by C. J. Archer
"You're going to draw them out into the light?"
"I hope so."
Jane returned, the candle flames flickering with each step.
"Place them on that table," Quin whispered, nodding at the semi-circular table against the wall opposite the twins' door. She did. "Now return to your room and shut the door."
"But I want to help."
He leaned down to her level and met her gaze with his own steady one. "You've played your part perfectly. Now you must allow others to do theirs."
She nodded solemnly.
"Do you understand the need to keep this a secret?"
"Of course." She sounded offended. "I've been keeping secrets my whole life."
"Good. Now go."
She disappeared into her room and shut the door. I withdrew the knife from my sleeve and moved into the darkest part of the hall where my black skirts and hair would blend into the surroundings. Quin unsheathed his sword then turned the door handle. He quickly moved to join me as the door swung open.
"Someone's there," came a voice that must have belonged to one of the spirits.
"Who cares?" I recognized the Scottish accent of Redbeard.
"Nobody's there," said a third. "Go on, let me look at her again."
"If nobody's there, who opened the door?" asked the original voice.
"Ghosts?"
The men laughed.
"Look at all that skin," crooned one. "What I wouldn't give to be able to touch it."
I shuddered and shook my head at Quin. He frowned back at me. Then he knocked on the wall.
"Jesus Christ!" bellowed one of the spirits.
"Told you someone was there."
"Go and see," growled Redbeard. "I don't want my sport interrupted again."
A ghost suddenly appeared in the hallway outside the door. I nudged Quin in the shoulder but didn't dare speak. He knocked on the wall again, softer this time.
The ghost squinted into the darkness. "Who's playing tricks?" he asked. "That you, McIntosh, you old prick?" He walked toward us, still squinting. "I know there's someone there."
"In line with the bottom edge of the painting," I whispered. "Now."
The spirit heard me, but it didn't matter. Quin was too fast, his strike too accurate. He'd turned the ghost's soul to dust before he had a chance to open his mouth and scream.
We didn't celebrate. We crouched again and Quin once more knocked on the wall.
"Bloody hell, Dickson!" shouted Redbeard. "I thought ye were going to scare the kidneys out of 'em!" When he received no response, he said, "Dickson? Christ, go and see what games he's playing."
Another ghost emerged and we lured him with the same trick, sealing his fate in the same manner.
Quin resumed his knocking. Amid a flurry of cursing, Redbeard himself appeared. The fourth ghost emerged from the bedroom too. At least we'd drawn them away from the sleeping twins.
"Both near the door," I whispered to Quin.
Redbeard cocked his head to the side. "Somebody there? Dickson?" When there was no answer, he nudged his friend. "Go and see what they're doing. I'm bored with their pathetic games."
The other ghost mumbled something under his breath and came toward us. "Same height as the first one," I told Quin. "Now."
He slashed his blade through the air, slicing a gash across the ghost's chest. I didn't wait to see Quin crush the soul. I ran down the hallway at Redbeard.
"Cara!" Quin hissed.
I kept running. Redbeard's eyes flared wide, his jaw fell open. But he recovered from his surprise before I reached him. He grabbed the candelabra and threw it onto the floor. "Bitch!" he spat. He disappeared.
Damnation! Redbeard was gone and we'd been heard by the household. Footsteps pounded through the house. Mrs. Butterworth screamed and her husband shouted orders. Quin grabbed my hand and dragged me away from the scorched carpet.
But there was nowhere for us to go. Footsteps thumped on the stairs. We were trapped.
"In here," hissed Jane from her doorway.
Quin pushed me into her room then followed. She shut the door and leaned against it.
"Hide behind the curtain." She shoved Quin. "Quickly!"
The curtain was made of thick, heavy brocade that reached the floor, easy to hide behind. As long as nobody looked there.
But Quin had other ideas. The window was open. When I looked out, I realized it was the same one he'd climbed through. He took my face in his hands and forced me to look at him.
