Mortals: Heather Despair Book One

by Leslie Edens

  Several spirits applauded and said, “Here, here!”

  “What about the girl?” groaned a creaky old spirit from high up in the circle. “What does she say to this? We must have her consent.”

  “Oh, I—I haven’t asked her yet.” Emmett turned visibly red—bright splotches against his alabaster complexion. The color lingered. What was happening to him?

  “Well, then. The ring,” said Esoterica in a bored voice.

  “Oh! Oh no! For the love of All! Give us some privacy, please. This is kind of . . . personal,” said Emmett.

  Columbia’s eyebrows shot up her forehead, and her mouth curled down like a half-moon. “And why, may I ask, is it personal? This is a mere formality. I knew you were getting soft, Emmett. A hundred years out of life have made you kriot-filled, sentimental, and foolish.”

  “N-no, no indeed! And there’s no call to insult me, Columbia. It’s just that I must perform certain tests and rituals when I place the artifact, best kept from public disclosure.” Emmett focused his most affable smile on the gyre of circling spirits. “Besides, I’ve only been out of life for fifty years, not one hundred.” He winked at Pan, who doubled over with laughter and flipped his throne over backwards, only to come bobbing back up.

  “You’ve lost track,” said Columbia. “Or you are lying. No matter. A spirit as pathetic as you needs all the help he can get, even if it must be in this way. If you are to be believed, this mortal will be a strong spiritualist, capable of protecting against the Coming End. So be it. Have your privacy.”

  “It’s all the same to me,” said Esoterica, buffing his fingernails. He called out to the circle, “Does anyone else object?”

  No one spoke. Finally, the creaky old spirit near the top said, “What about the girl? Does she object?”

  “Object to what? No one will tell me what this is about!” I said. I mean honestly! Talking about me in third person and ignoring me like I wasn’t even there!

  “I was getting to that,” said Emmett, sinking down slightly. He addressed the spirits again. “If I could just speak to her alone!”

  Esoterica rose and stood on the air. “I see no significant objection here. We have decided. Pending this mortal girl’s approval, Emmett shall be allowed to take one living protégée, as befits his honored status as a spirit of two millennia. He shall be allowed to proceed without further untoward interference. Emmett, you will keep us apprised of her progress, unnaturally, and we bid you congratulations and best wishes. There will be a party tomorrow night in your honor, of course. Do see if you can find it this time. Until then, we’ll leave you to your privacy.” Esoterica coasted down to Emmett and shook his hand. “Congratulations,” he said. He took my hand and said, “Best wishes.” While I tried to sling the ectoplasmic moisture from my hand, he glided away, dissipating as he went, until only a mist remained.

  “He slimed me,” I said.

  “Yes, very smart fellow, Esoterica. I might have thought of that. Protects against all that undisciplined spectricity,” said Emmett.

  “I’m disciplined,” I said.

  Columbia shook Emmett’s hand and extended her slimy palm to me.

  “Best wishes,” she murmured, but her eyes said, “Watch out!”

  Before I could wonder why, Pan had grasped my hand, falling all over himself to give me his best wishes.

  Each spirit congratulated Emmett and gave me best wishes in turn, my hand now so covered in ecto-slime that no one feared a shock. I felt like a bride in some twisted version of a receiving line. This was all getting way out of control! What had I gotten myself into?

  At last, the creaky old spirit from the top came down to pay his respects. He patted Emmett’s hand as he congratulated him. “Don’t you pay Columbia no mind. That time before, weren’t no fault of yours,” he wheezed. To me, he said, “Best wishes, dear. I’d be attached to you too, if I could. You make a lovely couple.”

  The creaky old spirit wafted out, waving and smiling. When he had wholly disappeared, I whirled on Emmett, shaking my gooey fingers in his face.

  “What exactly did he mean by that? ‘You make a lovely couple.’ Emmett, you tell me what this is about! And how do I get this stuff off my hand?!” I shouted.

  “I—I don’t know about that last fellow. Pastoria’s gone a little soft in the head. Too much hanging around in the rafters, you know?” His smile flickered. He pulled a black square of cloth from his left hip—his spectral handkerchief, I suppose—and swiped the slime from my hand. He tossed the cloth onto his left shoe, where it lay a moment, then disappeared.

