Spirits in the Material World

by Lisa Shea

  Our inner light.

  Bryane said, “Breathe in deeply. Fill your upper chest, your mid-chest, and your abdomen. Let the breath fill you and push your stomach out. You are filling with energy. With light. With vitality.

  I could feel it. I could draw in the power as we all, hands joined, focused on the one purpose.

  “Now breathe out. Out, out, releasing the toxins and any negative influence. Our circle must be pure. It must be shining gold, to create a conduit.”

  The breath left us all.

  “In. In, in, in, and our circle is now a sphere. It is a great, powerful, eternal sphere, around us, above us, and below us. It protects us from any who would wish to harm us.”

  I saw it, faint at first, then stronger in the flickering firelight. It was beautiful. It was golden, sparkling, creating a dome above and around us. I had no doubt that it extended below the floor as well.

  “Out, out, strengthening the sphere. Solidifying it. We are safe. We are secure.”

  The music swirled and lifted, and the sphere took on form.

  Bryane looked up toward the ceiling. He said, “Release.”

  There was a metallic click, and something began slowly descending on a thin line from the ceiling toward the center of the circle. It was rectangular, black, and I couldn’t tell exactly what it was made of. As it lowered I began to guess wood, based on its grain and texture. It had a sealed brass lock on it.

  Roger’s eyes were locked on the object.

  Dalilah paled.

  Bryane warned, “You must keep your hands joined. It is critical for all of our safety.”

  Dalilah snapped, “That … that box … was private. You swore to keep it between us. Personal.”

  Bryane said without inflection, “Fire is the ultimate cleanser. It renews and rejuvenates. It purifies. With fire, we get to the center of the truth.”

  Dalilah’s voice now gained a tremor in it. “But what if there’s something within the box? And it gets released? It’ll be in here with us. In the protective sphere. How can the sphere protect us from something that’s in the sphere?”

  Bryane’s eyes shone with focus. “Nothing harmful can pass through the sphere.”

  “Exactly,” she growled. “But the box was hanging from the ceiling when we began this séance. So it was within the sphere when we formed it. We’ve trapped it here in our sphere. With us. What the Hell are you doing, Bryane?”

  The box had reached the cast iron bowl and was resting on the burning herbs. The rich scent of ebony joined the medley of aromas. Flames licked around its edges.

  Panic rose in Dalilah’s voice. “You can’t do this. You need to stop. If it gets out we’re all in danger. Pour some water on the fire. You have water, don’t you?”

  Bryane’s voice was tense with effort. I could see how the sphere rippled and shifted. His voice was rough. “Do not disturb the circle.”

  “We have to disturb the circle,” insisted Dalilah. “Now! We all have to run for it!” She tugged at Marc’s hand, but his grip was far stronger than hers. He refused to let hers go. She went for Cassandra instead, but apparently Cassandra was far stronger than she looked. She clung onto Dalilah with the tenacity of a tiger.

  The box crackled – shimmered –

  A crack appeared lengthwise across the front.

  A curling wisp of smoke eased out.

  The room inhaled in shock, and ten pairs of eyes stared – stared –

  The smoke lifted. Coalesced. Took form.

  It was Anna.

  I cried, “Anna!”

  She stared – her eyes wild -

  The sphere flared gold, and I felt the intense effort Bryane poured into it. Everything he was, everything he had, was encasing us in that sphere.

  At the same time, I felt a surge of Marc’s presence. For his deep brown was wholly interlaced with Bryane’s fiery flame. They had forged together into something more powerful than either man could have managed alone. Marc’s forehead was beaded with sweat, but I knew that he would not falter.

  Both men would die before they let the sphere fail.

  Anna’s gaze rolled – lost – lost – lost –

  My breath came in rough heaves. My own strength was coursing out in the sphere, deepest blue, but I had to call Anna’s spirit back to us. It was our only chance.

  Somehow I wrenched enough breath to push out words.

  “Anna. Sarah needs you.”

  Her gaze shook – twisted – and she came over to me.

  It was like looking into a maelstrom, but I held steady.

  I nodded to her.

  She breathed in -

  Anna rushed to me, falling to her knees before me, her body heaving with full-body sobs.

  I wanted with all my heart to hold her, but I knew with every ounce of my being that I absolutely could not break the circle.

  For her sake.

  Four ours.

  I refocused myself. I sent every last drop of my love and compassion out to her, wrapping her wholly in that emotion.

  Somehow she felt my wave. She curled in against it, leaning against me. Her body shook with emotion.

  At last she could speak. Her voice was ragged. “I was all alone, in the dark, in an absolute, complete, utter silence. I had no idea what was happening. I was scared, so scared …”

  “It’s all right,” I soothed her. “Everything is going to be all right now.”

  Marc’s voice was rough. I could see the immense effort he continued to pour into the sphere. He asked Anna, “Do you remember who put you in there?”

  She shook her head. “I was so worried about my sister, I just wasn’t paying attention to anything else. And then all of a sudden it was just like this web was around me. I couldn’t get through it. I couldn’t see or sense or anything. There was just blackness. Utter blackness.”

  She started sobbing again.

  I wrapped her more fully in my soothing blanket.

