Autumn

by Lisa Ann Brown

  “Hold still there, dearie, just one more pin to go and then off to the looking glass so you can see for yourself just how fetching you look!” Mrs. Ingemyer exclaimed, stuffing the last few unnecessary pins back into the cherry tomato pincushion.

  Arabel strode toward the full-length looking glass in the small sitting room. The fabric moved and rustled about her legs as she moved across the room. When she surveyed herself, Arabel was pleasantly surprised at her reflection. She’d picked a rich, ruby-red satin material for her Autumn Ball frock and it appeared that she had indeed made a wise choice. The vibrant colour set Arabel’s eyes off merrily, enhancing their deep blue depths to an astonishing degree, and the simple cut of the gown was designed show off Arabel’s lithe figure to perfection.

  Mrs. Ingemyer pulled and tugged at the material, bunching it in the back so Arabel would have a slight bustle and then the dressmaker adjusted the neckline somewhat so that the cut was quite low, in a deep v shape that accented Arabel’s long, graceful, swan-like neck.

  “You’ll have your hair up, Miss Arabel?” the seamstress inquired and Arabel nodded.

  “Yes, I believe that’s what Morna has in mind,” Arabel replied easily, enjoying the feel of the cool satin upon her skin.

  “You’ll not sit out one dance, I’ll wager,” Mrs. Ingemyer prophesied with satisfaction.

  Arabel quickly changed out of her new ball gown and thanked the seamstress for her hard work, and then she went to seek out Morna. Arabel had not had a chance to ask the maid where her grandmother was and she wanted to know, as Amelia Bodean had made herself scarce since two nights ago when she’d shown up from her club and drunkenly confronted Arabel.

  As Arabel passed the formal sitting room, she paused. The door was closed. Arabel leaned in closer, to listen at the door to see if voices could be heard, but there was nothing. Puzzled, she sought out Morna, who happened to be catching up on gossip in the kitchen with Cook while sipping a large cup of hot cocoa.

  “Shall you join me, miss, in a cup of hot cocoa?” Morna asked as Arabel entered the kitchen.

  “No, thank you, Morna,” Arabel replied. “Have you seen my grandmother today?” she asked.

  A barely imperceptible look was exchanged between Morna and Cook. Arabel sat down at the table, staring Morna down with her astute blue eyes.

  “What? What is it?” she asked.

  Morna took her time in replying. For all her eagerness to gossip and speculate, Morna was not an unkind person, and she was incredibly fond of Arabel. She wanted only to spare Arabel’s feelings.

  “She’s gone, miss.”

  “Gone?” Arabel echoed blankly. “Gone where?”

  Cook coughed lightly and Morna stared into her cocoa.

  “Tell me!” Arabel demanded, a sliver of fear slicing into her.

  “She’s gone, miss. Gone to see the Gypsies.”

  Arabel was astounded. “But she hates them!” she declared. “What business could she possibly have with them?”

  Morna eyed Arabel sadly. “Why, ‘tis to do with you, of course,” she replied.

  Arabel was rendered speechless. What trouble did her grandmother intend on stirring up now?

  “What does she want with the Gypsies?”

  “I dunno exactly, miss. She said she needed to clear some matters up.”

  Arabel rose to her feet slowly. “I’m going into town,” she said uneasily. “I should be back for supper.”

  “Aye, miss,” Morna answered and Arabel left the room as Morna and Cook exchanged further worried glances.

  Arabel was unclear as to where she was going to go or what exactly she wanted to achieve. She only knew that she could not sit at home and wait for her grandmother to return. It was enough to drive her out of her mind with speculation and worry. Arabel quickly donned her stout black boots and her thick cape and fastened her black woollen hat upon her head. She grabbed her black velvet gloves on her way out and rushed into the crisp morning air.

  Arabel did not turn toward town but instead headed to the path which led down to the ravine nearby. Arabel realized she didn’t want conversation, or company; she wanted silence and nature. Ira swooped down to join her, landing perfectly upon her left shoulder and Arabel knew the bird was the only company she desired at the moment.

