Moonshine

by Robin Trent

  Abigail put her ear to the door and heard the doctor welcome the pastor and usher him into his office. She slowly turned the doorknob and stepped inside the foyer so she could hear better.

  Dr. William Barrett was a sensible man. He did not care for flights of fancy, idle gossip, or hearsay. He liked to be practical and pragmatic. Warning bells were going off in his head as Pastor Poole stepped into his office. What could bring him when he looked to be in perfectly good health?

  "Good morning, Pastor Poole. Please sit down," Dr. Barret said, indicating a proffered chair. The doctor eyed the minister and noticed he seemed to be blushing and acting slightly agitated. Maybe a nervous condition?

  "Good morning, Dr. Barrett," Pastor Poole said as he sat down. "I know this visit probably comes as a surprise as I am not actually ill."

  "Oh? So what seems to be the problem?" Dr. Barrett sat on the edge of his desk and tried to look concerned.

  "Well, I am here not about myself, but about someone else."

  Dr. Barrett raised his hands up to stop the minister from speaking any further. "Young Pastor Poole. I am not in the habit of speaking about the health of my patients with other people. The relationship between a doctor and his patient is a sacred one. Surely, you can appreciate that."

  "Of course, Dr. Barrett. Understand I am not here for mere idle gossip. I am sincerely concerned about the mental health of one of my flock, and I wanted to know what your medical opinion was."

  "One of your flock? I don't know of anyone in your flock that is ill right now, mentally or otherwise." Dr. Barrett raised a bushy eyebrow at the pastor.

  "Elizabeth may not be one of my flock officially, but I am sure she would come to church if she were well."

  "Pastor Poole, Elizabeth Merkova is not one of your flock; she's Catholic. I don't know that she would want me to talk with you about her health. This is most irregular." Dr. Barrett was quickly becoming exasperated. He had always thought Pastor Poole had more sense and decency than this.

  "Dr. Barrett, please hear me out. I wish to confide something in you, which may go no further than this office, and I am only here because I am truly concerned. I am not a minister who runs around accusing people of witchcraft or being hysterical. But Elizabeth confessed something to me today when I went to visit her, and what she said was so peculiar I had to speak to someone about it. I sincerely think she may be possessed.”

  A loud bang could be heard out in the hallway, and it gave both men a start. Dr. Barrett signaled the pastor to hold his tongue as he rushed towards the office door to open it. As he did so, he could see the front door closing, and he quickly moved to open that. Standing on the stoop was Abigail Young, nervously fanning herself with a handkerchief. "Good morning to you, Dr. Barrett."

  "Abigail, is there something I can help you with?" William scowled.

  "Why, I was passing by and was about to come in to see if you had an available appointment for later in the month. My husband needs to have his foot looked at."

  Dr. Barrett's expression softened as he decided to give Abigail the benefit of the doubt. "Not really busy right now, Abigail. Bring him in any time, no appointment necessary. Have a good day." Dr. Barrett summarily dismissed Abigail and went back into his office.

  Pastor Poole had not moved from his seat. "Is everything all right?"

  "Yes, Kristopher. Listen, I think Elizabeth is just tired. Worn out from childbirth and then becoming ill. She's running a fever. It would be best if you didn't break any vows of confidence with Elizabeth by speaking to me of anything she said to you. But I would advise you to ignore anything she said that seemed strange. A fever can do odd things to the mind. She's fine, she just needs to be left in peace and allowed to heal. I am sure she will recover, and then she probably won't even remember what she said to you." Dr. Barrett patted the minister on the arm as he escorted him to the door.

  "Well, if you think that she is all right and not possessed,” Poole stammered.

  "No, minister. Elizabeth Merkova is not possessed. Good day." Dr. Barrett wished the minister well and closed his front door. Then he went back to his office and sat down at his desk, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. Why couldn't people mind their own business? He understood the minister's concern but not his conclusion. He felt similar anxiety himself over her mental health, but he wasn't going to share that. No, that wouldn't do any good. What if he was wrong, and Elizabeth did recover? He would not have her living with that stigma when it was just a fever. At least William thought it was just the fever talking. Oh, how he wanted it just to be the fever talking.

