A Signal Shown
The Wisdom Court Series
Book Two
by
Yvonne Montgomery
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ISBN: 978-1-61417-647-3
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Nightmirror
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Nightmirror
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Nightmirror
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Nightmirror
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Nightmirror
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Nightmirror
Chapter 27
Meet the Author
Acknowledgements
This book was difficult to write and I am deeply grateful to the people who helped along the way. Margi Evans was a champion beta-reader whose wholehearted response to the work gave me a boost. Carol Caverly pushed me to the ending the book needed when I was ready to stop and cheered me on through the extra effort. Misty Ewegen was a fervent reader who gave me penetrating suggestions and crucial information throughout. Shane Ewegen was meticulous, as always, in finding grammatical and editing issues while urging me on. Love and gratitude to Marlena Gott for "Nightmirrors." Carol Sullivan's critiques of earlier versions of the work helped build the foundation for the completed book. My husband, Bob Ewegen has continued to back my play through all the adventures and I thank him.
To the friends and family members who have maintained interest in this project, thanks so much.
I appreciate the institutional support and member camaraderie of the members of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and Colorado Authors League.
Many thanks to Nina Paules and Brian Paules of ePublishing Works. Their excellence in e-formatting, cover design, and marketing have helped reboot my writing career.
Dedication
Dedicated to my mother and father.
Nightmirror
The sidewalk borders a jagged pavement. Old street lamps cast dingy halos into emptiness.
She stumbles and a rock skitters to the gutter. The air reeks of car exhausts and desperation. A noise jerks her gaze to the shadows. Is someone hiding behind the steam from the manhole cover?
Just walk, she tells herself. Just walk. They're waiting for you to come closer.
She clutches the talisman in her pocket, edges sharp against her palm.
Don't search the dark, she tells herself. Keep going, no matter what.
Home abides like a lantern in the nightfall, but the nothings crawl in behind her before the door is shut. She slams the hatch to the cellar. Pulls the shade over the window.
A whisper rouses her. Don't turn out the lights until you're in bed, and don't let your hands hang over the edge.
The crooked door creaks open.
The broken doll seeks her out with foreign eyes, doesn't recognize her. Comes for her all the same.
Chapter 1
Her own moaning awakened her from the dream.
Brenna Payne rolled toward the nightstand, heard the crumple of paper. Fumbling for the lamp switch, she turned it on and pushed her hair out of her face. From the neighboring pillow, her lover muttered. She thought he'd wake up, but he turned away from the light and she heard the crackle of paper again. Searching the navy coverlet she saw the letter, the one that changed everything, the one prompting them to drink too much wine. Probably the wine had caused the dream, too.
She pulled the single page toward her, started reading again to make sure the words hadn't changed while she'd slept.
Dear Ms. Payne:
It is my great pleasure to inform you that you've been chosen as a recipient of the Wyntham Grant from the Wisdom Court Foundation. The grant is awarded to women scholars and artists who have yet to be recognized for their endeavors.
"I don't even get recognized by my landlord," Brenna muttered.
Your film, STEPS, captivated the Wisdom Court Board of Directors and led to your acceptance. I love this cinematic tour through the twists and byways of places I'd never seen before. I marvel at the peering gargoyle creatures you filmed in what I thought were merely moldings and rainspouts. Your camera angles disoriented me, forcing me to notice fresh landscapes where before I'd seen only buildings and walkways. I am amazed at what you saw and abashed at what I did not—surely the very definition of a work of art. All of us at Wisdom Court hope your movies will be more widely screened.
"From your lips to the Great Projectionist in the sky." Brenna hugged the letter to her nightshirt, giddy at the compliments.
Your living expenses and the support of your work are covered by the grant. Your studio at Wisdom Court will include film-editing facilities, and any supplies you require. The one condition attached to the grant is that you live at Wisdom Court here in Colorado. Family visits and other necessary brief periods away are allowed, of course, but the majority of your year must be spent in Boulder. Our founder, Caldicott Wyntham, believed the exchange of ideas and creative energy among talented women enables a higher level of achievement.
I am sending more complete information about our program. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Rose Hertzberg, Director
"I love you, Rose Hertzberg." Brenna scanned the lines once more, the words of praise glowing like jewels set in gold. Like rain in the desert, like crocuses in the snow. "Like chocolate syrup and a maraschino cherry on the double-scoop of life," she whispered. She was on her way at last.