  “What am I so perfect for? And why are we getting congratulated?” I demanded.

  “Well, I suppose it is kind of a big deal,” said Emmett, pinkening again. “In the life of a spirit. If you can call it life. In a way, it might be our equivalent to marriage, but really, Aether, really—”

  I turned my back. I didn’t need to hear any more of this! How dare he try to trick me into their “equivalent to marriage”! I’d only known him one day! At least, I think it had been one day. Ecto-time made it really hard to tell.

  I felt my body lift and spin to face Emmett. He’d levitated me around, and now he was still talking!

  “It’s actually more of a working partnership. I mean, there’s a relationship aspect to it, also. I mean—it’ll work out well for both of us. You see, as they said, I’m allowed to take one living protégée. I’ve looked and I’ve searched, and finally, Heather, I’ve found you. This is my wish. I would be so honored, Aether, if you’d be my protégée.”

  He knelt before me. He’d actually gone down on one knee and held up a ring. A larger-than-life ring with a tall, ornate setting that dazzled my eyes, the black stone glittering like a starry midnight sky. I shifted my gaze to Emmett’s face and saw only sincerity. When I lightly touched the black stone, a shock ran through me. So mesmerizing. So beautiful.

  “It is a lifelong bond. For at least your current mortal life, you will be bonded to me,” he said. “First as my protégée, then as a full medium, if all goes well.”

  “What kind of bond?” I was thinking, Emmett, you’re cute and all, but I’m not sure I want to be bonded to you for a week, never mind for life! Yet I fingered the ring, thinking it over. My fingers brushed Emmett’s hand. His hand stayed solid.

  “I’ll always be at your disposal,” he said. “Summon me whenever you wish. I’ll teach you about the spirit world. But we need your help to communicate with the spirit world. And we will protect each other.”

  “From the Turned Against?” I thought of those cloaked figures who attacked me in town and of evil dogs and birds and Feeders.

  “Both our worlds have their share of animosity.” He nodded, his brow heavy and serious.

  “But the attacks. It’s like there’s a war going on,” I said.

  Emmett shook his head. “There is always a war going on, Aether.” He waited, still down on one knee, his black eyes shining with hope. “More importantly, this is your ring. Even should you decide not to fulfill your destiny and become my protégée, I implore you to take this ring!”

  “Why? What does it do?” I asked. I touched the ring lightly. My eyes and toes and the tips of my fingers tingled. I waggled my fingers, sparks dancing between them. I could direct the sparks as I chose—make them dance or disappear.

  Emmett gave me a shrewd look, like he could see through me to something interesting on the other side. “Did you know you were this powerful?”

  “I am a lot more powerful suddenly, aren’t I?” I cupped my palm, let it fill with blue. Lightning zagged along my arm, encircling my hand. I threw open my palm. The lightning arced across the room in a fantastic burst of energy and struck the far wall of the cavern with an echoing thunder.

  “I can control it!” My voice rose in excitement. I jumped when Emmett offered the ring once again.

  “Marvelous what just its proximity can do for your focus. You ought to try it on,” he said.

  “Sure. I supp
ose I should. Then I’d never get it off, and I’d be bonded to you for life as your little proto- proto- prototype or whatever it was,” I said.

  “Protégée,” said Emmett. “My little protégée.” His face wore a dreamy look, then he snapped back into focus. “This is your family ring, Heather. It belongs to you. I beg you—take it.”

  I held out my hand toward the ring—how my fingers tingled! I gazed again at Emmett’s earnest face. He still knelt before me—how long can a spirit kneel? Emmett seemed willing to wait all day.

  But I didn’t dare put it on. How could I know for sure what it would do?

  And this protégée thing. I mean, bonded for life? I was only fifteen! I wanted to be a writer, not go into the family line, wrangle spirits like my father. It was too soon to decide. And yeah, Emmett was sweet, as ghosts go, but—bonded for life?

  “I’m sorry. This is all so sudden, as they say.” I shook my head no.