  Witchcraft. "Oh my, oh, oh my," was all Abigail Young could say to herself as she wandered home in an excited daze. She had wanted to know what the pastor was seeing the doctor over, being concerned about the good pastor and all, but hearing him mention Elizabeth Merkova and witchcraft in the same sentence, well, this was just too much.

  She hadn't heard the whole conversation since she lost her balance while listening in at the doctor's office door. But she had heard enough. She could certainly fill in the missing pieces herself. There always was something strange about Elizabeth Merkova, and her mother too. The parts seemed to fall into place for Abigail. Elizabeth did not attend church, was taken with fits, avoided the good company of righteous individuals such as herself, and of course, her mother was just mean and nasty. Well, it was Abigail's sacred duty to out these two and protect the village. They were an affront to God.

  As she walked along by herself, Abigail Young didn't see or sense her companion. Invisible as he was, he whispered evil, treacherous things in Abigail's ear, making sure they controlled her thoughts. Oh, the pastor was a stroke of luck, as his conversation with the doctor only solidified the nasty thoughts Abigail was already having thanks to the constant barrage of images and whispers. It had been going on for weeks, and Abigail's mind crumbled under the onslaught. She was a weak and vile human being, but Merritt thought all humans were weak and depraved. It was so easy to make them hate and fear.

  "Elizabeth is beautiful. But such beauty must be the result of witchcraft. It's not natural to be that pretty. And she is so standoffish and contemptuous of others. She is evil. Vile. She must be stopped." Merritt kept whispering as he circled her. Always best to talk in both ears. "Of course she hides as the wife of an archaeologist. What better place to hide than in upper-class society." He was very good at making himself sound entirely reasonable. The trick was to figure out the person's weakness and then use it against them. Besides being a horrid gossip, Abigail Young was a jealous, petty, and spiteful woman. It was easy to set her upon another of the same sex. Jealousy was one of the simplest emotions to manipulate.

  Abigail was growing more and more confident that she was right. Elizabeth Merkova should be outed. And, if possible, even burned at the stake. People like her should not be allowed to exist among good Christian folk. Of course, they didn't burn witches anymore. That was an outdated practice. Even though the last executions for witchcraft had happened in the early 1700s, the 1735 Act was still in effect, and people could be prosecuted as spiritualists and gypsies, considered to be frauds. Elizabeth hadn't offered any services to anyone, so Abigail doubted that could work. But she could still be ostracized and driven from the parish. True, they would end up moving and take their vile practices to another parish. But at least it would no longer be their problem.

  Nikolai walked across the plank and into the tomb. While boxing up the museum's contents was his current task, he saw no harm in taking a little time to further his pursuits. The Great Pyramid was airless and confining, and it made Nikolai a tad nervous as he had never been a fan of tight spaces. But his curiosity always overruled his discomfort, and he refused to indulge his fears. Nikolai stood up in the inner chamber and lit a torch hanging on the wall. This was not his dig, so he wouldn’t dare touch anything, but he stared at the treasure trove of history laid out before him and marveled at the intricate work of inlay and gold.

  Statues of Egypti
an Gods, their eyes painted blue with lapis lazuli, gold necklaces, ebony and ivory, lapis beads, and scarabs. It wasn't the wealth that Nikolai saw; instead, he saw a society, once thought primitive, as beautiful and elegant and educated. He knew that many who worked in the field of archaeology did so for the plunder. Nikolai had no illusions about how English lords hired people to excavate so that they could have antique glass cabinets displaying the riches of their latest funded expedition.

  Rhys' words disturbed Nikolai. He knew the origin of prejudice against his profession. He also tried to follow respected men in his field, such as William Smith, James Hutton, Charles Lyell, and the latest techniques developed by William Flinders Petrie, whose dig he happened to be intruding upon right now. Petrie didn't appear to be around at the moment, and Nikolai didn't plan on lingering very long. But the idea that he didn't respect the history of the place he was excavating was utterly wrong. It was his love of history that drew Nikolai to archaeology. He wasn't sure why, but he felt he needed to convince Rhys that he was mistaken about himself and his profession.

