Chapter 4 #2
The fog thickened. It wasn’t an ominous thing.
No, it resembled more the way an old friend might sit beside you, comfortable, easy.
I shut my eyes. Cold and warmth washed over me in turn.
Death and life, sun and dark. I was the bridge, and that bridge held me in a spot of eternal ambiguity. I parted my lips and spoke.
“Isabella Ravenswood, hear my voice and answer. I summon you.” The words, instinctual, poured out of me like the afternoon mists that rolled in from the sea.
I opened my eyes.
A fully corporeal gray-haired woman with none of the wispy vagueness Isabella projected stood in front of me. “Hi, there.”
I stumbled and fell backward onto a grave.
The woman emitted a sharp laugh, almost a cackle. “So sorry to disturb you. I had no intention of upsetting your communion with the dead.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Don’t you need candles for a seance? That’s what the films typically portray.”
She was clearly an Unmarked human. Her large sweater, which complimented the woman’s warm umber skin, also had a pumpkin and a witch’s hat sewn into it. The words scrawled across the top said, Witching you a Happy Halloween.
My fingers plunged into the wet dirt as I glanced around me. Where had the mist gone? “I-I was just—”
“No need to explain yourself. Far be it from me to judge others’ beliefs”—her face grew sad—“or to tell them how to deal with their grief.”
She shifted a bouquet filled with different kinds of flowers in her arms.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.
She waved a hand, though unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “It was several years ago now. I simply want my dear Johnny to know I still think of him, God rest his soul.”
“That’s sweet.” The woman seemed kind. And I found a measure of relief she’d interrupted my attempt at using witchcraft. I’d need a moment before convincing myself to try again, so I accepted the reprieve for what it was. Although it meant talking to a stranger.
“Me and Johnny were quite the pair, and quite the scandal back in the day.” Her eyes were bright with merriment.
“Why is that?”
“My parents were deeply religious and wanted me to marry a good Protestant boy.”
“Were you and Johnny of different faiths?”
“Yes. But we loved each other something fierce, and we shared a remarkable life together.” She gave me a wry smile. “Of course, the preacher at my parent’s church declared that I was going to hell every other service.”
My fingers curled into the dirt, thinking of Pastor Collins’s words. “You don’t think that’s true?”
The woman chuckled. “The more you see of this world, the more you realize God created people of all colors, shapes, and sizes. Eventually, you have to admit that the Divine must love the rest of the rainbow as much as he loves your hue.” She lifted her bouquet of flowers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I nodded and waited for her to leave so I could summon Isabella again, but she simply stood and stared at me to the point that I started to feel awkward.
“Is there something else?” I asked.
“Well, the thing is, you’re sitting in dear old Johnny’s lap.”
I turned to the headstone and read the name. Jonathan O’Hare.
“Oh, oh!” I jumped up, backing away, brushing off my soaked rear end. “I’m so sorry.”
Another cackle escaped the woman. “Don’t worry,” her eyes sparkled. “I daresay that is the most action my poor husband has seen in years. Now don’t you be getting any ideas, Johnny, love.” She wagged her finger at his headstone. “I’m still your number one girl.”
A laugh burst out of me. This woman was a hue I could get used to. She raised a hand in farewell.
I waved back. “Have a good day, miss…”
“Oh, you can call me Marge. See you some other time.”
I turned and went further into the cemetery.
Could I be as carefree as Marge if Pastor Collins discovered what I was doing?
The lightness in my chest evaporated as I moved among the graves and came across a blank headstone, waiting to be magically carved.
Could this be Isabella’s planned resting place?
“I like her.” Isabella’s voice sent my heart into my throat. She was at my side, watching the woman as I turned.
“Where’ve you been?” I kept my tone quiet. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
“You were having a conversation with that charming woman over there. I wasn’t about to pop out and make you appear all crazy.”
“Can she see you?”
“You’re the medium, Mary. Only you can see me.”
“Why can I see you and nobody else? Your body isn’t here?” Yet. We both flinched at the word left unsaid.