  Emmett stood up, a sorrowful expression on his face. He popped the ring back into his side and bowed. “Come. I may not get my wish, but let us part as friends, at least. I apologize for my assumptions. You are simply the most talented mortal I’ve seen in a thousand years, and perhaps I got carried away. I was so worried about what the council would say that I didn’t consider what you might want.” He offered his arm. After a second, I took it. He was still my spirit world escort. Being next to him sent a hum down my arm—probably just the effect of the ring.

  “We will try to locate your father and brother,” said Emmett. “Then I’ll return you to the prior world. If that’s acceptable to you?”

  I nodded, and he smiled at me—a rather foolish and sad smile. He locked eyes with me, and I smiled back, just a little.

  “On one condition,” I said. “You’ll tell me what you know about everything.” Enough of his omissions and evasiveness. From now on, nothing but the plain truth—all of it.

  “Everything? That could take a millennium,” said Emmett, but his smile flickered wider and wider as he accompanied me from the council room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Artifacts of Esperance

  I expected more labyrinthine passageways outside the council room, but Emmett led me through an arched tunnel that throbbed with light. My eyes dazzled and I almost collided with Sybil and Elvira. They sped around me and plunged into the bright center ahead. The tunnel opened to a lovely garden filled with flowering bushes and trees.

  “Take care,” said Emmett. “We are going outside.”

  “Is it safe?” I stopped at the edge and peered out.

  “We never know if it’s safe,” said Emmett, shaking his head. “I can’t give you that assurance. But I can tell you when something is right.” He held up the ring box again. “Aether, this is right.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders—humming lightly—and gazed with great seriousness into my eyes. Again, I was sinking into a well: those black, black eyes without bottom.

  “I mean, can we go outside?” I said in a tiny voice.

  “For you to come to harm is the last thing I want,” he said. “But this world is what it is. And you are what you are. Come with me.”

  He led me swiftly across the courtyard, around another misshapen statue where the bat-Chi’s now perched. I followed, remembering to message Sam in the open air. Still flat and dead—I sensed nothing. A cawing and fluttering above made me run to catch up with Emmett. I tugged at his jacket.

  “Emmett, the birds!” I shouted, but he paid no attention. He had his head poked through a wall, casting around like a duck after sunken bread. I tugged at his hand. He pulled his head out and grimaced at me.

  “Come on, Aether!” he said and stepped through the wall. Miffed, I raced to the nearest door, just as Emmett popped back through the wall. “Oh, sorry. I keep forgetting you can’t do that.” He whizzed to my side and held the door open. I whistled to the bat-Chi’s, who dropped to the ground and trotted inside. I stepped through and into a trio of ghosts.

  I backed up in surprise. A tall ghost stood before me, wearing a long duster and a wide-brimmed hat. He had no feet, no face—only glowing eyes. Next to him, a white-haired young woman, clothed also in white, had a definite glow, but not the healthy kind. The last was a relatively normal-looking young man wearing a beat-up bomber jacket.

  “May I introduce the Hitchhiking Ghosts!” said an exhilarated Emmett. “My favorite spectral band!”

  “We still on for the gig at the reception?” asked the young man.

  “Oh, that. I’m afraid it’s been cancelled,” said Emmett. “But I’d like you to meet someone.”

  “Cancelled? But come on, man! We need this gig!” shouted the young man. “What happened?”

  “Look, can we talk about it later?” said Emmett. “This is my mortal friend. She’s not going to be here long, so I’d like to introduce you.”

  “Hey!” said the tall, faceless ghost. “I’ve heard of you. Aether, ain’t it?”

  “Heather,” I said in a choked voice, staring at his glowing eyes.

  “This is Robert Orestes on the drums,” said Emmett.

  “I go by Bubba,” said the tall ghost. He tipped his hat to me.

  “The lady on bass is Mariana, and the lead singer and guitarist is Billy Badbreaks,” said Emmett.

  Mariana shook my hand and glowed, but when I tried to shake Billy’s hand, it came off, and I found myself holding it! I shook and shook the hand, but it had a powerful grip and would not let go.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” said Billy. “Ernesto! Get back here!”

