"Evidently," Christian replied, a faint grimace on his lips as he watched Esme rain smacking kisses down on the cat's head.
"What, haven't you ever had a pet?" I asked.
"Several. They all died."
I glanced up at him, struck once again by the pain that darkened his eyes. "What is it you want from me?" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
A smile quirked his lips, lightening his eyes to a middling oak color. "Would salvation be too much to ask?"
I clamped down on the smile that wanted to answer his. "Probably."
"I see. In that case, perhaps you will join me tomorrow evening? There is an exhibition that I think you might find interesting."
"Woogie woogie Woogums! Did oo miss Mummy? Mummy missed her Woogums!"
"What sort of an exhibition?"
"Perhaps a better term would be demonstration. A local medium is hosting a series of Summonings, open to the public."
I wondered how Christian knew about the psychic shindig, then figured he must have had an ear to the paranormal grapevine. "I heard about that. I suppose it might be interesting, although I'm at a loss as to why you want to take me there. After all, I'm not in the least bit feminine or submissive or docile, and of course, I have this great huge problem with my self-image."
He took two steps forward and held my chin between his thumb and forefinger. Little flames of desire licked down my neck at his touch. "You are also a very talented woman, intelligent if rather distant emotionally."
The flames froze solid. I smacked his hand away, ignoring Esme's horrified gasp of surprise. "You are just about the rudest man I've ever met. You've done nothing but insult me ever since you came here—uninvited, I might add—and now you have the balls to tell me I'm frigid?" I took a deep breath and pointed to the door. "Don't let the door hit you in the butt as you go out."
"Allie," Esme the ghost shrieked. "Child, that is no way to speak to your man! Firm, yes, but never, ever demanding. It isn't ladylike."
Christian smiled at me—smirked, really, a knowing, full-of-himself smirk that made my hand itch to slap it off his face; then he made another one of those old-fashioned bows that would have looked ridiculous performed by any other man, but which fit him perfectly. "I shall call for you at eight of the clock."
"Out!" I snapped, stabbing my finger at the door.
"Esme, it was a distinct pleasure. I hope to see you again, but if Allegra determines what is wrong with her Release spell and I am unable to, bon chance."
"Oh, my! Christian, you really are the charmer, aren't you? I'm sure I will be around for quite some time. I can see that Allie needs a guiding hand, a mother's helpful advice."
"Esme, you're not my mother. And you are dead. Those are just two reasons why advice from you is not needed."
Her lower lip quivered, and her eyes filled with ghostly tears.
"I hope you are pleased with yourself. You have made a spirit cry."
I glared at Christian for a moment. "Weren't you just leaving? Oh, Esme, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It's just that… well, I have a mother. She's very much alive, and she's full of good advice, so although I appreciate your concern—"
The ghost sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, blowing her nose. I made a mental note to record the fact that ghosts' noses got stuffy when they cried. "But you're American! She must live in America, surely? You need a mother figure here, child. You obviously have a great deal to learn about men, and since I've had four husbands, I'm just the person to tell you what's what. Now you run along, Christian," she said, tucking her handkerchief away, a smile once again brightening her face. She made shooing motions toward him. "Allie and I have a great deal to talk about, and none of it is fit for a man's ears."
"Oh, Lord, what have I done?" I moaned softly to myself.
Christian's amused smile turned into an out-and-out grin. He inclined his head toward Esme. "You have my full permission to—how is it said?—whip her into shape."
His words fell like shards of glass on tender flesh. I wondered if he had ever been whipped. I had. It wasn't an expression I used lightly.
The smile faded off his face as his gaze shifted to me. "Allegra? Is something amiss?"
I could feel him testing the guards I'd sent on my mind, searching for any cracks that would allow him in. I forced down the pain that had risen at his words and stretched my lips into a smile. "Everything's fine. Good night, Christian."
He continued to stare at me for a minute, probing my mind gently, but my will was strong. Closing my mind to others was the first step in self-preservation that I'd learned. It was a hard lesson, but one that was instinctive to me now. He nodded abruptly, then turned and went out the door.
