Restless Spirits, page 22
part #1 of Spirits Series
Henry made no reply. He lay on his side in the gathering snow, skin chalky white and shoulder red with blood.
No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Henry would sit up at any moment and laugh, proclaim he’d known all along science would save them at the last.
But he didn’t.
Vincent dragged Henry’s limp form half into his lap. “Your fence worked,” he said again. “I’ve got you. We’re safe in here.”
Henry shivered against him, eyes fluttering open. “I’m cold,” he whispered.
Vincent swallowed, and his throat ached, from cold or fear or grief, he didn’t know. “It’s going to be all right,” he lied.
Henry licked pale lips. “Do you promise?”
How could he? Reyer prowled just outside the fence. Henry’s survival—their survival—meant getting back inside. Past the ghost and into the warmth.
But he had no way of accomplishing that.
The astringent taste of lavender joined the tang of rusty nails.
Reyer growled again, a low, animal sound. The snow swirled madly, and in its shifting curtain, Vincent just made out a woman’s form standing on the other side of the fence. “I told you to leave,” she said to him sadly.
Of course. It wasn’t just Reyer’s death anniversary, after all. It was Martha’s as well.
“I can’t defeat him alone,” she said as if hearing Vincent’s thoughts. “I’m stronger than I have been in a long time, but it isn’t enough.”
“That’s right.” Reyer’s voice was like the scrape of metal on stone, grating and ugly. “You’re mine. All mine. As is everyone in this house.”
Including Henry, unless...
Unless Martha had another source of strength to draw from, to give her enough energy to defeat her husband.
Such as the energy of a medium.
For a moment, his entire body felt numb, as if his flesh couldn’t bear even the thought. Then Henry shifted slightly in his lap, eyes squinting in confusion behind the lenses of his spectacles. “Vincent?”
“Who are you?” Lizzie had asked him the day she’d received the letter from Gladfield. But he’d been too afraid at the time to answer her.
The numbness faded. He’d failed Dunne. Failed himself.
But he’d be damned if he’d fail Henry.
Vincent gently shifted Henry off his lap. Bending down, he kissed Henry’s cold lips with all the tenderness he could muster. “Yes, Henry,” he whispered. “I promise.”
He stood up and faced the two ghosts. Even as Martha turned toward him, he ripped the amulet free from his neck. For the first time in six months, he let it fall to the floor.
“My name is Vincent Night,” he told her. “And I’m the best damned medium on the East Coast.”
Vincent stepped over the perimeter of the fence, opening his mental barriers wide. Martha rushed toward him—
And then she was him.
~ * ~
Rage and grief swirled through Vincent, but it belonged to someone else.
Martha.
Wasted life. Wasted years of torment in this house, before and after death. Accusations and screams: “Whose are they? Who have you slept with, whore?”
“No one, no one! The children are yours!”
“They will be.”
Vincent’s eyes opened—or rather, Martha opened them. In her sight, Reyer was a blotch of darkness on the world, but no longer featureless as a shadow. He’d not been a handsome man in life, and death had made him into something terrible. His mouth gaped into a maw lined with rusted iron nails, and jagged spikes of metal erupted from his arms and legs. Glass and stone formed both clothing and flesh, the house around them a part of him, or he a part of it.
Hungry, glowing eyes fixed on Vincent—no, on Martha. “You think to hide inside his skin?” her husband asked, nail-teeth clattering. “But in truth, you only make it all the easier to reach you.”
Reyer lunged at them, his hands tipped with jagged glass claws, but Martha was ready. Vincent’s body was her puppet; as if from a distance, he felt her lift his left hand. Ectoplasm flowed free, leached from his body, coiling in long, sticky strands around Reyer’s arms.
The spirit let out a roar of outrage and tried to pull away. Never hesitating, Martha grasped the ghost grounder with Vincent’s right hand, bringing it up and stabbing it like a sword directly into her husband’s heart.
~ * ~
“Vincent!” Henry cried even as Vincent stepped out over the fence. But his lover was long past hearing him.
