Dangerous Spirits

by Jordan L. Hawk

~ * ~

  “This is terrible news,” Ortensi said. “We’ve no idea where her son’s bones might lie.”

  They sat in the small private parlor, arrayed around the table on which the moldering parish records lay. Henry had surreptitiously smuggled them from the church beneath his coat, his body turned to hide his theft from the worshippers. Likely the pastor wouldn’t notice, even if he did return before Henry put them back.

  “His remains wouldn’t be in Devil’s Walk, would they?” Jo asked. “If he wasn’t buried in the churchyard, I mean.”

  Ortensi shook his head. “They could be, I’m afraid. In the old days, illegitimate or unbaptized children denied burial in the churchyard were often snuck into the coffins of adults who died around the same time. A small bribe to the undertaker would ensure the tiny body was hidden beneath the larger corpse, with no one else the wiser. Or a desperate parent might take the risk of sneaking into the cemetery and digging into a fresh grave, where the loosened soil from the second burial wouldn’t be noticed.”

  “Abominable,” Vincent muttered. “To refuse comfort to a distraught parent, to drive them to such measures…”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” Ortensi replied. “We can only be thankful such practices have died out. But my point is the child might have been snuck into a coffin, or buried after. We’ve no idea which, or whose coffin.”

  “The records,” Henry suggested. “Who died around the same time the baby was born?” He pulled the book closer and scanned the entries. “Here is a Mr. Tanner…and a Mrs. Smyth…and a Mr. Martin.”

  “Damn it,” Vincent said. Lizzie shot him a reproving look, and he said, “Excuse my language, ladies. But we don’t have time to dig up every possible grave where the baby might have been concealed. Rosanna wrote tomorrow on the wall, which I must remind you is now today. If she intends to wreak her vengeance, we have only a few hours left to stop her.”

  “I don’t understand why she targeted Mr. Brooks and Mr. Norris, though,” Jo said.

  Ortensi’s chair creaked. “It is a puzzle. Perhaps she believed them involved in his disinterment somehow. If Brooks was the foreman, and Norris…well, I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps he was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. It hardly matters at this point, however. We must act.”

  “I agree.” Lizzie straightened in her chair, fixing her green eyes on Ortensi. “I understand your concern, Sylvester, but I cannot allow fear for my safety to endanger others. The ghost clearly wishes to communicate through writing. I have the best chance of any of us to successfully channel her. Perhaps we can even reason with her, now that we know what she wants.”

  Vincent shifted in his chair, every line of his body radiating unhappiness. “Lizzie…” He trailed off.

  She held herself regally, like a queen preparing for battle. “I know you’re worried for me, Vincent, but we have no choice and you know it.”

  Ortensi nodded reluctantly. “I fear Elizabeth is correct. But I would suggest we conduct the séance not here, but in the forest.”

  “What on earth for?” Henry asked, surprised. “Wouldn’t that be ten times more dangerous?”

  But Lizzie nodded her agreement. “Sylvester’s right, Henry. She’s a spirit of fire. If she becomes enraged or strikes out at us, at least it won’t spread to the rest of Devil’s Walk. And if we can keep her attention on us there, perhaps it will dissuade her from carrying out her threat against the townspeople here.”

  The plan sat uneasily in Henry’s gut. Then again, perhaps he was simply being irrational, after the fright Rosanna gave him amidst the trees. “Logical,” he admitted. “Very well. Jo and I will pack up what instruments and equipment we can carry, and—”

  “I think not, Mr. Strauss,” Ortensi said flatly.

  Henry stopped, stunned. Beside him, Vincent frowned at Ortensi. “Sylvester?”

  Ortensi’s expression grew even graver, like a judge about to pronounce a terrible sentence. “I’ll admit, looking at the old parish records based on Rosanna’s avoidance of harming children was a lucky guess,” he said. “But luck only goes so far. Your devices and instruments have failed to impress me. Reliance on them led to injury to Vincent, and might have killed Elizabeth had Miss Strauss not acted quickly.”

  A lead weight lay in Henry’s gut. “I…I know it must seem so…”

  “Moreover, I will not have a man I don’t trust at my back in such a perilous situation.” Ortensi’s eyebrows lowered threateningly. “You’ve been lying about something since the beginning, Mr. Strauss. I suggest you come clean now.”

