The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

I crept behind her, careful not to touch her or move into her line of sight, but nearby for protection.

The blue light was coming from the spiritglass.

The sides had folded away to fully reveal the orb. What had once been dull and subdued was now bright and illuminated, emitting an eerie blue-green light. Willa picked up a paper from the table next to the spiritglass. Standing just behind her, I could see writing on the paper. Glowing writing.

Ghostly writing.

No . . . it was writing that could only be seen by the odd light of the spiritglass. I had to force myself to remain still and silent, but my fingers wanted nothing more than to snatch the note away from her. Willa shuffled through several papers on the table, papers that were from Miss Fenley’s ghostly spirit writings. Or so the medium would have us believe. Now I had another reason to visit her tomorrow.

Then Willa made a huff of disappointment or frustration and turned. Still silent, she passed by me as she walked back to her bed. I’d been prepared to follow her if she left her bedchamber, but to my relief that wasn’t necessary. She clambered back into bed and I caught a glimpse of her wide, vacant eyes, shining in the eerie blue light. The cat, who’d awakened during this episode but declined to move from his spot, glared at me as if it were my fault his sleep was disturbed.

As soon as Willa lay back down and settled into place, I moved silently to the table. The light continued to glow and I was able to read the words written on the papers. An ugly shiver trailed down my spine as I read:

You must help Robby by catching his spirit, Willa. Climb onto the high tower with his old fishing pole. Cast out for him and bring him home, tomorrow night when the clock strikes eight. Don’t be frightened. I’ll be there if you should fall.

A second paper said:

Come swimming with Robby in your shift, Willa, like when you were little. Bring the butterfly net so you can catch him and bring him with you. He’ll be waiting for you in the street at the next stroke of five. Come and save him.

The other papers were blank, likely explaining Willa’s disappointment. No new “messages” from her brother.

I allowed the notes to settle back onto the table, but not before confirming they were the same ones Miss Fenley had written on during the séances.

Now the plot was becoming clearer. Someone had written on these papers in ink only visible under this light, and then Louisa Fenley used the papers during her séance. I could see even in the odd light that the black ink had been written over the invisible ink. And that the handwriting was completely different.

The question was: Did the medium know about the secret message, or was she an unwitting dupe?

My second question—how did Willa know to wake up at two o’clock?—was more easily answered. I’d been searching for the key to her mesmerization, and the clock striking two was obviously it.

I settled back in my chair and picked up my knitting. In spite of the late hour, I was still wide awake and my brain clicked along as quickly as my needles.

The blue light from the spiritglass faded after several moments, and the clock struck two-thirty. Three o’clock. Four.

The night was dead and dark. My needles shone for brief moments when caught by the slender bit of moon shining through the window. I was onto a third ball of yarn.

And then something in the room changed.

It grew chilly. Cold.

The curtains fluttered near the window, but the shift in the air wasn’t coming from there. It was just . . . here. All around. My heart pounding, I put down my knitting and sat up straight, looking around.

My nose was cold, and when I gusted out a breath of nervous air, I could see the mist. My palms grew clammy. I looked over at Willa. She was still sleeping, but the cat was up and awake, its eyes wide. The moonlight outlined the hair rising all along the feline’s spine.

Goose bumps had erupted over my arms and other extremities. My breath was coming in faster, white puffs. The cat hissed, his back arched. He was staring at something near the window.

I looked over and my mouth went completely dry. A glowing, amorphous cloud had formed at the window. It was tinged bright green, and as I watched, it billowed into the chamber, expanding into a column in front of the window.

Now it was freezing in the room.

I heard a sound from the bed, rustling among the sheets. Willa sat up. The cat hissed again next to her. Its green eyes reflected wide and angry in the dim light.

“Mother!”

I wouldn’t have been able to speak even if I wanted to. I could only stare in disbelief. Willa slipped from the bed, fully awake and lucid—unlike earlier.

“You’ve come back!” She stood in front of the green gas, which had formed into a sort of cylinder shape.

Willa tilted her head as if to listen. Then after a moment she spoke earnestly. “I’ve been trying, Mother. But I can’t find him. I’ll keep trying, I promise. I’ll bring him safely to you. I want you two to be together.”

The green cloud spiraled into itself once more, this time, becoming smaller and smaller, and then wisped away into nothing. The tiny light remained for a moment longer, then winked out.

We were alone. The night was dark once again. The chamber returned to its normal temperature.

I realized I was holding my breath, and when I expelled it, I saw it was no longer white with frost.

“Did you see that?” Willa whispered. Until that moment, I hadn’t been completely certain she was awake and aware. But her direct question, and the fact that her eyes clearly met mine, indicated her lucidity.

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice. When I stood, my knees were shaky and my fingers trembled. I went to the window, touching it, smoothing my fingers all around, hoping to find . . . something. Some sort of clue. But I had already examined it earlier. There was nothing there. No dirt, no warmth from a human body or mechanism, no disturbance.

Most telling of all: The four taut lines of invisible thread I’d strung across the opening were still in place.

Nothing solid had passed through that window. Whatever it was had been as insubstantial as air.

I must have dozed off in my chair in Miss Ashton’s bedchamber, although after the events of the night, I wasn’t certain how I’d ever quieted my mind enough to actually sleep.

But the bright sun streaming through her window woke me, and I straightened in my seat. A glance at Willa told me she still slumbered heavily.

I rose and stretched from many hours in the chair, then caught sight of the cat. He lounged on the bed, licking a paw as if nothing untoward had happened in this room.