Henry hurt, his entire existence centered around the blaze of agony replacing his left shoulder. A terrible thirst gripped him, his mouth and throat parched as a desert. No strength seemed to remain in any limb, and a numb cold had set in, soaking all the way to his bones.
But Vincent was in danger—that much he understood. He forced his head up just in time to see the spirit of Martha Reyer step toward Vincent...and vanish into him.
Vincent’s body jerked like a glove with a hand thrust into it. Henry caught sight of his eyes rolled so far back in his head only the whites showed.
“No,” Henry whispered and tried to lever himself up out of the snow. But no strength remained in either arm. He collapsed against the icy stones with a whimper.
The writhing black shadow, which must have been Reyer, rushed at Vincent. For a horrible moment Henry wondered if it was possible for both spirits to possess the medium at once. Then Vincent’s hand snapped out.
Writhing tendrils of glowing ectoplasm unfurled, lashing around Reyer. Binding him in place just long enough for Vincent to scoop up the ghost grounder from where Henry had left it.
A subsonic roar rattled Henry’s teeth as Vincent, or the spirit possessing him, impaled Reyer on the copper rod. The blizzard became a hurricane, wind blasting the snow into icy slivers, scouring flesh and stone alike. Henry fought the urge to curl up on himself, to hoard what little heat he had left in his body.
The ghost grounder seemed to be working, the black mass growing less and less substantial. A shimmering haze sprang up around Vincent. “No,” the medium said, not in his voice, but a woman’s. “This ends now!”
Her ectoplasmic coils appeared to grow weaker. Was the copper rod draining Martha as well? Not as rapidly, perhaps, if she had Vincent’s energy to draw from, but fast enough. If she couldn’t hold Reyer, if he escaped again, they would have lost their final chance to stop him.
Henry had to do something. Even his brain felt numb, but he fought against his sluggish thoughts. There had to be some weapon, some tactic. Blinking rapidly, he willed his eyes to focus.
The bag of salt still sat beside the uncovered battery.
Forcing himself to move, even though the pain made him dizzy, Henry fumbled at the wires connecting the battery to the fence. They came loose easily.
The field was down. Nothing now stood between Reyer and the batteries.
Reyer seemed to sense the change. Spotting the same energy source he’d used so easily before, the dark mass tore free of the last coils of ectoplasm and rushed eagerly toward the battery.
Henry used the last of his strength to fling the entire bag of salt onto the ghost.
Reyer’s misty form shredded into a dozen strands. Vincent and Martha pounced from behind, taking advantage of the injury the salt had dealt. Ectoplasmic coils caught hold of Reyer’s form just as it began to coalesce.
And jerked it back. Into Vincent.
Vincent’s body arched, going up on his toes, back curving like a contortionist. There came a flash of light that Henry sensed more than saw with his physical eyes.
Vincent collapsed to the floor and lay there unmoving.
“Vincent?” Henry whispered.
No response. No movement.
It took most of Henry’s remaining strength to drag himself to Vincent’s side. “Vincent?” he asked, his voice cracking. It couldn’t end like this, could it? Dying here together atop the tower?
He touched his fingers to Vincent’s cheek, but his own skin was so numb from the cold he couldn’t tell whether or not Vincent was warm. “Please don’t. Don’t leave me here. Not when I’ve just found you.”
Vincent’s eyelids fluttered.
Henry gasped, hardly daring to believe his senses. Vincent blinked again and turned his head with a moan. For a moment, his black eyes didn’t seem to register Henry at all. Then they widened.
“Henry!” Vincent sat up—or tried to. Bracing himself on one elbow, he winced. “I’m a bit on the weak side. Just give me a moment. Are you all right?”
Henry laughed even though it wasn’t funny. “Do you mean other than having a hole through my shoulder and being scared to death for you?”
“We have to get you inside immediately.” This time, Vincent managed to get to his feet. “Here. Let me help you.”
Vincent more carried him than anything else, but somehow, they made it to the stairwell. “Is Reyer gone?” Henry asked to distract himself from the pain in his shoulder. “Truly gone?”
