Portals Heather

by Leslie Edens Copeland

  Much later, the band played slow music. Emmett and I took a break. I tried some gray, ectoplasmic cake. I noticed Classic Evil slinking around the edge of the crowd, alone.

  "Mmm! This cake is to die for!" I said. "But what is the deal with Classic Evil? He seems less like pure evil, and more like a doofus."

  "Oh, he's not universal evil. That’s all the rage these days," said Emmett. "His type of evil has gone out of style." He locked eyes with me and said, with dark seriousness, "Everything goes out of style in time. Surely you realize—forms come and go."

  "Did the All go out of style?" I said, with the same dark seriousness.

  A deep scowl cut lines into Emmett's face. "The mystery of the spirit gods," he said in a snide voice. "Who knows what they are up to?"

  "Really, Emmett," I said. "Your protégée requests that you reveal the tale of the All."

  He shivered and faded out, then came back with buzzing vengeance. "If you ask me, I must tell." Still, he scowled. "Where has the All gone? The Concealment of the All!" He spat and a tiny vial of red liquid tinkled to the ballroom floor. "Pardon me." He touched it lightly with his boot, absorbing it.

  What was that thing? Some kriot? I stared at him. "What is the Concealment of the All?"

  "What you heard earlier is true. The All vanished a hundred years ago and nobody knows how to get a hold of him. It's caused all kinds of mess," said Emmett. "The Bellum's more powerful than ever, without the All to contain him. Universal evil is on the rise. Some say the Bellum trapped the All. I doubt it. The All is probably just hiding—or taking a vacation."

  "And no one has any idea where he went?" I asked.

  "No one's seen his manifestation since then. Occasionally, someone claims to have heard the words of the All," said Emmett. "His absence is a good thing, if you ask me. When the All was around, he fought constantly with the Bellum. They'd tear the spirit world asunder with their battles over the Coming End."

  "Explain the Coming End," I said.

  Emmett shrugged. "Desolation. Destruction. End of all things. It's pretty simple."

  I stared at him until he relented and said more. "The Bellum seeks to defeat the All, which will cause the spirit and mortal worlds to become the One World. Then Bellum will be the One God, and the All and other spirit gods will be no more. However, if the All can hold off the Bellum, the worlds stay intact, as they are."

  "Thank you," I said. "That's much more informative. Now, who exactly is the Bellum? I fought him at the portal field and he disappeared, but I have a feeling he's not gone for good."

  "Oh, the Bellum." Emmett perked up, very cheerful. "Great question, since I'm teaching you about evil." He grabbed an ecto-balloon and pushed it back and forth through his hand with a high-pitched squeak.

  "Stop that," I took the balloon away.

  "Sorry." Emmett floated up a foot in the air and began reciting. "The Bellum Omnium Contra Omnes, or War of All Against All, is the spirit god of the encircling realm. He is characterized by his opposition to the All, and his penchant for turning people against the All and themselves. Nicknames are the Lord of Chaos, the Bellum, and the Universal Evil. He leads the Turned Against, sometimes known as Bellumists." He glided down and bowed. I clapped, slowly.

  "He is most likely not gone," said Emmett. "The odds of a mortal—even a mortal such as yourself—beating the Bellum are infinitesimal. Only the All can triumph over the Bellum. This is what Bellum himself told me. I encountered him when I was attempting to discover the secret of spirit energy."

  I said, "And you thought universal evil would be a good source of insight because . . ."

  Emmett smiled sadly. "Don't always judge spirits by their preordained roles. I wouldn't want to be judged that way, would you? Bellum was polite and most helpful."

  "He probably wanted something," I growled.

  Emmett ignored this. "I had become curious what spirits carry with them from one incarnation to the next. As mortals say, what is the soul?"

  "And this is the first time you wondered about this?" I asked.

  "Not the first, nor the last. As you have correctly discerned, it is something of a continual habit of mine," he said.

  Oh, great All. A spirit with existential angst. Still, I listened, as I gazed up at the dark, cavernous ceiling, at the flittering bats that came and went.

  Emmett said, "Here in Dead Town, we are recognized from one incarnation to the next, by our spirit energy shining through our form. Spirits recognize each other. Mortals—eh, not so much. The form is much more solid in a mortal. Less shines through."