  Then again, if Rhys was so adamantly against archaeology, then why was he helping himself and Henry?

  The bright light of the full moon bled the stars from the silver-blue sky. It was time, and Titwell was on a mission. There was something he wanted to know, something that had been bothering him. He wasn't one to leave work only half done, and as far as he was concerned, it was half. He had tested Euphemia, but he never got around to Ophelia. Well, he was going to fix that tonight as he crept inside the nursery.

  The bassinet was shadowed more in darkness than in light, hidden away from the moon's power. Titwell knew this was going to take more strength than his tiny frame could support, so he walked over to the window and tapped his umbrella on the floorboards. Magic twinkled around him in the air like gold dust and zoomed from his outstretched umbrella towards the baby. Ophelia levitated, and the blanket slipped off her back into the bassinet. She slowly floated across the room and lowered down to the floor, right in front of the window.

  The baby stirred and rammed her fist into her nose, then the back of her hand over her eyes. The moonlight was bright, and it was waking her up. More magic floated out of Titwell's umbrella, this time blue dust floated in the air and moved to settle on Ophelia. The baby fell back asleep immediately.

  Titwell plopped down on the floor and took the child's hand in his. He focused his intent to open the channels and let the moon's energy flow into the child. Almost immediately, Ophelia began to glow with Moonshine. Titwell sucked in his breath. So it was as he had thought. The Emissary is not one child, but two. Twins.

  "Well, that's right interesting."

  Titwell had forgotten about the changeling. He met beetle-black eyes in the darkness as Melkree peeked over the railing of the crib. Titwell stood up.

  "Now, mate, you wouldn't harm one of your own kind. I know you, so you just back off." Melkree sounded wary and started looking around for a path to escape.

  "Harm you? No, I won't harm you, you miserable, stinking..." Titwell got cut off with an "Ah ah ah" from the changeling. "Careful, you don't want to say the wrong thing. Remember who I report to."

  Titwell gave it a moment's thought. Yes, Melkree worked for Queen Oonagh, as a favor or something. But Titwell wasn't so sure he wanted this information to get back to the queen. A slight pang of conscience flitted through his mind as he had always been loyal and never lied to the queen. But he disagreed with Oonagh's tactics, and sometimes you have to stand up for what's right. He couldn't kill the changeling, that would draw too much attention. However, there was one thing he could do.

  Titwell pointed his umbrella at Melkree as deep dark purple dust flowed forth from his staff and surrounded the imp. "What ho? What are you doing? You can't..." The changeling fell over on its back, snoring like a trombone. Titwell smiled.

  "You'll have a bit of a headache in the morning. But you won't remember a thing," Titwell said more to himself than to anyone in particular, for the changeling was deep asleep.

  Titwell turned his attention back to the baby and performed the levitation spell once more. The baby floated over to the bassinet, and this time he walked with the baby. He gently lowered Ophelia back into the bassinet and pulled the blanket over her. Ophelia never stirred.

  Back in the attic, Titwell paced the floor. Ophelia had the gift as well, that much was certain. The queen kidnapped Euphemia when she found out the baby was an Emissary. Might she do the same to Ophelia? Elizabeth could not stand losing another child, and Titwell had disagreed with the kidnapping from the start. No, he was not going to tell the queen. This was a piece of information he was going to keep to himself.

  14

  "You know that isn't really your child," Spryth hissed in Elizabeth's ear. Elizabeth was in a fog, she felt dazed as if she was dreaming. Her eyes started to tear as she leaned over the bassinet of her daughter. She reached for Euphemia, cupped her hand to stroke the babe's cheek, and paused for a brief moment as she stared. This wasn't right. There was something she was supposed to remember, but what? Her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

  The baby rolled over in its crib and started to pull itself up to a standing position. Elizabeth could not believe her eyes as the baby stood in an erect stance and bounced up and down squealing. At first, she felt surprise and then relief. It was a dream, it must have been. Just a silly stupid nightmare. Elizabeth smiled at her daughter as she began to buy into the glamour.

