They’d dated in high school, but it turned out they clicked better as BFFs than sweethearts. It had been a relief at the time. I’d felt very much like the odd man out when they were experimenting with falling in love. Now I hoped they’d meet the right person, but they both seemed to have as much trouble settling down as me. Though at least they’d avoided the trap of falling for someone who was already married.
I said, “I guess you’ve heard there’s a medium visiting the house regularly. I was at a séance just last night.”
Deedee shuddered. “Roma Loveridge. She gives me the creeps.”
“She does?” Cyril seemed surprised. “She seems pretty normal to me.”
“That’s what feels so creepy about it!”
Cyril and I laughed.
Deedee protested, “Seriously. Between the Loveridge woman’s sudden rise in popularity with respected citizens like your aunt, and the return of RCU, it’s like we’re being taken over by pod people.”
“RCU?”
At my look of puzzlement, Cyril said, “She’s referring to the new and improved Rational Christians United. Which, for the record, I don’t think Roma Loveridge is in any way connected to.”
“Are the Rational Christians still around? I thought they died out after Reverend Hornsby was caught hey-diddle-diddling Edna Popov.”
“They’re back,” Cyril said. “Hornsby died a couple of years ago, and they’ve got a new head man who, by all accounts, has completely turned things around. They’ve got a trendy acronym now and properly filed tax-exempt status. I did a story on them last month for the Navigator.”
“They’re a cult,” Deedee said. “I don’t care what they call it. It’s a cult.”
Cyril grinned at her. “You think the Catholic Church is a cult.” To me, he said, “They’re not a cult.”
“You wouldn’t know a cult if one kidnapped you,” Deedee retorted. She said to me, “They’re going to be your new neighbors.”
“Now that you mention it, I think I do remember hearing something about Rational Christians and zoning permits.”
“That’s right,” Cyril said. “They just got the go-ahead to turn the old Carter School House into a learning center.”
“Great. Waco, here we come.”
“That’s right,” Deedee said grimly. “Except the word is wacko!”
Chapter Twelve
“Ulyanna isn’t feeling well enough to attend the séance tonight,” Aunt Halcyone informed me over dinner.
“Isn’t she?” I glanced at the double doors through which Betty had just disappeared. She had seemed fine serving dinner—and as usual, it had been a delicious dinner. Herb-basted chicken, fluffy mashed potatoes drizzled in a rich, brown gravy, and garden-fresh roasted vegetables.
“She says not.” Aunt Halcyone sighed. “I think Tarrant may have forbidden her to attend. She was very upset last night.”
“Yeah. Well.”
Aunt H. ignored that. “Anyway, I’ve asked Cassidy to join us this evening, and he’s agreed.”
That got my attention. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. He said he always wanted to attend a séance.” I couldn’t help feeling there was a note of accusation as she added, “He seems both intellectually curious and open-minded. I know you’re suspicious of his motives, but there’s something about him I like.”
“Good for Cassidy,” I said casually. To be honest, I was kind of relieved. Regardless of my suspicions, I thought Cassidy would be a useful guy to have in a crisis, and I could only too easily imagine another crisis occurring tonight.
I said, “Seriously. Do you think all this—this business of recalling Ogden—is good for Liana?”
My aunt said with grim candor, “I believe it’s the only thing that keeps the poor thing going.”
That was probably true, which, in my humble opinion, was a good reason to pull the plug. But sadly, no one was asking for my humble opinion.
A little before eight, Tarrant appeared in the drawing room in full oppressed-proletariat mode: sullen-faced and dark-browed. When Aunt H. inquired after Betty, he informed her haughtily he had forbidden his daughter to attend, so Aunt H. had guessed right.
“She is having her head all full of trash,” Tarrant informed Aunt H., “like you other females.” He looked from my aunt to Liana to me in what I imagined was supposed to be deliberate challenge.
I raised my brows. Like I’d never heard that one before? What did he imagine my next move was? Challenge him to a duel? Fire him on the spot? I said, “I’m sure last night didn’t help her blood pressure.”