* * *
Autumn cast its spell on Colorado's Front Range. Only the tall pines and feathery blue spruce kept their original colors in the wake of cooling nights. Cottonwoods fluttered leaves as bright as pirate dubloons, while the crimson sumac blazed near forsythia foliage wilting on the branches. The pink sandstone slabs of Boulder's Flatirons thrust high against deep blue sky to delay the spill of wint
er over the Foothills in protection of the three houses nestled at the base of Flagstaff Mountain.
The morning sun warmed the tall stone farmhouse, Wisdom Court's main building. Light beamed through prisms hung at the double windows in Rose Hertzberg's workroom, scattering tiny rainbows across ivory walls. Shelves at one end of the room held fountain supplies, the small-scale pumps, containers of assorted sizes and shapes, and tiny figurines. A collection of stones filled two large bins in one corner.
Rose entered the room slowly. In her mid-fifties, dressed in a blue sweat suit, she moved with the grace of a longtime yoga practitioner. Her curly silver-blonde hair was in a loose knot at her nape, and large gray eyes dominated her fine-boned face. She saw the fountain she'd begun the night before and closed her eyes. "No. Not again."
Three times in two weeks she'd left a work in progress. Each following morning the rocks and miniatures were reorganized in a circle around the container. After what had happened earlier that summer, the rearranged stones sent chills down Rose's spine.
Was it beginning again?
"Maybe it's the equinox or the phases of the moon," Rose said aloud. "Aura Lee might say that."
"Why would I?" Aura Lee Witherspoon had opened the door after a light tap. "I thought I heard you say to come in, but maybe I imagined it." She was regal in a rustling green caftan, her brass-colored hair braided in a coronet. Tiny gold ankhs dangled from her earlobes, and her blue eyes were twinkling beneath light green eye shadow. She'd long been the Wisdom Court house manager, but Rose saw her as a chatelaine who cared more about the people in her castle than the rooms and furnishings.
Rose moved to block the stone circle from sight, but Aura Lee had already bypassed her and was staring down at the table. She glanced up in curiosity. "Did you arrange the stones around the bowl like this?"
Rose shook her head.
Aura Lee's eyes widened. "Do you know who did?"
Rose hesitated. If Aura Lee perceived even a shred of the supernatural in this, she'd renew her efforts to contact Caldicott. Since the death of Wisdom Court's founder, Aura Lee had conducted rituals and had even forced them into a séance. Despite her failures, she was positive a message from her dearest friend was there, waiting for her to reach it.
"Rose?" Hope shone from Aura Lee's eyes. "Tell me what's going on."
Rose motioned toward the nearby chair for Aura Lee, and sat down. "It started a couple of weeks ago. I've left a fountain unfinished and come back to this, the empty container circled by rocks. I keep the workroom door locked and you're the only other person with a key. Tell me you've been sneaking in."
"As if I would..." Aura Lee's frown faded as she studied the arrangement of stones. "Have you moved anything?"
"This morning? No. But it's been the same, just a single circle. I don't know what it could be or mean."
"A Message from Beyond," breathed Aura Lee. She lifted her radiant face to Rose. "A tear in the veil to the Other Side. This could be the chance I've been looking for."
So much for not leaping to conclusions. "A circle of rocks?" Rose kept her voice gentle.
"Forces are at work here." Aura Lee shivered happily. "Lately I've felt that something major is going to happen." Her eyes kindled with excitement. "I've been watching for signs. And here's a circle, how many times?"
"Three, all told."
"Do you know how powerful that is?"
Rose knew she was about to find out. "Not really."
"A circle can stand for a door between worlds, like I said before. Or it can mean an end, as in all the stages of life, from birth to death. Or it could be a symbol for Circe and her spinning wheel. In Greek myths, she used her spinning wheel to decide the fate of humans."
Rose shrugged impatiently. "How can we interpret something as simple—and, as you point out, as complex—as a circle?"
"Well, of course you have to figure it out," Aura Lee sputtered. "Things aren't always easy to get. You've had a circle formed three different times. You do know what a big deal the number three is, don't you? You've got the trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Then there's the mind-body-spirit thing I know you've read about. Third time's the charm—there's all kind of stuff. The number itself is a powerful symbol, Rose."
Restlessly Rose began moving the rocks back into the bowl, ignoring the small sound of protest from Aura Lee. "I want the forces to leave my fountains alone. Already I come in every morning waiting to see if there's another circle."
Aura Lee was shaking her head in disapproval, her earrings bouncing. "Rose, you have to work with what you get. Somebody's trying to tell you something, and they're using what's available—your rocks."
"So if I left out a pen and paper, I might get a note?"