  “I…” How did Ortensi know? He cast a frantic glance at Vincent, who frowned at Ortensi.

  “Sylvester, we’ve already discussed this,” Vincent said. “I told you, Henry is neither a liar nor a fraud.”

  The faith in Vincent’s statement cut deep. For a moment, Henry wanted nothing more than to let the lie go on. Just a little while longer.

  And when Vincent found out what Henry had done? Would it hurt even more, to know Henry sat silent, while Vincent defended him to Ortensi?

  “Mr. Ortensi is right,” he said.

  Silence fell over the little room, even the rustles of ordinary movement gone, as if his words had frozen them all. Henry stared down at his hands, unable to meet Vincent’s gaze, or Lizzie’s, or even Jo’s. “I haven’t been…entirely honest about things. Things related to my theories and equipment. To our work.”

  “Henry?” Jo asked, and a hand seemed to squeeze his lungs at the concern in her voice.

  “I lied about my reception from the Psychical Society.” He licked dry lips. “Dr. Kelly didn’t praise my work. He…condemned it. I’ll get no new jobs, no new contacts, from the society. In fact, I’ve been barred from setting foot amongst them again.”

  Agonizing silence followed his statement. He felt like a condemned man, waiting for the jury to pronounce their verdict. His palms sweated, and his heart beat too fast. He couldn’t look anywhere but at his own fingers.

  “Why?” Lizzie demanded. “Why in the world would you lie to us?”

  “I…” But what could he say?

  “Clearly, Mr. Strauss wished to present himself as something he was not,” Ortensi said, a hint of smugness in the words. “To drum up his accomplishments in hopes of praise or money. The usual reasons people commit such fraud.”

  Henry wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t seem to come. “I’m sorry,” he managed. “I know I’ve disappointed you all, I know it. But, please, give me the chance to make it up to you.”

  Vincent’s chair scraped against the floor. Startled by the sudden movement, Henry looked up. Vincent had already turned from him and started for the door.

  And maybe he’d already lost Vincent, but it couldn’t end like this. The sight of Vincent walking away drove Henry to his feet. “No,” he said, stretching his hand out. “Please, don’t leave.”

  Vincent didn’t indicate he’d even heard Henry’s ragged plea. His footsteps faded down the hall.

  “Well,” Ortensi said. “Now that this bit of business has finally been cleared up, Elizabeth, we should prepare ourselves for the séance.”

  “Agreed.” She rose to her feet, and the two of them left as well. Henry didn’t see if she looked at him or not; his gaze remained fixed on the door where Vincent had disappeared.

  Where he had walked away and left Henry behind.

  “Henry?” Jo asked softly.

  “Go pack your things,” he managed to say. They’d leave on the next train. Go back to Baltimore alone. Jo would stay with him, if only because she had little choice. But would she ever trust him again?

  He’d destroyed everything, and for what? A moment of stupidity, compounded time and again by fear.

  Jo touched his arm as she slipped past him. He waited until she was gone, then sank into his chair and wept.

  ~ * ~

  Vincent’s hands shook as he pulled his best coat from the clothespress. Impractical for wearing in the woods, bu
t he didn’t care. His stomach rolled with nausea, and bile burned the back of his throat.

  How could Henry have done this to him? To all of them? God, he’d trusted the man, cared about him, given away his heart. And what had Henry given him in return? A pack of lies.

  A soft knock came at his door. “Vincent?” Henry called. “Please, just let me explain.”

  Vincent’s throat tightened, and he felt ill. He ignored Henry in favor of shucking off his vest. The dove gray would match the scarlet coat better. He should have set his shoes out for polishing earlier—what had he been thinking?

  The door swung open behind him. “Vincent?”

  “Get out.” He didn’t turn around, couldn’t trust himself to look at Henry.

  The door shut. “Please let me explain,” Henry repeated, because of course the damned man couldn’t listen, not once.

  “Why?” Vincent turned to face him, and the sight of Henry’s familiar face, his blue eyes wide and worried behind the lenses of his spectacles, physically hurt. “Why the hell should I listen to you, when you’ll just lie to me again?”