  The events of the previous evening were very much on Arabel’s mind. They’d destroyed the wheel of death in the same manner as the previous one, only this time, Xavier, Francesca and Madame de Lorimar had performed the necessary rites from within the circle of sacred flame. Arabel had stood witness with Eli, Zander, Baltis and Mireille, and other Gypsies she did not know, and even though Arabel was merely an observer, the power of the evil shield had reached out to her and everyone else assembled.

  Arabel had seen the determination in Xavier’s eyes and the resolute faith in Francesca’s, and she’d been buoyed by their strength. The shield had been doused in very powerful evil, but thankfully the blood of poor Minnie seemed scarcely dry before the blue, flickering flames of freedom had licked eagerly at it and the darkness had been forced to let her go.

  The cries had been heart-wrenching and Arabel had heard her own whimpers, coming from inside of her head, echoing the pain back to her. But the three Gypsies had done it; they had dismantled the evil force and burnt the shield into embers, thereby breaking the spell. The souls had been released and Arabel took a certain small pleasure in knowing she’d had a tiny part in helping the victims find peace in death at long last.

  She’d come home late, weary, and Eli had not come in. He’d dropped her off and had held her tenderly for a few moments before leaving; every motion intended to provide Arabel with further proof of his abiding love.

  “Be safe, sweet Arabel,” he’d whispered in her ear and then he was gone, riding away on Jovah back to Murphy Estates.

  Now, as Arabel strolled alongside the ravine with Ira, a feeling of peace came upon her, providing a fraction of relief from the tumult of her thoughts and feelings. The sound of the water ambling downstream in the ravine was a soft lull and Ira chortled approvingly. The crow had been at the Copse during the night, and he dutifully reported back to Arabel that his favourite subject, Jonty Governs, was resting comfortably and his mother had not left his side.

  Arabel wondered about Jonty; had he known his attacker?

  Eli had informed Arabel that Jonty had not maintained any memory of the attack; it was as if someone had wiped his mind clean. Probably not that difficult to do when the brain’s half empty, Arabel reflected wryly, but it would still require some advanced level of magical skill to attain that sort of memory-wipe. And harder still, she surmised, when the subject was someone as psychically talented and magically protected as Zander Cross.

  The ravine wound down toward the old Crow’s Nest Pass graveyard and Arabel’s steps led her unerringly to her parents’ graves. She sat down on the wet wooden bench, glad her cape was long enough to keep her from getting soaked, and she stared somewhat moodily at the limestone gravestones.

  Violetta Emily Spade, Patrick Edward Spade. The names rolled off Arabel’s tongue silently, in her mind. Arabel pictured her parents. She saw them floating in front of her, so real she could almost reach out and touch them.

  And then Arabel realized that they were real. Arabel’s parents were there, right in front of her; their ghostly, milky-white, see-through forms hovered close enough for her to see the shimmering energy in precise detail.

  “Mama!” Arabel exclaimed exultantly. “Father!”

  The spectres smiled at Arabel, appearing as they had since their passing. Violetta - young and beautiful, Patrick – virile and magnetic. Arabel reached for them excitedly, her hand moving toward the shimmering figures, and passing right through them.

  Violetta smiled at her daughter. From what seemed to be very far away, Arabel heard her voice distinctly.

  “The Gift has always been in our family,” Violetta explained softly. “It passes down our lineage through the hearts of our wome
n.”

  “You have everything within you to defeat this enemy,” Arabel’s father chimed in, his voice a welcome balm to Arabel’s heart.

  “What gift do you refer to, Mother?” Arabel asked.

  The spectre smiled, shimmered, and began to disappear.

  “No! Stay!” Arabel cried out, jumping to her feet, as if to chase them.

  But the ghostly figures waved sadly and blew kisses to Arabel before disintegrating into the vast void of nothingness right before Arabel’s wistful eyes.

  Ira flew off of Arabel’s shoulder, as if to follow the spectres. Arabel wondered dully if he could still see them and only she could not. Arabel peered within Ira’s mind and saw he was actually looking at something else; a shadowy black figure, moving amongst the trees at the crest of the next hill.

  Arabel focused on the shape but could not discern what it was – human, spectre, evil spirit? She could not yet be certain. Arabel reached out for the energy field of the unknown entity and was shocked as she was pushed backward with a vicious force so intense that she stumbled against the wooden bench, bruising her leg, before tumbling violently to the wet ground.

