by Jack Massa
Next day, I feel a whole lot better.
It’s a beautiful, breezy morning in Harmony Springs, and I’m grateful to be alive. There’s been no further sign of my shadow adversary, and the house feels full of light. When I do the Daily Ablution, the visualization is strong and clear. I lose myself completely in the waters of Bliss.
As soon as we get to the antique shop, I send Molly another text: “I’m so sorry about yesterday. Please meet me at 11 at Springs of Coffee. I’ll tell you the truth about the magic.” I know Molly well enough to be certain that even if she hates me, her curiosity won’t let her resist that offer.
Sure enough, in a few moments I get her reply: “OK.”
When I walk into Springs of Coffee, I spot her at our usual corner table, bent over her keyboard. Lewis, the barista, takes my order, then motions me closer so he can whisper. “Good luck talking to Molly.”
“What do you know?”
He rolls his eyes. “She came in here yesterday with steam blowing out of her nostrils. Your name was featured: ‘You think a person is your friend, dot dot dot.’”
“I know. She’s got a reason to be pissed at me. But it really wasn’t my fault.”
Lewis smiles. “Be kind. She’s a lot more sensitive than she likes to show.”
I collect my nerve and walk over to the table. Molly looks at me with an indifferent expression.
“Hi, Molly.”
“Hi.”
“Listen. I’m really, really sorry about yesterday. When you showed up, I was in the middle of something—”
“Yeah. Something you wouldn’t tell me about, something you didn’t feel you could trust me with.”
“I know. If I hadn’t been so crazy, I would have handled it better. You have a right to be angry with me. But I need to know that what I tell you now is going to be kept secret.”
Molly looks peeved. “I think I’ve proven I can be trusted.”
“You have. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you. I just need to make sure we still have the same understanding—absolute secrecy.”
“Okay. We do.”
“Good. The truth is, when I saw you yesterday, I was under psychic attack. Remember I told you about Shadow Man? The night I flew back from New Jersey, he showed up in my bedroom. And I needed help to get rid of him.”
“Who helped you? How?”
I hold up my hands. “I’m sworn to secrecy about most of it—as in, a binding oath on my soul. But I have gotten permission to show you this much.”
I unzip my backpack and take out the Circle of Harmony manifesto and “Admonitions to the Candidate.” Violet gave these to me before I was initiated, so I figured it was okay to share them. I verified this with Granma this morning.
“I’m in touch with a small group of people here in town who practice magic—the same kind of magic taught by the founders. These are the papers they gave to people who were interested in joining their secret society.”
I hand over the pages. Molly devours them with her eyes. “Wow…holy crap…this is fantastic!”
Lewis calls out when my order is ready. I go to the counter and pick up my food while Molly keeps reading. As I eat, she continues to pore over the documents. Finally she sets them down and peers at me.
“How did you get in touch with them?”
“Well, when I got into trouble my first week here, my Granma knew someone to call.”
“Right. I saw Mr. Palmer’s car there yesterday. And he lives with that lady who does the palm reading and stuff…”
“I can’t reveal any names. And you mustn’t, either. There’s a reason it’s called a secret society.”
“I get it. I promise.” She glances down at the stack of pages. “This is so cool. Can I get a copy of these?”
“I’ll have to check on that. I only got permission to show them to you.”
“All right. I understand.” She straightens the pile of papers and hands them back to me. “Thanks, Abby. Having you for a friend is amazing.”
“So…we’re friends again?”
“Oh!” Molly looks surprised, then pained. “I’m such a selfish idiot! Here you were being attacked and terrorized, and I just made it worse. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay. You didn’t know.”
“Did the magic work? Did they make Shadow Guy go away?”
“Yeah. He’s been expelled. At least for now.”
“Expelled…wow.” She considers for a moment. “So, you still think he has something to do with all the trouble in town? And maybe, if he’s been expelled, things will go back to normal?”
“Could be. But there’s also a chance he’ll return.”
“God, Abby, you have such an interesting life!”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “Sometimes not in a good way.”
Molly squeezes my hand. “You’re doing fine. I think you’re wonderful.”
“Thanks.” I choke up a little. “I’m so glad you’re not mad at me.”
Molly brightens. “Listen, I had an idea about how we can get in to investigate Margaret’s house…”
When I return to the shop, Granma is in the back talking with Kevin. They both look at me as I walk in. Their faces are strained.
“Glad you’re here, Abby,” Granma says. “We were just talking about you.”
I see a bunch of papers spread out on the glass countertop.
“Violet sent you these,” Kevin explains. “They’re part of the advanced curriculum for the Circle of Harmony. We think it would be a good idea if you studied them.”
“Sure…but why so serious?”
They glance at each other. I can sense disagreement. Kevin says, “Violet will explain more in a few days, once she’s feeling better.”
“Is she sick?”
“More worn out,” Kevin says. “The ceremony took a lot out of her. And then she stayed up half the night doing trance work and readings.”
“Violet tends to overdramatize things sometimes,” Granma says.
Kevin frowns at her. “That might be fair, Kat. But that entity, whatever it was, felt pretty real—and nasty. At least I thought so.”