Aura Lee pushed herself to her feet. "Don't be flippant. The spirits who try to contact us are usually desperate, nothing to joke about. Remember what happened with Andrea."
Rose recalled all too well. When she'd come to Wisdom Court four months before, artist Andrea Bellamy had found herself sketching and painting while in a trance. Only their combined efforts had discovered the causes of that phenomenon.
"I'm hoping Andrea's situation was a one-time occurrence." Rose crossed her fingers unthinkingly. "Finding my fountain rocks arranged in a circle has to have a simple, if crazy, explanation." What if they're back?
Aura Lee nodded doubtfully. "Maybe, but you're missing the point. A circle—three separate times—is important. It's reckless to ignore messages, especially from Them."
Rose shuddered, but Aura Lee didn't notice. "I'll start exploring possible meanings. You'll tell me if anything else happens, won't you? If it's Cottie..." Her eyes filled with tears, and she patted her chest, trying to regain control. "It makes me feel so much better to think Cottie's still trying to get through. Promise you'll let me know if there's any other sign?"
"Promise. As long as you swear not to cast any spells without telling me. It's only fair that all of us know what's going on."
"Of course." Aura Lee sniffed mightily, her face wreathed in a smile. "I'll get out my divining tools. Maybe I'll be able to pick up emanations from Cottie that way."
"Let me know if you find out something." Rose set the dish of rocks on the shelf above the table.
Aura Lee looked ready to start immediately. "I will. I'll get right on it." She paused, brow wrinkling. "No, first I need to run over to the west house, and then I'll get busy."
Rose glanced at her in question and then remembered. "That's right. Brenna Payne is coming today."
Aura Lee nodded. "I just need to do a double check of the place."
"It'll be good to have her here. I've been missing Dolores and Elizabeth." Dolores Rivera and Elizabeth Schuster had both finished their years at Wisdom Court within the last month. "It's been way too quiet lately."
Aura Lee glanced at the bowl piled with rocks as she headed out of the office. "I don't know about that. There's quiet and then there's just not listening to what's being said." The door clicked shut behind her.
Chapter 2
A breeze skittered down Flagstaff Mountain through quivering aspen leaves, brushing across the roses near the courtyard fountain. Rose stumbled on a cobblestone and clutched the clipboard she carried a little closer. Beside her Brenna Payne pulled her sweatshirt hood over her dark hair to stop its swirling about her head. Large brown eyes and black brushstroke eyebrows dominated her heart-shaped face.
Brenna breathed in the clear, chilly air and thought of the L.A. smog she'd left that morning. "Dink would love this," she said aloud.
"Dink?" Rose responded automatically. She glanced at Brenna, but her attention was clearly elsewhere. "Your pet?"
"My boyfriend."
"Oh." Rose hunched a shoulder against another gust of wind. "Hope the name doesn't mean anything anatomical." At the choked sound from Brenna, Rose gasped, "I can't believe I said that!"
Brenna couldn't help but grin. Maybe the woman wasn't as Hitchc
ock-cool-blonde as she looked. More Eva Marie Saint in her older years. "It's a dumb nickname, and he's gotten crap for it his whole life. His name's Lucas Dinkland."
Rose cast about for something to say. "Kids can be cruel. And adults, too," she added hastily.
Well, at least she's human, Brenna thought in relief. During her ritual welcome to Wisdom Court, Aura Lee had run through the details, answering the few questions she'd asked. Rose had appeared distracted, if not distant. "No worries."
"Thanks." Rose offered a smile. "I'm not usually so tactless. It's been a strange day." She led Brenna up the rounded steps to the associate house entryway. "Here we are."
Rose held open the door as Brenna entered the hallway, redolent of lemons and floor wax. A dark carpet runner extended to the back wall where two locked postage boxes were set. Brenna's name was on one of them.
"I hope you'll like it here." Rose stopped before the wood door on the left side of the hall, directly across from an identical entrance on the right. Sliding a key into the lock above a shiny brass knob, Rose pushed open the door. "The last associate who lived here, Dolores Rivera, is an artist, a sculptor. We had your film editing equipment installed in the studio she used."
Brenna stepped past her into the living room, her gaze moving swiftly over the leather sofa, the Southwestern art on tawny walls. She dropped her travel bag on the tile floor and assessed what would be her home for the next year. Warm, clean, and inviting. No Tim Burton overtones. So why did she feel a creepy-crawly sensation? She pasted on a smile and tried to inject some enthusiasm into her voice. "I know I'll be able to do good work here."
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