by Kate Danley
"Why her?" said Marguerite, trying to keep the conversation going so that the members of the Quatre Portes would not attack. "She is just a widow."
"Why, she can talk to the dead. She can see them. And it would be so helpful to have an interpreter for when I bring down the walls between life and death!”
"Never!" shouted Clara.
Her answer seemed to anger Trevor. His eyes flashed dangerously. "I hoped we would not have to resort to unpleasant methods, but very well." He swung the staff towards an opening. From the darkness, two more ghostly figures exactly like the ones that had been stalking Clara's house entered. Between them, Red struggled against their grip. Trevor swung his staff the other way and the floor opened up. Six people rushed Marguerite and grabbed her up by the arms and legs, lifting her off the ground though she twisted and turned. They held her over the opening, ready to drop her at Trevor's command.
Marguerite and Red were pushed to the edge. Clara could see the tomb inside. It was filled with treasures.
"I tried to rebuild their tomb…" Peter tried to explain to her. "I tried to stop it!"
But even worse was that the pit was filled with the skeletal remains of several humans. Marguerite’s face paled and she stopped moving. “My god,” she said.
Trevor looked around at her, amused. “Recognize someone do you, Marguerite?”
Her voice choked. “Is that him?”
“Him who?” asked Clara, warily.
Trevor smiled. “Indeed. The bones of your dearly departed husband, Marguerite, litter this grave. And you thought he had run off!”
“How could you!” she screamed, pulling against her captors. “How could you!”
“The ancient Egyptians always buried servants with their dead, and you all shall be sealed with my mother in this tomb. You shall serve her in the afterlife! Upon my command, slit their throats and push them in!” Trevor said, but then turned to Clara. “Of course, you could put a stop to all of this.”
"Don't do it!" shouted Red.
"Shall we put your skills to the test and see if you are truly able to speak with the dead?” Trevor said. "Join me, Clara! Or the only way you will ever seen your friends again is if their ghosts haunt you!"
“Would you like a message from beyond the grave?” Clara asked. “Well, one of your victims has come to seek justice!”
Smoke filled the room and a great crashing noise came from the doorway. Flames flared from the ground, and when they lowered, they revealed Wesley. He had painted his face with red and black, as if he actually had been burned at the prison. He raised his fists and shook them, the chains on his wrist clanging menacingly.
“BEWARE!” Wesley cried. “All in my sight are cursed!”
Trevor paled. "But he is dead! I killed him!"
Several of the men around the grave dropped their candles and, terrified, scrambled away. Wesley lifted the chains he carried and clanked them loudly, crying and moaning. In the mayhem, Marguerite and Red tried to fight off their captors. Indeed, if Clara had not known the plan, she would have run away in fright, too. Wesley had pulled out every charlatan trick in his book and his presentation of himself as a ghost was utterly convincing.
But Trevor peered through the smoke and shadows, and his face twisted from fear to anger. He was not fooled. "Take them to the tomb below and prepare them for sacrifice!" The remaining members of the Quatre Portes ran down one of the hallways with their prisoners in tow. Trevor then pointed at Wesley and cried, “Die!” He clenched his fist to stop Wesley's heart.
But he did not know that Wesley carried a secret weapon. Wesley pulled the scarab out of his pocket and held up the necklace. The scarab began to shake from all of the power it was absorbing. Even though Wesley held it on its string, the thread began to go slack as the scarab lifted. He reached out with his other hand, as slow and deliberate as if he was pushing against a strong current. And then slowly, ever so slowly, he turned the scarab until it was facing Trevor.
But the attack on Wesley brought with it the anger of a sister who had long since appointed herself as his protector. The temperature of the mausoleum dipped to a dangerous level.
"Minnie…" Clara whispered.
The force which entered the room was like a hurricane. It knocked aside Trevor's arm and broke his focus. He growled in anger.
What Trevor and Wesley could not see was that Minnie was in a fight for her brother's life, wrestling with the haunted sentries Trevor had brought back from the grave.
