Restless Spirits, page 11
part #1 of Spirits Series
Lizzie glanced briefly at Henry, then back to Gladfield. “Reyer is not a spirit any of us want to encounter. My advice to you is to end the experiment immediately, begin packing, and have us all on the train south by nightfall.”
Vincent sagged in relief. Lizzie agreed, so his alarm hadn’t just been a product of the fear that had stalked him for months.
“Are you saying you refuse to conduct a séance to try to exorcize Reyer’s ghost?” Gladfield asked.
For a long moment, Lizzie didn’t reply, the struggle clear on her face. No doubt she thought of the five hundred dollars, of all the things the money could buy. Of saving the shop, the last thing they had of Dunne.
Her shoulders slumped fractionally. “Yes, Mr. Gladfield. It’s simply too dangerous.”
A surprised grin slowly spread across Henry’s features. “You’re forfeiting the contest. I’ve won!”
“Are you insane?” Vincent turned to look at him full on, and the sight of elation on Henry’s face was like a blow to his chest. “Didn’t you hear what Lizzie said? What I said? Even with your ghost grounder, we can’t risk this!”
Henry’s smile faltered. “I...”
“Mr. Night.” Gladfield wasn’t pleased with him, not at all. Right then, Vincent didn’t particularly give a damn. “Perhaps you don’t understand what’s at stake here. This is a very valuable property, and I mean to have it exorcised. One of the best times for contacting a ghost, unless I am mistaken, is the anniversary of its death, which is why I chose this week for the contest. If Mr. Strauss is willing to make the attempt, he shall, without any further interference from you.” Gladfield’s annoyed gaze moved to Henry’s face. “And Mr. Strauss, don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ll have your five hundred dollars only when—and if—you dispose of the ghost.”
Henry glanced at Vincent, uncertainty in his eyes. For a moment, Vincent let himself hope Henry realized what a terrible idea this was.
Then Henry’s shoulders went back. “I intend to, Mr. Gladfield. We’ll conduct the Electro-Séance as soon as I can put my equipment in place. This house will be free of ghosts by sundown.”
~ * ~
“Pardon me, Mr. Strauss,” Bamforth said from the doorway. “A man just came from the train station—he delivered this packet for you.”
Henry stood in his bedroom, straightening his collar in the mirror. He and Jo had spent the last two hours moving their equipment into Reyer’s bedroom, which seemed the most likely place to summon the spirit, given the activity noted by the cold spots and the Franklin bells. Having finished all the preparations, he had retreated to his own room, determined to look his best for his moment of triumph.
Miss Devereaux had helped prove the case for the weakness of the human element, and had done so without any prompting from him. The way to victory was now clear. He had only to operate the Electro-Séance effectively, and the five hundred dollars would be his. He’d convert the repair shop into a full laboratory where he could invent ever better ways of bringing the spirit world under control, banishing superstition and fear to the dusty past where they belonged. Jo’s future would be secure.
Best of all, the Psychical Society would be forced to admit he’d been right all along. Perhaps they’d even beg him to become society president, a post he’d regretfully have to decline, as his work would keep him far too busy.
Yet his triumph came at the cost of Vincent’s loss. Its shadow prevented him from savoring it as he should have.
Vincent. The genuine alarm on his face had given Henry pause. He’d said something last night about a death. But of course the medium hadn’t seen the Electro-Séance in operation, didn’t realize how powerful it could be. Once he did, he’d surely come around to Henry’s side. He’d see science could make things safe, realize he’d been fighting for a way of life that brought harm instead of helped.
“Thank you, Bamforth,” Henry said, taking the mail. Bamforth nodded and left, shutting the door behind him again.
The large envelope weighed heavy in Henry’s hand, and a quick perusal revealed it was the packet he’d been expecting from the blasted detective. Not much point in looking at it now, as it was too late to be of any use. Still, there might be something of interest...
A sharp knock sounded. “Henry?” Vincent demanded. “Are you in there?”
Curse it. Henry hurriedly tossed the packet onto the bottom of the wardrobe and shut its door. “Yes—come in.”