“No,” he said grudgingly. “It did not.”
“We certainly wouldn’t want Ulyanna to attend if she’s feeling ill,” my aunt said. “Mr. Cassidy has agreed to make up our number.”
Liana gave a little gasp. “The gardener?” She had dressed for the occasion in a bright turquoise robe-dress, the wide sleeves richly embroidered in varying shades of blues and greens. The wild snarl of her hair had been combed into submission, and I noticed a shaky attempt had been made to apply pink lipstick to her mouth.
Aunt H.’s choice did not meet with Tarrant’s approval either. He clucked his tongue. “That one!”
“Do you have something against Cassidy?” I asked Tarrant.
“He snoops. That one, he is snooper.”
“I think so too,” Liana said.
My aunt looked taken aback, but before she could question either of them further, the snoop in question ducked his head around the doorframe.
“Here you all are,” Seamus said cheerfully. “No one answered the kitchen door, and I felt odd going to the front.”
“But not odd walking in unannounced?” I inquired. I was smiling, though, because like Aunt H., there was something about him I too just couldn’t help liking.
Seamus grinned unrepentantly back at me.
“Thank you so much for joining us, Mr. Cassidy,” my aunt said, going to meet him. “It’s so very kind of you to stand in for Ulyanna.”
“Whatever I can do to help,” Seamus said gallantly.
He’d showered and changed into black jeans and a black V-neck sweater pulled over a white T-shirt. It was a warm night outside, but maybe he was anticipating a cold spot or two.
“I believe you know everyone,” Aunt H. added, waving vaguely at the rest of us.
Seamus nodded pleasantly to Liana, which for some reason confirmed my belief that he’d heard himself being discussed.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked.
“Sure,” Seamus said. He smiled into my eyes, and I smiled back.
Liana cut in. “No alcohol!” she exclaimed. “Spirits interfere with the—”
“Spirits?” I suggested.
She frowned.
I didn’t give a damn whether Liana approved of drinking while contacting the other world or not, but by then it was exactly eight o’clock. The front door bell rang, and Tarrant went to admit Roma Loveridge. Liana cooed with excitement and rubbed her hands together as though she could hardly contain herself.
Seamus smiled at me again—and again I smiled back. No point in pretending I wasn’t glad to see him, though I was a little surprised at how glad I was.
Roma appeared, still stylish but looking a little wan this evening, and we moved to the dining room, which had been prepared once more for the festivities.
“Please be seated. Are you a believer, Mr. Cassidy?” Roma asked as she took her place at the head of the table.
“It depends,” Seamus said.
“I only ask because Mr. Bancroft is not a believer. It is difficult overcoming his negative energy.”
“I’ve heard the same thing from a number of theatrical producers,” I said, and Seamus laughed.
Roma was not amused. Actually, only Seamus was amused. The look my aunt directed my way was affectionate but chiding.
Roma huffed, “Exactly. So if you too are aggressively skeptical, we may not have the best conditions for contacting t
he other side.”
Liana made a sound of dismay.
Seamus said, “I like to think I’m always willing to learn something new.”
He sounded more cheerful than earnest, and Roma sighed. “I suppose that will have to do.” She draped her black mantilla over her head. “Will you please join hands?”
Liana snatched at Roma’s hand. “Will we see Ogden again tonight?” Her haggard face was flushed with excitement.
“I can make no promises.” Roma threw an automatic glance my way. “It’s going to be challenging.”
I tried to look suitably soulful. She did not seem reassured.
“I’ve prayed,” Liana told her. “I’ve prayed all day.”
I was vaguely uncomfortable at the idea of Liana praying for Ogden’s appearance at a séance, although maybe that was me being narrow-minded again. Roma had made her case the evening before for spiritualism as an offshoot of religious movements of the mid-nineteenth century.
“Good,” Roma told her curtly. She nodded to Tarrant. “Please douse the lights.”
Tarrant, standing by the door, flicked the light switch, and darkness folded around us once more.
