by Vered Ehsani
I sighed as one does when one must admit to killing her husband. “He overheard me telling your uncle that I accidentally murdered him, which just goes to prove how troublesome it is to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.”
Lilly shook her head, perfectly coiffed curls bouncing about her pretty face. How my cousin managed those curls in this hot, dusty place was beyond me.
“Bee,” she said in a lecturing tone, “you really must take better care of your husbands. There are only so many eligible men in the construction camp.”
She smiled in a self-satisfied way; she had recently married a highly eligible man who happened to be a bat (but we didn’t hold that against him), and thus believed herself expert on all things marital and paranormal.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Although I suspect Mr. Timmons will be harder to kill than Gideon Knight was.”
Cilla giggled. “Yes, my uncle is rather robust.”
The dust tornado was nearing the barn now, its speed hardly diminishing despite imminent contact.
“Oh bother,” I muttered. “I do hope Jonas doesn’t crash Nelly against the barn. Mrs. Steward abhors a mess. And I have an aversion to ugly corpses.”
Apparently Jones did too, for our driver / gardener / cook managed to steer my possessed horse away from the barn wall and directly toward us. The turn caused the tornado to slow down; gusts of dirt and leaves billowed out from it, until it collapsed almost on top of us in a dusty huff, coating us with its remains.
“Jonas,” Lilly spluttered. “Take more care how you ride that nag.”
Nelly, the source of the tornado, nickered and belched, true to form. She was a noisy creature on both ends. Even before a serpent spirit possessed her, she was an odd horse. Now she was odd and supernatural.
Perched in the saddle sat a small, stooped man with a headful of little black-and-grey curls. Unabashed by Lilly’s reprimand, he grinned and his face wrinkled up like a dark brown, expired apple. His teeth and the whites of his eyes were yellowed, and he was missing his front two upper teeth.
He nodded at us, as jovial as if he hadn’t just covered us in dust, or perhaps that’s why he was so contented with himself.
“Well?” I demanded.
Jonas peered down at me and clucked his tongue. “White people. So much in a hurry. There’s no hurry.”
“Tell that to my mother,” Lilly snapped.
At the mention of Mrs. Steward, Jonas sobered up. “Mrs. Patel said she’s expecting sugar in the next shipment. She’ll reserve some for the wedding cake.”
Shaking his head, he added, “And I found it.” He slid off the horse, which was busily eating as usual, and handed a box to Lilly. He bowed in that sarcastic way of his and pointed at the box with his chin.
“Never you mind,” Lilly said, interpreting Jonas’ head gesture correctly. “It’s a surprise for Bee.”
Jonas grunted, unimpressed, and tugged at Nelly’s reins to remove her head from the bush the horse was deflowering.
“A surprise?” I asked, eyeing the box suspiciously. I wasn’t overly fond of surprises. In my experience, they tended to result in blood, body parts and scars all over the place. “What is it then?”
Cilla giggled while Lilly directed a look at me that unmistakably said, “Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?” Satisfied with her look, Lilly linked arms with Cilla and they scurried away to the house and to Mrs. Steward.
“Oh bother,” I said. “We should’ve just eloped.”
I strolled behind them, letting them rush ahead. I for one was in no rush. Mrs. Steward had been in a terrible uproar all week, upon Mr. Timmons announcing our wedding date.
If she only knew about the giant Mantis that had nearly decapitated us all, I thought, she’d appreciate what a genuine uproar was all about.
Of course, that’s precisely why the Society for Paranormals & Curious Animals maintains the Three Mandates, to keep normal people blissfully ignorant and thus everyone safe and cozy in their little spheres of reality.
Is that why Prof Runal was coming? To ensure secrets were maintained and people kept in their proper place?
I frowned and leaned against the railing of the veranda. My hand with a will of its own slipped into my pocket and touched the crumpled telegraph stuffed inside.
MESSAGE RECEIVED. MAKE NO DECISIONS. AM ON MY WAY.