“Yes. Martha weakened him enough to drag him into the otherworld with her. Without a summoning from this side, he’s gone for good.” Vincent pressed a kiss to the side of Henry’s face, his lips hot against Henry’s chilled skin. “The spirits he kept trapped here will be able to move on as well. Thanks to you. If you hadn’t thought to use the salt, I don’t think we could have defeated him.”
Despite everything, a certain warmth fought its way through the haze of exhaustion and pain. “I’m just glad it worked,” Henry said, leaning his head against the solidity of Vincent’s shoulder. “Now let’s get down the stairs before I pass out.”
Chapter 23
Henry checked the address one final time before entering the apartment building. As he’d committed it to memory days ago, the recheck was more a delaying tactic than anything. Even though he and Vincent had parted on civil terms, after everything that had happened at Reyhome Castle, he wasn’t certain of his reception.
A month had passed since that dark night. Fortunately the blizzard had ceased the next day, and a spell of warm weather meant Jo and Lizzie had gone for help shortly thereafter. By then, Henry had grown feverish from the wound in his shoulder. The prodding of the doctors from town, the journey back to the railway station, had all passed in a haze.
The bullet had broken his collarbone, but fortunately missed the great artery. He still wore a sling to keep his shoulder as immobile as possible, and the journey to New York from Baltimore had left him with a dull, throbbing pain in the healing wound. But he hadn’t dared to put off the trip any longer.
Of course, he could have wired instead. Except he’d been too afraid of receiving only silence as an answer.
Taking a deep breath, he forced his feet to carry him into the apartment building. Although not one of the slum tenements, it was clear the building’s occupants weren’t precisely well-to-do, either. The scent of sauerkraut and boiled greens drifted from the communal kitchen, and a polyglot of accents and languages streamed through the thin walls.
Vincent’s apartment lay on the third floor, at least according to the information the detective had sent. Henry stopped outside the door, heart pounding from more than the climb.
What if Vincent had moved? What if he wasn’t in? What if he was in, but slammed the door in Henry’s face?
What if he was in, but had someone else with him?
“Go see him,” Jo had said two days ago when Henry had been dithering yet again as to whether he should buy a train ticket. “I’ll stay with my friend Millie for a few days. Her mother won’t mind. Anything to get you to stop moping.”
“I’m not moping.”
“Pining, then.” Jo had rolled her eyes. “You miss him. I’m sure he misses you. So stop being such a coward and go.”
“I’m not a coward,” Henry muttered to himself now. Except the fact that he was still standing in the hall, afraid of facing the worst, said otherwise.
Only one thing for it. Squaring his shoulders—and wincing at the resulting flash of pain in the left—Henry knocked sharply on the door.
For a long moment, he thought no one was home. Then the sound of footsteps approached from inside the apartment. The door swung open, and there stood Vincent, in his shirtsleeves and vest, looking just as he had when they’d parted a month ago.
“Henry?” Vincent asked in surprise. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Every suave answer he’d come up with on the train ride deserted him. “Please, don’t slam the door in my face,” Henry blurted out. “I have a proposal for you. Just—just hear me out.”
Vincent leaned against the doorframe, head cocked quizzically. Without a coat to hide his form, his trousers shaped his hips and thighs nicely. The pristine white of his shirt contrasted with his bronze skin, and his black hair glinted in the light. Every iota of desire Henry had felt over those long days at Reyhome Castle came rushing back.
But Vincent wasn’t inviting Henry inside. And his expression remained carefully neutral. Was Henry too late? Or had there ever been a chance to start with?
“I’ve found only one way to keep you from talking,” Vincent said. “And as it isn’t appropriate for a public hallway, I suppose I’ll have to hear you out.”
Henry flushed. Was Vincent only goading him, or did the sight of Henry affect him, as he did Henry? “Can we at least step inside?”
Vincent considered for what felt like an eternity. Then he stepped back and beckoned Henry to follow. As soon as Henry was inside, Vincent shut the door and leaned against the wall, blocking him from coming in any further. “We’re inside. So talk.”
