A Signal Shown

by Yvonne Montgomery

  She steps on marching squares until she faces the door. Step on a crack and break your mother's back. Already broken.

  A nightmare door with fear behind holds paper shapes to hide what's true.

  Photos taped inside the room are frozen moments flat as skipping stones no longer thrown at memories.

  Mirror, mirror on the wall looks past the stranger there, reflects the stranger come to watch.

  Soft afghan on the bed, has colors worn, and stitches loose. The yarn unravels every time, patterns fading, twisted strands left lying.

  The smiling faces praise: all will be well. They move in careful patterns, no upset here, no wild grief, no surging hate at ruin.

  But wolves should howl at the waning moon and claws should slash the way things are.

  Chapter 10

  Kerry turned away from the south library window and buttoned the green cardigan she'd added to her jeans and white shirt. She glanced at Max Steadman. He'd settled at the oak table upon his arrival an hour before. Stacked in front of him were Caldicott Wyntham's journals. Max was a skimmer, quickly sorting through the first few volumes. Not that there was much in any of them to linger over.

  Max turned a page, and the slight noise brought her gaze back to him. In the three days since he'd last been at Wisdom Court, she'd convinced herself her prickly reaction to him had been the result of work frustration, nothing to do with sexual interest. Today the anemic light through the windowpanes displayed all too clearly his lean body in corduroy slacks and navy sweater over a white oxford shirt. The bronze ceiling lamp above the table shone on his hair, highlighting a few strands of silver, as well as his thick lashes.

  Kerry focused on the gray hairs rather than the eyelashes. Such signs of mortality were reassuring because what she'd discovered about him from her on-line search had made him appear all too rarified for her tastes. He'd taken a first at Balliol in history, his thesis on the seeds of modern time concepts found in medieval social orders published by Oxford University Press.

  She'd greeted him, and shown him to the pile of books. He'd ignored her since. Her saner self felt like a nitpicking manager-trainee. So what if he spent the rest of the day here? She wasn't responsible for his activities.

  "Are you going to hover over me while I'm here?" His clipped accent cut through her muddled thoughts.

  "I'm not hovering." Kerry could feel the color rising in her cheeks, but soldiered on. "I was thinking about my work, if you must know."

  Max shot her a look. "Ah, yes. Your biography of Caldicott Wyntham." Deliberately he shut the journal in front of him. "I hope it has more to offer than the lists of activities necessary in building Wisdom Court. Along with the ongoing cast of characters involved in the process, that's all I've discovered in these volumes."

  Kerry shrugged. She hated feeling defensive. "You can't fault Caldicott for keeping on top of details." Carefully she seated herself at the end of the table. "Good institutional history is important, too."

  Max leaned back in his chair, one brow arched in disbelief. "It's like reading stock reports: stultifying unless you have money riding on the outcomes. Don't tell me you find them of interest."

  She was going to lie, but her gaze collided with the challenge in his blue eyes. "No." Kerry pushed one hand through her hair in annoyance. "My heart doesn't race at accounting figures and meeting minutes. I've had to read them, though, just to cover the bases. And the associates' information over the years is interesting. There've been some outstanding ones."

  "Certainly, but I'm looking for more family history." Max glanced around the rectangular room at the shelves of books lining the walls. "Some anecdotes about her life would be helpful. What else is here?"

  "Basic stuff, but all of it strictly Wisdom Court era. Nothing older than fifty years ago." Kerry sighed, unaware of how discouraged she sounded. "I've checked over everything I've been able to find."

  Max was silent for a long moment. "You talked to her before she died?" he asked finally.

  "Yes. She told me she had the information I was asking for: diaries, documents, all of it. She said she would turn over everything." Kerry trailed off. The taste of failure rose in her like bile.

  "She died before you saw any of it," Max murmured.

  Kerry nodded. "I don't think she meant to mess things up, but she ran out of time."

  He didn't say anything. Kerry steeled herself to meet disdain in his expression, but when she actually looked at him he was staring out the window. She waited, and finally he turned back to her. "Why do you think she put off giving you what you needed to write the book?"