  Invisible fingers closed around Arabel’s throat and the burning sensation of choking began. Arabel reached desperately for her athame as she struggled against the negative entity. Ira cawed and flapped his wings and flew off violently in the direction of the shadowy black figure.

  Arabel’s breath was forced; it was coming in small gasps as she struggled to free herself from the grip of the unknown evil force attacking her. Black spots began to dance in front of Arabel’s eyes and she realized she would soon pass out from lack of oxygen if she could not release herself. Arabel’s mind reached for the protective spells and her hand gripped her athame tightly. Arabel brandished the magical weapon into the air and uttered the first protective Gypsy spell her mind could remember.

  The athame seemed to be on fire. It burned Arabel’s fingers. The athame began to glow strangely, emitting a pulsing blue-white heat. And then Arabel heard the haunting and sorrowful song; the ode of the Ondines.

  Arabel could have wept in relief as the glowing mass of the Ondines flowed into and across her vision. The invisible fingers crippling Arabel’s windpipe eased slightly, and then mercifully released their harrowing grip entirely. Arabel fell, sharply, but was easily levitated immediately, and kept strangely buoyant by the very breath of the magical forest guardians.

  The Ondines surrounded Arabel. The blissful women healed her bruises and calmed her frantic thoughts. Ira flew within their blue-white mass, basking in the beauty of the floating, ethereal creatures. The crow filled himself with their purity of intention and magical song, chortling softly. The glowing women keened into the rushing wind; they raised their ancient voices in unison. Their light radiated in strong waves, illuminating everything within their environment and covering all in a comforting blue-white glow. Arabel felt a softly cooling mist descend upon her brow.

  When Arabel came to, she was lying across the wooden bench in front of the grave of her parents. Ira sat beside her, his black beak nuzzled into her chin, his corvid eyes peered deeply into Arabel’s with concern. Arabel reached out a shaky hand and stroked the bird. It was as if she had fallen asleep, she realized, but she knew there was more to it. The Ondines had rescued her, protected her, and healed her.

  I am the luckiest girl alive, Arabel thought to herself.

  Ira cawed boldly in agreement and Arabel slowly sat up, shaking her head from the fog of the attack. She looked immediately to the crest of the next hill over, where the shadowy figure had been, but there was no one there. Arabel was inclined to believe it had been a human attacker, one who was able to send forceful energetic waves of evil intent to subdue his victims. Had it been Saul Porchetto, or his unknown and equally evil partner?

  Arabel rose unsteadily to her feet. Ira hopped onto her shoulder and they began to make their way along the path back to Crow’s Nest Pass. Arabel sent a telepathic message to Eli, including mental visuals of what had just occurred, and she immediately felt him send concern, love and protection to her. Eli enclosed Arabel in a wave of light so strong that it took her breath away. Her heart felt fit to burst from the strength of the connection and a relief so sharp as to cut through glass soared through her thoughts.

  Arabel’s steps were lighter than she could have imagined they would be after such an ordeal and as she and Ira picked their way back alongside the ravine, Arabel determined to stop by Chief Constable Bartlin’s office. It was time to let the Chief know that the psychic attacks and memory-wipes were originating from the Dorojenja’s secret society, and Saul Porchetto was undoubtedly at the head of them. Arabel hoped Mr. Akings and Sully had not been too illegible in their telling of Indra’s part in the tale, and she knew she would do her best to clarify any points the Chief was unclear on.

  It had firmly gelled in Arabel’s awareness now that Indra had been an unwitting pawn used to murder his own beloved. The sick, dark feeling Arabel endured at this knowledge was difficult to bear. Had Alice-May known Indra to be possessed when he’d wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed until she’d lost her grip on life?

  From the séance, Arabel knew that the ghostly spectre of Alice-May was conscious that Indra had been violently used to murder her, but at the time of her passing – had Alice-May felt betrayed by her one true love?

  It was a chilling thought. Arabel could not imagine falling victim to Eli in death. How incredibly horrid to be murdered by the one you trusted the most; to be killed by the one whose very kisses promised to keep you safe and cherished. Arabel shuddered involuntarily.

  At least Alice-May knew now, Arabel reflected, seeking small comfort wherever a kernel could be found, that Indra had been taken over. What was it that she had said?

