A Dreadful Splendor (2)

She withdrew a slip of paper from the folds of her sleeve. Her hand reached across the table, but then paused, hovering over the book. I noticed her ring and bracelet had indeed been removed. It was a feat of pure willpower for me to not smile.

The older gentleman beside me stiffened. “There’s no point in delaying, dear sister,” he said. “We’ve tried every other possible means. This is our last chance.” He attempted to soften his voice, but it was a poorly disguised demand. No one rebuked him, though. Instead, they each pinned Mrs. Hartford in place with their impatient stares. The air in the room was heavy, a bloated sky before a thunderstorm.

She finally dropped the note onto the open book’s exposed slate. I gently closed the cover, trapping the paper between the slabs. I kept my palm pressed against the cover and sighed, sending the message with a prayer. Then I sat back, leaving the book in the middle of the table. Next, I picked up the crystal glass and took a mouthful of water, letting it sit for a moment before swallowing. “Hold hands,” I finally said, placing mine atop the table.

Mrs. Hartford let out a sharp breath as I accepted the older gentleman’s hand without my glove. Still, I kept my face rigid, even as the young man took my other hand, squeezing ever so softly.

“Should we close our eyes?” the daughter asked. Her knuckles were almost white.

“No.” My reply was slightly muffled from the bulge in my cheek. It was readily expanding from the recent mouthful of water, but no one seemed to take notice.

I stared at the candle in front of me and breathed from the back of my throat. Everything faded in my periphery until there was only the spot of light.

Then I began, “Oh, beloved Arthur Hartford. We bring you gifts of love from our hearts to reach you in death. Commune with us and move among us.”

I repeated the phrase. The young man’s palm was damp against mine. A sudden pressure squeezed at my chest. “He is here,” I proclaimed. I tilted to one side, letting my head fall against my shoulder.

The daughter whimpered.

“Show yourself,” I called out.

Three distinct knocks came from the middle of the table. A collective gasp almost broke the circle.

I kept my eyes on my candle. “With whom do you wish to speak?” I asked.

Silence.

From the corner of my vision, I watched the parlour door silently ease open. I repeated the question. “With whom do you wish to—”

Mrs. Hartford let out a startled cry as her candle went out. A tendril of smoke rose straight up from the middle of the protective chimney.

“Mother! He’s here. Quickly, you must ask him.”

Mrs. Hartford stared at her burned-out candle.

“Check the book!” The older gentleman released my hand, reaching toward the middle of the table.

At once, my head snapped upright. A low growl began in my chest.

“You b-b-broke the circle,” the young man stuttered. His face had gone as pale as his pressed white shirt.

The growl grew louder, burning as it went up my throat. My lips parted, and I spewed a river of ectoplasm into my lap. My body flopped forward, almost splitting my head open on the edge of the table. After a moment, I sat up, gasping for air. The women were still holding hands, staring at me with equal measures of disgust and fascination. As I had anticipated, they weren’t the type to leap to someone’s aid. I allowed their awkward gawking to continue as I recovered.

“Are you well?” The young man held the glass of water toward me. My hand shook as I drank it all. Then I reached for the book. All four relatives leaned forward in eager anticipation as I slowly peeled back the cover until it was laid open. The note had vanished, and in its place a scrawled message was written across the slate.

The young man tilted his head to see the passage. “‘I am at peace,’” he read.

“I don’t understand,” the daughter said. “Mother, what was your question to Father?”

The older gentleman sniffed. “What about the key?” he asked. “He was supposed to tell us where he hid the key.” Bit by bit his baffled expression morphed into anger. He pointed an accusing finger at my face. “You,” he began.

I held his stare and silently counted to three. I’d dealt with skeptics before, and furthermore I wasn’t finished. “With whom do you wish to speak?” I asked. At once, his candle went out.

“Keep us safe, dear lord,” the daughter prayed. Her candle was the next to extinguish.

A ghostly breath blew out the remaining candles, throwing the parlour into near-complete darkness. Screams echoed off the walls.

“Quick! Open the curtains,” someone cried.

A chair fell backward, taking the body with it as they collapsed to the floor.

I grabbed the velvet bag and stood up, pushing a thin pair of shoulders to the side as I made my way to the sliver of light coming from the parlour’s ajar door. Behind me, the young man yelped. He’d been the only one to show me an ounce of kindness—that should teach him. No good deed goes unpunished.

I escaped to the hallway and spotted the servants’ door. I pulled it open and rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen. The staff glanced up in surprise, but I ignored them as I ran the length of the room to wrench open the back door.

“Ouf!” I smacked into the chest of a blue uniform.

“All right, then, Miss Timmons?” the copper asked smugly. His black beard and matching coal eyes were instantly recognizable. I could see the smirk beneath his mustache, which was badly in need of a trim.