I listened to Tarrant shuffle his way to the table. Tonight I was determined not to be distracted by my aunt’s nervousness or anyone else’s reactions. All my focus was on listening for some telltale sight or sound that would confirm my belief that last night’s supposed manifestation was rigged. Which didn’t alter the fact that I was acutely aware of Seamus sitting opposite Aunt H. It was too dark to see much of anything, but I could smell his soap and Bay Rum aftershave. I could hear Tarrant’s slightly wheezy inhalations and Liana’s breathy gulps. And I could feel the rigid, ice-cold tension in my aunt’s grip.
On my other side, Roma was breathing softly, evenly, her hand cool and dry. She said in a singsongy voice, “Close your eyes and empty your mind of all negative thoughts. Be at peace. We are safe here.”
The room was absolutely silent.
I glanced around the table. I could just make out the alert gleam of Seamus’s eyes. Once again, I was reassured by the simple fact of his presence.
Seconds ticked by. They felt like minutes. Then minutes passed, and it began to feel like hours.
Liana whimpered in frustration.
I turned my head to stare at Roma through the gloom.
As if on cue, her breathing grew deeper, harsher. She began to shake as though experiencing her own personal earthquake. Her head fell back and then forward. I glanced around the table and again caught the gleam of Seamus’s eyes. Everyone else continued with bowed heads and closed eyes as they concentrated on making contact.
Roma slumped forward in her chair. After an unnerving moment, she raised her head and whispered softly, “Lord Rekhmire comes.”
No one said anything.
“Lord Rekhmire, do you have any messages for Seamus Cassidy?” Roma asked.
“The gardener?” whispered Liana in protest.
Beneath the lace veil, Roma tilted her head attentively.
“Lord Rekhmire says you must be careful. They are watching you, Mr. Cassidy…”
Seamus said, “Thanks for the warning. Who is watching me exactly?”
Roma said nothing. Maybe she couldn’t hear over the spirits all talking at once. Maybe she was waiting for an answer. If so, it didn’t come.
Seamus asked, “Okay. Well, is there anyone there who wants to speak to me?”
Aunt H., Liana, and Tarrant all opened their eyes and turned their heads to stare at him in surprise.
I swallowed a laugh.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Liana said.
“Why not?” I asked.
There was a momentary pause, and then Roma said in a dreamy voice, “Yes. There is someone here. A tall man with iron-gray hair and blue eyes. He has a beard. He’s wearing a plaid flannel shirt and blue jeans. He carries an ax… John… Jonathan… No. John yet not John…”
Seamus didn’t say a word.
“Does this mean anything to you?” Roma asked. “Does the name John mean anything?”
“Could the name be Sean?” Seamus asked, almost unwillingly.
Roma took a moment before confirming, “Sean. Yes. Your grandfather.”
Seamus said nothing.
Roma said more confidently, “Yes. Your grandfather. He wants to know if you are still so sure about Mary Kate.”
Seamus gave a strange laugh. “I’m sure.”
Silence.
Was that it?
We all studied the shadowy form of our tour guide to the spirit world.
After a moment or two Roma began to hum. The tune was familiar, but it took me a moment to recognize “Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral.” I think it took Seamus a minute too.
“How do you…” He sounded genuinely astonished. He looked across the table, and his words seemed directed to me—as one skeptic to another? “He used to sing that to me when I was in my crib.”
His surprise—not just surprise, there was a hint of something like alarm in his voice—was unnerving. I felt the prickle of hairs on the back of my neck. How the hell could Roma possibly know so much about Seamus? I knew that part of the medium gig was to do research on marks, but she had no way of knowing Seamus would take part in tonight’s session. And these were difficult things to research anyway. The reference to Mary Kate? A childhood lullaby?
It was weird. I hated to admit it, but it was uncanny. And I could tell by Seamus’s reaction that he thought so too.
Suppose, just suppose… My mind tottered for an instant before I yanked back from the edge. With a name like Seamus Cassidy? It would be safe to guess there might be a Mary Kate in his life. And “Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral” was an American-Irish classic. Not magic. Not spirits. Just a calculated guess.
