picture.”
This didn’t really answer the question, though.
“Look, this ship has a reputation of being haunted,” Ivan explained. “And it is. But not everybody can actually see a ghost, even if it’s standing in the corner making faces at you. That’s where I come in.”
Annabella still wasn’t getting it. “You pretend to be a ghost?”
“The ship’s gotta make money, doesn’t it?” the imp pointed out. “One of its big draws is the ghosts. Trust me . . .”
He waved his hand.
“. . . one unexplained sheet pulled off in the night by an imp is worth a dozen ghosts they can’t see doing the can-can. Then they tell their friends, who put it on social media, and next thing you know, a dozen other people are here hoping for a safe brush with the paranormal.”
He shrugged.
“It works out for everybody.”
“But lately, it hasn’t been friendly ghosts,” Armand pointed out.
The imp’s eyes widened, and they were already pretty naturally wide.
“
No. Not at all. Something’s gotten to them. And whatever it is, it doesn’t want to be friends.”
This was a disturbing if not new thought.
Only Miss Janeway eventually broke the silence. “I’ll tell you what we need.”
She stood up a bit creakily but with determination.
“Dinner.”
Holding out a hand to the imp, she smiled. “Ivan, my dear, would you like a ride?”
“Would I!” The imp grinned and ran up her arm, eventually perching on her shoulder.
Miss Janeway led them toward the door, and they followed dutifully, but Armand said in Annabella’s head, Are you certain you’re okay?
The worry was clear in his eyes.
I didn’t like the way that ghost possessed you.
I can’t say I’m a fan, either, but I’ll try to be more careful next time.
Then, wrapping her best protection spell around them both, she followed their odd group of witches, imps, and ex-animals to dinner.
Chapter 7
Armand
Truthfully, Armand had trouble concentrating on the meal, although it was quite good. Instead, he tended to stare fixedly at his partner.
Armand, she told him lovingly, you’re beginning to let off stalker vibes. Hopefully, I’m not going to suddenly get possessed during the soup course, okay?
Smiling, he tried to take her word for it and focused back on his other companions.
Thankfully, the detective wasn’t with them and they had some very good privacy spells between them, so they could talk.
Some of that chat wasn’t terribly to the point, though. When the entree came, Kitty sighed.
“Don’t like cooked,” she frowned at her filet mignon.
“Language, dear,” Miss Janeway reminded her.
Kitty took a deep breath. “I prefer my meat extremely rare,” she pronounced carefully and then used a knife and fork impressively well.
It occurred to Armand that he really was going to have to sit down and have a talk or two with her soon, just so they both knew where they were. Maybe that way, he could find ways to make her new human life a little easier.
The imp was plopped on his butt in the middle of the table, making his way through some buttered toast Miss Janeway had done an admirable job of playing the fussy, odd little old lady to get him. Clearly, it wasn’t what the grand Sir Winston’s restaurant was used to serving up.
Sorcerers, Spirits, and Ships Page 5
