Chapter 42
Zina
An excerpt from Spirit Mediumship: A Guide to the Intuitive Séance:
Do not attempt to purposely communicate with dark spirits.
What are dark spirits? They are spirits with dark intentions or evil in them. They are the nechistaya sila you often hear about.
If you do need to communicate with such a spirit, balance your séance table with positive and negative energy. Darkness answers to negativity. If there is the presence of negative energy at your table, the spirit might be more likely and easily summoned.
This is not recommended. Nor is it explored in these pages.
“Can we be ready in time?” Katya asked later that afternoon.
We sat in the kitchen, writing notes to the ladies of rue Daru, inviting them to the spiritual expulsion.
I had set it for nine o’clock—my daily séance time—that very night.
It had to happen as soon as possible. Not only because of Mama but because my grandmother was declining rapidly.
I almost unburdened myself to Katya. About my fears, Gabriel, the baby.
But if I did, I would drown in all the problems fate had fashioned for me.
In the end, all I said to her was, “We will have to be ready.” There would be time for drowning later, and for confessions.
Now I had to focus on the expulsion and on finding Mama.
Katya exhaled a slow breath. “All right, I will freshen up the wards.”
“We should also make amulets for the sitters,” I said, petting Zefir as she licked salt from my slippers.
“Do you wish to invite anyone else?”
“Your mother.” I hesitated. “And two more people that I am afraid you won’t approve of.”
Without glancing up from the invitation she was writing: “Do not say it.”
“Olga and Alec,” I said anyway, catching Zefir’s menacing growl.
Katya finally looked up. “Zina, are you mad?”
“God, I hope so, because I know how it sounds. And what Baba Valya will do to me when she finds out.” Incidentally, I wasn’t planning on telling her until they came.
“So then why?”
“It was something I read in my grandfather’s book—that both positive and negative energy could aid in a séance calling forth a dark spirit.
And I have not felt more negative energy than from the Grand Duke’s children.
They started all this, and we might need them to help us finish it.
At least, that is what my intuition is telling me. ”
“But I thought they disappeared?”
“Maybe, but I’m convinced they’re still here in Paris. And I guarantee you, watching over their Boulogne-sur-Seine mansion—and likely me and the tearoom. If I send an invite to the mansion, I think they will see it.”
Katya said nothing, and Zefir hissed something awful. I ignored them both, penning a brief note to Olga and Alec. I used their titles and added their inheritance as incentive:
You are invited to a séance to summon the spirit of your father.
Tonight, nine o’clock, Samovar.
All shall be revealed then, including the whereabouts of your treasure.
Note: Come alone, without bodyguards or other agents. If you refuse to heed me, I will know and cancel the séance.
Katya and I agreed she would hand deliver the invitations to the rue Daru ladies, while I would stop by Monsieur Dijon’s butcher shop to telephone Gabriel.
I needed someone to deliver my note to Olga and Alec at their mansion, as the post would take too long, and it was too dangerous for me to attempt myself.
I knew Gabriel would do it. If not for me or his guilt, then to satisfy his curiosity.
Though I might vomit from the fetid odors at the butcher’s.
Or else from seeing Gabriel. Knowing my poor luck, probably both.
When I arrived at Parc Monceau, Gabriel was already there.
I caught sight of him at the end of a curved walkway that cut through a thicket of bursting, blooming greenery and was interspersed with wooden benches.
The scent of flowers was overpowering. Roses and peonies and something else sugary. I tried not to vomit there, too.
As I walked over to Gabriel, I wondered if anybody was watching us. I felt the telltale sting of trailing eyes, but whether it was Lucian, Olga and Alec, or somebody else, I had no idea. I ignored it; let them watch.
It was only on my approach that I felt the flutter in my stomach.
This time, from Gabriel’s eyes on me. They were bluer than ever, especially in the bright light of day.
But he appeared harried, his hair long, his face scruffy.
I had the intense urge to let what he had done go. But I couldn’t. Could I?
