Evermore (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #3)(52)

The world had gone mad in my absence.

"Sit," Celia said, shoving him into a large armchair.

George was barely settled when Mrs. White jabbed him with the syringe. I watched, appalled, as his eyes closed slowly. Is that how I'd looked moments before? Like I was merely going to sleep?

"W...what's going on?" I could hardly form the words. Hardly think. My mind was numb, my body aching. Every bone felt like it had been ground in a mill, every vein opened until I'd bled dry.

But worse than the aches was the memory of Jacob, fading to nothing. It would haunt me until the day I died. That day had almost been today, but I had enough presence of mind to realize Mrs. White had saved me and brought me back to life. My sister had succeeded after all, although she had not done it alone.

"Mrs. Stanley tricked you," Mrs. White said to me. "She and Leviticus."

"I know." My voice sounded thick, hoarse. "I'm sorry, I thought it was you. But...George...?"

"We bought the counter curse from the Romany," Louis said. "It didn't cost us as much as we had expected. It seems they didn’t like the thought of the Otherworld not being there when they die either."

I remembered what Mrs. Stanley had said, about her people respecting death and the afterlife. It seemed she did not respect it as much as her tribe, or perhaps something else was stronger than her beliefs.

I turned a little to see Louis watching Price, the pistol pointed at his chest as he sat like a statue, his face stony. Mrs. Stanley stood at Price's side, her hand on her lover's shoulder. She did not look at me, but Price's cold gaze didn't waver from mine. Louis was as muddy as George and looked just as exhausted, but he glanced back at me and smiled reassuringly, although it wasn't reflected in his eyes. Worry had settled there. Worry and grim foreboding. I wished I could smile back to thank him for his efforts, but my heart was too sore. If George didn't succeed, if it was too late to deliver the counter curse, I would never smile again.

"That should be long enough," Louis said. "Bring him back."

Mrs. White had been busy filling another syringe. She injected the clear liquid into George's arm.

Nothing happened.

"He's not coming back," Mrs. White said, panic making her voice shrill. She tapped his cheeks but George's head lolled to the side, lifeless.

Price snickered. "He can't. The curse worked. It's too late for him now. You did it, Miss Chambers. You destroyed your lover and sent your friend here to his own destruction. Congratulations."

I turned my face into the sofa cushion. I was too exhausted and too heart-sore to cry. A great hole opened up in my chest and sucked all my energy into it. It felt like I was caving in on myself.

"He's coming back!" cried Mrs. White.

"Mr. Culvert," said Celia. "Mr. Culvert, can you hear me?"

He moaned. I turned to watch and held my breath. The air in the parlor grew dense as we waited for him to regain consciousness.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move so fast it was a mere blur. Louis shouted in alarm. Mrs. Stanley shouted too, but in a foreign tongue. She had the pistol, snatched from Louis' hand while he was distracted. She pointed it at each of us, yet none of us, her hands shaking. She uttered something in Romany over and over, interspersed with the very English and very angry, "Stay back or I will shoot."

My father didn't heed her. He lunged.

She screamed.

The gun went off.

I screamed.

"Louis!" Celia cried. "No! No!" My sister raced to him and grabbed him from behind, spinning him around. "Louis!"

He wrapped an arm around her and she burst into tears. His other hand held the gun. It was pointed at Price. A dark stain bloomed on Price's waistcoat.

"Leviticus!" Mrs. Stanley fell to her knees at his feet. "No!" She tried to cover his wound with her hands, tried to staunch the flow of blood. But it was no use. He was slipping away. "Save him! Do something. You!" she shouted at Mrs. White. "He is your husband, do something!"

Husband?

Price did not look at his lover as he died. He looked at me, an unreadable smile on his face. A moment later his spirit rose from the body and hovered near the ceiling.

"I wonder what awaits me," his ghost said, looking up. "Did your friend succeed, I wonder?" He did not sound afraid but curious and quite pleased with himself.

"If he didn't, you are going to become nothing," I said. "And if he did, then you will go to hell. Either way, I wouldn't want to be you right now."

He swooped down and stood in front of me, too close. I pressed myself back into the cushions, but he didn't try to hurt me. "It doesn't matter. I got revenge for my Fred. Beaufort is dead. That's all that really counts. The rest would have given me satisfaction, but I'll settle for Beaufort watching you grow old from up there." He drifted off then disappeared entirely. For a brief moment I thought about summoning him back to ask him questions, but I didn't want to see him again. Good riddance.

Mrs. White touched Mrs. Stanley's shoulder as the landlady stared at her hands, smeared with Price's blood. "I'm so sorry," Mrs. White said. "I truly am."

I expected Mrs. Stanley to berate her, even curse her, but she did not. She surprised me by allowing herself to be comforted by the wife of her lover. I suddenly understood why she had set aside her gypsy beliefs to help him—love is powerful, and we are merely its mindless tools. She could no more stop loving Price than I could Jacob.