  Then the bouncing stopped, and the baby turned to Elizabeth with outstretched arms, called out "Mama!" and wheezed. Its laughter was more like a wizened cackle than a baby's gurgle. Elizabeth stepped back from the crib and covered her mouth with her hand. The illusion now broken, before her stood a small creature with a face like a dried-up apple and dark eyes that held no love for the human race. The creature smiled a ferocious grin and wiggled its eyebrows.

  "Kill it!" hissed Spryth. "Kill it before it harms your other child!"

  Melkree spoke. "Evil nasty shade. Tell her to kill me. Might as well not be here at all! I does what I'm told, but I won't be sticking around if you want her to end me life.” The imp stomped his feet emphatically.

  Elizabeth was feeling hysterical. Her eyes desperately darted around the room, looking for a weapon.

  "Looksy. She wants to hit me. Looking for a weapon, are you, to hurt me?" The imp's eyes glittered in the dark with malice as his whole posture changed into an attack stance.

  "Oh. Oh, no," Elizabeth moaned in her throat. She continued to step backward looking for safety. She balanced herself with her hand as she stepped toward the bureau and caught herself as she tripped over something in her path.

  "Elizabeth," the shade whispered.

  "Leave me alone!" she cried. "What have you done with my baby?" She was bent over in her grief as she began to wail in agony. "Where's my baby? Where's my baby?"

  Elizabeth's hand was all over the dresser, frantically searching for a weapon as her eyes kept watch on the changeling. Her fingers brushed something cold and metallic. Elizabeth grasped the object and pulled it to her. Scissors. She took a step toward the crib, and the imp stopped its antics and took on a much more serious tone. "You don't want to be doing anything foolish, mistress.” Elizabeth raised her arms up in the air, scissors pointing downward as she poised herself to strike.

  The door to the nursery opened in a rush as Helen appeared in the entrance. "Elizabeth? What are you doing?" She blanched at the scene of her daughter standing over her child ready to kill the babe, and rushed Elizabeth to push her aside.

  "Mother! Get away. Get away. You don't know what's in here! Where's my baby?" Elizabeth looked terrified as Helen wrestled her for the scissors.

  Helen stepped back having won the scissors, and bent over to look at the now sleeping babe. She did not see anything amiss. "She's right here, Elizabeth. I think we need to get you back to bed." Helen reached her arms around her daughter's shoulders, turning her toward the door. Eli
zabeth's body turned, but her head remained focused on the crib. She felt as if she was going mad. The changeling was no longer standing there. Instead, it looked like a baby wrapped in a blanket sound asleep. "You've been sleepwalking again."

  "No, it was really there. I saw it! I'm not crazy! I saw it!"

  "You dreamed about it. That is all. You go back to sleep, and in the morning, you'll see it was all just a dream."

  Helen led the hysterical Elizabeth back to her room.

  "But you don't understand. That creature in there is not my baby. Can't you see it? Don't you see that my baby isn't there?"

  Helen was beginning to lose her patience, and she squeezed Elizabeth's shoulders a little too hard as she moved her over to the bed. Helen did not doubt her own senses and this act was beginning to wear thin. If it wasn't an act, then her daughter was truly going insane. Helen was going to have to take action because in good conscience, how could she not?

  After putting Elizabeth to bed, Helen sat down in the study. She needed to write a letter to Arthur letting him know that she would be staying on throughout the summer until Nikolai returned. After everything that had happened, she did not feel Elizabeth should be left alone.

  The changeling listened to the two women go down the hall. The mistress was frightened out of her wits. The changeling laughed to itself as it snuggled in the bassinet. This was not what the changeling would have chosen for itself, but a debt is a debt and debts must be paid. That didn't mean he couldn't have fun while he was at it. A hiss issued out of the corner of the room. The changeling peaked out over the covers to spy the nightmare floating by the window.

  "Yooouuuu shhhhouldn't dddrrrrooooppp yourrrr ffffform like thhhhhat."

  "Who are they going to tell that would believe them? Besides, I'm bored."