by R. L. Weeks
“Raven,” Emmett says.
My heart pounds. For the first time in two years, he’s talking directly to me. “I know I can’t hear you, but I do know you.” He pauses and fiddles with the top of his cane. “I know you wouldn’t want me doing this, but this is my choice. I know it’s wrong, but they are bad people. I will do whatever it takes to bring you back to…”
I fill in the blanks although he cannot hear me.
“Bring me back to you.”
I shudder as Emmett walks away. I hate what he has become — a lapdog for Miss Kaye, doing her bidding whenever she wishes it just to earn the chance to talk to me. Sometimes, I wish he would accept that I’m dead and I can’t come back, because that’s the truth. I am never coming back.
Two
Chandeliers dripping with diamonds, gold, and silver cover the high, tiled ceiling of the ballroom. Clicks of women’s shoes against the marble floor surround me. Soon, there are enough noble men and women that the chatter becomes inaudible and drowns out the music of the Spanish band playing.
Elizabeth, my friends from the other side, stands beside me.
“Oh, Charles,” a woman says with a forced laugh. “I have been looking for you.”
He leans into her. His breath reeks of whiskey. “As have I, dear Mary.”
I take in my uncle’s new conquest. She has long blonde hair, much like mine actually, and wide blue eyes. Her thin lips and small nose suit her heart-shaped face.
He lets out a drawn-out sigh as he runs his finger down her soft cheek. “You are so very beautiful.”
She flushes red. “I am flattered, Charles.”
I roll my eyes at their exchange. He is using an alias. I know what his plan is.
I turn and look at Elizabeth. She reaches out a gloved hand. I take it, and she pulls me away from him. “Shall we dance?” she asks with a stretched smile.
I can’t help but smile back. Elizabeth is infectiously joyful. She is a gossip, perhaps even more now than she was in life from what she tells me. Perhaps it’s her positive energy that keeps her here, intact, without disappearing.
She won’t move on until her husband dies, so we spend our days together, like ghost detectives, trying to save the world from evil we cannot stop.
She holds onto both my hands and retreats, then advances, and soon enough, I feel my worries slip away. I spin around and feel dizzy. The adrenaline pumps through me as the music grows louder and everyone takes to the dance floor.
Feeling everyone’s energy gives me a rush of pleasant feelings. I can feel their joy, excitement, nervousness, and pleasure. My head becomes fuzzy as we pirouette. I fling my arms out beside me and spin around and around, overcome with happiness.
I feel so alive.
The music is consuming. I look at Elizabeth. Her garments flutter behind her as she dances on her own. She raises her arms above her head as the climax of the violin comes to an end.
I laugh. “That was fun.”
Elizabeth grabs my hand and tugs me.
“Wait, we need to follow my uncle.”
She laughs. “Can we have one night off? I hear they are letting off fireworks in the square.”
She pulls me out into the night, and we hurry over to the square in front of the palace. Hundreds of people have shown up, barricaded away from the palace by guards.
Fiery sparks whip through the night, bursting through the darkness in front of the palace gates. Queen Victoria has come to watch the show. After all, it is for her birthday — she is fifty-four now. She has reigned for many years and is beloved by her people, at least those in London. There are some who hate her. One even tried to have her assassinated when I was just a child. Everyone heard about it.
Elizabeth looks up, mesmerized by the shapes and lights. I look to my left when I hear the voice of Mary Nicholls, my uncle’s conquest.
“Please, Charles.”
I grab Elizabeth’s wrist. “They’re going down that alley.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widen. “Just when I was beginning to enjoy myself.”
“Come on.” My breathing quickens as we hurry after them. My heart pounds as I see the flash of blonde hair disappear around a corner. Elizabeth paces just behind me on the narrow, cobbled path.
We round the corner. “It’s a dead end,” I say.
Uncle has Mary pressed up against the wall. “You,” he says, his breaths ragged, “look just like the woman who broke my heart.”
I gulp. “He means me.”
“I know,” Elizabeth says. “He’s not wrong. She does look just like you.”
Horror fills me. “That’s why he chose her.”
“Please, Charles.”
He bares his black teeth. “My real name is Jack.”
I hear the fireworks sound in the distance. Loud cheers follow the bangs.
Mary’s eyes fill with tears as she looks at my uncle’s twisted expression. His fingers wrap around her throat, squeezing at her windpipe. Her eyes are bloodshot as she struggles against his strong arms.
“Not so fearless now, are you, Raven?”
Confusion sweeps her features as he enacts his revenge for me on her.
Her screams ring in our ears. Her skin drenches with sweat, and her lips begin to turn blue. She claws at his arms in one last desperate attempt to live. Her hair is wild as she struggles, her nails cutting into his skin.
She finally stops struggling and falls limp. His greedy eyes look into hers as the light fades from her gaze. They are empty now, only reflecting the face of the man who will do anything to torture me, even beyond the grave.
I hurry to Elizabeth’s side, trying to calm her. “We need to be strong now,” I say. “She will be with us shortly. We must make her feel safe.”
Elizabeth looks at me with bloodshot eyes. “How can you just watch that and be so calm?”
