by Jill Morrow
Francesca did not doubt this. Asteroth was a creature of darkness who could sow only evil wherever he traveled. She remembered Isobel as the young blond she’d observed earlier. Mute or not, she’d certainly managed to communicate. The insolent tilt of the girl’s head as she strode through the courtyard, the upward thrust of her breasts and the seductive sway of her hips were a sexual invitation to any man. Hugh, however, was no man. If he was drawn to this young woman, there had to be another reason. Francesca agreed more with the troubled Alys than with the gentle priest who loved her so. Something was seriously amiss. Unfortunately, she could not deny an additional truth: the danger ran deeper than Alys could ever imagine, and its root did not rest in the physical world.
Francesca rested her fingertips on the floor and flattened herself against the back of the pew as Alys and Gregory walked down the center aisle toward the back of the church. The hem of Alys’s skirt brushed across the top of her right hand. The delicate scent of lavender wafted by as the two passed.
They stopped midway down the aisle.
“You must send a letter to your father, Alys,” Gregory said. “Tell him to fetch Isobel, for you will keep her no longer.”
“He will not come.”
“But you are prioress here.
“I have been ever easy for him to ignore.”
Francesca leaned out into the aisle so that she could better hear the conversation. She caught the small smile that played about Gregory’s mouth as he reached for Alys’s hand.
“I could write the letter for you, but I’m afraid I must break your heart and do it as the bishop’s envoy.”
Alys was not too distraught to recognize the irony in his words. A full smile broke across her face, making her look at least ten years younger.
“Only for the letter, Gregory,” she said. “Then I must have you back.”
This time, Francesca did not turn away when they kissed. She slowly stepped into the aisle, gathering every clue she could. Alys and Gregory were in the presence of a greater evil than they knew, and Isobel seemed pivotal to that danger. Francesca could no longer afford to meditate in the chapel, waiting for an illuminating stroke of inspiration to spur her onward. There was too much to learn, and God only knew how much time she had.
A sharp cry roused her from her own concerns. She quickly turned toward the priest and the prioress. Gregory leaned toward Alys, his arms the only barrier between her and the floor.
Alys stared straight ahead, eyes wide. Her right hand covered her open mouth. All color drained from her face.
“Gregory!” she gasped, pointing a shaking finger.
Confused, Gregory obediently followed her stare.
“Alys, my darling, there is nothing to see!”
Francesca pulled in a sharp breath.
The prioress’s finger pointed straight at her.
“Please.” Francesca extended a hand toward the prioress. “Don’t be afraid.”
Alys blanched the color of oyster shell. “Don’t talk to me!” She ripped herself from Gregory’s protective grasp and dashed from the church.
Gregory stared, desperate to see whatever Alys saw. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he turned and hurried toward the door.
11
SOMEBODY HADN ’T SHUT THE BATHROOM FAUCET ALL THE way. Kat tugged her feather pillow over her ears in an effort to block out the steady rhythm of water smacking porcelain. It was only a drip. How could it burrow so deeply into her consciousness that it actually gained the power to keep her awake? What was this, the aural equivalent of “The Princess and the Pea”? She slammed her pillow back behind her head, then propped herself up on both elbows to take stock.
The bedroom remained shrouded in soft shadows of gray. All was still, and rightfully so. The bedside clock that Stephen insisted on setting twenty minutes fast read 2:15 A.M.
Her gaze traveled to her husband. Stephen always looked so peaceful when he slept. The lines on his forehead and around the corners of his mouth relaxed. With his thick hair brushed away from his face, he seemed innocent, even vulnerable. Kat usually envied his ability to sleep so soundly. Tonight it simply drove her crazy. She begrudged him every second of sweet rest.
She’d worked downstairs at the kitchen table until well past midnight, mapping out an opening statement that she’d probably never use. Trial was due to begin this morning, but opposing counsel had called her office at six o’clock last night, hinting that his bear of a client might settle. That raised mixed emotions. While it was always great to see a case go away, this stupid matter had consumed her life for days. It had allowed very little time for communication with anyone outside of legal circles, including her own family. There had to be some way to justify her absence when everyone needed her so. She ached to stride forcefully before a jury, translating her frustration into righteous indignation against the opposing party.