Vincent strode purposefully into the room. The medium’s copper skin was flushed, and his black brows drawn down. “Are you insane? Didn’t you hear anything we said? Or have you convinced yourself we’re a pair of frauds, no better than Isaac?”
Henry stiffened at the anger in Vincent’s voice, as well as the mention of Isaac. “I might have believed you a fraud at first, but I don’t think so any longer,” Henry replied, fighting to keep his voice calm. “And yes, I heard you.”
“You just don’t believe us.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Vincent shut the door and crossed the room. Henry stepped back, his shoulders colliding with the wardrobe. Vincent took advantage, hands closing on Henry’s arms, pinning him against the wooden doors. “Listen to me,” Vincent said. Their thighs brushed together. “You wish to prove your gadgets can dispel a haunting? Do so. But not this one.”
Henry stiffened. His heart beat faster at Vincent’s closeness, and he cursed the treacherous organ. “I’ll not turn my back on five hundred dollars without good reason.”
“Good reason?” Vincent’s hands gripped his arms, almost tight enough to bruise. “What about your cousin’s safety? Miss Prandle’s? Bamforth’s?”
“I understand you’re concerned. I’ll take every possible precaution, I swear.”
“People have died trying to exorcise violent ghosts.” Vincent’s lips pressed together as if to hold in the next words. “My own mentor among them, and he knew more about the spirit world than I will in a lifetime.”
As Henry had suspected—the death Vincent had mentioned did play into his reluctance to accept Henry’s assurances. “Tell me,” Henry said. “Please.”
Vincent’s eyes lowered as if he couldn’t bring himself to meet Henry’s gaze. “Do you know what a medium is? Really?”
“Someone who can sense spirits, of course.”
But Vincent shook his head. “We’re holes in the veil between the lands of the living and the dead. Some are pinpricks, open to receiving vague impressions or the occasional premonition. But others of us...we’re walking, talking gateways, just waiting for something to come along from the other side and use us. Without proper training, we’re vulnerable to possession, psychic sickness, insanity, and a host of other horrors.”
The darkness in Vincent’s eyes tugged at something deep inside Henry’s chest. “I didn’t realize.”
“Many of us end up dead or in madhouses before anyone ever realizes we have a talent in need of training.” Vincent bit his lip in a flash of white teeth. “Lizzie and I were lucky. We both had the same mentor. James Dunne. He was a good medium, but more. A good man. The best I ever met.”
The anger had drained from Vincent’s voice, leaving behind only weary grief. “What happened?” Henry asked softly.
Vincent’s grip relaxed, and he bowed his head. “Dunne and I went to remove what we thought was a simple poltergeist. It had tormented a family, particularly their young son, for months. No one else had been able to help. The ghost was violent. Angry.” A shudder went through Vincent’s slender frame. “But I was confident. I talked Dunne into staying despite all the dangers.”
There was only one way this story was going to end. “Things didn’t go as planned, I take it.”
“You might say that.” Vincent released Henry and stepped back. Folding his arms across his chest, he turned away and stared out the window. Fat flakes of snow drifted past lazily. “When I opened myself to the spirit, it took control of me completely. Not like when Lizzie did her spirit writing, but a full possession. It used my body, my energy, to attack Dunne, and I couldn’t stop it. I was a prisoner inside my own skull. I couldn’t even scream.”
Oh God. Henry tentatively touched Vincent’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” It sounded inadequate, but what else could he say?
Vincent flinched away as if he couldn’t bear any gesture of comfort. “It killed him. Wearing my skin. Dunne did everything for me, and that was how I repaid his kindness. Believe me when I say I understand the danger this ghost poses to all of us.”
Henry’s breath caught in dismay. Poor Vincent. How must he feel? What horrors must still visit him in the small hours of the night? “You were very brave to come here at all.”