  "You mean you're recognized here by your spirit energy, even if you don't look the same?" I said.

  "Indeed. And that got me thinking. What is the spirit energy? Where does it come from, and who am I, really?"

  I pondered in silence. Where was he going with this?

  "You're probably wondering where I'm going with this." Emmett smiled. "Bellum understands the changes of form. He knows how to play them off each other and take advantage of them. But his energy . . ." Emmett shook his head, hard. "It's so wrong. He manipulates people, turns them against their friends and themselves."

  "I told you," I said. I mean, why would he listen to the Bellum? "No way he had good intentions. You don't trust him, do you?"

  "Not really," Emmett admitted. "But I am extremely curious about my spirit energy. I feel, sometimes, that it wants to burst from me. I can barely contain it! And I thought Bellum might have the answers."

  "I felt like that once," I said, remembering my out-of-control spectricity. I touched Emmett's misty shoulder. "A kind spirit helped me, and I am grateful to him. I don't want him to come to harm."

  Emmett settled his arm around my shoulders, with a light hum. I snuggled into the feel of him. He seemed to envelop me, like a cloak. I laid my head back, my head tilted toward his. I closed my eyes. Our faces were so close. Maybe—if I didn't look—would he kiss me?

  "Are you tired?" he said, chuckling at me.

  "Not at all." I stifled a yawn. His arm around me was so soothing. "It's just so late."

  "I'm not sure it's late. Isn't it just the time it's supposed to be?" I opened my eyes. He was frowning, and I recognized again his trouble with temporal and spatial references. "Besides, when we face the Bellum again, you'll need to know all this."

  I pulled away from him in alarm. "Face the Bellum? Not again! I don't even want to meet La Llorona!"

  "Speak of the devil! How nice to see you, Ronnie," said Emmett.

  A white-veiled figure in a long dress drifted toward us, trailing a dense mist. She moaned in response to Emmett's greeting, then caressed my face with her bony hand.

  I recoiled, brushing against her veil—and what I saw! I stood shaking, fingers crackling with spectricity, and refused to come any closer.

  "I understand, sure," said Emmett to the Llorona. "I'm glad you don't take offense. My dear little protégée wanted to speak to you, but the living can be so skittish. It was about the All."

  "Emmett, can I see you for a moment?" My voice squeaked and shook. If I hadn't been frightened beyond reason, it might have been embarrassing.

  "We can talk in a bit, Aether," said Emmett. "Ronnie's a very popular guest. I'm sure she hasn't got much time away from work."

  "Ronnie" groaned horribly and stretched her arms out to threaten Emmett, who laughed. "That's funny! You're such a wit.

  The Llorona clawed at Emmett as if she wanted to tear his eyes out, shrieking and howling. In a final gesture, she blew her veil up. Her hideous face screamed out for all to see, her flesh sunken on her foul skull, her eye sockets empty, her lipless mouth open to long, gray teeth.

  I backed away, stiff with horror, but most of the guests didn't even glance in our direction when the Llorona screamed.

  "Excellent!" said Emmett, grinning widely. "I see entirely. But Ronnie, I'm not sure Aether will quite comprehend. New protégée, still breaking her in. Oh, do you think you could? I'm sure it would help. And the Sp
ecter-Twister—don't leave that out! I think that's highly illuminating."

  Ronnie slid closer, holding forth her bony hand. I backed away. Emmett materialized behind me and placed his arm around my shoulders.

  "Now, this won't hurt a bit," he said in a cheerful voice. "Ronnie has a gift for you in honor of the occasion. Try to relax."

  The Llorona touched my forehead. My vision swam, the room blurred. Then I was in darkness, spinning and falling.

  Below me, Sam. Only it was not teenage Sam, almost eighteen. It was five-year-old Sam, curled up sleeping, with a round, chubby face and short legs, dressed in dinosaur pajamas. I kept falling and feared I would land on him, but just before we collided, my vision went black.

  Chapter Five

  Ronnie

  I panicked in the blackness. Sam! Was he okay?

  When my sight cleared, I saw Sam's short fingers and toes, Sam's legs in dinosaur pajamas. He stood on a dark river bank all by himself. He waited. How had he come to be here, young and alone, so long ago?