Frustrated, Trevor switched tactics. "Find the ruby!" he shouted at the ghoulish dead he had sent to stalk Clara’s house. Trevor pointed his staff. The remaining sentries turned and looked at Peter. Though he could not see them, the weak man turned tail and ran.
At once, Trevor was off in fast pursuit. Clara looked back. Wesley was being held in a protective bubble by his sister. Though he banged on the walls of his metaphysical cocoon, he could not get out. Clara realized it was up to her. Clara lifted up her skirts and ran after Peter and Trevor. She would not allow one more death on her watch.
Caskets of the dead lined the walls. It was that same hallway which haunted her dreams. There were red, glowing eyes in the darkness and the shadows of terrible shapes. The mausoleum was a maze of tombs.
They ran down, down, down the winding passageways of the mausoleum, down into the pit that Trevor's cohorts had brought Red and Marguerite.
Red and Marguerite had been chained spread eagle upon a stone altar. The four remaining members of the Quatre Portes circled them with long, pointed knives in their hands, murmuring a discordant chant. Four doors were placed in the room, one on each wall.
Peter was backed into a corner and Trevor had him by the throat. In Peter's hand, he swung a small bag, which he tried to use to bludgeon Trevor, but Trevor grabbed it from his hand and opened it.
He withdrew the ruby.
As he withdrew it, the entire tomb fell into silence. Slowly, quietly, the dead began to wake, their ghosts coming out of the walls and tombs. Clara looked up and Minnie stood mesmerized and powerless upon the lip of the room. All the ghosts in the room were fixated on that ruby.
"You were carrying the ruby in your trousers all this time, Peter? Let's be honest, it was the closest thing to stones you've ever had." Trevor turned to Clara and smiled. "And now, I rule the spirits of both the living and the dead. I hold the power! Join me! Or die and serve me from the other side!"
The members of the Quatre Portes lowered their knives to either side of Marguerite and Red's neck. A trickle of blood darkened the altar where the knife nicked the cab driver.
It was then that Clara removed a box from the pocket of her skirts, the box she had found hidden in her beloved's things. She now understood it was a gift from her husband left to protect her.
She removed the lid and lifted the emerald up high overhead. A great wind swirled through the chamber, throwing open three of the four doors. The wind caught the four members of the Quatre Portes and with a terrifying sound, it sucked them out of the room and into the blackness beyond. They would not be rising again.
But more than that, standing there in the room were the ghosts of all who had died. Peter Nero's daughter. His wife. Lord Horace Oroberg and his son, Clifford. Norman Scettico. The faithful butler Gilbert. Minnie. Mrs. Nan. Mr. Willard. Victor Nero. Alastair Beltza. Julie Grey. And finally, Clara's own beloved Thomas.
They all grabbed onto Trevor. Screaming, he clawed away, but made their way towards the final door in the room.
Clara realized what it was she was meant to do. She ran towards the door and tugged on the handle. It burst open and Clara shielded her face with her arm. The light which emerged was red and hot. The air reeked of sulfur and brimstone. As one writhing beast, the ghosts held Trevor Beltza up to the door and then threw him in.
Instantly, all four doors slammed shut and all of the ghosts disappeared. Their work on the planet was now done.
All except for one.
The room was still.
It was as if time itself had stopped. Everything was dark except for the glow of Thomas's ghost as he stepped towards her. His fingers reached out to brush against her cheek. It felt like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. Tears pricked in her eyes. Mrs. Nan had told her that the day would come when she looked upon her time with Thomas with gratitude, that she would be happy for the time they had together, and would not look upon the rest of her days with loss. Clara turned her head to kiss his palm, knowing it was no more real than trying to kiss the mist. Indeed, the day had come. Indeed, her heart now felt only gladness for their time, knowing now that his memory made her days brighter instead of sapping the color from them.
"Goodbye," she whispered.
A door of light appeared on the far wall. He turned from Clara to look upon it. There was such longing on his face.
