“I feel we must attend that show. Ansel may be a zealot for his ‘wizard,’ but Edison has created a cult of personality, and if there is some new craze the Society could corrupt, I believe that its remaining operatives will try.”
“I agree. I hope Edison will attend to inconsistencies in his electricity before long,” Spire said. “The distances between necessary boosters, the maintenance, are unsound. Ultimately unsustainable. Whereas the rest of this war of the currents, Westinghouse and whatnot, seem to be about trying to take those inefficiencies and make a sound product to create a, literal, alternating current.”
“You’re betting Tesla’s model will win in the end?” Rose supplied. “Indeed, I wonder about all the problems we’ve heard about the dangers of direct current; Edison’s side has swept them under the rug.”
“As any salesman would. While I do not believe him to be forthcoming about the downsides of direct current, I did not get the sense that Ansel was involved in anything insidious. In fact, I managed a fairly neutral read on other staff I saw coming in and around the building. Save for Volpe. He’s the problem.”
“Agreed,” Rose replied. “If something is co-opting the lines, it is being done in private, not as a company directive, and in no way readable from the surface to the average electrician. We need to see if Mosley’s found anything. We know where he lives. Dangerous as he is, we’ll have to make a house call.”
“Should we tell the Eterna team about the upcoming show or just attend ourselves?” Spire asked. Rose thought a moment and frowned.
“I have this sinking feeling that something might be unleashed there. Like that City Hall incident with the scientists…” She shuddered, recalling the moment those corpses sat up, enlivened by Mosley’s direct current through his own body, one of the aspects of the inexplicable she’d have to leave as such.
“You fear that sort of display?” Spire countered.
“Not that exactly, but something.”
“Then everyone should know,” he declared. “And we’ll tell them tonight. I trust your instincts.”
This pleased Rose. That her instincts had sharpened by exposure to the “paranormal” was not a detail Rose felt she should press; that she was understood and heard was vital. She’d not try to convert Mr. Spire to a way of thinking she herself fought at every turn.
* * *
They sat in Mrs. Northe-Stewart’s grand parlor, sipping the most delectable of teas on the most sunny of days; anyone in their right mind would have treasured such an exquisite home and such fine tastes and such good company, and yet Clara couldn’t shake the chill on the air, or ignore how dark gray the clouds were, swallowing up the sun when they crossed over it, the day going from bright to storm-ready in the instant, a chimerical day, one not to trust.
They had started in on tea and refreshments, assuming Rose and Spire would come when they would. Clara was sure Spire was on several hunts, an impressive bloodhound. But Evelyn had been holding back something troubling, and so it was Clara, Bishop, and Lord Black who first heard her concerns as their third cups of tea cooled.
“My dears,” Evelyn Northe-Stewart began. “While in London, I received two letters and a telegram I was unable to respond to until my return. But a friend of mine, Rachel Horowitz, a gifted young medium, has dealt with a series of incidents in Chicago lining up with these latter Society initiatives here in New York. She moved there due to our involvement with exposing the Society years prior. There were arrests made then a period of quiet. She thought all was put to rest some two years ago, as we did.”
At this moment, the bell of the front door rang, and Spire and Rose were shown in.
“Don’t let us interrupt,” Rose said quietly. “It would seem we all have news to share.”
Evelyn continued as the two leading Omega staff took respective seats on a divan and a wingback chair at the sides of the room:
“Only recently has Miss Horowitz been able to knit together a string of seemingly unrelated Chicago incidents, as the information she has been receiving from the spirit world is sifting into one stream, rather than forking out in opposing directions.”
“The spirits are discerning a pattern, or she is?” Clara asked for the sake of clarity.
“Both,” Evelyn replied. “There is a central, relative figure skulking in and out of notice on several different aliases, but she has eluded inquiry let alone capture.”
“She?” Spire said, sharing a look with Rose.