  The box sighed as it deconstructed into ash and flickering flame.

  Bryane focused his gaze on the fire, as if judging the full dissolution of energy from the containment box. I could see the strain in his neck and shoulders from what he was doing.

  He nodded.

  He said, his tone rough, “Release.”

  Now all eyes in the room automatically went up to the ceiling. Sure enough, another box began lowering down. But this one appeared to be mahogany wood, about the size of a shoebox. In fact, it seemed to be nearly identical to the one that Wilma had brought with her for the visit to Josephine’s house.

  I looked over to Wilma.

  Her face was so pale as to be nearly translucent. I could see now that Bryane’s grip on her hand was quite solid. But I’m not even sure that she thought about getting free. She was wholly in shock, transfixed, as the box lowered down … down … down toward the fire.

  Anna wiped at her eyes and turned. Her gaze grew large as she saw what was happening.

  The box reached the fire.

  Anna stood and went over to it. By instinct I wanted to warn her against getting burned, but I realized that her spirit was far beyond the touch of Earthly physics. She was not impacted by fire, any more than she was impacted by air, water, or earth. It was spiritual energy which powered her, something of an entirely different plane.

  She knelt before the box. She softly said, “I’m here. Sarah. It’s me, Anna.”

  There was the softest of moans through the keyhole.

  Anna nodded. “It’s all right, Sarah. The box is going away. Just another moment. Just another breath.”

  Marc’s arm was shaking. I knew my own strength was near its limit. But we would not let the sphere fail.

  The box settled into the fire. It shifted.

  I focused on my breathing. In. Out.

  One more moment … one more moment …

  The lid cracked.

  A thin smoke swirled – twined – coalesced –

  Sarah was there before us.

  S
he stared at her older sister with wild eyes. I wasn’t sure there was even recognition in there. Just fear, and fury, and despair –

  Anna put out her hands, palms up. “Sarah,” she said, her voice resonating with love. “Sarah, it’s me. It’s Anna. Your little sister.”

  Sarah stood, blinking, standing –

  The sphere swirled in gold and flame and earth and water and a thousand other colors –

  Sarah blinked and gained focus. Disbelief mingled with joy. And then the two sisters were spinning, laughing, merging and separating in a celebration of pure bliss.

  My eyes were tearing, and I let them flow. My body was drenched in sweat, and my shoulders ached with pain, but suddenly none of that mattered at all.

  At last the two sisters separated. Sarah turned to me. She beamed. “Thank you, Amber. For everything.”

  I smiled at them both.

  Marc said, “We have one more box. It’s behind me. Sarah, if you could get it, please?”

  Sarah moved around to lift the bag and bring it toward the center of the room. Her brow creased. “Do we need to burn this one, too?”

  I glanced at Marc. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

  Bryane closed his eyes for a long moment. His face seemed to have aged a full ten years. I could feel his energy probing the box. At last he sighed in relief. “No. Anna, this box has no protections on it. You should be able to enter it as you would any other physical object. Go in, and draw the resident outside. Let her know it’s safe now.”

  Anna glanced at him in confusion, but nodded. She drew in on herself until she was again simply a twisting tendril of smoke.

  Then she descended into the box.

  The sphere rippled … coursed … shimmered …

  There was motion.

  Two smoky tendrils rose from the box side by side. One resolved back into Anna.

  And the other …

  Tears flowed down Alex’s face. “Momma!”

  Josephine moved to her daughter and wrapped her arms around her. They were insubstantial and translucent, but to Alex it seemed to mean everything. She sobbed and sobbed, her hands firmly in the grasp of her neighbors.

  Josephine murmured, “I’m here, sweetie. I’m here for you.”

  At last Alex quieted, and Josephine looked around. She nodded in acknowledgement to Bryane, gave me a gentle smile, and then looked –

  She stilled.

  Her voice was a mere whisper. “Marc.”

  His tone was hoarse. “Mom.”

  She moved over to kneel before him. “Marc, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  He nodded. “I know. And I’m sorry, too. We should have healed our rift long ago.”

  She gave a small smile and idly put a hand to her ear. To where she had been injected with potassium. “And then it was too late. I thought I’d have more time.”

  He nodded. “Most of us think that.”

  “There’s so much I would have done differently.”

  He chuckled. “And there is the common thread which runs through every life. The past no longer exists. All we have is the now. This one moment in which we can act. Where we can say what we want to say.”

  Tears swelled in her eyes.

  She said, fully and clearly, “I love you, Marc.”

  His eyes filled to match hers, and then she was hugging him, hugging him, and he leaned in against her, lost in the moment.

  Wilma and Dalilah looked as if both women were about to dissolve into salt.

  I looked over to Bryce.

  His forehead was dripping with sweat, but his gaze held mine.

  He nodded to me.

  There was no need for words.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The police had come and cuffed the two blondes side by side. Even so, I had to stare at them in the full light of the room to fully realize it. “They are sisters?”

  Bryce nodded, a wry smile on his lips. “It’s why Wilma was so upset when I started sleeping with Dalilah. I guess there’s some sort of unwritten code about that.”