Liana’s petulant voice sliced through the humming. “Where is Ogden? Aren’t we going to speak to Ogden?”
Roma broke off humming and returned to business. “Ogden is here. Ogden, Liana wishes to speak to you.”
“Oh, please.” Liana’s voice was tearful. “Please, yes.”
There was a lengthy pause. Maybe Ogden had dropped the phone. Maybe it was a bad connection. I opened my mouth.
“Liana, dear,” Ogden’s strong, deep baritone spoke, and the words dried in my throat. Where is that voice coming from? I couldn’t pinpoint it. I half turned in my chair, and Roma’s hand tightened on my own.
Ogden droned on. “And Halcyone. Halcyone, dear love, are you there too?”
Aunt H. made a strangled sound, lost beneath Liana’s, “Oh, Ogden! Oh, it’s you at last!”
“Liana… So loyal. So true…”
So totally and completely unbalanced, if you asked me.
A sob tore out of Liana. “My dear, dear, dearest brother…”
“Halcyone,” Ogden said, switching gears. “My loneliness grows.”
Aunt H. said faintly, “Ogden… I…”
“I cannot rest while we remain apart.”
“The hell,” I said and tried to rise.
Aunt H. clutched my hand as I pushed back my chair. “No. Artie. No. The circle mustn’t be broken—”
I managed not to pull away from her, but I was so angry, I was shaking. I stared into the darkness beyond the foot of the table and could just make out a dark shape—or was I imagining it?
I blinked again and again, and inky spots began to dance across my retina. It was impossible to make out anything for sure in that Stygian blackness.
“Ogden, don’t go. Don’t go!” The words were wrung from Liana’s throat.
A long silence followed. There was only the sound of breathing in the blacked-out void.
Then, as on the previous night, a tiny puff of milky-white substance, no larger than a fist, appeared. Tarrant sucked in a hoarse breath and swore something in Russian as the small cloud began to grow.
Suddenly, a horrible, wild scream ripped the silence. Roma tore her hand from mine, thrashing about in her chair, all the wh
ile screeching like a wounded animal. I felt that terrible high, piercing shriek slice through me like the ragged edge of a knife.
“Jesus Christ,” I exclaimed and freed my hand from Aunt H.’s desperate clutch. “Roma? Roma?”
I couldn’t see her!
Everyone began to talk at once. Beneath the panicked babble, I heard the sound of a chair going over and crashing to the floor. The next minute the lights blazed on overhead. Tarrant stood near the doorway, fingers on the light switch. He looked both frightened and outraged.
Roma lay writhing on the floor behind the head of the table. Seamus bent over her. “Get some water,” he told me.
I got over to the sideboard and poured water from the decanter into a glass. I carried the water to Seamus and knelt beside him.
“Thanks,” he muttered, taking the glass.
“Is she having a seizure?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
We watched as Roma’s frantic movements slowed, then finally ceased, and she lay motionless and waxen.
I gulped. “Uh… Is she—?”
“No.” Seamus lifted Roma’s head and pressed the glass to her colorless lips. The liquid dribbled down her chin.
I said uneasily, “You’re sure she’s not—?”
“I’m sure,” he said grimly. He pressed the rim of the glass to her mouth again, and a little liquid spilled between her lips. “I think she’s coming around.”
Behind me, Liana broke off sobbing with a gasp. I turned. Aunt H. stood in the center of the room, staring as though hypnotized at the black leather glove she held.
“It was lying on the floor,” Aunt H. said. She sounded like someone talking in their sleep. “What can it mean?”
No one said a word.
Roma suddenly sat upright—which was nearly as disconcerting as her fit had been. She said hoarsely, “Someone broke the circle. Who?” Her feverish eyes raked our small, shaken group.
“It was Mr. Cassidy,” my aunt said slowly. “I saw him rise. He was sitting across from me.”
Seamus looked nonplussed as all eyes turned his way. “Well, yes. In the heat of the moment, I did leave the table.”
“The heat of the moment?” Roma’s voice was cold, her gaze hard. “You came intending to trick and deceive the rest of us with a false hand.”
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