End of Day

by Mae Clair

  Jillian nibbled on a thumbnail. “I never realized how many things were needed for a séance.”

  “Not all mediums work the same way.”

  “So, you’re officially a medium?”

  “More or less.” Dante drew the drapes over the French doors, blotting the ambient light from outside. “The bread, herbs, and flowers are to make the spirit feel welcome. The candles are for us. So we can see.”

  “Why can’t we just leave the lights on?” Blizzard picked up on her jittery nerves and walked closer. She ruffled his fur distractedly.

  “Most séances are conducted in the dark. Light is used for protection in the event things go south.” Dante unzipped a second bag and set two items on the table. A handheld spotlight and a small tape recorder. He lifted the spotlight. “If there’s a problem—if a spirit turns hostile—I’ll use this to flood the room. That’s a signal for you to switch on every available light you can.”

  “Now you’re scaring me.”

  “Don’t worry.” His smile was reassuring. “Everything will be fine.”

  She dusted her hands against her arms to ward off an inner chill. “What’s the tape recorder for?”

  “Sometimes spirits interact on a level we can’t hear. If that happens, I’ll be able to pick up sounds on the audio playback we might otherwise miss.”

  She breathed a little easier given how calmly he explained everything. He’d conducted séances before and clearly knew what he was doing.

  Tessa joined them around eight forty-five, and Sherre showed up a few minutes later. Jillian made introductions, then the group took their seats at the table. Dante went over the same details he’d shared with Jillian. When he was done, he placed a rough-cut green stone, a clear plastic baggie containing dirt, and a small handbell on the table.

  Sherre zoned in on the items immediately. “What are those?”

  “Something to connect us to Gabriel Vane.” He picked up the stone. “I can’t say for certain, but I think this belonged to Vane and was probably buried with him.”

  “How did you end up with it?”

  “My son found it.” Tessa twisted a silver ring on her hand. Jillian couldn’t tell if the action was prompted by nerves or habit. “He was the boy—”

  “Who fell into the grave. I remember now.” Sherre’s gaze swiveled back to Dante. “What about the dirt? Did that come from Vane’s grave, too?”

  He nodded. “I went to Hickory Chapel Cemetery and collected it earlier tonight. A spirit will naturally home in on soil from their burial place.”

  Jillian’s palms grew sweaty. The conversation was starting to sound like something from a B horror movie, and those always ended badly with the characters picked off one by one. She reached for Blizzard, who sat beside her chair, and rubbed his fur. Even the husky was on alert as if he sensed something unusual taking place. “What about the bell?” It looked like an antique, something a teacher might have used in the days of one-room schoolhouses to call the class to order.

  Dante fingered the handle. “Despite what you might have seen in the movies, spirits rarely communicate vocally. It’s more likely Vane will pick something to use as a channel. Handbells go back to the earliest days of spiritualism and allow the dead to converse through a series of yes or no answers.”

  “Like ring the bell if you can hear us. That kind of thing?” For someone who hadn’t wanted to attend a séance, Sherre zeroed in on the nuances quickly.

  “Exactly. When I give the signal, Jillian will switch off the lights, then we’ll join hands. It’s possible nothing will happen tonight, but if it does, don’t break the circle.”

  Tessa twisted her ring with greater force. “What could happen?” Definitely nerves. Jillian’s own felt like they were going to crawl up through her throat.

  “Any number of things.” Dante looked at each of them in turn. “The cues might be visual or audible. The temperature could drop, the candles could flicker, or something could move. It’s possible you might even see a manifestation.”

  A ghost.

  Jillian reminded herself Vane would not want to hurt them. He couldn’t possibly. Not after all she and her family had done to keep his memory alive through the centuries—what she was currently doing in an effort to see his remains returned to his resting place.

  She glanced down at Blizzard, noting the watchfulness in his eyes as he gazed up at her. “Will Blizzard be all right?” She could take him upstairs and lock him in her bedroom, but he was a stabilizing presence and she needed that tonight.