"Can you manage it?"
"Of course." I had to. The house was about to be searched from top to bottom. We needed to get out.
"I'll go first."
"To catch me if I fall?"
I could just make out his smirk in the moonlight. He climbed through as Jane's door crashed back on its hinges. I urged Quin to keep going, but he hesitated. I could see he was worried about me being left behind. But if one of us was to be discovered in Jane's bedroom, it was better that it be me and not him.
I flapped my hands, urging him to go. He began to descend.
"Jane!" snapped Mr. Butterworth. "Jane, are you all right?"
"Yes." She sounded sleepy. The bed creaked and the linen rustled. "Papa? What's wrong?"
"Your mother and I heard footsteps and a crash. There's a candelabra outside that's fallen onto the floor."
"Oh," she said. "I put that there."
"Why?"
"I was frightened after Mama thought she heard someone. I wanted some light in the hallway in case I needed to leave my room in a hurry."
Her father clicked his tongue and gently lectured his daughter on the dangers of leaving a naked flame unattended. I was fully out of the window, my feet secure on the pipe when he asked her if she'd heard any other noises.
"Only you and Mama shouting. You woke me up."
I didn't hear any more of the conversation. I concentrated on finding footholds on the pipe, and when I couldn't, using the ivy.
Until the ivy came away.
Curses! My foot searched for a hold, but found nothing solid. The pipe was smooth in that section, and I no longer trusted the ivy. I looked down and saw Quin climbing back up to me. He raised his hand, palm up, offering me a platform. I tentatively placed my boot on it then more of my weight. He made no sound as I put my entire weight on him.
I continued to climb down, using Quin as a ledge twice more. With only a short jump to the ground remaining, he grabbed me around my waist and lifted me down. I grasped his shoulders as he lowered me gently, my body against his, our gazes locked. His bright eyes searched mine and my heart stopped. He was going to kiss me.
"You shouldn't sleep with it open," came Mr. Butterworth's voice above us.
We flattened ourselves against the wall beneath the window. There was nowhere else to go. I closed my eyes and prayed he didn't look straight down.
"I forgot it was open," came Jane's voice just before the sash was slammed shut.
Quin grabbed my hand and together we raced away from the house and out the gate. We paused in the shadows near the gatepost. I sucked air into my lungs while Quin watched the house.
"It's safe," he said. "We weren't seen."
"Do you think Redbeard will be back?"
"I don't know. We'll wait and see."
He leaned his shoulder against the tall iron post and kept his gaze on the house. I kept mine on him. If he thought about kissing me again, he gave no indication. I might as well have not been there. He didn't speak to me, didn't look at me.
After a while I sat on the ground. My dress was already dirty and torn anyway. I leaned my head back against a tree trunk and closed my eyes.
I drifted off. I don't know how much time passed, or if I fell asleep. A soft noise nearby had me suddenly reopening my eyes. Quin crouched in front of me, a startled look on his face. He recovered quickly and stood.
"We should go." He held his hand out to me.
I took it and together we walked down the hill toward the center of the
village. "Were you watching me as I slept?"
"I was checking that you were still breathing."
I snorted a laugh. "I didn't over-exert myself that much."
"That contraption you wear under your gown resembles a torture device. It wouldn't surprise me if it cut off your airways."
"I should have left it at the house. It's supposed to make my waist slender. You don't like the effect?"
"Your waist is slender enough."
"Thank you, Quin. Now what do we do?"
"It's late. Or early. You need to rest."
"I'll be perfectly all right. We should patrol the village again, just in case Redbeard is taking his frustration at being interrupted out on someone else."
"Very well."
We reached the blacksmith's shop, but all seemed quiet. "Your plan worked marvelously," I told him as we continued on. "We managed to destroy three spirits at the Butterworths' house."
"But not Redbeard."
"We'll get him next time."
"We work well together."
"We do," he said. "But you should leave Redbeard to me."