The case had also provided a welcome buffer against the reality of Aunt Frannie, who lay unmoving in the guest room down the hall. Kat swallowed hard. No, she wasn’t quite ready to kiss this case good-bye.
She shivered. Winter had rolled in with a blast the day before. Earlier in the evening, the chill had invigorated her. Now the frost settled directly into her bones. She pushed her arms back under the quilt and molded her body against the warmth of Stephen’s. He gave an obliging snore as he draped a dead arm across her.
This was it. If she couldn’t fall asleep now, wrapped in her husband’s embrace while the glow of a full moon flooded the bedroom, why, she’d never fall asleep.
She’d never fall asleep. The drip intruded again, wedging itself into her brain with the subtlety of a buzz saw.
Kat bolted upright. Stephen’s arm dropped to the pillow. She glared at him, willing him to awaken and share her misery. He merely rolled over, looking even more comfortable than he had before.
She hauled herself out of bed, reached for her bathrobe, and stormed out of the room.
They had bought this house for a song over fourteen years ago, back in the days when rehabbing a handy-man’s special still sounded like fun. Kat remembered her brand-new wedding ring glinting in the sun as she and Stephen sanded the wide wooden planks of the gracious front porch.
“We’re nuts,” Stephen had said, running a hand through hair still paint-speckled from their last project. “We’re busy people, Kat, way too busy for this sort of thing. Besides, we’ll never need a house this big. What were we thinking?”
“We weren’t,” she’d replied, not adding that “not thinking” had been a vast improvement over the past year, when most of her tired thoughts had been sucked back to the surreality of their clash with Asteroth. She’d learned that nightmares could be far more real than the sunny, solid house she and Stephen had just purchased.
She’d expected that horrible day at Tia Melody’s to remain seared across her mind for all eternity. Somehow, though, she’d gulped back her terror and forged ahead. She’d had to. How else did one rebuild a life after all perceptions were shattered?
It had taken some time to emerge from the shadow-lands. When she finally had, she’d been only half surprised to find Stephen waiting for her. Only he could understand what she’d experienced; he’d experienced it, too. He, too, had risen from the ashes determined to re-create a viable existence. After all they’d endured together, she’d recognized him as the only man she wanted to keep forever.
Now she allowed a tiny ray of pride to penetrate her foul mood as she neared the offending drip. Despite the constant demands of dual careers and parenthood, they’d done a good job renovating both this house and their lives. She was glad that Stephen’s opulent taste had prevailed over her own frugality. The rich, red oriental runner blunted the cold of the dark wood hallway floor. Antique angel sconces threw soft, benevolent light against cream-colored walls. The delicate scent of orange and clove wafted from a small mahogany table, where an antique Chinese bowl sat filled with potpourri.
They’d worked damn hard to rebuild a n
ormal world. How dare anyone try to destroy it now?
She stepped over the sleeping dog, entered the bathroom, and savagely yanked the cold-water spigot shut. Why couldn’t life be more like a faucet, releasing information a little bit at a time? Perhaps she could deal with it, then. A drip of memory here, a drop of present reality there, turn it off when you’d had enough…she’d figure out a solution to each little particle in turn, just as she dissected each issue in a lawsuit. Then she’d present a solid defense, calculated to decimate any force of reason thrown her way.
Except that the forces opposing her had nothing to do with reason. She’d had to admit that three days ago in Aunt Frannie’s hospital room, when even her logical, compartmentalized mind could no longer block the unbelievable truth: Asteroth was back.
She wandered out the bathroom door, bending to scratch Rosie behind the ears. The chocolate lab opened one eye and halfheartedly licked her hand before once again surrendering to sleep. Dogs and men had a lot in common.