Carelessly heaped clothes and piles of books made the tiny apartment seem even smaller. The scent of cooking food was muted by the walls, replaced by the smell of Vincent’s citrusy cologne. A lone door opened off onto what must have been a bedroom, and Henry noticed the large bag of salt sitting on the floor beside it.
“I didn’t realize Miss Prandle meant to send the entire prize to me,” Henry said. “When it showed up in my bank account, I wired her in protest. She said she had to respect her uncle’s wishes.”
“Congratulations,” Vincent said. “Our prize was to not be reported to the police, on the condition we closed the shop.”
“Oh.” Damn Miss Prandle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It was only a place.” Vincent shrugged. “No matter what it meant to us...well. Dunne wouldn’t have wanted us to sacrifice everything to hold onto it. I’m only sorry it took us this long to realize it. At any rate, Lizzie and I are still in business together. I’ve even started channeling again.”
“Good,” Henry said. “I’m proud of you.”
Vincent looked surprised. “Oh?”
“Well, yes.” Henry shuffled his feet. “I know how much your gifts mean to you. Even I could tell you weren’t happy not using them. So yes. I’m proud.”
“Thank you.” Vincent shifted his weight. “So why did you come? Or did you have other business in the city and decided to visit me in hopes of spending the night?”
“Of course not.” Henry wasn’t certain if he was more angered or hurt by the words. “I can’t speak for you, but our time together meant more to me than that.”
Vincent had the grace to look embarrassed. “Forgive me. You said you had a proposition...?”
Now came the hard part. Henry drew in a deep breath. “I want to make an offer to you and Miss Devereaux. I decided to come to you alone, at least to begin with, because frankly I fear what Miss Devereaux might do to me should I dare darken her doorstep.”
“Wise man.” Vincent’s expression eased into a cautious smile. “I don’t think she’s forgiven you yet. What is this offer of yours?”
“We can split the prize money three ways,” Henry said. “No strings attached. Or...or we can pool the money and use it to open a new business. One combining the best of all our talents.”
He’d managed to catch Vincent by surprise yet again. “Go into business?” Vincent repeated. “Together? I thought your fondest wish was to replace mediums, not work with them.”
Henry shrugged awkwardly, remembering to only use his right shoulder this time. “The events at Reyhome Castle showed me the error of my ways. When we worked separately, we both obtained some results. But when we worked together, science and spiritualism, we were far more effective.”
Vincent still stared at Henry as if he thought it some elaborate prank. “But what about your plans to start production on the Electro-Séance? The phantom fence and all the rest of it?”
“I still have hope my inventions can be of use to others. But given our experiences, I think they’re best used in tangent with a medium. Someday I—we—might be able to move beyond the prototypes, but as for now, I’ve given up on the idea of mass production.” Henry bit his lip. “So...what do you think? You believe my inventions might have some value, don’t you? I understand you and Miss Devereaux may wish to remain in New York—Jo and I can relocate. Or we can all cut ties with the past and start anew somewhere else.”
Vincent’s lip twitched in a grin. “You’ve thought all this through, haven’t you?”
“Of course.” Henry swallowed nervously. “I made mistakes at Reyhome. I was too proud, too quick to assume deliberate injury when I found out about your past. I was a blind fool at times. And if you can’t forgive me, I’ll happily split the money, and—”
“Yes,” Vincent said.
Henry’s heart sank. “Of course. I’ll have the bank draw up a check tomorrow.”
Vincent snorted. “Not yes to the money, you fool. Yes to you. To working together.”
“Oh?” Henry couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “Do you mean it? And what about Miss Devereaux?”
“Yes, I mean it.” Vincent reached out and took Henry’s good hand. “If we’d had your ghost grounder last summer, perhaps Dunne wouldn’t have died. Without the grounder and your quick thinking atop the tower, I’d certainly be just another spirit trapped in Reyhome Castle.”
“You’re the one who realized there was more than one spirit in the first place,” Henry said, tightening his grip on Vincent’s hand. “Or that one of them was dangerous. Your ability to channel, Miss Devereaux’s automatic writing, and my instruments—”