"You were occupied with the other spirit. I had to act."
"He could have hit you with that candelabra."
"Or I could have dodged his swing and gone in low with the knife."
"Is that so?" He sounded like he was smiling, although his lips were perfectly straight. "That would have been quite a move."
"It's one I picked up off you. The only reason I didn't do it is because he didn't try to hit me. I think he wanted to burn the place down, only the carpet was woolen and the flames went out."
We walked together in silence for a while and I thought the conversation over until he said, "Leave Redbeard to me next time, Cara."
"I will. If I can."
He sighed but did not make me promise. I suspect he knew it would be an empty one anyway.
We wandered through the village for a few more hours until Quin declared it was time to rest.
"Not yet," I said. "They could be waiting for us to leave."
"Cara, you're tired. You need to sleep."
"I just need to sit down for a few minutes." My legs ached and my toes were swollen, even though my boots were the most comfortable I owned. "We could rest here on the banks of the stream near your clothes."
"Very well."
We sat together, our legs stretched out on the grass. After a moment Quin lay on his back and linked his hands over his stomach. He stared up at the stars. I lay down beside him and assumed the same position, albeit more awkwardly thanks to my bustle.
"They're the same as I remember them," he said quietly.
"The stars?"
"Aye."
"You studied them?"
"Only as much as anyone who traveled studied them. They helped guide us when we sailed to distant lands. Witches used them to tell fortunes too."
"There are no such things as witches."
"Is that so? And who says this?"
I shrugged. "People."
"The same people that don't believe in ghosts, mediums and demons?"
"Touché."
He was quiet a moment, then said, "The stars are the only constant. Everything else in this world is different from my lifetime. People, houses, the way you speak and behave. I didn't recognize London. Even the countryside has fewer trees and more villages."
"It must be unsettling."
"It is strange when I stop to think about it." He turned his head and smiled at me. "But I'm too busy to think beyond the task at hand when I'm here. Perhaps that's a good thing."
"There are a lot of spirits to remove before you can return to…that place. You could be here for some time."
He sighed. "I hope so."
I blinked at him, but he turned to gaze up at the stars again. "Is there no possible way you can remain here?"
"No, Cara," he said heavily. "There isn't." He closed his eyes and after a few minutes his breathing slowed.
I inched closer to him until our shoulders touched then closed mine too.
***
"Cara." Quin's murmured voice rumbled from his chest to mine.
I opened my eyes as my hair was lifted off my face and swept back. I was lying half on top of Quin, my head tucked beneath his chin, my hand over his heart as if I'd been feeling its rhythm in my sleep. Birds flicked leaves off the ground, hunting for worms, and weak sunlight filtered through the trees on the opposite bank of the stream. It was dawn.
Quin sat up, drawing me with him. I yawned and stretched to cover the fact that I missed touching him so intimately. He stood and helped me up.
My hair fell across my face again. I touched it and realized it was as messy as it always was when I awoke. Most of the pins had come loose and thick ropey curls hung to my shoulders. I tried to fix it, but without a mirror I suspected I did a poor job.
In fact, I knew I did a poor job from the amused look Quin gave me. "Here," he said, plucking a leaf from my hair. He removed leaves and pins, handing the latter to me. When he finished, he ran his fingers through the strands, teasing out the tangles. "I like it better this way."
I glanced at him over my shoulder and caught the tail end of his small smile as he concentrated on his task. He stopped as soon as he noticed me looking. I sighed at the loss of his touch.
He put on his waistcoat then plucked his jacket off the bush and offered it to me. "Are you cold?"
I accepted it gratefully. The air was a little chilly, although the day promised to warm up with the lack of breeze and clouds. I settled the jacket around my shoulders as he tucked his tie into the waistcoat pocket.
We headed back through the village. There was no one about, living or dead, and we decided to return to Freak House. We headed to the police station stables, where Weeks had allowed us to lodge our horses overnight. Quin pushed the stable doors open.