  The black waters slipped by sandy banks with hardly a murmur. Heavy trees brooded overhead, their roots deep in riverside earth. A low sound rose off the river, like the moaning of wind.

  Except there was no wind. The air was still. No leaves fluttered on the heavy trees, and the water sliding by had not one ripple.

  Despite the stillness, the air shivered with strange energy. The moaning grew louder. Sam turned and twisted to see its origin. He alone breathed, the world around him gone dead and silent, the trees and water holding their breath.

  Sam spoke aloud. "I will remember this feeling of dead electricity."

  His high child's voice, so serious and knowing, took me by surprise. He stood square on the bank and didn't budge, only frowned, as the moans intensified into wails.

  Far up the river, a light appeared, floating above the water. It drifted closer, and I saw that it resembled a large, glowing flower, wreathed in tendrils. Petals twisted around the translucent, orblike shape. Closer. Glow-lit tendrils snaked from the flower, hitting the bank near Sam. His short legs stumbled toward the flower's light—toward the water's edge.

  No! Please stop! I tried to scream, but my voice would not work.

  Sam halted just short of the water, the river lapping his bare toes. He turned his stubborn face toward the light-thing and shouted, "No! You can't take me. I am not here!"

  The light paused in its approach. Sam said, more quietly, "I'm in bed, far away and safe. This body you see is not real. You can't hurt me."

  I was amazed, relieved. How could he have projected out-of-body visions at the age of five? He'd never spoken of it.

  The flower's petals parted, and a woman's face emerged, eyes closed. The wreathing petals resolved into her limbs and the filigrees of her robes. Sam watched, stock still, as she opened dark eyes. Silver streams of tears ran down her youthful face. She drifted closer, hands outstretched, the wailing all around her, although she never opened her mouth. The moaning and wailing gave way to heart-breaking sobs, a sobbing to rend the earth.

  The woman gestured, beckoning Sam toward the river. His legs shook but he stood his ground.

  "You don't scare me! I can wake up if I want to," he said.

  "Come, my child!" sang the woman sweetly, but with still lips. She narrowed her dark eyes and drew in her hand as if grasping Sam by an invisible string.

  Sam steadied himself against the pull and shouted, "Are you the one who haunts the river, stealing children?"

  The woman stiffened and backed up, her face distorted with rage. "You speak? To me?"

  Her lips parted, and as her jaw stretched wider and wider, a sound-force emerged with cyclonic power, surrounding Sam. Her cries throbbed the air. Her wails caused him to gasp for breath. The pretty tendrils of the young woman's form fell away—and underneath, the sunken flesh, the gray skull, the long teeth and eyeless sockets.

  "I am La Llorona!" she howled. "Come to me, my child! I am your mother, and your home is the river forever after!"

  Her mouth widened as if to swallow Sam, her foul, wrinkled face distended in fury.

  "I am Samhain d'Espers!" shouted Sam. "I fear no river witch!"

  I swelled with pride and love for brave little Sam—but what did he call himself? "Des-pur," he pronounced our name. I'd never heard it said like that.

  Or maybe . . . I had. A memory flashed in my mind. Clinking teacups, a pale and ghostly figure, my father's laughing, stubbled face and the voice of a woman. "More tea, Mr. d'Espers?"

  Our name . . . had our name once been d'Espers?

  The spelling, the curling look of it, all came back to me. D'Espers, engraved on books and stationary and silver, our name, our family heritage, the family d'Espers, of the Hollow Hill Hold. Spiritualists all, Able Bastyr d'Espers, Samhain d'Espers, and me. The jumbled sound of Heather Desperate Despair resolved at last into my real name. Not Desperate Despair at all, but Heather Esperance d'Espers.

  How could I have forgotten?

  Sam stomped, hard. His form flickered and almost disappeared. I saw how he could break the illusion. He only had to kick himself awake and he'd be home in his bed, safe.

  The Llorona ceased moaning and drew back, her robes now black and ragged, her hideous face cloaked.

  "Samhain d'Espers? You are despair, indeed," said the Llorona. "I despair of the day when children cease to listen to their elders. I shall curse your family name." The Llorona spat scornfully, her bony claws working gnarled shapes. "Desperate despair, desperate despair . . ." she whispered.