Granma nods grudgingly. “I did too.”
“So you think he’s coming back?” I ask. “Does Violet think so?”
“It’s possible,” Kevin says. “It’s also possible other things may…come up. Violet senses the potential for a lot of weird stuff to happen over the next month. She just wants to prepare you to protect yourself as much as possible.”
“And I think that’s fine,” Granma says. “Studying is fine. Reading the advanced curriculum is fine if Violet thinks she’s ready for it. I just don’t want Abby frightened needlessly. You know as well as I do, Kevin, fear by itself can lead to obsession—and worse.”
“I’m not frightened,” I say. At least, not too much. And after witnessing the ceremony yesterday, I’m more convinced than ever that the magic of the Circle is real. If I can use it to protect myself, then the sooner I learn, the better.
Kevin shows me the papers and booklets he’s brought. There are scripts for five rituals, called advancement ceremonies. The idea is that the initiate advances to each Spring one at a time and learns its lessons in detail. There are also lectures to study after each advancement ceremony, plus detailed instructions for constructing magic tools. Kevin explains that one tool corresponds to each of the first four Springs—the wand for Love, the dagger for Endurance, something called a seeing stone for Balance, and a cup for Amity.
I notice a page that says a candidate must wait at least three months after initiation before the First Advancement, and a similar time between each of the other rites.
“That’s how it was done back in the day,” Kevin says. “But in your case, Violet thinks we should accelerate the program.”
Granma lifts her eyebrows at this. She does not look happy.
On Wednesday Molly
and I show up at the church auditorium for the Save Harmony Springs volunteers meeting. Nine other people are there, including Reverend Johnson and Fiona Alden-Gathers, our fearless leader. Fiona looks tired, like she hasn’t been sleeping well. Her excellent makeup doesn’t quite hide the shadows under her eyes.
But she takes charge of the meeting with her usual aplomb. From talking with her lawyers, she says, she’s confident that any lawsuit against property easements will not stand up, especially if the easements are passed by a town referendum. She plans to propose the referendum at the next town council meeting. Meantime, there’s been no word of further moves by Phil Deering or the Texas-Brighton Land Company. Fiona thinks it’s possible that just the mention of easements may have caused them to reconsider the project.
Reverend Johnson expresses concern about the violence that followed the last town council meeting. Fiona seems a touch defensive about it. She points out that the increased police patrols have been successful in quieting things down. There have only been two incidents of vandalism reported since the big night of trouble last week.
For now, Fiona says, the crucial thing is that we all stay “on message.” Whether there is new development or not, our goal is to preserve the quality of life and historical character of Harmony Springs. She discusses plans to seek grants from two different historic preservation societies, with the money to be used to fund Save Harmony Springs and possibly to set up an endowment for restoring historic houses. She asks for volunteers to help her with the grant applications, and two of the older women speak up.
Before closing the meeting, Fiona publicly recognizes Molly and thanks her for her work on the Save Harmony Springs website, which “now has a lot of content and looks great.” Molly beams as she receives a round of applause.
When the meeting breaks up, Molly and I go to the front to speak with Fiona. Fiona says she’s glad to see me back in town. Molly says she has a new idea for the website.
“We want to show people the history that we’re trying to preserve, right? I know you’ve done a lot of work restoring your own house up on Bliss Bayou. I thought a photo essay about the house would be really effective.”
“Oh, well, that’s a thought.” Fiona considers. “They’re not quite finished with the work, though. They’re still painting and doing trim on the outside.”
“That’s okay,” Molly says. “Pictures of the workers could be part of the story.”
Fiona looks at us cautiously for a second, but then she shrugs. “I guess it’s all right. And I think it’s a great idea for the website. Let me know when you want to go up there, and I’ll tell the foreman to expect you.”
Next day, Molly picks me up at Glenda’s Antiques at three in the afternoon. Along with her phone and tablet, she’s brought a video camera, a digital thermometer, and an audio recorder with tape cassettes.
“Sometimes spectral sounds are picked up on tape but not other media,” Molly explains. “No one seems to knows why.”
Molly’s been studying paranormal investigations. As we ride her electric bike out to Bliss Bayou, she describes our plan of attack.
“We basically go into each room and turn on all the recording devices. I call out for any spirits to make themselves known. Then we wait and see what happens. As the team psychic, you let me know any impressions you receive. Everything gets logged. Everything.”
I’m having mixed feelings about this. The past couple of days, things have been quiet on the occult front, so I’m reluctant to go kicking any hornets’ nests. On the other hand, Shadow Man might return at any time, and we still don’t know what his connection is with Margaret Alden. If investigating her house can shed any light, then it seems like we ought to try.
Besides, Molly’s so enthusiastic. I don’t want to rain on her picnic.
Vans and pickup trucks are parked in front of the Alden house. Two guys on ladders are hammering in new boards along the roof line. We walk all around the outside of the house, and Molly snaps a lot of pictures.
“Any impressions so far, Abby?”
Nothing except a queasiness in my gut. “Not really.”
“Let’s try inside.”
