Elijah slipped off one shoe and slid his foot beneath Van Courtland’s knee.
“Lazy,” Jane scoffed, batting at Elijah’s foot.
Withersby’s face twisted into something pale and helpless, and he wrested away with a growl. “Oh, and to waste such fine brandy!” He turned to face a long mahogany bar, where a decanter and tray of glasses lay broken on the floor in a pool of dark, pungent liquid.
“Well, our friend here seems to have escaped after last night’s melee. Most of the offenders were driven back to their proper place, thanks to Miss Percy, but this one managed to indulge his fancy for Van Courtland’s innards. He’s right terrible, and took many a soul with him on his way to his mass black-death grave.” Noticing Percy out of the corner of his eye, he said, “Why, my dear Miss Parker, are you all right?” Everyone turned to stare at her, sunk upon a nearby stool. She supposed she looked as ill as she felt.
“You just wait,” the spirit gurgled, its voice wet from inside the mortal trappings of Van Courtland. “Wait and see what we’ll do to you when you’re dragged to the other side. Especially you who look just like us. I’m sure special treats await.”
Percy flared with righteous indignation. She turned to Alexi and tried to speak calmly. “He’s taunting, saying such things as would not befit a lady’s repetition. Be thankful you have deaf ears tonight, friends.” She waved a hand that they might not worry further over her.
Alexi turned. “In the presence of a lady? How dare you!” His hand issued a more powerful jolt, binding the victim in shackles of light. There was an immediate shift through Van Courtland’s skin, the spirit within struggling to pull free.
The sight was revolting, but Percy watched. Alexi’s sparking cords squeezed closer and closer, and she heard the spirit’s tirade become struggling gasps. Josephine opened her bag to reveal its contents: a small shimmering painting of an angel. Lifted out to hang upon the opposite wall, the image filled Percy with peace and joy all at once, and she felt the warmth of the phoenix pendant around her neck, flying upon the ruffled folds of her fine dress. Glancing down, she could see her pendant glowing with an empathetic light similar to that in the air here.
Josephine squinted, adjusted the corner of the frame and turned to kneel beside Jane. “Van Courtland, mon chéri,” she murmured near the man’s ear. “Do look at that image. It will soothe you, ease your troubled mind.” She had to force open his lids, but once he caught sight of the painting, his eyes ceased their rolling dance of panic. “Oui, Matthew, focus. Your guardian angels are by your side, helping you fight. Now, you mustn’t remove this painting. It’s your guardian angel for life.” Her hand was stroking mousy brown hair from his temples. Percy couldn’t help noticing Elijah make a face.
With a small flutter of her fingertips, Jane countered the man’s convulsions, some of which brought either blood or bile trickling from his thin lips. His muscles unclenched and the fluids ceased, but the battle raged on within him. All the while, it was as if Alexi was drawing the slack from his illuminated threads of sapphire flame, binding his body partly like a weaver, partly like a conductor, constricting the terror with each deft movement, crushing the vehemence out of the terrible presence, light against the force of darkness.
Rebecca, secretarial duties sufficiently undertaken, returned pen and paper to her reticule. Her eyes closed then shot open, a pained breath escaping her. Michael was at once nearby, giving a soft, relaxing sigh. She gifted him with a genuine smile, all discomfort in her features vanishing.
“We must put it down as best we can, Alexi,” she said, catching her breath. “There’s nothing that it seeks in restlessness that it will not try to inflict by vengeance. It doesn’t want peace and so we must dispel it.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Alexi replied, picking up the tempo of his conduction. The spirit shrieked in Percy’s ears, and the fortitude of his vile proclamations was renewed.
“Bind,” Alexi called. The group formed a circle, save Jane and Percy. Without taking his eyes from the victim, he knew precisely where his betrothed had sunk into a seat. He transferred one cord of light into the palm opposite, as if they were luminous reins, and his swift hand caught her arm and pulled her up and into the circle where a bond of bluish flame connected each heart in light. A woven star that for years had known six now had seven points.
Percy felt The Guard’s power, but there was another sensation here, something else pressing in: the unwelcome and stifling dread of death. Then there came a laugh—Michael’s soft laugh—and she could breathe again.