For a moment, Vincent looked surprised, as if it had never occurred to him. Then he shook his head. “I’m not brave. Stupid, perhaps. Desperate, certainly. What good is a medium afraid to channel spirits? I haven’t so much as read the cards for anyone since. I try to be useful to Lizzie, but the truth is, I’m just dragging her down with me. I killed Dunne, and now because of me, we’re going to lose his shop, the only thing we have left of him. Lizzie thought if we won the five hundred dollars...” He sighed. “But the money isn’t worth dying for.”
“Of course not.” Henry moved closer, and this time Vincent didn’t pull away from his touch. “Don’t you see, though? The Electro-Séance isn’t a person. It can’t be possessed. What happened to your mentor—to you—was terrible. Tragic. But I can prevent such a tragedy from ever happening again.”
“Maybe you can.” Vincent’s agreement took him by surprise. “But find another haunting to test your theories. A ghost that doesn’t realize it’s dead, or one enacting the scene of its demise again and again—one that isn’t violent, isn’t dangerous. Not this one.”
Henry sighed. “Your experience has colored your reaction. No matter how dangerous or violent this ghost was in life, it still must obey certain principles now. The Electro-Séance—”
“Curse you, listen to me.” Vincent’s expression hardened. “You still think spirits are—are cogs in a machine. Chemicals you can combine and get a known reaction from. But they aren’t. They used to be human—perhaps still are—and they have plans and minds of their own. You think you can call them up and banish them at will, like some sort of party trick. The way Isaac pretended to call up your father on demand. But you’re wrong, dangerously so, and I fear to contemplate who else will pay the price for your hubris.”
“It isn’t hubris to try and help people,” Henry shot back. “As long as you refuse to allow even the possibility of scientific help, more people will suffer. At least I’m doing something to change things for the better. What are you doing except hiding from your fear?”
Vincent’s eyes widened—then narrowed sharply even as his cheeks darkened with anger. “I see. Very well. Good day to you, Mr. Strauss.”
The door slammed behind him, leaving Henry alone in the room.
Chapter 12
Vincent stood at the doorway of what had been Francis Reyer’s bedroom on the second floor. Of course Henry had decided to set up his séance equipment here, where evidence of spectral activity had been high. Henry might have tried to draw the ghost somewhere else, like a hunter luring a beast from a cave. But such a plan would have been too sensible—why not just march right into monster’s lair instead?
Henry and his cousin had dragged the furniture back to the walls, save for the desk, which they’d put near the center of the room. They’d placed their Wimshurst machine on the desk, along with a host of measuring instruments: galvanometer, thermometer, barometer, even a water-filled contraption Henry referred to as a dispeller.
Vincent glared silently at Henry as he checked the equipment a final time. Vincent had revealed the most painful moment of his life, opened his heart, and what had Henry done in return? Accused him of hiding, of not doing enough. Of not even trying to make things better. As if Vincent hadn’t been doing his best to keep them all safe, even when no one wanted to listen to his warnings.
Well, the devil could take Henry Strauss for all Vincent cared.
“We should have packed and been out the door, on the way to the train station,” he muttered to Lizzie, who stood beside him in the doorway. Everyone else had crowded into the room to watch Henry and Miss Strauss prepare for the séance.
“Perhaps,” Lizzie murmured back. “But I wish to view the operation of Mr. Strauss’s Electro-Séance. It may yet catch fire or fail to perform.” She hesitated. “And Dunne wouldn’t have just left Miss Prandle and Miss Strauss to suffer the foolishness of others.”
“Dunne recruited me,” Vincent said, pulling his flask from his pocket. “So what did he know?”
Lizzie gave him a quelling glare, which he ignored in favor of sipping from the flask. The amulet hung heavy around his neck, reminding him of the consequences of failure.
Maybe that was why he was still here. As long as he wore the amulet, he couldn’t be possessed. If he was a gateway, as he’d told Henry, the amulet was the seal keeping it shut. He didn’t have to be afraid, for himself at least.
And if his hand shook so badly it took two tries to screw the cap back on the flask...well, he wouldn’t think about it. He’d concentrate on the séance and pull Miss Strauss and Miss Prandle clear of the room should things go awry.