I closed it behind him, leaning against it as I blew out a whoosh of breath. I hadn't realized just how he upset the balance of my mind until he'd left. I felt drained, unfinished, almost as if part of me had walked out the door with him.
"Fancies, sheer and utter fancies." I shook my head at myself and straightened my shoulders. Disturbing influence or no, I had work to do. I would not let a handsome man with wicked eyes and seductive lips interfere. No matter how hard he tried to dominate me, I would remain in control. I kept my smile firmly attached as I turned to the waiting ghost.
"Just a word of advice, dear. Your smile should be representative of your inner beauty, of your natural gentleness. It should shine from within, and should warm the heart of the one you're smiling at, not make that person think of death's-heads and grinning skeletons."
I let the smile fizzle off into nothing. Sometimes I had to wonder if being a Summoner was really worth it.
Chapter Five
"Dear, you are a young woman. You have a dashing young man. Why don't you put your hair up in papers? It would do wonders for it."
I ground my teeth and made note of Esme's EMF reading.
"And your clothes—really, I understand that they're comfortable, but you have your future to think of! What man will want to marry a woman who wears loose athletic trousers and baggy jumpers? You have a very nice figure, I'm sure. Don't be afraid to show it off!"
The point of my pencil broke against the notebook. I threw it away with a muttered snarl and reached for a pen.
"And your posture—I realize this is a different age than when I was a girl, but my mother would have swooned if she'd seen me slouching as you do. Shoulders back, child, back straight, head high. A lady never sits like a lump."
The pen gouged a hole in the paper. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. There were just a few more things to record; then I could send Esme on to her reward, leaving me in blissful quiet. Two hours of her nonstop, if well-meaning advice had just about worn my nerves raw.
"You know, I think if you tried a different sort of eyeliner, it might help tone down your eyes a wee bit. I realize there's nothing you can do with them, but you do want to maximize what you have, in a minimal sort of way, if you know what I mean. A lady doesn't look like a painted trollop; she just looks… enhanced. Subtlety is the key with cosmetics."
I picked up my digital camera and switched the settings to manual. "Could you hold… um… Mr. Woogums for a minute? I'd like to get a few pictures."
"Photos! Why, of course, I'd be delighted. Come here, my little Woogy-woogy man."
I focused, checked the flash settings (I'd found that flashes made ghosts all but invisible to the camera), and snapped a few shots.
"Now you must do one of my left side," Esme said as she struck a dramatic pose in profile. "I'm told it's my best side. You must cultivate your best side, dear. Always keep your man on that side, so he will have only the best of you to look at. And we must have a word about your eyebrows! Young ladies nowadays simply have no idea of the proper way to groom their eyebrows."
"My eyebrows are just fine, thank you. Now how about a couple of shots of you next to the wall? I want to see if you show up better with a dark background."
&nbs
p; "Oh, I'm sure I do," she said as she obligingly moved over to the wall, which was covered in dark blue silk. She struck a pose that reminded me of Hollywood starlets in the 1930s. "And as for your eyebrows—tsk, dear, tsk! You cannot mean to have them looking like great hairy caterpillars clinging to your face. Eyebrows are meant to be delicate little swoops that draw attention to the eye."
I looked at her over the top of the camera, one great hairy caterpillar cocked in question.
"Yes, well, perhaps your eyes demand an eyebrow with a bit more substance, but they do need help. Lots and lots of help."
"Mmm. Just a couple more shots and then I think I'll be finished with you. I can Release you so you'll be free to move on to the next level of existence."
She held her smile until I lowered the camera, then shook her head, fat iron-gray curls bobbing madly as she walked over to me. "Oh, I couldn't do that, dear. I'm not ready to move on yet."
I made a note of the conditions of the pictures, camera settings, and day and time, then tucked the camera away in the bag. "Oh, right, you have some unfinished business. Well, I can't guarantee I can fix it, but I'll do my best. What do you need done?"