  "No clue." Kerry pushed herself away from the table, out of the chair. "If I did know, I'd be further along than I am now." He didn't respond, and in the heavy silence she realized she was waiting for him to criticize her for lack of foresight, for not pinning down Caldicott, for not having finished the biography. I don't need him to do that, she thought impatiently. I've done enough of it myself.

  "You realize, of course, that it's a treasure hunt." He stood up slowly, favoring his left leg. His smile was sympathetic. "We could view it as an opportunity to work together. An adventure."

  Kerry snorted. Presumably he was after the same information she needed, but what would he do with it? "You're suggesting we tiptoe through the attics together? Why?"

  "Why not?" He looked at her thoughtfully. "Think of it as a way for us both to achieve a tactical advantage. We join forces, and whatever we find, we share."

  Kerry shook her head. "You won't be here long enough to share anything. You'll be off on your next escapade, digging up some other person's family skeletons."

  "You're missing my point." His tone was polite, but his narrowed eyes were cooling with irritation. "I'm not going anywhere until I've completed the job I agreed to do for Ms. Wyntham. As it happens, I liked her a great deal and I feel I owe it to her to fulfill our contract. Until I—or we—find this supposed trove of information, I'm remaining here. And my work is not a series of escapades." He bit off the words with precision.

  "Got it." Kerry nodded stiffly and headed out of the library.

  "Where are you going?" he demanded from behind her, but she didn't answer. Her shoulder knocked against the front door lintel as she passed through it but she didn't feel anything. Her bad temper was rapidly escalating into rage, and not knowing exactly why made her even angrier. The cold air stung her face as she strode toward the east associate house, and she realized she'd left her jacket in the library. I'll get it later, she thought, after he's gone back to the hotel.

  She'd just unlocked the outer door when her arm was grabbed and she was pulled round. Max tightened his hold and tugged her inside to her flat door. He dragged it open and pushed her through it into the foyer. "What the devil is the matter with you?" he demanded. "I can't decide if you're rude or simply demented. You're acting as if I've offended you. I offered to work with you," he shouted. "Full partners."

  Kerry had thought him bloodless. She was wrong. Max was furious, eyes blazing blue fire. His hands were clenched at his sides, no doubt restraining himself from wringing her neck. When the corner of his mouth twisted in aggravation she was swept with the desire to lift her mouth to his, to kiss him for all she was worth. A single step would bring her close enough to reach him. She started toward him, but awareness of what she was doing hit her like a splash of cold water.

  What would he think of me? She stepped back, hitting the wall behind her.

  Max's brows twitched together in a frown. "I didn't mean to frighten you," he muttered. "I've got a bloody awful temper and you manage to incite it more often than not."

  "I'm not frightened." Kerry let out a breath. Her lips were throbbing, and a part of her wanted to walk right into his arms. She stole a glance at him.

  Max scowled at her. "I don't ordinarily behave in such a fashion."

  Kerry fought embarrassment. "I was rude to you first. I've been so upset over not finding Caldicott's papers, and it felt like you wer
e judging, and... let me do the honors. I apologize." She extended her hand, which he took automatically.

  "What do you mean, about my judging?"

  Kerry shrugged. "I was probably projecting my own feelings onto you." She slipped her hand out of his. "I don't have much more time here at Wisdom Court, so I'm getting more than a little frantic."

  "I meant what I said about our pooling resources."

  "I appreciate the offer. Can you stay now and talk about how we might work together?" At his nod, Kerry led him into the living room and turned on the light. "Please sit down."

  Max surveyed the papers strewn across the overstuffed sofa cushions, his gaze rebounding off the chair draped with several sweaters and a coat. "Where?"

  "Oh, for God's sake," Kerry gathered the papers and jackets and tossed everything behind the sofa. "The temperature keeps changing. I never know what coat to wear. Here, sit." Heading for the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, "What can I get you to drink?"

  "I hate to live up to the cliché," he said mildly as he seated himself, "but do you have any tea?"