“I’m not,” I say stiffly. “I am horrified. I just know that me crying and panicking isn’t going to help! We need to help Mary move on, then somehow find some way to stop him before he does it again.”
I look back at her broken body as her ghost comes into view. “Poor thing.”
Elizabeth walks over to her. “It is okay,” Elizabeth coos.
Mary’s eyes are wild. She is holding her throat. “Am I dead?” she asks, her voice hoarse.
“Yes,” I say and walk to Elizabeth’s side. “You must move on.”
She looks at my dress, then at my face. “You look like me.”
I gulp. “Yes.”
“Charles said he’d never hurt me.” She sobs. “My father needs me. He is home, sick. That’s the only reason I was allowing Charles to court me. We needed money. I am all my father has. I need to get back to him.” Tears stream down her red, blotchy cheeks. Her breath hitches. “My father will die without me!”
She falls to her knees, hyperventilating, clawing at the skirt of her dress. “Help me!” she screams.
Elizabeth kneels in front of her. “You can see him before you pass over,” she says with a steady tone. “There is nothing you can do to get back to him, but you can stay with him until he passes if you wish to.”
She looks up at Elizabeth, wide-eyed. “Why did he kill me?”
I draw in a deep breath. “Charles is actually Jack, and Jack is my uncle. It is…complicated.”
I see confusion sweep her petite features until the familiar look of realisation sets. “He killed me because I look like you, didn’t he?” she screeches. “What is your name?”
My bottom lip trembles. I feel a lump in my throat. “Raven.”
Her mouth twists in anger. “He shouted your name when he killed me! I am dead because of you!” She stands up and lunges at me.
Elizabeth holds her back, and I fall backwards, almost tripping.
“I am sorry. I never intended on you dying or anything. I am sorry that you and I look alike, but that is all I can be sorry for. I had no part in this!”
She grinds her teeth, shakes Elizabeth’s grip, and takes a
step back. “I am going back to my father.” Her eyes are brimming with tears. She turns and tries to steady herself against the wall but falls through it. I hurry over to her, but she pushes me away. Elizabeth takes her hand instead and helps her to her feet.
Elizabeth smiles. “You need to focus to feel the object and you will be able to sit on chairs and lean on walls. It does take time. You won’t be able to move anything, but you can feel things, just not people.”
Mary’s jaw drops. “Who makes these rules?” She looks up at the black sky. “Perhaps this is just a dream.”
I reach out and touch her arm. She flinches. “I assure you, you are not. I am sorry, Mary, but I am not the enemy. I want to help you.”
She moves her arm away from my touch. “I don’t want your help.” She looks at Elizabeth. “Thank you for your kindness, but I must leave.”
Mary looks down the alley toward the street. She lifts her skirt and runs.
“She was rude,” I say.
Elizabeth gives me an incredulous look. “She just died,” she says, her voice going up an octave. “Show some compassion.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I guess I have never been the compassionate type.”
Elizabeth relaxes. “You are.” She exhales slowly. “You’re just all logic. All that is, not what it could be.”
I arch an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
She points over at the moon. “When you look at the moon, you see it as the moon and that is all.”
Is Elizabeth going mad?
“Of course I do. It is the moon. What else could it be?”
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkle. “Magic. A symbol throughout the ages. Life and death. It is always there. It shows us that there is more than what we know or understand. It is light in the darkness, the pull on the ocean, a beacon to those afraid.”
I let her words sink in. We are both silent for a moment. It’s peaceful. I look at the moon and imagine it for what she said. I see the white glow around the circle. “You see the beauty in everything, Elizabeth.”
“Don’t you?”
Her words strike a chord with me. Perhaps I used to, once upon a time, when I was an innocent.
“No.”
She places her hand on my shoulder. “That is the saddest thing I have heard in a long time.”
Three
After getting in late last night, I conked out pretty quickly. My dreams were plagued with flashbacks of the murder I had witnessed, and Mary’s harsh words have been circling in my mind all night.
The sun shines through the shutters on the window. I rub my eyes and stifle a yawn. My thoughts quickly drift back to my uncle.
How can I stop a man I cannot touch, talk to, hurt, or bear witness to? Think, Raven, think. I need to find a way to put a stop to this! How can I make myself heard?
I gasp as an idea flits to my mind.
Miss Kaye.
I jump off the bed and hurry down the stairs and through the door.
I walk up the street and stop on the bridge, taking a minute to look over the edge down at the Thames river. Its murky depths call to me. There are souls of the forgotten trapped down there. I can hear their screams. Sometimes, when people die, they get trapped in the place where they die. Only those who accept their death can move on, or like me, they wander the earth until they eventually fade away. When you die, you’re supposed to either move on or complete your unfinished business so you can move on. You’re not supposed to willingly stay, and those who do end up with shattered souls. They eventually fade from existence. That’s what happened to my mother, Alice. I haven’t seen her ghost for two years, which can only mean the worst.
I’ve learned a lot about death since I’ve died. I have learned that we can come back if we choose to, after we cross over to the other side. Most souls do end up coming back and living another life as another person. However, if you do live another life, you don’t have any memories of your past life. That’s why I have chosen to stay here as a ghost, because at least I can remember who I am. I’m not ready to move on yet, not until my uncle has been stopped and Emmett has been saved.