We climb the steps to the front porch and go in through the open door. The entryway has a new tile floor and a crystal chandelier. I remember the polished wood columns and the arched doorways with stained glass. Everything looks spotless and lovely. Molly takes pictures as we wander around, soaking it in. We find the painting crew at work in the dining room. Molly tells the foreman we want to stay out of their way, so we’ll start upstairs.
We go up the grand staircase to the second floor. There are six bedrooms off the central hallway, and we start with a bedroom in the front. It has a fireplace with a marble mantel, and tall windows to let in the light.
Without furniture, the room feels all brand new and empty. But underneath that I get a sense of a long, unhappy history. My queasiness grows.
Molly turns on the tape recorder and video camera and sets them on the mantel. She steps in front of the camera, then speaks into her phone. “Audio redundancy,” she explains.
“Alden house investigation, July 16, 3:52 p.m. Investigator, Molly Quick. Associate investigator and team psychic, Abby Renshaw. We are in the northwest bedroom on the second story.” She checks the thermometer. “The temperature is 88 degrees.” She raises her voice. “To any spirits who are present, we greet you and ask that you make yourselves known.”
We wait five minutes. Nothing happens.
“Any impressions, Abby?”
If anything, the room feels emptier and deader than when we came in. If there are spirits around, my guess is they’re avoiding us. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing here.”
Molly nods and turns off the recorders. “Too bad we don’t have an EMF.”
“An EMF?”
“Electromagnetic field detector. It measures fluctuations in electromagnetic energy, which are caused by spirit activity. You can get one for fifty bucks on Amazon.”
“Oh.”
“Of course, something may show up on the tape that wasn’t audible to us. Let’s try the next room.”
We investigate the other two bedrooms on the west side of the house but get the same results. Molly is starting to look disappointed.
“Ghost hunting takes a lot of patience,” she says. “I wonder what this is…”
She’s already opened a couple of doors in the hall that turned out to be closets. But this one leads to a narrow stairway.
“Ah, the attic. Let’s look up there.”
Warm, musty-smelling air flows down the stairs. With it comes a burst of creepy energy that tilts me back on my feet. I don’t think this is a good idea.
But Molly’s already halfway up the steps, so I squish down my fear and follow.
“Whoa! Look at this!” Molly says.
The attic room is dark and stifling. No windows. A little daylight slants in through vents near the ceiling. Molly turns on the flashlight on her phone to get a better look. She searches for a light switch, but doesn’t find one. Apparently electric lights were never installed up here.
I fish out my phone and turn on the flashlight. We’re standing in a large central room under the high attic ceiling. The room is shaped like a polygon, with eight—no, nine—equal sides. The nine walls are all about five and a half feet high, with a black door in the center of each.
“I don’t think they’ve renovated this part of the house,” Molly says, declaring the obvious.
The ceiling has a dim mural, a Victorian-style painting with streams of blue water and figures seated on clouds. The walls and floor have faded drawings and diagrams—glyphs—like I’ve seen in the Circle of Harmony documents.
“They did magic here,” I whisper.
Molly tries to open a couple of the black doors but finds them locked. “Too dark for video,” she says. She turns on the audio recorder and logs where we are and wha
t we can see. She notes the time and temperature, then calls out for any spirits present to make themselves known.
My vision starts to spark and blink. I see candles, dozens of them, floating in the air. Then I see they’re not floating but set on tall wooden holders that are carved in fantastical shapes. The candles are arranged in a spiral, forming a path that curls to the center of the attic. There I see three people in ceremonial robes, two girls and a young man—the same ones I saw before, in the outdoor circle at the top of Bliss Bayou. This time I feel certain that the girls are Margaret Alden and Annie Renshaw.
The three of them are chanting and gesturing with their wands. As they continue to chant, a shadow rises in their midst. It grows and darkens, and so does my fear.
Shadow Man stands in the center of the spiral. Margaret and Annie and the guy keep chanting and pointing their wands at him. They chant louder and louder, and Shadow Man seems to bask in the attention.
That’s it! They think they are drawing magic power from him, but in fact he is drawing energy from them.
Deceiver.
“Molly, Abby? Are you up there?” Someone is climbing the stairs.
The vision flickers out. My head is swimming, and my knees buckle. I hear Molly speaking my name. She’s grabbed my arm to prevent me from falling.
“What are you two doing up here?” Fiona appears at the top of the stairs. “This part of the house hasn’t been remodeled yet.”
“Yeah, we figured that out,” Molly says. “Sorry. Come on, Abby.”
I’m a little unsteady as I follow her to the stairs. Fiona is staring at us. In the dim light, her face looks grim.
“We weren’t expecting you to be here,” Molly says as she leads the way down the steps.
“I just thought I’d check in,” Fiona answers, “to make sure you got what you needed.”
“Yeah, I think so,” Molly replies. “We got some great pictures of the outside. And the hallway downstairs looks fabulous.”
Fiona accompanies us back to the ground floor. Molly asks her some questions about the woodwork and glass, and whether she plans to move in when the renovations are finished. Then Molly takes pictures of Fiona standing by a pillared doorway and in front of the staircase.