  “He’ll be fine. If anything, he’ll sense Vane’s presence before we do. Animals are more in tune with the spirit world than humans.” Dante opened the baggie and spilled dirt onto the table. He placed the gem beside the small mound, then centered the bell higher above both, creating a triangle. “One final warning before we begin. I’m going to try to reach Gabriel, but there’s a chance something else could answer.”

  Sherre shifted uneasily. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “It’s always a risk when communicating with the dead. If anything goes wrong, I’ll break the circle and flood the room with light.” He tapped the spotlight beside his chair. “If that happens, everyone draw back from the table and switch on as many lights as you can.”

  “Dante.” Tessa sent him a worried glance. “I know you’ve done this before, but—”

  “Everything will be okay, Tess.” Dante covered her hand with his. “I won’t let anything happen to you or anyone else in this room.”

  She breathed deeply and nodded, seeming to draw confidence from his assurance.

  “Jillian.” Dante signaled for her to douse the lights.

  She stood and flipped the switches, swathing them in blackness but for a few patchy halos of candlelight. An amber corona spread on the table where a single squat pillar provided illumination. Jillian returned to her seat, fighting to banish thoughts of night demons and ghouls.

  Keep the energy positive.

  It was Halloween Eve. A time for pumpkin carving, glow-in-the-dark spiders, and harmless pranks. Heart pounding, she joined hands with Dante on the left, Sherre on her right. Tessa finished the circle, her eyes liquid black pools in the darkness.

  Bowing his head, Dante recited a prayer for protection. Jillian added her own silent plea and imagined Tessa doing the same. Of them all, Sherre seemed unfazed, as if she was merely killing time.

  “Spirits, welcome.” Dante sat straight, his voice firm. “We come before you to communicate with the ancestor of one who is present. We have formed this circle to reach Gabriel Vane. There are gifts in the room, and our hearts are free of negative energy.” He waited a pulsebeat. Two. “Gabriel Vane, can you hear me? If you are with us, give us a sign of your presence.”

  It took concentrated effort for Jillian to resist holding her breath. Her gaze swept the room, darting into the dark recesses untouched by candlelight. While her nerves were strung taut, she sensed calm, even skepticism from Sherre. Could the detective’s cynicism impact the circle? Second dragged into eerie second. Despite the roominess of her home, Jillian felt abruptly claustrophobic.

  “Gabriel Vane, are you here?” Dante’s voice was measured and cool.

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” Sherre muttered.

  He sent her a sharp glance. A warning not to speak.

  Sherre rolled her eyes, and Jillian began to fear she’d made a mistake by inviting her.

  Just that quickly, a change came over her. An otherworldly presence brushed against her mind, the touch puzzling, yet strangely familiar.

  “Gabriel?” Her voice was overly loud in the stillness. Beside her, Blizzard stood with his head and tail lowered. Fur bristled on the back of his neck as a low rumble built in his throat. She wanted to tell him to sit, but her mouth had gone dry. Fear knifed through her as swift and sharp as a honed blade. Before
she could catch her breath, the temperature plummeted. Cold air blew through the room and sent the candlelight into a chaotic dance of flickering flame.

  Tessa uttered a strangled sound and tried to swivel in her seat. “What’s happening?” A note of hysteria crept into her voice.

  “Maintain the circle.” Dante’s order was firm, but his gaze narrowed. “Jillian, what do you see?”

  She hadn’t taken her eyes from a spot by the glass doors. “A patch of shadow. Utter blackness.” Her gaze swiveled between the other three. “Can’t you see it?”

  “Who is it?” Dante’s question supplied her answer.

  “I…I don’t know.” She wanted to believe the phantom was Gabriel, but the presence was remote, merely an impression on the fringe of her mind.

  “Ask who it is.”

  If only it were that easy. “How?”

  “In your head. Use your empathic abilities.”

  Fear had made her close herself off. It was one matter to open herself to the feelings of others, but to do the same with a spirit who had crossed the bridge to Summerland made her blood run cold. Blizzard butted against her leg, his presence infusing her with strength. He’d stood beside her—protector and companion—through the worst moments with Madison. It only made sense he’d do the same now.