“Zina!” He stepped toward me but stopped, as though remembering our last meeting, the words said. “How are you? I was…surprised to hear from you.” His energy was clear as water—genuine.
“I need you to deliver this letter,” I said, awkward as ever. I thrust my hand into my bag, groping nervously for the envelope. Finding it, I almost threw it in Gabriel’s face. As though I would get burned by his proximity.
He turned the envelope over. Upon seeing the names written on the front, the blue in his eyes deepened to the color of the sky on a very hot day. “Exactly what kind of trouble are you in, Zina?” He had gone quite pale.
“Not more than usual.” Though what I was about to attempt was close to suicide. “Now, no more questions or, ahem, comments. If you wish to do something for me, to help me, please deliver this letter.”
Gabriel’s lips twitched. “You know I haven’t heard from them.”
“It would be enough for you to leave it at the Boulogne-sur-Seine mansion.”
“Do you know something I don’t?”
“Not at all. I just have a feeling they aren’t far. Will you do it?”
“No questions, no comments.” Gabriel pocketed the letter with an incredulous shake of his head. Yet he continued to watch me. “You look…different, somehow. Beautiful as ever,” he rushed to add. “But different.”
Perhaps I had gained weight, not because of the baby—that was too early—but because of all the desserts I had been consuming on a regular basis.
“A client has been bringing my grandmother baked goods,” I said, mouth quite dry again.
“So I—” I couldn’t finish; I was nervous now the errand part of our meeting was over.
“I love desserts,” Gabriel said, that twitch back on his lips.
“I know. Chocolate especially.” I met his gaze.
Despite the shadow of suspicion there, it was too intimate, too smooth, like decadent brandy slipping down my throat.
Now I was thinking of his lips on mine, the sweet taste of him, the heat of our kisses, his tongue exploring my mouth probingly, achingly, each and every lick of space.
“You still haven’t made me that chocolate cake, you know.”
“You’ll be waiting a long time for it.”
“And I miss my orange tea.”
“There are tearooms all over Paris. I’m sure they have something comparable.” But I knew they didn’t.
“How is your grandmother?” asked Gabriel, turning serious again.
“Not well. She…” Is dying was right there, though I couldn’t say it.
He gave a nod of understanding. “Zina, I wanted to…”
“Don’t, please.” For a second, I thought I would say something, about forgiveness, about being late, about the child.
But I felt the words press up against my teeth, which clenched obstinately against my talking.
The information was suddenly so vital to me, so intimate and private, that I couldn’t even share it with the man who was supposed to share in it with me.
Not yet. Not until tonight was over, the Grand Duke vanquished, my grandmother and mother and tearoom safe.
Not until I knew how I felt about Gabriel.
“I only wanted to say,” he said anyway, “I am sorry. For all of it. And I hope you aren’t in any real trouble, Zina.
Or asking for trouble. And—” He scrubbed the back of his neck.
“Just so you know, I believe you contacting Olga and Alec is a very bad idea. I found Olga in the records of a small country hospital. She was under another name there, but her signature from some of the paperwork, and her father’s, matches the—” Gabriel cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The ones in her letters.”
It was curious how I didn’t feel anything but pitying sadness for Olga.
After all, this was a girl who was so troubled and so desperately alone that her childhood consisted of being regularly carted off and hidden in an asylum, her parents apparently not knowing what else to do with her.
Perhaps she had only wanted somebody to hear her.
To see her. To understand. But then, Olga hadn’t been that girl for a very long time.
She was a grown woman now, one who had tried to steal my tearoom, blame my grandmother for a murder she didn’t commit and attack her, poison me.
I felt the stirrings of rage, but pressed it down.
I had more important things to worry about.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whispered, meaning it from my heart.
Gabriel raised a hand to my cheek, then apparently thought better of it and let his hand drop. “Don’t do anything dangerous, Zina,” he said with his usual dryness. “You hear me? Nothing that can get you killed.” If only he knew.
But I nodded, paused, and let myself say one of the many things weighing on me. “She cannot move on—not until you do.” I heard his sharp intake of breath, but I had already turned and was hastening away from him.