She hesitated outside the guest room door. Aunt Frannie rested here, peaceful in the old four-poster that dominated the room. Kat still didn’t understand the peace. She was not a romantic at heart and seldom picked up vibrations anywhere. This guest room, however, had suddenly become an exception. She could feel that the room had changed once Aunt Frannie entered it. Before, it had been a pretty guest room, neat and somewhat sterile in the way that seldom-used rooms are. Now a nearly tangible blanket of peace transcended the ordinary nature of the place.
If she let herself, Kat could remember other occasions permeated by this core of serenity and joy. She’d felt it in certain church sanctuaries, had been nearly overwhelmed by it during her own wedding ceremony. It had visited on and off throughout her pregnancies and immediately following the birth of each precious daughter. Its message then, as now, was that all was well.
That was the part she really didn’t understand. All was not well. Aunt Frannie remained motionless in that bed, a small half smile on her face, a touch of rose on each pale cheek. Yet even the intrusion of medical equipment could not dim the feeling that everything was under control.
With a deep sigh, Kat pushed open the door and entered the room.
Aunt Frannie, of course, had not moved. At least she appeared comfortable. Watching her, Kat could almost forget the tubes and monitors invading her aunt’s privacy. It was as if Francesca’s body simply didn’t follow the rules anymore. Indeed, even though Kat and Stephen had adamantly refused a feeding tube, Aunt Frannie continued to look well nourished and comfortable. Kat did not share the day nurse’s amazement at this. It no longer surprised her that Francesca’s condition defied medical explanation. She knew without a doubt that her aunt’s state owed very little to physical reality.
She settled into the oversized armchair at the head of the bed, tucking her cold feet beneath her.
“Oh, Aunt Frannie,” she said quietly. “How am I supposed to figure out what to do next?”
Francesca didn’t move. Kat reached out to grasp her aunt’s hand. The fingers felt warm and smooth to the touch.
“Mom?”
The unexpected voice made her jump. She turned to see Julia framed in the doorway, nightgown diaphanous in the soft hallway light.
“Julia! Are you all right?”
Her daughter shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Come sit with me.” Kat extended an arm. Julia hesitated briefly before skimming across the floor to wedge herself into the chair beside her mother.
Kat smoothed her daughter’s hair. Her own mother had died years before she herself had reached her teens, but she’d heard more than her share of horror stories regarding adolescent independence. Thank heavens Julia still required parents.
“How is Aunt Frannie?” Julia asked.
“The same.”
“Do you think she’ll stay this way forever?”
“Nothing stays the same forever, honey. I just don’t know what will happen next.”
Julia studied Francesca. Kat watched her daughter’s expression melt from fear to sadness. There was so much that needed to be said, whole portions of the past that she and Stephen had kept from their children in deference to their childhoods. But Julia, on the brink of young womanhood, was rapidly leaving her child days behind. With a twinge of guilt, Kat wondered if Francesca had been right. Perhaps she and Stephen should have long ago prepared their daughters for the fact that the world encompassed more than they could see and touch.
Julia licked dry lips. “What does the doctor say?”
Kat sighed. “He’s baffled, and rightfully so.”
“Rightfully so?”
“I don’t believe this is a physical ailment, Julia.”
Julia’s eyebrows rose. Kat restrained herself from downloading every scrap of information swirling through her head. Instead she wrapped an arm around her daughter and pulled her close.
“Aunt Frannie has always been something of a mystic, honey. She…we…have a history of dealing with…forces of spirit. Anything can happen when you do that.”
Julia looked confused. Kat didn’t blame her.
“Julia, Aunt Frannie was deep in meditation when she lost consciousness. I think this is a spiritual state, not a physical one.”
Julia’s gaze returned to her great-aunt. “You mean, like an out-of-body experience?”
Kat hadn’t thought of it quite in that light before, but now that Julia said it, it occurred to her that this was exactly what she meant. Francesca’s body was here, but the essence of her spirit was definitely elsewhere.
“Yes,” she said, relieved that her daughter had been able to provide a definition for what she herself thought true.