  Bolstered by the husky’s loyalty, Jillian opened her mind. Within seconds she was struck by a hodgepodge of impressions, the images whirling past so quickly it was like watching a movie on fast-forward. Through it all, a single aura feathered her mind. “It’s him. Gabriel Vane.” She heard his voice as if he spoke inside her head. “He says he was drawn by the stone.”

  Jillian’s gaze dropped to the gem on the table. The cold was growing, slithering up her back along with a creeping sense of terror. There was something else in the room. A malignant force that lurked beyond the fringe of darkness. She imagined it oozing over the floor, black and oily, inching closer.

  “He says we must be careful.” Gabriel projected urgency into her thoughts. “The stone is powerful. It’s meant to bind soulmates together and offer protection, but in the wrong hands, it can also destroy.” If only she understood its properties.

  Blizzard back-stepped and barked, the sound high-pitched and eerie.

  “The gem belonged to Dinah Crowe.” The face of a pretty blond-haired woman filled her mind, chased by a torrent of warmth. Gabriel had loved her. Lost her.

  Atticus Crowe’s daughter.

  Jillian closed her heart to his sadness, trying to focus on the stone. Please, Gabriel, help us. Cold spots popped like balloons around the table. “He’s restless. Angry.”

  “Because someone violated his grave?” Dante’s voice anchored her in the present.

  “Yes—No.” She felt herself floating, pulled to a distance past. “Not now, but a long time ago. He couldn’t escape.” Darkness swept over her, the odor of tightly packed earth and stone filling her head. “They—oh, God!” Tears flooded her eyes. “They buried him alive.”

  Gabriel’s breath catches, and for a moment there is only lightness and air. Then the earth closes around him, his senses clogged by leaf-mold and the sour stench of his fear. A keening builds in his ears. Muted at first, it climbs in volume, an unholy clamor unlike any he has ever heard. It resonates with thunder, the violent snake-kiss of lightning.

  Death is coming for him.

  He fights against the restriction of his mud tomb, but for every fraction he gains, the sludge grows heavier, pushing him deeper into a dank grave. Dirt clogs his mouth, blocks his throat. Starved for air, his lungs balloon against his ribcage.

  Contract, expand again.

  He breathes in dirt and tries to scream. His mouth is full of mud and the cobweb-like netting of tiny stones. In his mind, his cry rolls above the treetops, over the bell tower, fading into the village he once called home. He is beyond escape, betrayed by men he imagined friends. Their treachery is a knife like no other.

  Death sidles closer, oiled and slick with raven feathers.

  Gabriel lashes out with every waning trace of strength, but the battle has been decided. His eyes roll into his head. Maddeningly, consciousness remains, in mockery of his terror.

  Somewhere far above in a place he cannot touch, fire forks across the sky. Clouds gather—tattered gray vessels speared by pale icicles of moonlight. The sight is dazzling, his fear stifled by awe. There is a strange sense of peace with the fire of Heaven singing him to sleep. Mud and earth strangle the last quiver of breath from his lungs.

  He thinks of Dinah. Imagines her arms reaching out to him. He should feel hatred for the men who have brought him to this end, but death takes him quickly, casting him into the silt of the underworld.

  His consciousness fades as the chapel bell tolls his passing.

  With a gasp for air, Jillian jerked back to the present.

  “What did you see?” Sherre stared at her wide-eyed.

  “I—” Her voice cracked, her mind still pulsing with Gabriel’s thoughts and feelings. Heart pounding, she glanced across the room, but the patch of shadow was gone. Something dark and meaty had slithered into its place. As her eyes touched the shape, the table jumped and jittered, dancing like someone shook it by the legs.

  “What’s happening?” Tessa tried to draw back, but Jillian clung to her hand.

  The bell upended and rolled onto its side. It swayed back and forth in a small arc, the striker lying dead against the inside curve. Impossibly, the air reverberated with a brang-clang, brang-clang as if an invisible hand swung the bell up and down. Gooseflesh broke out on Jillian’s arms. A small whimper escaped her throat.