I brushed a hand over a cluster of carnations stuffed into a pot, a symbol of Mrs. Steward’s determination to civilize her corner of British East Africa. The flowers were having a terrible time of it: Nelly was determined to devour every flower in reach (a by-product of her possession by that flower-hating serpent spirit); whatever she couldn’t reach fell victim to the voracious appetite of a collection of insects that refused to politely die, no matter what manner of poison Jonas set out for them.
“I’m not going back,” I informed the unhappy carnations. “And I’ll not work for the Society again, not after what they did to Drew.”
Drew.
I gazed toward the barn. My werewolf brother inhabited the loft, when he wasn’t out on the savannah chasing hapless gazelles.
“Anyone looking at you would be forgiven for believing the wedding had been cancelled,” someone murmured behind me, his voice warm as melted caramel.
I turned to face Mr. Tiberius Elkhart, Lilly’s recently acquired husband and the most dashing, darling gentleman I’d had the pleasure of meeting in a while. Graced with every beauty that creation could bestow upon a man, the Popobawa’s dark brown eyes twinkled at me as he leaned against a post. I reciprocated the smile.
“Indeed,” I said, wondering what their children would look like. Light brown skin with retractable bat wings on their backs, like their father? Porcelain white with as-yet unknown powers, like their mother? Or some mysterious mixture?
Good heavens, I thought. Talk about putting the pram before the baby. They’d barely finished the honeymoon.
Still, I was intrigued.
“Worried about Prof Runal, are you?” Mr. Elkhart continued, divining the cause of my previous morose expression.
“Yes,” I said, “and you’ve yet to explain what you know about the Society.” I didn’t mean to sound accusatorial, but that’s how the words proceeded from me.
Indifferent to my tone, Mr. Elkhart nodded his head and gazed out at the view of Nairobi’s railway construction camp down near the base of our hill. The beginnings of a town were forming along one edge. All of it seemed so inconsequential compared to the vastness of the savannah stretching out to the horizon.
“Beatrice!” a shrill voice pierced through wood and stone. “Where is that girl? You’d think she didn’t have a wedding to prepare for, the way she saunters off into the wild. Beatrice Anderson Knight!”
I grimaced. My aunt had started referring to me by both my maiden name and married name. Gideon wouldn’t have been too impressed.
Then again, Gideon wasn’t here to be unimpressed, I reminded myself.
“Come by our place tomorrow,” Mr. Elkhart said. “I have something for you. A bit of a surprise, and hopefully not too shocking. I meant to give it to you previously, but with one thing and another…” He shrugged his slim shoulders. “Well, tomorrow then,” and he entered the house.
Agitated by the enigmatic invitation, I could feel my wolf energy forming beside me. I banished it before it could release its aggravation against Mr. Elkhart. That wouldn’t do, to have a dead in-law on my hands, particularly right before my wedding day. Weddings and funerals usually didn’t mix well together.
But I still detest surprises.
Chapter 3
With Gideon no longer haunting me, my evening routine was shattered.
I hadn’t realized how I’d come to rely on him to sing me to sleep. Without his hypnotic voice, I had a terrible time dozing off and avoiding nightmares.
He was manipulating you, I reminded myself but that didn’t help me sleep any better. If anything, it merely prov
oked my emotional turmoil.
I was further plagued by questions: Does Mr. Timmons sing? What does Mr. Elkhart have for me? These mental disturbances did nothing to ease me off to slumber.
I sat up and lit a candle. Shadows flickered and mocked me. One had the appearance of a five-legged Mantis. I ignored them all and began to read, determined to make some use of the night.
I’d read a chapter and was starting to nod off when I had the distinct sensation of being observed.
“Gideon?” I asked, assuming it was he, hoping it was. “I do hope you’ll let me explain what happened that day. I didn’t actually mean to kill you.” I gazed about the room, searching. “Please, Gids.”
There was no response.
“Now you’re just being obstinate and rude,” I declared and I slammed my book closed to emphasize that point.
Something squeaked.