  “I won’t, I swear.” Henry took a step toward him.

  Vincent stepped back, fetching up against the clothespress. “What else have you lied about?” A hot ball of bitter anger boiled in his chest. “Tell me. What else?”

  “Nothing!” Henry held his hands out pleadingly. “Vincent, please, I swear. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Then you failed.” Henry flinched at the words, and a savage sort of satisfaction filled Vincent at the sight. “We’re in business together, Henry. You, me, Lizzie, we all depend on each other, and here you are, pretending everything is fine, pretending the contacts and the backers are about to come through.”

  “I know!” Misery pooled in Henry’s eyes. “You aren’t telling me anything I haven’t told myself. I’m sorry, Vincent, I was going to tell you, I was. But—”

  “What else aren’t you saying?” Vincent cut him off.

  “Nothing!” Henry let his hands fall to his sides. “I’m not hiding anything else from you, but you won’t believe it, will you?”

  Vincent let out a bark of a laugh. “Don’t you dare get angry with me.”

  “I wouldn’t if you would just listen!”

  Enough. He couldn’t believe a word out of Henry’s lying mouth. Bad enough he’d lied about the stupid Psychical Society, but what other deceptions might there have been? Vincent had thought himself Henry’s only lover, and true, they’d made no promises, but how could he trust Henry even if they had?

  “Get out,” Vincent snapped, pointing at the door. “I’m done with you.”

  Henry’s eyes widened as if he’d been slapped. “Vincent, no…”

  “Get out!” The gleam of gold caught Vincent’s eye, and he ripped free the cufflinks Henry had given him. He hurled them at Henry’s head; Henry ducked and they struck the wall instead. “Get out! Go back to Baltimore! And take my name off your fucking sign!”

  He stood still, chest heaving, teeth clenched. Henry stared at him for a long moment…then lowered his gaze. Leaving the cufflinks where they lay, he let himself out the door and shut it behind him.

  Vincent closed his eyes, fighting for control. He wanted to keep throwing things—to break the mirror, to hurl the night candle against the wall. To rip the silver amulet from around his neck and scream a challenge to any ghost to come and take him if they could.

  But he couldn’t. Lizzie depended on him. Sylvester depended on him. And if Henry had shown himself false, all the more reason for Vincent to do his duty. Even if the only thing he really wanted to do was cry.

  ~ * ~

  They made their way through the hot and uncomfortable woods, any stray breezes unable to penetrate the thick branches and choking undergrowth. The setting sun threw long shadows, which clustered beneath the trees, adding to the sense of oppression. Eyes seemed to stare from every hollow trunk, every patch of deep shade, but the taste of ashes had yet to manifest on Vincent’s tongue.

  He trudged along the rail line behind Sylvester and Lizzie, his heart slowing his steps as much as the unaccustomed exertion. The argument with Henry had left him even more drained and dispirited than before. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, or about that moment when he’d realized it was true, that Henry had lied to him. Lied to them all.

  And for what? Some sort of bizarre attempt at self-aggrandizement? Surely he must have realized Vincent would inevitably find out. Why do such a thing?

  It didn’t matter. Sylvester’s words returned to haunt him: “And what is your role in Mr. Strauss’s life? What is it really?”

  Not that of confidante, obviously. Or of equal business partner. Whatever role Vincent had thought he played, he’d been wrong.

  The memory of Henry’s tenderness last night teased him. How gentle Henry had seemed, how open. His first concern had been for Vincent. Was it all just a trick of some sort? But to what possible end?

  Lizzie let out an audible sigh and dropped back to walk beside him. “Would it help to talk about it?”

  Bad enough he looked like a fool in front of her and Sylvester, without having salt rubbed in the wound. “No.”

  “Henry…is sometimes an idiot,” she said, ignoring his answer. “Heaven knows, I’ll be the first to say so. He has a brilliant mind, but he does things without thinking them all the way through. Especially when it comes to interacting with other people.”

  “I’m not certain what part of ‘no’ I was unclear on,” Vincent replied. Was he not allowed to keep even a shred of whatever dignity remained to him?