The moment all hands clasped, Alexi shouted in their unknowable tongue, “Hark.” Music burst tangibly into the air, magic that this union alone created, called sharply into service by their leader. It was lovely, coming partly from the air and partly from their throats, drawing now into a sweet pianissimo.
For a moment the spirit writhing in Van Courtland seemed to listen. The possessed man then began to shake so violently that Jane could hardly control him. He flopped about, gasping for air in a hideous display. Jane swung her arm over him, now bending over his torso, her glowing, healing hand pressed directly to his heart. Maintaining life was a struggle, and she nearly had to pound upon his chest. He was hideous, his skin inhuman, flickering from pale to bruised to rotting before their eyes. Each horrific shift, Jane countered with a renewed healing burst. But she was tiring.
“Alexi,” she called softly, and with a fierce cry he threw an arm toward the floor. There was a veritable explosion as he, in his rich and masterful voice, issued a powerful torrent of an otherworldly chant that Percy could compare only to an Old Testament proclamation from God. The possessor hissed as if scalded, and the nauseating metamorphoses of Van Courtland ceased.
The group heaved a huge communal breath, and their circle closed in. Rapt, Rebecca suddenly rattled off a philosophical admonishment that Percy believed was from Sophocles. The spirit growled and hurled unspeakable curses toward her, and Percy gasped until Alexi tossed a fireball down its throat, sufficiently garbling the sound.
“Thank you,” Percy murmured.
“I wish you were as deaf as we tonight, dear,” Alexi offered.
Van Courtland’s body was now bound wholly by flame, and a peculiar chant Alexi named the Cantus of Disassembly flowed from The Guard, a music connected with wind, heartbeats and eternity, bequeathed to their minds and hearts many years ago upon the Grand Work’s birth within them. Yet it was somehow familiar to Percy.
There came one last gruesome gasp. Dark fluid was rustling beneath Van Courtland’s nearly transparent flesh, in patterns as if he were full of liquid marble. Whether this was blood or the spirit’s vile, vaguely tangible essence, it could not be determined, but whatever purity and magic the assembled company had brought to the air, it was being fouled by noxious gases from the usurped body, slipping out every orifice and leaking from beneath his fingernails.
Percy felt her stomach heave. Jane was rotating the star of her palm in slow curves over Van Courtland’s body, leaving traces of light hovering there, a misty shroud of a Celtic knot. Her healing white light and Alexi’s blue light of purification now bound together over Van Courtland. A punctuation rose to each of their lips, Percy included, and their incredible benediction lulled into a final “Shhh.”
In a puff of sour-smelling smoke and with a final damning curse, the spirit at last departed the ravaged body of its victim. The group saw their foe for what it was, so rotted and disintegrated that it was but shreds of skin and muscle. This decomposed form lifted up to hover before them, swiveling its horrible head to stare from putrid sockets.
“You should have disassembled,” Alexi said angrily. The horror dodged a blast of fire.
“You fools, you fools!” Its jaw flapped as it spoke for Percy’s ears alone. “There’s no end in sight. It is war, you know, now that the bride is gone. Hell has broken loose. You won’t last. We’ll win you yet! That fight on the borderland was only the begin—”
“Shut your unholy mouth!�
�� Percy spat. Everyone whirled. She glanced down to see that her bosom had begun to glow white, just like the night prior. Alexi was at her side immediately, embracing, trying to move her behind him, to keep her away from the spirit. But she stood her ground.
“Well, well, so we meet again,” the phantasm mocked. “I take it you’ll try and banish me like you did at the school? You’re such an odd little thing, aren’t you? Are you even human? What are—?”
Percy’s eyes flashed. A tearing sound thundered through the room, and suddenly a dark rectangular portal opened. Spread out behind was a long dark corridor, and hazy forms floated there, seemingly unaware. Surely, the Whisper-world was at hand. Percy felt a churning power gather within her, but she remained unsure how to control it.
“Darling…” Alexi murmured warily, but her eyes stayed fixed on the doorway.
The spirit squealed. “You may banish me back, but I’ll keep trying. We all will. Since the bitch fled, we’re more resolved than ever.”