“Where do you think she is?” Julia asked, as calmly as if she’d inquired when dinner might be served.
Kat shook her head. “I don’t know. I could kick myself, too. Fact is, I’ve been so busy these past few weeks—”
“Months,” Julia inserted flatly.
Kat ignored her. “I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had the luxury of a decent conversation with any of you. Perhaps if I’d taken the time, I would have learned more about Aunt Frannie’s focus.”
They sat quietly for a moment, the stillness of the room broken only by the ticking of the clock on the dresser.
“Mom.” Julia’s voice sounded loud in the silence. “What did you mean about spiritual forces?”
“Aunt Frannie has always tried to view life through spiritual eyes. That means she doesn’t always see the physical world as most people do.”
“You said ‘we.’ ”
“Yes.” Kat looked away. “I meant your father and me.”
The words carried the same impact as the childhood discovery that teachers do not live at school. Julia obviously couldn’t decide whether to snicker or be appalled.
“Oh,” she finally said, her tone more indulgent than anything else. Kat remembered the teenage propensity toward thinking of oneself as worldly and sophisticated as could be, while parents are unenlightened bumpkins with the life experience of lollipops. She knew at once that her daughter defined parental spiritual journeys as forays into irregularly scheduled masses, with the occasional racy trip to a Protestant church on the side. It irked her to be perceived as so one-dimensional.
She chose her words carefully. “I can’t go into everything right now, but we’ll need to talk about it soon. Just believe me, Julia. Aunt Frannie’s viewpoint hasn’t been as wrong as I wish. The reality she recognized is a lot more powerful than the physical one we handle most comfortably. Unbelievable evil exists. I should know. I battled it.”
“You did?”
“I did. And I learned that evil is ingenious. It can come cloaked in extreme beauty. It can play on your fondest desires. Before you know it, you’ve been promised the answer to your deepest longing. Riches, romance, excitement…evil will sneak into your consciousness and offer whatever you want at no apparent cost.”
Julia’s fingers tight
ened around her mother’s arm. Kat restrained herself from loosening the painful grip.
“Mom,” Julia started in a tentative voice, “have you ever had super-realistic dreams? You know, the kind where you’re not sure whether you’re asleep or awake?”
“Yes. I’m not sure that everything you experience while asleep is a dream, though.”
It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she thought she saw her daughter blanch.
“Um…what if those dreams kind of happen when you’re awake?” There was a red-flag edge to Julia’s voice.
Kat leaned forward, searching her daughter’s face for clues. “What do you mean?”
Julia’s expression clouded. She blinked rapidly, as if a series of images were flashing before her eyes and she couldn’t decide which ones were safe to share. Finally, her gaze met her mother’s.
“Nothing,” she said, and Kat slumped back in disappointment.
“Are you sure, honey?”
Julia rose stiffly from the chair. “I guess I should try to get some sleep. I have a French test tomorrow. Are you going to stay in here all night?”
“No. Just a few more minutes.”
Julia wiped her palms against her nightgown. Kat wondered why her daughter’s hands were perspiring in the first place.
“Hey,” she said as Julia reached the doorway. “I love you, Julie. Will you remember that?”
Her daughter nodded, then slipped away from view.
12
ISOBEL LOVED THE NIGHT, WHEN FAMILIAR LANDSCAPES cloaked themselves in darkness and daylight expectations disappeared until the sun rose. Her spirit soared at night. She could roam the earth at will under benevolent darkness, with no one to appraise her actions and tell her how lacking in humility they were.
Of course, she had to admit that nobody had hounded her today, or even the afternoon before. Although the sun had shone bright and hard over Saint Etheldreda’s, the rhythm of the day had been set askew. The church bells had tolled the canonical hours as usual. Meals had been placed on the table at dependable times. Aunt Alys, however, had failed to appear. Instead the bishop’s envoy, that wan Father Gregory, had appeared in the refectory doorway during supper. He’d requested that the sisters pray for Madame Alys, who’d taken to her bed with a mysterious malady.
