Chapter 40 #2
“You were shot? Executed? Did it happen in Moscow?” I now asked Pyotr. I had seen photographs of the red Kremlin wall in the new capital of Moscow, the symbol of Red Russia.
I was kidnapped! the spirit cried out; even his wife trembled. Then I knew no more.
A shadow girl whirled through the consulting room like a twister of wind and dust and rage, the other spirits vanishing in her wake.
Spectacles perched on her shadowy nose—Katya’s sister, Alexandra, though I hadn’t summoned her.
Was I losing control again? She is alive!
And she looks happy! Happier than before!
The spirit swiveled to a stop before me, stealing glances at Katya.
Why, why is she so happy, and I am so angry?
“She misses you very much.” I tried to pacify the spirit, who only pouted.
“Alex?” Katya spoke into the frigid silence. Her eyes were closed, but her features were pinched in pain. “Why must you hold on to grudges? Your anger is your own, dear girl. I did not choose this. Nor did I want it. If I had it my way, I would be with you.”
You would? The spirit peered at Katya. You would be dead—for me?
Katya was crying, but her voice came out steady. “I would do anything for you.”
I always thought…you wanted me dead, to be Maman’s only daughter.
“Never. I never wanted this. It is horrible without you, Alex. Maman is unbearable. Paris is not home. We have nothing, no one, not even each other. What I wish for, the only thing I wish for, is for you to be with me, to come back to life.”
The last I saw was a smile, soft and fleeting, before the spirit dissolved.
I was about to rouse Katya and the ladies—when a gray cloud coalesced from the shadows.
Zefir leaped into my lap. She stood on her hind legs, trying to catch my attention.
But the cloud was like smoke, floating and forming and re-forming, before it rushed at me, a writhing ball of limbs and open mouths and voices.
So many voices. No, no, no. Not again. I cannot let them in, I cannot lose control. I—
Go deeper, Zina. A familiar voice rose above the others.
I blinked, trying to follow it. But the filmy spirits wheeled birdlike past my eyes, flashing in and out of sight, alternating with Zefir’s wriggling white body.
A girl I didn’t know, an unknown man, Katya’s sister.
Leonid and Pyotr. A silvery giggle—Nina’s little boy, Sasha? The Grand Duke’s biting laugh.
And if I heard the Grand Duke, perhaps the familiar voice belonged to Mama.
You must go deeper. It found me again. Deeper than ever before. Acknowledge all parts of you. Even the unknown part. The life beating inside you. Listen to it, yourself—
The voice broke off, as though smothered by an invisible hand.
I imagined the warmth in my chest, moving down, down, down to my belly.
Unknown. Inside. A life.
Before I lost consciousness, I knew—though early and though it had only been one night—the life was a child, and I was pregnant.
An excerpt from Spirit Mediumship: A Guide to the Intuitive Séance:
A séance may be enhanced by the sitters at your table.
The fewer sitters, the more energy required of the medium.
The more sitters, the more energy created by the collective in support of the medium, to summon the spirit from the beyond. The more energy, the more power, the more materialized the spirit, capable of communication, sometimes even levitation.
“Are you certain you don’t wish for us to stay?”
“Absolutely.” I tucked Katya’s arm into mine and led her to the door, the other ladies hastening after us, stuffing their photographs and loved ones’ belongings into their pockets and purses, still dazed from what I had relayed of the spirits.
Inessa more than most. Dmitri hadn’t made an appearance, which meant he was still alive back in Russia, and she was still beholden to the man, including sending him her hard-earned money.
She was the first to leave. “I will only be taking myself to bed,” I added to Katya.
But the last thing I wanted to do was sleep.
“I don’t know if I should leave you after…” my friend trailed off, referring to my losing consciousness and being revived only after the ladies had propped me up on the fainting settee and loosened my clothes (which was utterly bewildering, not to mention humiliating).
“I will be fine.” I forced a smile.
“My boy, my poor boy.” Masha approached me tearfully, clasping my hand in her trembling, veiny one. “Thank you, Zinachka. Thank you.” Her energy, though distraught, was less desperate, a calmer, paler aloe green.
A dry-eyed Karina thanked me quietly, her aura now a tranquil powder blue, before slipping out the door.
Nina nodded her wordless thanks, still clutching her son’s blanket as she followed the others out. Her shoulders were lowered, less tense than before.
When we were alone, Katya threw her arms around me.
I held her close, wishing for some of her good cheer, still feeling the darkness from the séance and wondering about the other thing.
Exhaust all divination remedies first, Zina, I told myself.
Then and only then can you believe it. I tried to ignore that my monthly courses were late.
I locked the door, watching Katya melt into the windswept shadows of rue Daru.
I breathed in the sweet floral fragrance of fortunes having been told. My séances also had a smell—the tang of salt, of seawater and foamy waves. Like Gabriel’s energy when it was pure and unspoiled.
I freshened up the wards against the spirit, then walked to the kitchen with Zefir.
I brewed the coffee, prepared the peas and white beans, pulled Mama’s cards from my trousers. Only then did I pour myself the brew and drink it, turning the cup the requisite number of times while thinking of my question. I looked inside, heart thudding.
A bundle resembling a baby looked back at me from the dregs.
I swallowed my fear that the voice—possibly Mama’s—had told the truth.
I tried the peas and beans next, counting out the requisite forty-one pieces of each by casting out fours into three rows of three.
I thought the words I wish, I hope, it will happen…
Or, in this case, not happen. I looked to the third heap in the third row, believed to be a foot on the road, or predictions about journeys.
I counted the pieces as my heart dropped.
An even number—an unfavorable outcome. For me, a baby.
I tried Mama’s cards last. Four pictures, another unfavorable sign: a soldierlike cavalier in third position, disappointing news; a clover, also in third position, short-lived sorrow ending in satisfaction, not much better; a scythe, in first position, evil fate in pursuit; two birds in a craggy tree, an obstacle in my path.
I sat back, despair washing over me. I felt colder than even in the spirit world. A mind-numbing, bone-shattering winter cold. Not only was I to have a child, but fate had something else in store for me—an obstacle, a battle, a war I didn’t know the rules of.
The scent of garlic finally overpowered my senses, and I dashed to the window, throwing it open to let the night air rush into my face. I froze, my heart tripping over itself.
The spirit stood on Mama’s grave. She is mine, he mouthed, and his lips stretched into the most malevolent smile I had ever beheld in my life.