It cried out as Percy threw her hand forward and, pieces of flesh trailing behind, shot backward as if dragged by invisible hands toward the portal. Beyond, Percy heard a slow singsong chant. “Lucy-Ducy wore a nice dress, Lucy-Ducy made a great mess.” Her blood chilled. She dearly hoped the name was just a coincidence.
“Percy, what are you hearing?” Alexi murmured, a tinge of helplessness in his voice. “Tell me what you h—”
“It doesn’t matter, love, just nonsense,” she replied, forcing herself to remain calm. She took a step toward the portal, needing to clarify the eerie rhyme and yet sickened by it.
“Percy, no.” Alexi took hold of her again.
A tall and glowing spirit stepped suddenly to the portal threshold, raising a firm hand in a command to halt. He was hard-featured and rugged, with fabric draped over a broad chest, metal bands and leather around strong arms, and a wild mane of hair. Jane gasped and clapped hands to her mouth. The spirit reached out a powerful hand, grabbed the pile of rot by the neck and tossed it to a heap at his feet where it smacked wetly with a grotesque cry.
Scanning them, the spirit found Jane. His eyes sparkled with fondness. “Oh, my dear Jane,” he said in old Gaelic. “How I wish you could hear me and heed my warning.”
“I can hear you,” Percy replied in the same language. Jane whirled, half shocked and concerned. The rest of the group stared, wondering what new and surprising detail would follow.
“Oh!” the spirit declared. “Are you…? Wait! Oh, pardon me, my lady, the power has awoken you.” He fell to his knees.
“No.” Percy blushed. “You needn’t…Please, sir, do get up.”
He beamed as he stood. “My name is Aodhan. I was a member of The Guard ages ago, and I guard still. There’s a change comin’, and I’ll help be your guide, White Woman, but not now. This portal shouldn’t be open long. It attracts the unwanted, and The Guard daren’t enter.” He tapped his temple with a transparent finger. “Isn’t good for the minds.”
Percy nodded. Her companions could do nothing but watch.
“Do me one favour,” Aodhan continued. “I know my dearest Jane cannot hear me. Would you please tell her, in private, that I love her?”
“It would be my honour,” Percy replied.
“Now, I don’t rightly know how this opened. I don’t suppose you know how to close it?” Aodhan asked.
Percy whirled to Alexi, who was clearly perturbed by the one-sided conversation. “How did I close the portal last night?”
“I…believe you…cast your arm out,” he replied, his hand a vise upon her.
Percy reached up and closed her hand in a firm fist. With a popping sound, the door began to shrink. Aodhan waved good-bye, receded from view and the door was no more. All eyes fell upon her. She stared at her hand, and again at her body, whose light had faded, and shrugged with a nervous smile. “Well…it seems I do have control over the portals, though I’ve no idea how I opened it in the first place.”
“You were angry,” Michael stated. “You were feeling threatened.”
“Who was that man?” Rebecca barked. “Jane, he kept looking at you.”
The Irishwoman’s face was a mixture of confusion and fear, so Percy cut in swiftly. “His name is Aodhan, a member of The Guard long ago, and he pledges his help.” Jane offered Percy a furtive, grateful glance. There would be a discussion sometime soon, but a moan from Van Courtland recalled them all to their task.
Briefly, Percy caught Alexi’s attention. His sculpted lips thinned, and the crease upon his brow deepened. His grip upon her arm did not relent, even when she shifted slightly and said, “It’s all right, Alexi. For the moment, all is well.”
“I certainly hope so,” he said. Percy frowned as he released her, smoothing his dark clothes. He moved to examine the stains upon the floor left from the supernatural melee. Glancing up, he waved a hand and the dim room was suddenly well lit by tall gas flame.
With Jane’s aid, Van Courtland again resembled a human being, if not much of one. Josephine tried to keep his gaze on her visual benediction, but his eyes would not stay open. His pulse was faint. He would not rouse. His breaths were shallow. When Elijah came over and examined him, they all shook their heads.
“It may take him a while to recover,” Jane said sheepishly.
“If he shall,” Rebecca remarked. “It’s all right, Jane, it’s not your fault. You did everything right. We all did.”