Inside, a ghost sat on a bale of hay at the rear of the building. He was dressed in a clean nightshirt, his face starkly pale and glossy. He had probably died from a fever.
"Good morning, Miss Moreau," he said in clipped, cultured tones. "I've been waiting for you."
"How do you know my name?"
Quin withdrew his sword. The ghost put up his hands in surrender. "Don't kill me." He chuckled at his pun.
"How many?" Quin asked.
"Just the one." I glanced around, searching for more spirits. If this was an ambush, we were easy targets.
"I'm alone," the spirit said.
He seemed to be telling the truth, although there could be others hiding in the stalls. There were six in all, but only four were occupied by horses. I pushed on the nearest door. It swung back, startling the gray. There were no ghosts inside.
"You could check each one," the spirit said. "It would bring you closer to me, which is what you want anyway."
I eyed him up and down. He'd been middle aged when he died, with an open countenance and soft, round face and paunch. But as we drew closer, his eyes became hard and his smile turned to a sneer.
"So, Miss Moreau, have you guessed who I am?"
I shook my head. "Just another ghost who should be in Hell." I felt for my knife, still tucked against my forearm.
"True. But I prefer to go by my real name. Percy Harrington." He bowed. "You may call me Master."
CHAPTER 10
I stared at the ghost of Percy Harrington, the man who'd tormented Charity during his lifetime and after his death. He was linked to the Myers through Edith Myer, his heir. He'd also possessed the body of one of his business rivals, nearly destroying the poor fellow's business and reputation. He was not a nice man.
"What is the name of the medium who helped you possess?" I asked him.
Beside me, Quin, adjusted his grip on the sword, drawing Harrington's gaze.
"So impatient." Harrington clicked his tongue. "Youth these days. And anyway, that's not the question I want you to ask me."
I gritted my teeth. "What do you mean?"
"Keep try
ing. Go on. Ask me another." He gave me a slick smile and sat on the bale of hay again.
"Stop playing games, Harrington," I said for Quin's benefit. "What are you doing here?"
"Better," the spirit said. "But still not the right question." He leaned back against the brick wall and crossed his arms. "You know, you are a pretty one. So different to my Charity, of course, but no less pretty for all that. Indeed, you rather complement one another. Light and dark, day and night. You would have made the perfect pair."
My stomach rolled. The man was sick. "Tell me what you want, and then get out of my sight."
"Or what? He'll remove my soul?" He nodded at Quin.
It was my turn to smile. I would not let this man think he had the upper hand, even if he had thrown me off-course. "He may not remove it here and now, but he will get to you at some point. You'll become nothing, Percy Harrington. You will cease to exist."
"Save the dramatics for the ignorant ones. I don't need your lecture. I know what will happen to my soul if he uses that weapon on me. I'm not a fool like them. I know that any existence is better than none."
I shook my head. "I don't understand. You came here to tell me you're returning to Hell? Why?"
"I thought you were clever, but that's still the wrong question." He sounded bored. "Keep asking. You'll get the right one eventually." He waited, a smug smile on his bloodless lips.
I resisted the urge to grab the broom and smash the smile off his face. Instead, I relayed the conversation to Quin. Doing so helped me form my thoughts.
"You want me to ask you why you're here," I said to the ghost. "Not just you, but all of you."
He clapped slowly. "Very good. Top of the class. No strap for you today."
Bile rose to my throat. I swallowed it down. "Well?"
"Well. Myself and the other spirits you've been seeing hereabouts were the lucky ones—or unlucky, depending on your view—who were wrenched from Hell one hot day."
"Wrenched?"
He shrugged. "I can think of no other word to describe it. It was like being sucked through a tunnel. One moment I was sweltering in Hell and the next I was here. At the Frakingham Abbey ruins, as a matter of fact. I recognized the place from the time I possessed that fool, Clement. My fellow black-hearted souls and I had been spat out of the eye of an intense local storm."