  The hand released me and hopped down, crawling over to Billy on its fingers. Billy picked it up and stuck it back into the sleeve of his jacket.

  “It’s pretty handy to have a free hand when you play lead guitar,” said Billy, winking at me. “I just have to make sure Ernesto doesn’t get loose during one of the sets. Last gig we played, he ended up in the chip bowl somehow.”

  “Ugh. I bet the guests like that.” I snickered.

  “Ernesto’s a hoot!” Billy chuckled. “This hand keeps jumping out of the chips and spirits were throwing their dip and punch all over! It’s a good thing that had the punch that floats.”

  While I tried to imagine what floating punch looked like, Emmett whispered something in Billy’s ear. Billy grinned and said, “Heather, how ‘bout we play for you once? Emmett thinks you’ll realize what you missed if you hear us play.”

  “I just thought perhaps—” said Emmett. He smiled at me weakly.

  “One two three four!” shouted Billy and the band started in.

  I’d never heard music quite like it. The beat, the guitars, the rhythm were all rock and roll, but the sound quality was so odd—like music played inside a tube far away but getting louder and closer. Then it would fly away and get high and tinny, like a record from the 1920s. During the guitar solo, Ernesto detached from Billy’s sleeve and wandered up and down the frets on his own, playing with manic energy. Bubba manifested as at least three drummers that phased in and out, somehow playing in rhythm with one another. Mariana’s back-up shrieking sent shivers down my spine. Billy sang quite soulfully until the end, when he, too, burst into moans and screams.

  “In the realm of the spirit world,

  We’re welcoming an unusual girl,

  Name of Heather, Emmett’s protégée,

  When you meet her, you’ll be blown away.

  As mortals go, you’ll find her quite charming,

  Her spectricity is almost alarming,

  We’re so glad she crossed to the other side,

  To become Emmett’s spirit bride!”

  I tapped my foot and hummed along—until that last line. I scowled. “Spirit bride?” I mouthed at Emmett, who spotted with pink again.

  “It’s, ahem, just an expression,” he said.

  After we clapped and thanked the band for playing, Emmett wandered off with Billy and Mariana, engrossed in telling them some story about his ectoplasm. Bubba ushered me aside.
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br />   “Seen the painting on the back wall?” he said, rather cryptically.

  He pointed one of his long, brown fingers behind us, to a wall dominated by a large, framed portrait. I stared into Bubba’s glowing eyes, and one of them went out and lit up again, like he was winking. I walked to the portrait and studied it.

  The canvas contained an image of a sumptuously dressed lady, sitting formally. A gold plate below the frame read Bronwyn Pearl Despair. One of my ancestors, perhaps? I’d never heard of her. However, when I looked into the portrait’s eyes, I found I was looking back at myself. This sensation made me gasp and shut my eyes. It felt like some camera in my head had been reversed. I grabbed my head with my hands and held on, like I was trying to keep it from flying off. Yet I felt a weird sense of familiarity, too. What was it?

  “How can something be so odd, yet so exactly right?” I whispered.

  I looked directly into the eyes of the woman in the portrait. Instantly, I found myself looking into my own eyes. I marveled at their golden strangeness. I hated to admit Bruce was right, but I did have weird eyes.

  I pulled myself from my own transfixing gaze long enough to glance down. I recognized the rich dress and sparkling black ring of the woman in the painting. I was within the painting! The ring so resembled the one Emmett had offered me that I jumped to see it on my finger.

  “How did that get there?” I said.

  I jumped again, because my voice sounded quavering and brittle, like an ancient lady’s.

  I stretched out my hand to view the ring. It passed over a book in my lap, which opened up to a chapter entitled, The Ring of Esperance of the Family Despair. I squinted at the last word, for Despair flickered on the page, not quite solid.

  I inspected the book, entitled A Disturbingly Complete History of Spiritualist Artifacts. The author’s last name was Benavidez, and I wondered if Lily’s uncle Arturo might have written this book. I noticed an illustration of the ring on the page—the same high, ornate setting and huge black diamond, like a cocktail ring for the Victorian era.