  "Sure." Kerry headed for the stove. Every nerve in her body was thrumming. She paused long enough to wonder what might have happened if she'd kissed him. Squaring her shoulders, she filled the kettle and turned on the burner.

  What did she have to go with tea? Cookies, there'd been some she'd begged from Aura Lee. After a quick scramble, she found them in the refrigerator. Six left, she thought proudly. Maybe she was finally tapping into her hidden self-control.

  "Have you gone out the back way?" The dryness in the inquiry carried well from the living room.

  "I'm putting the kettle on," she called back. "You can come out here if you want."

  A few moments later he appeared in the doorway, open book in hand. "Where did you find this?" He held out the copy of his own book, The Vocabulary of Time: Medieval Thought and Modern Idiom.

  Kerry hadn't meant to let him know she'd been checking him out. "I saw the title in your CV and thought it sounded interesting."

  "Of course you did." He set the book onto the countertop and patiently cleared a stack of books off one of the oak chairs at the square table. He sat down and proceeded to examine the volumes piled on the other side.

  "I've been cross-referencing citations about Wisdom Court, as well as Caldicott wherever I can find them," Kerry explained. She frowned at how many books she'd left lying around. And of course she'd left a note for the cleaning service to leave them where they lay.

  "Mmmph." Max was reading from a leather-bound edition.

  She didn't ask him what kind of tea he wanted. It was moot, since all she had were several herbal teas and three bags in the bottom of a box of Earl Grey. The scent of bergamot drifted from the flowered teapot as she poured the hot water. The six precious chocolate chip cookies were on a plate. Napkins, spoons, sugar. No cream, just milk.

  Kerry glanced toward the table to see Max leafing through yet another of the books. He appeared perfectly relaxed, no uncomfortable musing going on in his mind. He was here for afternoon tea. She gathered everything onto a tray and took it to the table. Max looked up at her with a smile. She felt a flutter somewhere in the region of her chest.

  She parceled out supplies. "I've been thinking. About working together, I mean. It might be feasible."

  Max nodded, the gleam back in his eyes.

  "Here, let me pour the tea," Kerry said hastily. As she lifted the flowered teapot, the book Max had set on the countertop fell to the floor. Kerry's hand jerked and tea splashed onto the table. "Oops, I'll get a paper towel."

  Max got up to retrieve the book from the floor. As he lifted it, a paper fluttered from between the pages, landing near his feet. He bent again to pick up the scrap, glancing at it as he returned to the table.

  Kerry wiped up the spilled tea and threw away the paper towel. "Let's try this again." She filled the cups and set one in front of Max. "Milk?" When he didn't answer, she looked inquiringly at him. His face was expressionless, his mouth a straight line. "Something wrong?"

  Max held the paper out to her. When she read the handwritten words on it, Kerry felt the air rush out of her lungs. Personal Journal: 1939-1945. The page was torn on one edge, and she could see the holes where it had been bound into a volume.

  Kerry's mind whirled as she studied the page. She knew the handwriting as well as she knew her own. "Where did this come from?"

  "Spare me the amateur theatrics." Max's voice was cold. "That's written in the hand of Caldicott Wyntham. I've been reading insipid journal entries in that same writing throughout the morning." He closed the pages of his book and carefully placed it on the table. "I sympathized with your predicament. I was sincere about our working together to find more information. Amusing, isn't it?" He stood up and pushed his chair snug against the table. "If you didn't want to share information about her, then you should simply have told me."

  Kerry's eyes widened. He thought she was lying? She glanced back down at the paper, and the sight of the familiar pen strokes made her head swim.

  Max walked out of the room and toward the front door. Kerry jumped to her feet and hurried after him. "Max, please don't go. I don't know where it came from."

  Max paused at the door. "What nonsense. I can't fathom what game you're at, but I don't appreciate being played for a fool." He grasped the doorknob and turned it.

  Kerry put her hand over his to stop him. "Max, please listen to me. I swear I've never seen that paper before. I honestly don't know where it came from." Darkness lined the edges of her vision, and she was beginning to feel peculiar.