Evelyn nodded. “Evidently. It seems the absence of my reply to Miss Horowitz’s first telegram made her frantic for me and the Denbury clan, involved as they once were. This has prompted her to visit and if the time of her additional telegram is correct, she could arrive any minute now. However, I beg you.” Evelyn stared around the room earnestly to make sure she had everyone’s focus before continuing.
“Let’s take what information she can give us, but not involve her more. Not because she’s not gifted and terribly useful. But because she’s a young girl, deeply connected to our dear Jonathon and Natalie, and I have made a promise—on multiple graves at this point—to my stepdaughter that I will keep their family out of any further goings-on. We must extend this same shelter to Miss Horowitz. We have between us plenty of Sensitives. With the addition of Miss Knight to our ranks, we are all set for talented psychics,” Evelyn stated, and Miss Knight bowed her head, offering a proud smile.
“I wish I could call upon more policemen, if anyone is taking requests for what we’re short on,” Spire declared. There were pleasant chuckles at this, but the fact that no one seemed to take that seriously made Spire scowl. Rose stared at him, and Clara noticed there was a wordless exchange between them about some other piece of news or statement. Spire seemed to nod to her, as if granting permission.
“The Columbia scientist behind the wandering corpses is dead in his office,” Rose reported. “Patrolmen in the area have been informed. He was also employed in the befouling of electrical systems, and there was a supply of railroad spikes with … perversities as well. His suicide note mentioned a ‘Lady Celeste’…”
Before Rose could continue further, the front doorbell rang.
As if on cue for a dramatic turn, the clouds swallowed the sun and the light through Evelyn’s lace curtains darkened. There was a scurrying sound as the maid rushed to the door. Evelyn rose, a mixture of hope and dread upon her face.
Everyone kept quiet and heard the maid’s greeting, but nothing from the visitor.
“Miss Rachel!” the maid exclaimed. “Come right in. Madame is in the parlor entertaining quite an entourage…”
The maid gestured in a young brunette, compelling but haunted beyond her young years, dark eyes blazing with power and pain. She stood still at the door to the parlor, struck by the sight of so many people assembled. She was dressed in a simple, sharp black riding habit and a white lace-trimmed shirtwaist with a cameo at her throat, a mane of brown hair piled high and pinned beneath a simple black felt hat.
Regardless of what Evelyn had said by way of anticipation, Clara recognized her as a medium immediately. The girl bowed her head to everyone in the room before she fixed Evelyn with a piercing stare, white-gloved hands moving in a series of specific gestures, and it took a moment for Clara to understand that the girl was speaking in American Sign.
When her hands returned to her sides, it was Evelyn’s turn, and Clara was shocked that her mentor was fluent in this language, too, as she was fluent in several. Would the wonders of Evelyn Northe-Stewart never cease? No wonder the bond with her stepdaughter Natalie, who had suffered from selective mutism and had learned sign language to counter the condition, had grown so strong.
“My friends, please meet the aforementioned Miss Rachel Horowitz, a truly gifted medium, and a pillar of our efforts to cleanse Master’s Society operations from the city of Chicago these past two years.”
Evelyn then signed in sequences to Rachel and gestured, an introduction of the assembled company, before conti
nuing:
“Rachel and a companion have traveled halfway across the continent to give us a report, to shelter her friends, and, it would seem, to grant us all a warning.”
At this, Clara steeled herself. So many warnings. Where was the good news?
Clara was impressed by the ferocity in the girl’s dark eyes. Eyes that stared down Death and spoke to it by way of a fluid, graceful dance of physical gestures.
Evelyn did not bother to translate her own signing but relayed what Miss Horowitz was here to say, though the girl did seem surprised to have an audience, blushing a bit as she tried to summarize her thoughts.
“While working as a medium in Chicago, Miss Horowitz tracked a woman who supported Society aims in the city. She can’t be sure if evil is the lady’s doing, or the influence of a foul man in her life, but the spirits contacting Miss Horowitz are rather focused on the lady,” Evelyn stated. “The trouble is the aliases. None of the ghosts seem able to agree on exactly who or what this woman is; gifted somehow, but that remains unclear. However, there are common factors in what’s been under assault. Electrical and rail being the chief sites of trouble and interferences.”
