Ghostly Echoes (Jackaby #3)(27)
Jackaby put a single finger on the chunk of masonry, blocking her before she could retreat back toward the house. “Just look at me,” he said tenderly and took a step forward. The brick drifted forward with him. “This is your brick, Jenny Cavanaugh.” Step. “Your house.” Step. “Your street. Your city. Your whole wide world.” Step. Step. Step.
Jackaby was now in the middle of Augur Lane, talking to a broken brick that hung weightlessly at the end of his finger. A kid in a ragged flat cap and suspenders had stopped to watch the spectacle from across the street, and a carriage whipped around the corner at speed. The driver cursed and shook his fist as he swerved around Jackaby, but Jackaby ignored them all.
He leaned in toward the hollow space I knew was Jenny. He took a deep breath, and then his lips moved ever so slightly as he whispered something to the empty air. A moment later, the brick dropped away from his finger and clattered against the cobblestones. Jackaby’s shoulders fell. He stooped and collected the chunk of masonry.
“That was a pretty good trick, mister!” yelled the ragamuffin on the corner. “But I could see the string the whole time!”
Jackaby nodded unenthusiastically and trudged back toward the house.
“That was marvelous!” I said. “It worked! Jenny hasn’t been that far in a decade!”
“Hurrah.” Jackaby looked underwhelmed.
“What were you saying to her, out there in the street?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Jackaby. “I’ll be going out, Miss Rook.”
“Out?”
“Marlowe has asked that I keep him abreast of our investigation, and I suppose I should pick up some plaster from that shop on Mason Street. Please see to things around the office while I’m gone. Also, please watch for Miss Cavanaugh. With any luck she should reappear soon.”
“Did you tell her?” I asked. “Did you finally tell her how you feel?”
“Make yourself ready, as well.” He started off down the lane. “Busy night ahead. We make for the western woods at dusk.”
Chapter Thirteen
The contents of Chapter Thirteen have been omitted by the request of my employer.
Relevant and related notes are now filed in the Seer’s private dossier.
Chapter Fourteen
The western woods looked even more ominous than I remembered. The horizon had warmed to a dull orange as we reached the outskirts of New Fiddleham’s old industrial district, and faint stars were already beginning to sparkle above us. The darkness of the forest ahead was profound, but in the glow of the factory lights and the crescent moon, the landscape was not entirely foreign. A half a mile north or so, Hammett’s bridge climbed over a trickling creek. This was the forest in which I had squared off against a bloodthirsty redcap only a few short months ago. I had been armed then with only a handful of books. This time I had come better prepared.
A ring of rosary beads hung around my neck, and my pockets were stuffed with fresh garlic. Jackaby had lent me a tin flask of holy water and a silver knife with an ivory handle. He had also sprinkled mustard seed in my hair before we left the house, a timeless safeguard I suspected he had just made up, but I wasn’t about to decline any help I could get.
Jackaby wore a crucifix made of silver, a Star of David forged from hammered brass, and a little tin pentagram. Every pocket of his coat was stuffed with herbs, odd relics, and handy artifacts. A rhythmic clinking and jingling accompanied our walk, and together we smelled like the inside of an Italian spice shop. I felt ready for a second encounter with a paranormal predator like Pavel, but I had to admit that to an ordinary bear or wolf, we were mostly just well-seasoned.
I also had no idea what to expect from the blue lights. “What exactly is a will-o’-the-wisp?” I asked.
“Will was a man,” he answered. “A simple smith, or so the story goes, who made a deal with the devil himself. He bartered away his immortal soul in exchange for paying off a paltry bar tab or some meager gambling debt, and the devil took him for a fool.”
We climbed over a grassy ridge and began picking our way into the dense forest as Jackaby continued. “By and by the smith’s time came due, but when the devil came to collect, he found Will twenty feet up in the branches of a tree. ‘You’ll have to come up to me if you want to bring me back down with you,’ called Will. Well, the devil was not impressed, and he shimmied up after him as quick as you please.”
The black trunks of tall trees behind us were beginning to conceal the glow of the factory lights as we pushed forward into the woods. “What the devil failed to notice was a horizontal notch about halfway up the trunk, which Will had carved that very morning. The moment the devil crossed that line, old Will dropped right down, dragging his blade into the bark in a straight line as he fell. In one quick motion, he had carved the sign of the cross into the wood, and the devil could not cross it to get back down. He was trapped.”
We stepped across a fallen fir tree and I realized my eyes were already adjusting to the darkness, at least to the point that I could discern where one black shape ended and the next black shape began. “So, with the devil at his mercy, Will struck a second deal. He would cut the symbol off the tree if the prince of darkness would leave him be and never bother him again. The devil knew he had been outwitted, and so he had no choice but to accept.”