Strangely, I am learning more in death than I learned in life. Everything happens for a reason, so me being dead must mean I was meant to stay here as a ghost — at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Before I died I had truly believed that I loved Tom, the red-haired goofball with a face smattered with freckles and a lopsided grin. He was light, upbeat, funny, and he was stuck with me when he was a ghost. However, the more time I spend dead, the more I realise I cared for him like family, a friend, but not romantically. He is a beautiful person, but he does not have my heart. He has gone back home to Cogsworth, and I have chosen to stay in London, which tells me a lot about how I truly feel.
I have also learned that sometimes in life we are here to be a lesson to others. My death was a lesson to all those who wanted to draw darkness into their lives. Unfortunately, Emmett is hell-bent on getting me back and doesn’t care about the consequences of drawing darkness in. He feels responsible for my death when he shouldn’t. I chose to die to bring them back after the thing living inside of me took over my body and went on a killing rampage. Thankfully, my gift of Sight meant I could bend the rules, and now both Tom and Emmett are alive because I died.
I reach the shop and look up at the sign: Miss Kaye’s Boutique.
I laugh. It’s all a front for a divination business she runs for wealthy people who believe in supernatural forces and fortune telling. She pays off various officials throughout London so she won’t be arrested. London is more corrupt than I ever imagined, and you can guarantee that Miss Kaye takes advantage of that. The only thing that confuses me is her need for souls. Why would she want people killed, good or bad?
I walk through the door and into the shop. I hurry over to a red curtain that separates the front of the shop from the back where the real practices happen. I look back at the mannequins and dresses and childishly wish I could change what I’m wearing. I miss wearing different dresses and outfits.
I hear her wispy voice as I enter the room. “For five more guineas, I will tell you if it will be a boy or girl.” She looks up and sees me but doesn’t say anything. How can she? She would look crazy.
The expectant mother and her husband hand her the coins, and she drops them into her pocket at the front of her white dress.
She lifts one arched brow, until it is only inches from the cascades of her red hair. Her hair falls like silk around her ample bosom and down to her waist.
She shuffles an odd-looking deck of cards that I’ve never seen before and makes a few “mmms” and “ahhhs”.
“You will be blessed with a girl this summer.”
The man, who I presume is the husband, looks aggravated. “We want a boy.”
She pulls the cards back into a stack. “I can’t change fates, just read them.”
He stands up. His fists are balled up at his sides. “This is a load of rubbish. Come on, love.”
The meek and pregnant wife quickly hurries to his side. They push back the curtain and storm out of the shop.
I look after them, wide-eyed.
“What do you want?” Miss Kaye asks from behind me.
I turn to look at her. She’s shuffling the deck of cards. “I need your help, but first I want to know why you collect souls.”
She smirks. “That’s one heck of a demand, love. Why on earth would I tell you that?”
I bite my lip. What can I even say to that?
She takes my silence as an answer. “I don’t need to tell you anything. In fact, you need to stay out of here. The only reason I haven’t collected you is because Emmett needs you. You are my bargaining chip, and I need strong men to give me what I want.”
“The souls,” I say.
She nods but doesn’t elaborate. “Now get out of here.” She points at the sign next to the red curtain, which reads: Do Not Pass Without Appointment.
I place my hand on
my hip. “Doesn’t that only count for the living?”
She narrows her gaze. “Oh goodie, a joker. Well, I’m not the humorous type, nor do I care for that childish teenage attitude. Get out of here.”
I grind my teeth. “It’s not right what you’re doing.”
She places her hand on her heart. “Don’t be naïve, girl. This is the way the world turns. It has since the dawn of time. No positive can exist without a negative.” She waves her hand dismissively.
“I need your help.”
She rolls her expressive violet eyes. They match her aura, which is unlike any I have ever seen. It is violet, black, and white. It swirls together, spiralling in such mesmerizing patterns that one could get quite lost in it if they stared at it for too long.
“Please,” I say. “There is a man, my uncle. He is a murderer. I need to stop him.”
She stands up and starts arranging her stones and runes on the back table. Her red curls fall around her face. “Why would I help you? You have nothing to offer me.”
I sit down on her chair. “I can spy.I am a ghost after all. No one can see me but you.”
She stands straight and strokes her chin. “I’m not the only psychic around these parts, but the chances of you running into one of them is unlikely.” She pauses. “I guess I could use your help.”
I clasp my hands together. “Perfect.”
“And in return? Tell the police about your uncle?”
I bite my lip. “No.”
They won’t know who to look for. I need to make him the prime suspect.
“I need you to write a letter,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “A letter?”
I nod. “To Scotland Yard from my uncle.”
She half-smirks. “Now that I can do.”
She pulls out some paper. “What do you want me to write?”
“Address it to The Boss,” I say. “We need it to be taken seriously.”
Miss Kaye looks to her left at the newspaper and grabs it. “Is this the man?”
I look at the paper. “Yes. Mary Nicholls. She was killed.” I lower my head. “I saw it happen.”