Rachel signed in a flurry of words and Evelyn continued the narrative aloud for the group. “The ghosts seem terrified of these industries in particular. More than just a ghost’s normal aversion to progress, devices and industry beyond the scope of their lives. She assures us that this is more than the spirits being contrary or reluctant.”
As this was being signed and translated aloud, Rachel smiled softly, and Clara read this as a fondness for the ghosts and their old ways. This was heartening to Clara, as she respected mediums who had a deeper connection to the personalities of the spirit world then merely being a receptacle for messages.
“Does Edison or any electrical outpost operate in Chicago yet? Are lines being desecrated?” Spire asked, directing the query to Evelyn, who gestured to Rachel. Rachel looked between them and signed directly to Spire.
“Miss Horowitz says you may speak to her directly, Mr. Spire,” Evelyn said. “Whoever wishes to get her attention and eye, simply gesture so she may be looking at your mouth, to read your lips. I beg you, as the stepmother of a girl who has fought selective mutism all her life, don’t act like she’s not in the room simply because she cannot speak. A lack of sound does not mean a lack of existence.”
“My apologies,” Spire replied sincerely, rising to his feet to stand at a better eye line, repeating his question for Rachel. This time Spire referenced the gruesome find in the box on the bridge, but tactfully kept the sentence clear of gore. This prompted a swift sequence of sign in reply.
“Yes, if what was in that box was a body part,” Evelyn said ruefully, all of this clearly bringing back dreadful memories for them both. “Rachel is all too familiar with this, and desecration is the certain aim, in Chicago industry and now here.” Evelyn turned to the company. “She cites this development as a more efficient perversion, affecting the industry directly at the source rather than taking the time to build full reanimate corpses and terrorize the public. Ghosts are still tied to these disparate parts, and their energy and inherent sparks of electricity affect industry. The full understanding of which we have yet to grasp.”
“How can we follow leads on this woman of interest, Miss Horowitz?” Spire asked Rachel. “Would you be so kind as to give us any parts of names you have gleaned?”
Rachel nodded, handing over a small drawstring bag to Evelyn as she signed in reference to it. The silences in communication allowed Clara to fully appreciate just how much information one could share without speaking a word. As an empath and someone who watched body language carefully, Clara found there was much that could be gleaned from expression and manner without knowing the exact meaning of the signs.
“Rachel says that as much evidence and even postulation as she could manage is included in this bag,” Evelyn said.
“You are a great asset, Miss Horowitz, thank you,” Spire stated. Rachel smiled and signed toward him, Evelyn seamlessly offering a translation.
“She says she’s worked with many policemen, in New York and Chicago, and she realizes she sometimes needs to offer more than a séance or the testimonies of ghosts to aid an investigation.”
Here, Spire smiled back.
“I appreciate your understanding of our physical limitations, Miss Horowitz,” he said.
At this, Rachel laughed a breathy laugh, appreciating the deprecation. Clara cared for Spire all the more in that moment: a man who didn’t believe in the supernatural making a young woman who battled it fiercely feel her full value in a society that discounted her as an “unfortunate,” allowing for limitations to be on his plate for a change.
“Rachel and my friends in Chicago,” Evelyn continued, “all who worked on Society dealings years ago, were keeping an eye on a particular woman who seemed peripherally involved in spectral disturbances, and then she suddenly disappeared. Soon after, similar things were happening here. She thinks they cannot be unrelated.”
“If we can find her,” Spire began, “I recommend your police arrest her if she is a person of such interest. Many of the Society ring were being picked off one by one, whether by demons or their own hand, making our ability to pinpoint a wider ring impossible.”
“There’s nothing to stick until she does something unquestionable, with evidence unshakable. Prosecuting a woman is very tricky,” Franklin stated. He’d been so quiet, sunken, and unassuming that Clara had entirely forgotten he was in the room.