Gideon wasn’t in the habit of squeaking.
I reached for my walking stick, not because I’m infirm or old (which I’m not) but because it’s a fine instrument with which I’ve defended myself quite ably in the past. Made of an oxide green metal, the stout piece of workmanship boasted a bronze-plated steel fist on top and a tip on the bottom. One most certainly didn’t want a close encounter with either end, or the weapons hidden inside its length.
The bedroom door shifted and something shuffled behind it.
“I can’t abide this sort of conduct,” I announced to whomever or whatever was opening my door. “And my customary response to surprises is to knock the perpetrator over the head. You’ve been warned.”
Three stubby fingers curled about the edge of the door, followed by a long, flat, wide face with large, bat-type ears. Bits of candlelight reflected against the solid black, narrow eyes that studied me intently.
“Br-r-r-r-r,” the ape-like water sprite trilled, showing me a set of small, jagged teeth.
“Burr, I do prefer if you knocked next time,” I scolded the Tokolosh and waved her in.
“B-e-e-e-e,” she responded and waddled in on squat, muscular legs, her green-tinged brown hair flopping about with each movement.
She’d barely entered the room when she hissed and screeched, pointing at something propped in the corner created by the end of my bed and a wall.
“Hush, you silly creature,” I said as I hastened to close the door. While the Tokolosh had the power of invisibility, I’d prefer not to have to explain the noise to a group of sleepy family members.
When I turned about, I saw what all the fuss was about.
“That’s just a statue and an ugly one at that,” I said, grabbing her furry hand and leading her to the bed. Her head came just above my knee and she pressed one of her large ears against my leg. “Jonas gave it to me to…” I paused and looked between the green stone carving and Burr. “Well, to scare away Tokolosh.”
“R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r,” Burr growled at the life-sized statue, as unimpressed with it as I was.
“So what brings you here?” I asked the creature as she climbed up on my bed. If Jonas ever witnessed this scene, he’d insist on raising my bed on a stack of bricks, as he did with his own.
Burr didn’t have much of a neck so her head tilt was slight. She patted my hand and grimaced, showing me a smooth river stone sitting in her mouth.
I believe that’s the Tokolosh version of a smile.
“Just visiting, are you?” I asked. “Well, you clearly don’t have Mrs. Beeton’s guidelines on the appropriate times to pay such social visits.”
Burr coughed and narrowed her eyes further.
“That’s probably for the best,” I hastily added. “I’m not a big fan of Mrs. Beeton.” I yawned. “But I do enjoy a good night’s sleep. If you don’t mind then.”
I pulled the blanket over me as I lay down. Burr slid off the bed and stood by my side, trilling and whistling. A minute passed before I realized she was singing to me, and before I could thank her, I was asleep.
Chapter 4
It was the howling wolf that woke me.
There’re no wolves here, my sleeping mind reminded me.
Despite this succinct fact, the wolf maintained its howl. I had the unnerving impression that the wild canine was sitting on my head while it sang its song into my ear.
“Good heavens,” I muttered, “why can’t beasts leave me alone until sunrise at least?”
I peeled an eyelid open and stared into the eyes of a glowing wolf.
My wolf energy.
A by-product of a werewolf bite, the energy form tended to appear when I perceived a threatening force. I’d developed the habit of banishing it whenever it should present itself, as it was the cause of my first husband’s demise.
On the positive side, the wolf had defended me against Koki. And thanks to my witch mother’s early application of anti-venom, I wasn’t prey to the whims and influence of a full moon. In actual fact, I wasn’t capable of transforming into a werewolf even if I wanted to, which I didn’t; I couldn’t abide by the stench or the shedding hair.
“What,” I mumbled to the wolf.
It sat back, staring expectantly at me. Only then did it dawn on me that I was no longer in my bed, or in my bedroom for that matter. I did however recognize where I was, and that was decidedly not good at all.
“Hello?” I asked as I stood as best I could in an environment where there was no up or down.