"You should go," she whispered again.
His smile was tender as he nodded and slowly walked away. He placed his hand on the knob and as he opened the door, the room was filled with such peace. He turned for one last moment, the light behind him causing his dark, blonde hair to glow like a halo. "Do not fear to live and love again, for watching your sadness was worse than death. Do not die while you are still alive, my love. I shall be waiting for you," he said. "Live and love for me…"
"I shall," said Clara, thinking of Wesley in the other room. "I have…"
25
Clara ran over to the altar and quickly untied Marguerite and Red. The ground beneath them began to rumble. Both of her friends were unconscious and she gentle tapped their cheeks trying to get them to wake up.
"What happened?" asked Red, stirring.
The ground rumbled again and this time, dust fell from the ceiling.
"We are in grave danger," said Clara, "and Marguerite is still unconscious. I need your help!"
Red was on his feet in an instant and threw Marguerite over his shoulder.
"Can I aid you?" asked Clara.
He shook his head. "I've got her."
Just then, there was a weak groan from the corner of the room. Clara ran over as another tremor hit. Peter Nero was coming to. She grabbed his hands and hauled him to his feet. "Hurry!" she urged.
She stood, looking at the four doors, unsure which would lead them out. Peter stumbled to one. "Follow me! I know the way!"
Without another moment's hesitation, they all followed after him. The next tremor to hit was strong enough to send a pillar crashing to the floor and the tunnel behind them caved.
"Faster!" cried Clara.
They emerged in the main room and Wesley was coming to. Clara ran over to him, throwing his arm around her neck and trying to lift his weight. Peter came over to give her a hand and together, they carried him out.
They raced out of the mausoleum and the entrance crashed down behind them as the entire structure imploded and caved in on itself. They raced down the white gravel path through the graveyard. There was no sign of any of the Quatre Portes who had escaped. At the front gates, Red’s carriage waited as if nothing had happened.
Red gently placed Marguerite inside the carriage and then raced back to help Clara and Peter with Wesley.
Red handed Peter his coat to cover up his next to naked body. "With me, sir," he said to Peter, indicating the man should ride up top with him.
Peter Nero did not need a second invitation.
Clara leapt inside, feeling safe for the first time the entire night. “Drive!” shouted Clara as another tremor struck and the entire walkway they had traveled fell into the earth. The cab took off with a lurch, Daisy careening through the streets, and they did not stop until they reached Clara’s house on the square.
26
Red did not even bother to pull up to the front door. He pulled his cab around to the back entrance and everyone clamored inside through the kitchen. Wesley and Marguerite had regained consciousness and Clara informed them of everything that had happened. Marguerite seemed especially struck when Clara told her how Red carried her out of the tomb himself.
Red was clutching his neck where the blade had grazed. Just a moment later and he would have been dead. Marguerite pressed her handkerchief to the bleeding. "Just a scratch," she said with soft tenderness very unlike her.
"Ooch! Let me get you cups of tea!" said Mrs. Nan. "I declare, Clara. The hours you all find yourselves up to adventures…" Mrs. Nan stopped herself. "Is that Peter Nero?"
The man stood awkwardly in the kitchen wringing his hat. "I am afraid it is."
Mrs. Nan stared at him. It was the first time Clara had ever seen hatred in the woman's eyes. "You'll be needing to leave, I expect," said Mrs. Nan coldly.
Clara touched the woman's arm. "It is not as it seems."
"And how does it seem? It seems that fifteen years ago, his daughter killed us. It seems that six months ago, his actions killed your husband. And it seems that he is standing in my kitchen."
"I am sorry," said Peter. "I did not… I mean…"
"What he is trying to say was that he was as much a victim of these circumstances as we were."