  “I’m only suggesting we hear him out before we dissolve our business and part ways,” Lizzie said. “It’s a disappointment the Psychical Society won’t come through with any backers, but we’re no worse off financially than we were before.”

  “Do what you want, Lizzie. I’m finished.”

  “Vincent—”

  “Vincent is right,” Sylvester said, looking back at them over his shoulder. Wonderful. Now Vincent got to hear his love life—his stupidity—discussed by them both. So much for his dignity. “Elizabeth, this lie might seem like a small thing to you, but is it? The man asked you to rely on his devices, when he himself knew they were unreliable. At the very least he has no concern for your safety.”

  “Henry’s devices work, Sylvester.” Lizzie’s step quickened, carrying her closer to Sylvester and leaving Vincent blessedly alone. “We’ve seen them in operation. The Psychical Society’s opinion hardly changes the evidence of my own eyes.”

  Sylvester shook his head. The last light glinted on his brown hair, picking out the strands of gray. “Liars don’t restrict themselves to a single falsehood. Even if you are right, what else has he lied about?”

  And that was the heart of it. What other falsehoods had Henry spun for them? “Sylvester is right,” he said. “Henry is a liar. Worse—he’s a hypocrite. Remember how he reacted when he discovered neither of us went by the name we were born with?”

  “I could hardly forget,” Lizzie said with a scowl. “But don’t you be a hypocrite either, Vincent Night. You didn’t think Henry ought to be angry because you lied about your past, claiming yourself the child of a white man and an ‘Indian princess’ for God’s sake.”

  “That was different,” he objected. “I tell the story to make myself palatable to our employers, as you very well know. Henry lied to us.”

  Sylvester cast him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Vincent. I did my best to warn you.”

  “I know.” He should have listened to Sylvester from the start, just as he would have listened to Dunne. “I’m sorry I ignored you.”

  “As for dissolving your business,” Sylvester glanced at Lizzie, then back to Vincent. “My offer still stands. Come with me, once this is all over. I know you’ll find Europe far more accommodating.”

  And it would put an ocean between himself and Henry. “Agreed.”

  Lizzie made a disgusted noise. Sylvester a
rched a brow at her. “You object?”

  “Only to making rash decisions in the heat of the moment. I’d rather talk to Henry and give him the opportunity to explain. If Vincent still feels betrayed afterward—”

  “And what else would I feel?” he demanded, fists curling. “Henry—”

  “Calm down, both of you,” Sylvester said, his authoritative voice cutting through the air like a blade. “We’ve no need to give Rosanna even more energy than she already has.”

  Knowing the older man was right, Vincent forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He needed to put Henry out of his mind for now, at least until after the séance. High emotion in a situation like this made things much more dangerous. If Lizzie got hurt because of his broken heart…

  They emerged into the cleared space where the old town had stood. The fall roared like a sleepy lion, its sparkling waters reflecting the sunset. Crimson clouds covered the western sky, mingled with gold and the occasional splotch of dark blue. It would have been beautiful, if the bitterness inside Vincent hadn’t poisoned it for him.

  “Where shall we hold the séance?” he asked.

  Lizzie paused and surveyed the scene. “As the sun isn’t down yet—and hopefully we’ll finish before it does set—we need somewhere dark.”

  “I know just the place,” Sylvester said. “If I recall from my earlier exploration of the site, the church’s receiving vault is still intact.”

  Vincent nodded. “I saw it when we returned Zadock’s bones.” Which of course had been Henry’s idea.

  Not all of Henry’s ideas were bad, though. If he’d only told Vincent the night in the saloon with Christopher, they would have commiserated instead of celebrated. Everything would have been fine.

  Wouldn’t it? If he only knew why Henry did such a stupid thing…

  It didn’t matter. Forcing his mind back to the task at hand, Vincent followed Sylvester across the ragged, torn earth until they reached the vault.

  Unlike modern stone receiving vaults, this one was built into the hillside, with earth heaped above it to form a low dome. A stone archway still stood strong, as did the solid iron of the old door. Heavy flakes of rust lay beneath the hinges, where the workers had forced it open, looking for any lingering bodies to take to the Devil’s Walk cemetery. A key stood in the lock, appearing in much better condition than it should have.