  “Dante!” Tessa’s cry bordered on panic.

  Blizzard snarled—a challenge so feral, Jillian momentarily forgot her fear. She would have grabbed his collar but was afraid of breaking the circle. The table rocked again, and she screamed.

  Something crouched in the corner. A mass of sinew and bone. Misshapen and squat, it possessed no true form but appeared scraped from the ilk of nightmares. Red eyes glowed in a skull the cold white of cadaver flesh. Jillian tried to look away but couldn’t tear her gaze from the monstrosity. This thing—an abomination of bloated appendages and pasty skin—couldn’t possibly be Gabriel Vane.

  She whimpered again, and the sound propelled Blizzard into action. With a snarl, he bolted for the corner where the dead thing dragged itself across the floor. Wind spun a cyclone through the room, snuffing the candles in a single, powerful gust.

  “Break the circle!” Dante yelled.

  “Blizzard!” Jillian raced for the lights. “Stay back, Blizzard!”

  Her hand smacked down on the switch at the same moment Dante released a blast of light. The husky gave a strangled yap, followed by a high-pitched whine. The sound catapulted Jillian’s heart into her throat. Somewhere behind her, she heard Tessa sobbing.

  “Blizzard!” Jillian flew across the room, then dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around the husky’s neck. He pressed into her quaking arms, his agitation nearly tangible.

  “Shh, it’s okay.” She buried her face in his fur.

  “What the hell just happened?” Sherre’s voice cracked like a whipcord.

  Jillian looked from the dog to the detective, who was on her feet, her normally coppery skin blanched the color of egg cream. She didn’t seem frightened so much as angry. At the table, Tessa sat sideways in her chair, wiping away tears.

  Dante stood behind her, rubbing her shoulder as he studied the room. “My guess is Gabriel Vane just happened.”

  “But that’s not all.” Jillian thought of the misshapen thing in the corner. The oily substance she’d imagined oozing over the floor, and the winter blast of cold air. “There was something else here, too.” She met Dante’s gaze and saw he understood.

  “What?” Sherre prompted.

  Jillian knotted her finge
rs in Blizzard’s fur. “Monsters.” She felt cold to the bone, her voice barely a whisper. “There were monsters here, too.”

  * * * *

  Jillian tugged the quilt closer around her shoulders, but the chill had settled deep. She sat on the sofa in the living room, sipping the cup of hot tea Dante made for her after Sherre and Tessa departed. Tessa had been anxious to return home to check on Elliott and Finn after the unsettling events of the night, and Sherre left—if not a staunch advocate of the curse—at least a firm believer in ghosts. She promised to devote more energy to recovering Gabriel’s remains.

  “How are you doing?” Dante joined her on the couch.

  “Cold.” She set her tea on the coffee table and offered a weak smile.

  Earlier, he’d packed up his supplies and removed every trace of the tools he’d used during the séance, going so far as to carry the duffle bags out to his 4Runner. Jillian was sure he did it to appease her. All three women had been shaken by what happened during the séance, but only Jillian had seen the malignant creatures crawl from the darkness.

  Burrowing deeper beneath the quilt, she tried to block the memory. The séance had left her shaken enough to switch every lamp in the living room to full wattage. She’d done the same with other lights on the first floor and even the second. When she slept tonight—if she slept at all—it would be with every lamp in the house blazing like a sun gone nova. The brighter, the better.

  Dante seemed to sense her anxiety. “Just cold?”

  “And scared.” She wasn’t afraid to admit the truth. Blizzard pressed against her legs, and she sank her fingers into the husky’s fur. “What if one of the things I saw tonight comes back? What if they’re still here?”

  Dante grasped her hand. “I promise you, nothing is here.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I did a cleansing while you were here with Blizzard.” His thumb tracked over her knuckles. “I dispelled all negative energy and residual darkness. The things you saw tonight were probably from Hickory Chapel Cemetery. A sampling of the evils Vane is supposed to protect against.”