Peter shuffled uncomfortably. "Mrs. O'Hare, your husband took the money upon my direction. I knew what the Quatre Portes was trying to do and I told him to purchase the emerald in case I failed. I am wholly responsible for his death. I have been the one sending you your pension every month. I felt so terrible about everything that happened. I just wanted it to end. For fifteen years, I traveled with my family trying to get the urn with the queen's heart back to Egypt, but everywhere we went people died, and I did not know why. This Quatre Portes made me believe that I could contain it. I am afraid I spent the past year and a half building that mausoleum that almost became our tomb. And then Trevor Beltza discovered me. Things went oh so terribly wrong."
No one had any words of comfort for him.
"I must go away," he said apologetically. "There are other artifacts, things I know that the Quatre Portes will hunt me down for. It is better if they believe I died tonight. "
"Please go with our blessing," said Clara.
Peter nodded and turned back. "Again, I am very, very sorry." And then he was gone.
Clara and Wesley walked into the parlor, leaving Marguerite to tend to Red, and to steal a moment alone.
Clara wrapped her arms around Wesley's waist and he pulled her in tight to him.
"It is all over," she said with a giant sigh.
"We must hope that is so."
"The rest of ordinary life will seem so… ordinary," Clara said. "What will you do?"
Wesley rested his cheek upon the top of her head. "Well, according to the police, I perished in that fire, so I suppose the first order of business is to inform them I am still alive and see, now that Trevor Beltza has disappeared without a trace, if the charges still stand."
"And once they have been dropped?"
Wesley sighed. "I suppose I shall have to start all over again on the vaudeville circuit. It shall be quite strange after all we have been through to go back to everyday life."
"Wesley?" asked Clara.
"Hmmm?" he asked.
Clara looked around the house, this dear house on the square which had become her home. "What if we were to go into business together?"
He pulled away from her slightly, both of his hands resting on her arms so that he could get a good look at her and gauge her seriousness. "What exactly is it that you are proposing?"
"Well," she said. "My income will be gone since I am sure Peter can no longer write those checks for my upkeep. Without a pension, I shall have to begin taking in some work. But it would be ever so much better to do something I am actually good at. And I am good at speaking with the dead."
"That you are," said Wesley with a tender smile.
"So what if we were to make a joint venture? Use your reputation and my skill and start up a little parlor here for those who are grieving?"
"What a fascinating prospect," laughed Wesley. "You realize, of course, it would be necessary for us to see each other every
single day."
"I am counting on it," said Clara, holding him even tighter. "In fact, I would be quite heartbroken if a day should pass when I didn't see your face."
There was a moment of weighted silence between them and Clara could tell that Wesley was thinking hard about something.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "There is, of course, some matter of propriety about an unmarried man and a widow going into business together," Wesley pointed out.
"I don't give a fig about propriety," said Clara fiercely. "I will never be parted from you again."
"Perhaps…" he said, "we could ensure that you see my face both every day and every night…"
"What?" said Clara, stepping back from Wesley.
He knelt down on one knee and took her hand in his. "Clara O'Hare, there is no other woman in this world or the next I would rather spend eternity with. Now that I have found you, I cannot, I will not, lose you. Would you do me the honor—"
And before he could even finish the sentence, she had stopped his mouth, answering him with a deep, tearful kiss.
"Yes," she whispered.
"What are you two lovebirds murmuring about?" asked Marguerite, clunking in with Red in tow.
Clara wiped her eyes as Wesley stood with his arm wrapped around her waist. She looked up at him, overwhelmed with happiness and joy. "We were discussing potential business opportunities," said Clara, not quite ready to share their secret yet.
Marguerite laughed. "Funny that you should mention it. Red and I were discussing business opportunities, too."
"Really?" asked Clara, looking curiously at the two of them. Red blushed a bright scarlet fitting of his nickname.
"Fifteen years I have been tracking Peter Nero and didn't even know it," said Marguerite. "But Red here saved our hides more times than I can count and has proven himself braver in the field than any officer I know. Norman and I were partners for many years and worked to solve cases which did not fall within the bounds of normal crimes. I spoke with Red and agreed he would make an excellent member of my investigation team."