“We’ve hardly any rights, hardly any ability to own property, no right to vote, and yet strangely immune to the law, as we’re held to such lofty, pedestal heights,” Clara murmured.
“And now we must thank Rachel for her help, but we cannot, we must not break these dear souls in the flower of their youth. She and my Natalie have been through one war already, Lord Denbury, now two, we cannot send them back out into another front.”
No one argued this.
Across the room, Miss Knight was silent, deep in thought and fastidious with a continuous supply of tea, perhaps searching the spirit world for her own information, conclusions, or ideas. Clara didn’t have a very good read on the mysterious woman. She had no idea what was for show, and what was deeper truth. She got the feeling Miss Knight liked to keep it that way.
The young medium then took her gracious leave of their company, with great thanks from Clara, Bishop, Evelyn, and Lord Black.
Spire held back from those who were more effusive, but after leaning in to Evelyn a moment with a question, he then turned to Rachel. He offered the sign for what Clara knew to be “Thank you.”
Rachel beamed and signed “You’re welcome” and “Be safe, Inspector,” Evelyn translating the latter part, which wasn’t as obvious as the response. Waving to everyone, she swept back across the threshold and into the hall.
The maid slid the embroidered curtain partitioning the parlor closed, the glass beads at the bottom clicking against one another. The sound of the front door closing behind Rachel made Clara feel suddenly sick.
Overwhelmed by a sudden worry for the girl, in the way Clara worried for any young, gifted woman, especially one with additional obstacles, she reminded herself she didn’t wish to be treated any differently as an epileptic; only that those around her understood and respected the condition as a part of her life and tried not to impede or condescend because of it.
She was admittedly glad that Rachel hadn’t traveled alone, would soon have the comfort of an old friend, the pleasant distractions of the young Denbury child—that alone could entirely make one forget about the troubles of the world—and that poor, beleaguered Jonathon would have the reunion of dear friends as comfort and return to normalcy. His kind, generous nature was at a distinct precipice, and none wished to make a broken-spirited man of such an angel.
Clara also wished she had any sort of confidence that she would be invited over for dinner, as she liked and cared for these people,
and wanted to help protect them, but she suspected that Natalie, the lady of the house, deeply resented Clara having been a part of operations that had so prolonged her husband’s absence from home and his involvement in danger. She hadn’t yet received an invitation to calling hours and she doubted she ever would. A pang of loneliness for what her work had wrought was fleeting but noticeably sharp.
Spire cleared his throat and, with that simple sound, gathered everyone’s attention.
“I hate to add additional intrigue on our already heaping plate of … strange,” Spire said carefully. “But there is another matter Miss Everhart and I would like to bring up.”
“By all means,” Bishop said with a sigh. “At this point are we not inured?”
“I’d like to think there is a ceiling for this, however it seems to keep lifting,” Spire muttered.
Rose took her turn, mentioning the upcoming light and picture display in the theater district. Clara glanced around the room to see a mixture of interest and wariness.
Once the matter was explained, Spire put it to the company: “So then … who is ready for a show?”
“What a schedule we’re keeping,” Evelyn said with a laugh. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a wedding to prepare! Do come, you’re all invited!”
The British company begged leave to spend time at their safe house corresponding in wires with their team back home, those understaffed few who were holding down the paranormal fort. However, Rose promised they’d be on hand to attend the festivities at Trinity Church.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
A few days after it had been announced, the event of Lavinia’s wedding had given their entire operation the cover needed to fully reconstitute the recently maligned Trinity graveyard and lawn; interring ash and trying to resanctify the grounds that had been so sullied in the recent upheaval used for reanimate parts. It was a blessedly clear late-autumn afternoon, with rolling thick clouds that passed over the sun without markedly darkening the sky.
Clara had taken an indulgent amount of time getting ready. Unfortunate scenes made by her epilepsy meant she rarely went out in society to attend events, so this was a rare and, in her mind, overdue treat.
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