Percy eyed Alexi in alarm. His stoic face betrayed nothing, yet Percy, who had spent so much time taking in his most minute details, saw sadness in his eyes. He addressed her evident concern. “We cannot save them all. But we…usually do, Percy. We usually do.” When she nodded and took his hand, the pinched look around his eyes eased slightly.
Michael went to each member of the group and placed a thumb upon the centre of their back, imparting a frisson of comfort, offering a smile to rally them from the hopelessness they felt when such a vulgar and oppressive session ended thus. Elijah wandered off to soothe a few screaming maids who had somehow eluded his spell; after a wave of his fingers they would bob away, cleansed of all intrusion.
Michael and Alexi lifted Van Courtland and disappeared with him into the master bedroom. To his staff and family it would appear that he’d merely fallen ill, comatose, a mysterious ailment from which he would hopefully someday awake.
Rebecca, having catalogued the particulars of the room the moment of their arrival, rearranged its contents to their exact prior placement, save the broken decanter and glasses, which she gathered into a small leather bag that she cinched and hung at her side. She caught Percy staring and explained, “The less evidence of destruction of his property, the better hope for recovery.”
Alexi and Michael returned, and without another word the entire group made its way through the dark and now-slumbering house. “I’ll bring the carriage to you, Percy, wait here,” Alexi commanded.
As he disappeared around the corner, Percy worried at his cool tone and the way he’d reacted to the portal. Things simply happened around her. It wasn’t that she was trying to be trouble, but that spirit had been provoked by her, perhaps was more malevolent because of her. She heartily prayed for Van Courtland.
“Nicely done with the doors, Miss Parker, I think you’re a quick study!” Michael exclaimed at her side.
She turned to him, grateful. “Thank you, Michael. I rather needed to hear that.”
“Knowing hearts is my talent. Though, I wish my words were always perfect.” He glanced unconsciously at Rebecca, who was taking more notes outside the town house door.
The carriage rounded the corner. “Now that you’ve seen the Grand Work, what do you think?” Alexi asked as he approached Percy, collecting her firmly against him.
“You were incredible to behold, my love. Truly, Alexi, The Guard is a wonder.” She thought a moment. “Music to fight the spirits. How odd and incredible. It’s like it comes from the very air.”
Alexi shrugged. “It wasn’t we who dete
rmined our weaponry; our talents were set long ago by men and women now forgotten. Inspired by Muses, tuned by the heavens—I suppose they thought every restless spirit needs a lullaby. A Greek chorus, the holiest of holies.” He smirked. “Would you rather we shout at them?”
“No, no, there’s enough noise as is.” Percy chuckled.
“Alexi, old chap,” Elijah called, gesturing grandly. “You and your fiancée—good God, how odd to say that—ride in the best carriage as guests of honour. Josie, you come, too. The rest of you divide up among yourselves en route to Athens.”
Percy noted out of the corner of her eye that Rebecca’s mouth thinned, masking a grimace. Perhaps, she thought, the headmistress was used to riding at Alexi’s side; perhaps she had grown attached to little habits that Percy’s presence would upset. The headmistress turned and began to walk away. Michael trotted after her with a tiny, “Wait, dear Rebecca. Wait for me.”
Percy wondered if the headmistress didn’t see, or refused to see.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Alexi,” Josephine began as the carriage jolted off toward the centre of London, “I’ll take charge of your lady’s apparel.”
“Ah, good. Spectres and phantasms mustn’t derail us, we’ve a wedding to prepare.” He glanced at Percy, who gave him a joyous smile. “Bring the bill for what you buy her, Josie, and I shall remit.”
The Frenchwoman turned to Percy, beaming. “There’s a woman in Covent Garden—not the most reputable part of town, but her work’s swift and exquisite. She tailors for the royal all the time—”
“Josephine,” Alexi interrupted. “Do not have my bride looking like an act in a halfpenny theatrical.”
“And why not?” Elijah cried, giving a sharp-toothed grin. “You stalk about all day in sweeping black robes. Isn’t it fitting to have your bride trailing iridescent textiles like a votaress of Diana on her way to the…well, the sacrificial altar? Oh, Miss Terry’s Lady Macbeth at the Lyceum sports a gown of beetles’ wings. Can you imagine? That would be quite fitting, Your Royal Eeriness.”
The Darkly Luminous Fight for Persephone Parker Page 6