Isabella snorted. “Why would I know how your power works?”
I pressed fingers to my forehead and massaged it. “Okay. Look, I’ve decided I’m going to help you figure out who killed you.”
She flicked her hair and sniffed. “Finally.”
“You’re welcome.”
She threw up her hands. “Yes, thank you. But honestly, isn’t it rather heartless to know you’re the only person who can help someone and then deny that aid?”
I gaped at her. I’d never met a person so entitled, which was quite a statement, considering I had Lydia as a sister.
Isabella bent over and reached behind a headstone, lifting a black cat. “Oh, and I found her. She followed you in. Isn’t she delightful?” The feline stared back at me with large yellow eyes, though it held a vague translucent quality to it.
I gazed at it in shock. “A ghost cat?”
Isabella snuggled the furry creature, and it purred. “You are so adorable. Yes, you are.”
“Is it… yours?”
“Not mine. Most fae avoid black cats. Too associated with witches.”
I sucked in a breath. I hadn’t noticed the cat trailing behind me, but could it have come all the way from Netherfield? “Does she have a white mark on her back left foot?”
Isabella checked, her eyes growing wide. “How did you figure that out?”
I frowned, unsure if I could handle any new mysteries in my life. “Can you tell me what you recall about the night you were murdered?”
She stroked the cat nestled against her. “I don’t remember what happened.”
“Nothing at all?”
“I recall going to bed the night before.”
“That’s it? You don’t remember anything from that day?”
Isabella shook her head.
“What about the day before you died?”
She shrugged. “It was like any other day. I woke up, got ready, helped my parents in the shop, ate lunch, hung out with friends, and went to bed.”
This ghost was anything but helpful. “You don’t know anyone who might want you dead?”
“If I was aware of someone who wanted me dead, don’t you think I would have told you that straight off?”
“Fine then, tell me about the day before.”
Isabella rolled her eyes, the cat leaping from her arms to stalk through the grass and do whatever ghost cats did. “Do you expect me to remember every little detail of each day of my life? I don’t know. It was a Thursday. What information do you need?”
“This is getting us nowhere.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“The police discovered a bite on your body during a full moon. They think a vampire or a werewolf killed you. Although, according to the news, your body wasn’t drained of blood, and why would a werewolf stop after only one bite? ” I flinched at my own morbid thoughts.
She paced back and forth, nibbling on her nails. “That would do it, wouldn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I have… had a rare genetic condition where if my blood ever mixed with any other magic, I’d die. I’m unsure who had knowledge of it. I didn’t go around telling people, but I didn’t hide it either.”
“Do you think the person who attacked you was aware of it?”
She shrugged. “How should I know?” But then she spun toward me. “Wait. I keep a journal… kept a journal. That should at least give you details about my daily life.”
“Where is it?”
“There’s a false bottom in the lowest drawer of my dresser.”
I rose. “I’ll go to your house and ask your parents if—”
She made to reach for me, her hands passing through my arm. “No wait, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“My parents are unaware I was… I was assisting specific individuals.” She breathed in deeply before continuing. “I was mixing fae power with witch’s potions, making remedies that are forbidden for those who needed it.”
“Like the wolfsbane potion?” My thoughts flashed to Frank.
“I… it’s all listed there in the journal.”
“You don’t want your parents to find out you were helping people?”
“Some names, if they were to get out, could put my… clients in danger. I doubt if my mom and dad would show such discretion.”
That was the last thing I’d expected from someone who’d seemed so self-absorbed.
She gazed at me. “But I can trust you, can’t I?”
I hadn’t chosen to be a medium. Nevertheless I was. Just by talking to Isabella, I was making myself as forbidden as Frank or any other of Isabella’s clients.
And yet, Frank needed me. “You can trust me.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Then you have to find a time to get it when they aren’t home.”
I ran my hands over my arms, tugging my coat closer against the cold. “I know of a time.”
“You do?” Hope sparked in Isabella’s eyes.
I nodded, looking at the open grave in front of me. “There’s a candlelight vigil tomorrow.”