The wolf yipped and padded away, the only source of light in a void where possessed souls languish. I shivered, wondering if I’d hear Mrs. Cricket’s cackle, and followed the wolf through the dark silence.
Had my body been possessed by another malevolent spirit? The last (and, I should point out, the only) time that had happened to me, Mrs. Cricket had sent me into an emptiness disturbingly similar to the current one I found myself in.
But you couldn’t remember anything, I thought, hoping this was a reassuring observation. You couldn’t even remember your name, which is Beatrice Knight. Don’t forget that.
I sniffed, the sound muffled. My wolf energy ignored me, following a path that only it could perceive.
“I jolly well hope you’re leading me to an exit,” I told it, “or at least a civilized location that serves tea.”
“Beatrice?”
The wolf halted, its glowing form illuminating Lilly. She too was in her nightclothes and appeared as decidedly uneasy as I felt.
“Beatrice, what are you doing here?” she asked, reaching a hand out to me.
“Oh, you know how it is,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders. “I do find it refreshing to take a midnight stroll through the land of the possessed. And you?”
She pursed her lips, unimpressed with my attempt at frivolity. “This is my nightmare, not yours.”
“Well, if that’s your attitude,” I retorted, “then let me be off to find my own personal hell and leave you to yours.”
“Bee, this is serious,” she said and she clung onto my hand. “How did you even find this place?”
“I didn’t,” I informed her, weary of the conversation and wondering if I could pinch myself to wake up. “One minute I was sound asleep. The next, I was here with you and my wolf.”
“You’re still asleep,” she said.
“And you’re also with me,” another voice added.
Lilly and I glanced about as another form entered the small sphere of light cast by my wolf energy.
“Gideon?” Lilly asked, a rather redundant question given that it was clearly he.
Gideon ignored her and scowled at me, clearly vexed by my presence. “This is rather singular,” he said. His voice was at normal speaking volume, not the whisper he was limited to when out in the real world, and he seemed as solid as Lilly and I. I was tempted to touch him, but restrained the urge, for I doubted he would tolerate such attention from me.
“Indeed,” I replied.
Locking his hands behind his back, he inquired, “Is this where murderers spend their evenings then?”
“I don’t know
,” I countered. “Whom did you kill?”
“Oh dear,” Lilly said in a sigh.
“Certainly not my spouse,” Gideon said with a sneer.
“Neither did I,” I said. “You might want to take that issue up with my wolf,” and I gestured to the offending party.
“Convenient,” Gideon said, clearly not convinced.
Since I had his attention and none of us were going anywhere, I pressed on. “And while we’re on the topic of spouses, you should know I mean to acquire another one.”
Glowering at me, he said nothing.
“Mr. Timmons and I…”
“What? That ill-bred rascal?” he interrupted. “I thought you had better taste than that.”
“Well, I married you, didn’t I?” I countered.
“Precisely my point,” he replied.
“Enough,” Lilly said, stepping between us. “We’re here because we were all at one point or another possessed by Mrs. Cricket.”
This notion put an end to the heated dialogue, although I was certain that chapter wasn’t yet finished. Gideon spun about and stalked away but didn’t go far into the darkness.
“Lilly?”
It was Mr. Elkhart, but his voice was distant and had an echo to it. Lilly gazed about.
“He’s trying to wake me,” she said. She turned to face me, grabbing my hands. “Come find me tomorrow, Bee. There’s something of great urgency I need to convey to you…”
“Lilly?”
The voice was stronger; the darkness quivered, cracks forming high above us. My wolf howled and the cracks expanded.
“Wake up, Lilly,” Mr. Elkhart’s voice boomed and the world shook.
“Lilly, I don’t believe we’re in Mrs. Cricket’s creation this time,” I said even as she began to fade before me. “We…”
I woke up in my bed. Lilly, Gideon and the wolf were gone.
Chapter 5
“Lack of sleep is not helping the texture of your skin,” Mrs. Steward remarked the moment I entered the living area. Cilla was seated there already, having come to assist with wedding plans.