And perhaps things wouldn’t. Maybe Henry was right, and he and his untried equipment could handily remove the angry ghost of a man who had killed before and after death. At the moment, Vincent devoutly hoped things would go just as Henry believed, with the ghost removed and Henry strolling away with the prize money. Certainly it would be a far better outcome than the one Vincent feared.
“We’re almost ready to begin,” Henry declared. “We’ve set the desk beneath the strongest cold spot. We’ll ground the rest of the cold spots, then begin the summoning. Jo?”
She picked up the thermometer. Henry pulled on his heavy rubber glove and picked up the copper rod, whose wire was already attached to the lightning rod outside the window. The two cousins went around the room, finding the surplus spots and draining their energy.
Vincent pulled his amulet from beneath his clothes, wrapping his hand tightly around it until the edges almost cut into his palm. Sick fear whispered along his nerves, and he tasted old metal and rust.
Something in Reyhome Castle had taken notice of Henry’s actions.
“There we are,” Henry said, sounding satisfied. “All extraneous cold spots taken care of, so any spirit we summon won’t be able to draw off the energy of the room through them. Now, there is one more step before we attempt contact.”
As Henry spoke, Jo began to set up a strange device, almost like a telegraph line: wooden posts surmounted by glass insulators, with wires connecting them. Soon they formed a circle around the table. “I call this the phantom fence,” Henry said proudly. “Once the spirit manifests, we’ll attach the wires to a battery. The current will prevent the spirit from crossing out of the circle.”
“Why not just use salt?” Gladfield asked.
“Salt is too easily disturbed,” Henry replied. “An accidental scrape of the foot or a gust of strong wind, and suddenly the spirit is free. The phantom fence removes all uncertainty.”
“I’m not sure I understand how it works,” Miss Prandle said with a small frown.
“Being composed of electromagnetic fields themselves, ghosts can be disrupted by other, stronger fields.” Henry patted one of the fence posts like a proud father. “At the moment, the wires are inert, but as soon as a current moves through them, a field will be generated. The ghost won’t be able to approach without dispersing itself.”
The idea, Vincent had to admit, was clever. Maybe even brilliant. Lizzie tilted her head toward Vincent. “He certainly seems to have thought of everything.”
“Yes,” Vincent murmured. The taste in his mouth grew stronger, and the back of his neck prickled.
Gladfield noticed their quiet conversation. “Come now, won’t our mediums draw nearer? At least join the rest of us outside Mr. Strauss’s fence. No reason for Mr. Night to stand there imitating a cigar store Indian.”
For the first time since Vincent had taken up position in the doorway, Henry looked at him. The gaslights threw reflections across his spectacles, but his mouth turned down into an unhappy frown.
God. Vincent was an idiot to let it affect him. To care what Henry thought. But he found himself shuffling closer, Lizzie behind him.
“If you’ll shut the door, please, to keep out the light?” Henry asked. The man sounded uncertain, as if he thought Vincent might yell at him to close the damned door himself.
With a sigh, Vincent shut the door. Henry smiled, perhaps taking the action as an indicator Vincent was no longer angry with him. “Thank you. Bamforth, if you’d be so good as to draw the curtains and put out the lights except for the candle.”
A swish of curtains, and the gloomy sunlight vanished, along with the sight of snow slowly piling up against the panes. Within moments, the room had been plunged into near darkness, with only the dim candle to provide any illumination. The tang of iron grew sharply stronger, and Vincent leaned back against the door, feeling the solid wooden planks against his shoulder blades. A chill passed over his skin, the small hairs of his ears vibrating in response, as if something unseen had let out a nasty chuckle.
“Jo, crank the Wimshurst machine,” Henry ordered.
She did as he asked. The tick-tick of the machine’s rotating disks sounded in almost total silence, as if everyone in the room held their breath. The first loud crack of electricity leaping from one metal ball to the other made Vincent’s heart jump; given the small motions from Miss Prandle and Lizzie, he wasn’t the only one startled.
“We wish to make contact with the spirit of Francis Reyer,” Henry proclaimed in a clear voice. “If the one known as in life Francis Reyer is here with us, use the energy provided by the machine and show yourself!”
~ * ~