She smiled and reached out to pat my shoulder. My arm went numb. "Why, it's you, dear. You are my unfinished business."
I goggled at her. "Me?" I squeaked. "What do you mean, I'm your unfinished business? You didn't even know me until I Summoned you!"
Her curls bobbed as she nodded. "Exactly. As soon as I saw you, I said to myself, 'Esme, that young woman needs your help. This is why you were meant to stay in this room all those years.' And I was right; you do need my help."
I thought madly over everything I'd learned about Releasing a ghost. Was it possible to send one on if it didn't wish to go?
"Poop," I snarled, knowing full well the answer was no. It wasn't possible to Release a ghost without its cooperation.
"Allie! Language! We are judged by the quality of our language. It behooves a lady to strip from her vocabulary any of those words deemed uncouth. Oaths are definitely a no-no. Gentlemen do not wish their wives to have a mouth like a sailor!"
I sat down in the chair with a half sob caught in my throat. "Esme, I know you think I need your help, and I appreciate your kindness in giving me such—" unwanted… useless… dated "—helpful advice, but I can honestly say that I'm very happy in my life. I have everything I've ever wanted: a great job… well, great now that I have evidence of two successful Summonings… a nice apartment, a couple of friends—"
She tipped her head to the side. "And what of Christian?"
I tried to smile, but was just too tired to make the muscles of my mouth work properly. The lightening of the perpetual gray outside indicated that dawn had come. "Christian doesn't fit into my life picture. He's just an acquaintance. So you see, much as I'd like to keep you with me just for the pleasure of your company"—a little white lie never hurt anyone—"it would be greedy and selfish of me to keep you from the reward that waits for you."
"Don't be ridiculous, dear. How could I enjoy myself without knowing you and that darling man have worked out your differences? No," she said, settling down on the bed with the cat in her lap. "I'll just stay with you until everything is set right; then you can send me on."
"But, but…"
It was no use. I tried for an hour to get her to agree to a Release (assuming I could do it), but she remained adamant that she couldn't leave until she saw me happy. I explained three more times that my happiness was not tied up with Christian, but she countered every excellent point I made with criticism of my wardrobe, my hair, and everything else from my attitude toward men to the color of my socks.
By eight o'clock I was exhausted, worn out from lack of sleep and the energy needed not only to Summon Esme, but most draining, to listen to all of her advice.
I gathered up my jammies, told her I was taking a bath, and used the bathroom as a quiet zone, somewhere I could relax and not worry that my eyebrows or underwear or choice of sleeping apparel would be cause for comment.
It lasted all of two minutes.
"What a cozy little scene this is," she said, drifting in through the closed door. "I always did like this room; it has the best view of the park. The room proper, that is, not the WC. Dear, a word of advice—women who do not have large bosoms should never hunch their shoulders forward. It minimizes, and you want to maximize."
I sank my minimized bosom below the water and considered continuing on until my head was under as well, but if I drowned in the tub, no doubt my spirit would be trapped with Esme's, and the thought of eternity with her raised goose bumps on my arms.
"Esme, I'm taking a bath," I said finally, water lapping at my chin. I waved my sponge around. "See? Water. Bubbles. Tub. Me."
"Oh, don't mind me, dear; I'll just make myself comfortable over here. Now, what shall we talk about? Oooh, is this your cosmetics bag? Now, cosmetics I know. Just let me look at what you have. I can advise you as to what colors will look good with your skin tone and… erm… eyes."
Just what I needed, a motherly ghost.
"No, no, this shade of eyeliner is all wrong for you. Well, it might be fine for the dark eye, but it's much too harsh for your white eye."
"It's not white; it's silver. Or gray, if you prefer. The doctor said my left eye is actually just an extremely light version of gray, while the right is ordinary brown."
Esme looked up from where she was poking through my cosmetics case. "Allie, dear, your eyes are anything but ordinary."