  “He used his body to betray me.” That was it.

  Perhaps, Arabel pondered, it was time for another séance.

  Conflicting Stories/Alternate Points Of View

  Amelia-Bodean did not return to Crow’s Nest Pass for dinner.

  Arabel sat alone in the dining room, desultorily picking at her food. Despite the careful preparation of the meal by Cook, and the elegant presentation by Morna, Arabel found that she had little appetite. Her stomach was unsettled and it mirrored her thoughts. What could her grandmother be doing?

  Arabel had sent Eli a message a number of hours ago asking him to alert his parents as to her grandmother’s impending visit, and to see if they could assist in any fashion. But Eli had responded negatively, informing Arabel that Amelia-Bodean had not been spotted anywhere within the Gypsy encampment. In fact, Amelia Bodean had not been spotted anywhere within the borders of Ravenswood Glen nor had she been spotted in any of the other townships. Amelia Bodean seemed to have vanished after leaving Crow’s Nest Pass. She had left the house on foot and no one even knew for sure whether or not she had procured a horse to make her furtive journey.

  Arabel was very worried. Had Amelia Bodean been waylaid by the Dorojenja?

  Arabel searched for a link to her grandmother but her search proved undertaken in vain as she could not feel or sense Amelia Bodean anywhere. She must be in some sort of energy void, Arabel decided uneasily. There seemed to be nothing to do but wait, although simply sitting around and waiting for disaster to strike was not Arabel’s way to deal with adversity. Patience was not Arabel’s forte. She felt so useless. And nothing had really been gained this afternoon, either, when she’d gone to see Chief Constable Bartlin.

  The Chief had listened to Arabel’s speculations and theories and had asked the most pertinent and appropriate questions but Arabel had taken her leave of his opulent offices with the distinct impression that unless the murderer was clearly and plainly a man, as opposed to the probable psychic wizard she thought he would be, the Chief would have little inclination to pursue him. The Chief had made it quite clear that it was up to the Gypsies to deal with any phenomenon which parlayed itself into realms not covered by th
e five senses. If he could not see it, nor touch, taste or hear it, the Chief was not that interested in challenging it.

  Which left Arabel incredibly frustrated. But at least she knew now the limitations of the authorities and she agreed, in some part, that it was up to the Gypsies to destroy the evil. After all, the Dorojenja had at one point been trusted members of the Gypsy tribe and no one outside of the Gypsy traditions would even know how to disarm the great evils they deployed. Just as no one within the Gypsy encampment could be sure of whom the Dorojenja members were, currently or previously, unless they themselves belonged to the secret society.

  Arabel wondered again about Saul Porchetto. She assembled what she knew of the tree of power in her head. Raoul Porchetto, at the head of the evil, the Dorojenja leader? Raoul had found out about Paloma’s affair with Markus Leon, and instead of directly going after Markus Leon himself, he’d enlisted the help of a young, pregnant and bitter Amelia Bodean. And whilst Markus Leon had died by his wife’s poisonous hand, Raoul Porchetto’s adulterous spouse, Paloma Porchetto, had disappeared.

  Arabel shivered. Raoul would be Saul’s father, she reasoned, and he’d have taken over the Dorojenja’s, when? Where could she find a death record for Raoul? Only the Gypsies would know. Their births and deaths were not recorded by the authorities of Ravenswood Glen, proper. Arabel wasn’t even certain what sort of record-keeping system the Gypsies employed, nor did she have any inkling as to how fastidious their standards for maintaining such records might be.

  Arabel knew she needed to visit the Copse again. She wished she could go right now but it was quite late, and as desperate as she was for answers, Arabel did not relish the thought of embracing the night-time shadows in the woods, alone, on foot.

  Much better to travel with Eli tomorrow, Arabel decided, and was warmed instantly by the mental picture of Eli, touched by the remembrance of his lips claiming hers. For a moment Arabel was content to let her awareness travel in the direction of her beloved and to breathe deeply in the calm and yet exciting sensations those thoughts provided. Arabel had lately spent so much time immersed in tragic thoughts of death and darkness that love and passion were appealing beacons whenever they appeared to distract her, and as usual, all thoughts of Eli brought Arabel joy.