  Sam placed a hand to his temple. He shook his head. "No matter. In thirteen years' time, the curse is lifted and the truth revealed."

  The Llorona glared, lurking above the river. "What do you want, child of Despair?"

  "I deliver the word of the All," said Sam. "You will bear witness to the death of Valente de los Santos. A bus will crash, bearing many children. The All has revealed this to me, that you shall take not a one."

  The river passed silently under the Llorona's ragged robes, but she said nothing.

  Sam pointed upward. Across the river, the light of sunrise revealed a school bus crashed against a guard rail on the highway, above the river gorge. Children screamed from within and jumped from the emergency door. The bus driver slumped, unconscious, over the wheel. A stout man with black hair, in a green uniform.

  Valente de los Santos in his last moments of mortal life.

  The Llorona reached out her grasping claw toward the school bus children, then withdrew it into her robes. "Why has the All seen fit to torment me? Have I done something to offend?"

  "Not a one," Sam repeated, his voice stern. "Oh, and one more thing."

  "Yes?" said the Llorona.

  Sam produced an envelope. He held it up to the Llorona, who drew it through the air into her waiting claw. She opened it and read it aloud.

  "The All requests your presence at the reception of Emmett's new protégée. What is this? Ronnie, please bring Specter-Twister. We enjoyed that game so much last time. Hmm. It was a blast, I guess. But this party date is thirteen years in the future! Or is it the past? I can never figure out ecto-time." The Llorona scratched her head through her ragged cloak. "I hope I can get time off from work. This doesn't give me much notice."

  Sam stomped his foot. "Ronnie" waved at him, dismissively. "Yes, yes. Tell the All that I will be at the party. He knows how I love to party. That's what got me into this mess in the first place." She muttered on, too low to be understood.

  "And the children?" said Sam.

  "Yes, that too. Whatever the All desires. Happy to help out and obey his every whim. I will take not a one." She nodded or so it appeared. Hard to tell, since she was covered in the darkness of eternal damnation and a black cloak. She backed off, receding up the river. I'm sure Sam was relieved to see her go, but not as much as I was.

  Then she called out, "Who is this new protégée? I remember the last one. What a huge mess that was. Emmett never even showed up to
the reception. Couldn't find it, he said. Like anyone believed that! It was so embarrassing for . . . oh, what was her name?"

  Sam groaned, clasping his forehead. "I wish you wouldn't ask," he said, reeling in the throes of a vision. "She's tall . . . wears white robes . . . she's crying . . . the icing on the cake says . . . Columbia."

  "Columbia. Yes, that was it," said the Llorona. Her voice babbled pleasantly now, like the river she haunted, reliving old times. She began folding into herself, her head sinking into her robes, her tendrils wrapping around her, morphing back into the glowing orb. She continued talking, like nothing was happening. "Sorry about the curse, Samhain Despair. You really are a remarkable seer. I hope you'll drop by again when you can stay longer."

  She drifted away, cackling, and Sam set about kicking himself awake. The vision shifted—a darkened bedroom, and little Sam sat up in bed. "That Llorona is not so bad, once she stops trying to drag you underwater to your death. The children will be safe. Good night, Heather."

  Good . . . night?

  Sam lay down and drifted off to sleep, and everything in my vision went black.

  Chapter Six

  Familia de los Espers

  "Heather Esperance d'Espers." The gruff voice rumbled. And I knew that voice.

  I opened my eyes to a flat, white surface that hovered a foot above my nose. I reached to touch it. It clanged against my fingers. I was lying under the punch table, still in the spirit world at the party.

  I rolled to the side. The first thing I saw were boots. Scuffed combat boots in bad need of a shine, and blue jeans. Then an arm encased in black leather reached under the table, hand extended. I grabbed the hand.

  It pulled me free of the table, and I came face to face with my brother Sam. He laughed at me, his green eyes flashing with unusual merriment.

  "What are you laughing at?" I said, my voice coming out slurred from the effects of the Llorona's vision. "You've got some explaining to do."

  "Take it easy," said Sam as I reeled back.

  Suddenly, Emmett was next to me, standing so near that I gasped. I stumbled, and he put his arm around my waist to keep me from falling. "Hi, Emmett," I said, blushing because he was so close.