"Well, the left one is a bit spooky, but the right—"
"Has color variations that just aren't human."
I dropped my chin into the water and made a face into the bubbles, where she couldn't see it. While I'd heard comments like that all my life, it didn't make them hurt any less.
"Oh, my, now I've hurt your feelings. That was unkind of me, Allie; please accept my apology."
I lifted my chin so I could speak. "Esme, you're standing in my legs. While I know you don't feel anything, you're making me lose all feeling in my toes."
"I won't move until you tell me you forgive me for that unkind comment."
"I forgive you. Believe me, I've heard worse."
She stepped through the edge of the tub and patted my head, making my vision go squirrelly for a minute. "Don't listen to anything unkind that people tell you. It just shows they're jealous. And ignorant. That's what caused me to say that cruel thing, I'm ashamed to say. Why don't you tell me about your eyes, and then I'll understand."
I had to give her credit; she was truly sorry she'd said what she did. It was hard to stay hurt when she felt so bad about it. I explained about the heterochromia irides, and tried to leave it at that, but she prodded and pushed until I spilled how hard it was to grow up so obviously different from anyone else.
"But that just makes you unique, dear! You should celebrate your differences, not hide them!"
"Easy for you to say; it doesn't make people skittish when they see your eyes coming."
She smiled and winked. "Now that isn't in the least bit true."
I laughed at her mischievous face and reached for the towel as I got out of the tub. "Oh, trust me, I've heard tales about the ghost of room one-fourteen. I know you like to pop out at couples when they are arguing, and you have a tendency to rearrange towels."
She made a little moue. "Girls these days have no idea how to properly fold a towel."
Eventually I managed to impress Esme with the fact that I needed to sleep, and she faded off into the nothingness that I gathered was a ghost's state of sleep. Before she dissolved away, I begged her to not bother the maid when she came in later to clean the room. She fussed about that for a bit, but in the end promised that she would make no untoward appearances.
Six hours later I was heading out the door to meet with the hermit. The SIP office had been reticent to give me her name and number (at least I knew it was a woman now), but promised to pass along my information. Ten minutes aft
er I'd hung up, the hermit called and made an appointment to meet me at the British Library.
"I thought the whole purpose of a hermit was that they shut themselves away from everyone, not gallivanted around one of the most popular research libraries in the world," I told the then-quiet room. It didn't answer back.
The British Library is now housed in a huge building at St. Pancras, more than fourteen floors of books, manuscripts, periodicals, and other literary items. I had arranged to meet the hermit in the John Ritblat Gallery (which contains, amongst other things, the Magna Carta), as I didn't have a reader's card and couldn't access the reading rooms.
I wandered through the gallery looking at the missals and Leonardo da Vinci's notebook, and was about to join a demonstration of what a scribe's workshop was like when a middle-aged woman in a tweed skirt and jacket approached me.
"Allegra Telford? I'm Phillippa. I spoke with you this morning."
"Oh, hi. You must be the—" I stopped. I supposed it wasn't entirely appropriate to call a woman wearing a tweed suit and expensively coiffed blond hair a hermit.
"I'm a hermit, yes," she nodded, then waved toward an exit. "Why don't we go into the restaurant and have a cup of tea? We can talk about your problem there."
I followed her through the piazza to a well-lit restaurant. We collected two little pots of tea, and seated ourselves in an out-of-the-way corner table.
"Phillippa, you'll have to forgive me, but I've never met an honest-to-God hermit before. What… uh… what exactly does a hermit do? If you're not comfortable being here, around so many people, I'd be happy to go somewhere a little quieter."
She looked around the room. "No, this is fine. I spend many hours at the library. Oh, I see what you want to know—why am I a hermit when I don't hide myself away in a dank cave?"
I nodded.
"In my case, the hermit status applies on a metaphysical level only. I spend most of my time mentally cloistered, doing research. I do sometimes take on apprentices, and even more rarely offer my services to penitents such as yourself who seek to gain greater knowledge."
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