  Max studied her, his face harsh with disbelief. As he read her eyes, his own widened. "I think you believe what you say." He released the doorknob. "Then tell me this: if you have no other source of Ms. Wyntham's journals, where could that excerpt have possibly originated? It was in that copy of my book. Where was it before today?"

  Kerry noted from a distance that her knees felt rubbery. It occurred to her that standing was becoming a precarious proposition. She walked clumsily toward the sofa, but didn't quite make it that far. Without warning her legs gave out and she sat down hard on the floor.

  Chapter 11

  The hot afternoon air held its breath. Even the sparrows nesting in the ivy creeping up the walls of the house were silent.

  Aura Lee sat in the bentwood rocking chair in her bedroom. In the soft light of the table lamp, she peered at the dog-eared pages of a book on herbs. The leather cover was frayed along the edges and bore dark stains. Her friend Ruth Ann had made her promise to return the herbal in three day's time, swearing that her keeping it any longer would corrupt the power of the book. Aura Lee didn't believe that, but the feeling she got from holding the book made her anxious to return it.

  Aura Lee turned another page, wondering how she could get in closer contact with Cottie's spirit. Would a recipe or charm help? Plants had been used from ancient times to increase the powers of those who followed the old ways. Echinacea could strengthen spells, according to one source she'd read. Another taught that lavender leaves would heighten her ability to see Cottie when she revealed herself. Aura Lee had already tucked the herb into her pockets.

  The entry for rosemary in Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs was initially promising: If you wish to receive knowledge or the answer to a question, burn rosemary on charcoal and smell its smoke. But the next bit bothered her: Rosemary is also grown to attract elves... Enough was going on without adding elves to the situation.

  She was afraid to use the Ouija board again. Aura Lee shivered at the memory of Caldicott's face taking shape in the mirror. She darted a glance at the oval glass over the bureau and returned her gaze to the open book. If she hadn't been so frightened the last time, Cottie might have spoken to her. The thought still galled her. Her own fear had prevented a complete connection. She wouldn't even try again until she knew how to control it.

  Aura Lee's eyes narrowed as she came to a paragraph in the her
bal about the thistle plant. Thistle can be a medium for communion with the spirits that have passed beyond the mortal coil. After thrice blessing the pot, place sprigs in water brought to a boil. When the steam floats above the vessel, call to those spirits you seek. Await their utterances. "Of course," she murmured. "Thistle." It could be like a phone call, with the steam conveying both her words as well as the response from Cottie. Aura Lee stifled a smile at the thought. Humor didn't mix with raising the dead.

  The scent of cinnamon drifted through the room. Before Aura Lee could identify its source, a shaft of light sneaked through a space between the organza drapes, finding some of the crystals hanging near the window, scattering off into rainbow glitters. She went to the window to block out the sun, but when she reached the curtains she heard a soft humming. As she turned back toward the bureau, she saw a flash from the silver tray holding several cut-glass perfume bottles. The polished surface began to glow, and the vials refracted the light. The humming deepened.

  In dread Aura Lee approached the dresser. Pools of light were moving like living things trapped inside the metal. The hum grew to a higher, louder pitch. Aura Lee cupped her hands over her ears to muffle the sound.

  The palm of a hand pressed up against the surface of the silver and Aura Lee fell back with a cry. The silver parted like water and transparent fingers reached to grasp at the bottles.

  Aura Lee staggered to the door. The tone intensified, now a whine throbbing through the room.

  "By the Goddess!" Aura Lee clutched the doorknob, nearly wrenching it from the wood. But the knob didn't turn, and as the volume built even more, she hammered on the door with both hands. "Let me out! Help me! Get me out!"

  The door was thrust open from the other side, throwing Aura Lee off balance. Rose and Noreen ran to her and grabbed her arms, pulling her from the room. As they spilled into the hallway, Noreen spun to yank the door shut. Behind it abrupt silence fell.

  Aura Lee sobbed as she stumbled toward the parlor sofa and collapsed onto it. Ashen-faced, Noreen lowered herself into the striped chair and looked back at the door with shocked eyes. "What in heaven's name was that?"