  I shook my head. I was sure Bryce knew exactly what he was getting himself into with that relationship.

  Alex gave Roger another hard punch in the arm. “And you slept with Wilma? On our living room couch?”

  He put his hands up in surrender. “I was drunk! And she had on this outfit of gold sequins that you could practically –”

  Her next punch landed harder.

  Captain Moynahan was staring at the open wooden box. She carefully paged through the parchment papers within, careful to only touch the edges. “And you’re sure these are authentic? They really are drawings made by Elizabeth Corwin of each accused victim?”

  Cassandra eagerly nodded. “Many of these victims have never had any likenesses available for them. People in the 1600s simply didn’t have the money to have paintings made. The victim’s faces and likenesses had been wholly lost in the past. But now we will be able to bring them to fresh life.”

  Moynahan’s brow creased. “And this is what the sisters were after? The stash of drawings?”

  Marc nodded. “It seemed that Dalilah had had a fling with one of the Corwin descendants. She heard rumors about Elizabeth’s drawings. But Elizabeth’s line had ended with her daughter. The drawings went over to her brother George’s descendants. Then they sort of got lost in the shuffle. People wanted to forget the Salem Witch Trials. Pretend the lunacy had never happened. Until, of course, it became a major tourist attraction.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “Pretty odd that the site of a serial killing is a destination attraction.”

  Gertie said, “By that point, the family had been scattered. The original Corwin house had been gone over with a fine-toothed comb by architects and historians, eager for every last item related to the trials. No drawings had been found there. So clearly they were in one of the other family-related homes.”

  I twined my fingers into Marc’s. “And so they divided and conquered. Dalilah stayed at Gertie’s place. Wilma seduced Roger. Convinced him to sneak her in there, when Alex wasn’t around. Made sure to keep tabs on what we were doing.”

  Alex said, “I swear, I didn’t know that Dalilah did anything to Sarah. And I thought Wilma had stashed a family keepsake in the study, when she was a kid. That’s what she told me. I was just trying to get it back for her, before Alex burned everything.”

  She swatted him again. “I wasn’t going to burn everything! I was just going to get rid of it!”

  Josephine’s face was calm. “What was it about my possessions that bothered you so, my dearest?”

  Alex had tears streaming down her face. “Because they reminded me of you! And I realized that you were gone forever. You were gone, gone, and I could never say that I was sorry! I could never tell you I loved you! That I wished we could go back in time, that I wished –”

  Josephine put out her arms.

  Alex ran to her, standing within the translucent being, and wrapped her arms around herself. The sobs shook her.

  The police officers did not take any notice of the woman talking to herself and hugging herself in the middle of the room. Apparently they’d seen just about everything there was to see in Salem.

  Alex hadn’t even commented on the fact that she could now see spirits. That the séance had unlocked something deep within her. She was wholly lost in her reunion.

  Captain Moynahan turned to Roger. “We’re going to be taking you down to the station with these other two. Figure out who did what.”

  He flung a finger. “It was Dalilah who killed Josephine. Not Wanda!”

  Wanda’s eyes flashed. “But you didn’t know that when you slept with me, did you? It could easily have been either of us. You know what we did? We flipped a coin. To see which of us was going to do it.”

  He went pale.

  Moynahan took up the box and closed the lid. “All right, let’s get them out of here.”

  She turned to look at Marc. “So this is your idea of letting us han
dle things?”

  Marc gave a small smile.

  Her gaze twinkled, and then the officers left, suspects in tow.

  Marc walked to Bryane and put out a hand. “You were a force of nature tonight. I felt the effort you had to expend to keep that sphere whole. You kept us all safe. Thank you.”

  Bryane hesitated a moment.

  Then he clasped Marc’s hand. He nodded.

  Then he gave a wry smile. “I could use a drink.”

  Josephine smiled. “If you guys haven’t already drunk it all, I have a stash of 1945 Chateauneuf du Pape hidden in a back corner beneath the cellar stairs. I think it’s time to open that.” She chuckled. “Not that us spirits can enjoy it, of course, but we can sit and talk with you while you do.”

  Marc’s gaze shone. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

  Bryane wearily ran a hand through his hair. “All right. Let’s go find that case of vintage wine.”

  Alex rounded in surprise, coming back to the present. “Wait, there’s vintage wine in the house?”

  I chuckled. “Guess it’s a good thing you hadn’t gotten to cleaning the cellar yet.”

  Marc wrapped an arm around my waist, and for the first time in a long, long time, the world was exactly as it should be.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  We were at the Witch Trials Memorial alongside Old Burying Point, behind the Peabody Essex Museum. It was a cloudy day, befitting the event. For it was June 10th. On June 10th, 1692, Bridget Bishop was hung for the crime of witchcraft. She was only the first of twenty men and women who were killed during this tragedy.

  I huddled close to Marc, listening as Gertie spoke to the assembled crowd. She had always cared deeply about this topic, and the recent events with Josephine, Sarah, and Anna had only made them more potent. The release of Elizabeth’s drawings had captured the public’s attention, and it seemed everyone was talking about the need to care for one another. To watch over one another. To put aside petty fear and wild stereotyping in order to remember that we were all human beings.