Chapter 6 Rhiannon
RHIANNON
I didn’t understand the technicalities of what Eryx explained, about what was possible for spirits and what wasn’t, which vexed me.
This infernal secret-keeping between parapsych Dynasties was for our own survival, but it meant that in situations like these, when our survival depended on both of us sharing knowledge, I was at a disadvantage.
He leaned back against the blue tile of the kitchen counter, his back to the sink.
The floral tattoos on his forearms moved as he talked.
Eryx talked with his hands quite a bit. He was a patient teacher, ignoring my frustration as I asked question after question about the metaphysics of spiritual energy and what rules there were around Echoes.
If the spirits weren’t looping, then it was hard for me to discern what they were doing, or how magic might be involved.
Finally, something clicked in my head. “It’s like a finger trap.”
His pale eyes lit up. “Yes. Exactly.”
That was the part that was magical. “All the different loops have been woven together, and the more the living try to leave, the tighter they pull.”
Eryx nodded, a sigh escaping him. The relief my understanding brought him disappeared quickly. He was puzzling through the same thing I was—who had enough power to do something like this? Even on the island, this would have been quite a feat.
“Was Cassandra Necroline capable of something like this?” I asked, remembering his theory that this had something to do with his uncle’s wife. “Would she be able to orchestrate something of this magnitude?”
He stared up at the ceiling, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
“It’s hard to say, to be honest. My first instinct is to say no.
She was a Seer, not a necromancer. Roman might have been able to pull something like this off in life, but in death?
No. Most spirits don’t have the ability to wield their parapsych powers after death, let alone the kind of skill it would take to weave these loops. ”
It might have been the most I’d ever heard him say at once. I hopped up onto the butcher block counter. At least nothing inside the cottage was looping. Not that I could see anyway. But the atmosphere here was weird.
The usual sounds that made up a house in the city were simply not present. The perpetual ambient noise of traffic, sirens, people talking, were all suspiciously absent. It was too quiet.
Eryx continued, his voice growing more thoughtful by the moment. “But Cassandra is a curious case. Why did she only have the one life-altering vision, and then never another?”
It was my turn to shrug. Somewhere in the house the whispering had stirred up again. The words were still indiscernible to me, but the voices of the dead sent chills through me. “Sometimes that happens.”
I didn’t say it, but we both thought it—that happened to weak Cognoscenti—but weak Seers didn’t predict enormous natural disasters. In fact, most modern Seers, ones born in the last century anyway, didn’t have the capability to predict such huge events at all.
They were excellent at short term visions, and had developed a variety of skills to hone their powers further, but if there were Cognoscenti with large-scale powers, they kept them quiet, and for good reason. The Authority tended to disappear Seers whose talent was too accurate.
Eryx frowned, pausing to listen to the whispers for a moment before continuing. “Yes, sometimes a parapsych has one powerful emanation, and then no others… but that’s not what I remember happening to her.”
He was right, now that I thought about it.
There had been rumors about her for a short while—maybe when she married Magnus and moved to Orphium?
That part was hard to remember, but now I recalled that Cassandra’s terrible reputation had come from the fact that her subsequent predictions had been wrong.
The intensity of the whispers increased, and I finally understood where my fear came from. Though the dead couldn’t truly hurt me, they could see into me, know me in a way that I didn’t usually allow.
I shook my head. “I wish we could visit the Library of Amarante.”
Eryx’s shoulders slumped. The mood in the kitchen had darkened.
A feeling of helplessness danced at the periphery of my mind, alluring in its promise that if I would simply give up, this could all be over sooner.
Perhaps something similar took place in Eryx’s mind, because he pushed off the kitchen counter, shaking his head.
“Why can’t we visit the library?” he asked, turning quickly to look out the window. He peered out at the garden for a long moment. “We can’t go back the way we came… but we might be able to go further in.”
Further in. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but the thought of it was a disconcerting idea. What other choice did we have, though? “All right,” I agreed. “Let me freshen up a little and then we can try.”
More than anything, I needed a few moments to myself. It was rare for me to feel afraid. I had been alive for so long, and seen so much, that very little scared me anymore. But this place… being trapped here… it frightened me.
And it wasn’t just the way the spirit energy was too strong here. It was Eryx, being locked in here with him. I was terrified for him to see me the way the spirits did. Terrified for him—for anyone—to know me so deeply.
Terrified, yes. But despite that, some intrusive impulse within me wanted it.
Desired it. Craved it. It practically burned within me, this idea that letting him in would feel good.
But I didn’t make decisions according to what would feel good.
I made decisions based on what would be right to do, or most efficient.
Quickly, in the gleaming bathroom at the top of the stairs, I splashed my face with cold water.
There was nothing efficient about being here.
Why had I come? This had been a foolish, impulsive decision, and I so rarely made those.
I took a risk and now both Eryx and I were stuck.
When I raised my face to the mirror, the face that looked back at me was not my own.
It was the spirit from the garden, dressed in corpse garb.
I bit back my yell of surprise, then blinked.
It was just me in the mirror. I knew better than to second-guess myself as my heart raced.
The spirit had been there. It was trying to frighten me.
I took several steadying breaths, then marched out of the bathroom.
I wasn’t going to be intimidated by a dead person.
In the bedroom, I grabbed a crossbody bag from one of my suitcases and slung it across my chest, then stared at the walls. Defiance rose in me. “Just try and scare me,” I whispered.
I don’t have to try, Rhiannon, said an unfamiliar voice in my head.
I did my best not to shudder. “You are dead, and I will never die.”
There are fates worse than death, and if you’re not careful you will find all of them.
It sounded like a threat, and I didn’t take kindly to threats, and I most certainly didn’t negotiate with bullies. “Well,” I breathed, my heart racing. “Thank you for the heads up.”
Without another word, I made my way downstairs.
Eryx waited in the front hallway of the cottage.
I stopped on the landing, using the gilded mirror that hung there to apply a swipe of deep rose lipstick with a blurring effect that made my lips look as though they’d just been kissed.
As I stepped into the foyer, Eryx’s eyes slid from the window in the arched front door to me.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured, so softly I wondered if he actually meant for me to hear him. Before I could think too hard about it, he cleared his throat. “Did you know the front door opens to Eighth Ave?”
I frowned, trying to work the geography out in my mind.
It made sense. The property Hemlock House and Oleander Cottage sat on had been the historical site of the Necroline Dynasty’s first seat, back in Orphium’s feudal days.
The lot was huge. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that the front door of the cottage might open onto one of the chicest streets in the district.
“Really?” I asked. “How close are we to the original Delicia’s?”
A slow grin spread over Eryx’s face. “If this works, we could go.”
I nodded. “If this works, it should be our first stop.”
Eryx took a deep breath, then opened the front door.
I followed closely. The rose hedge was thick here, the heady scent of the blooms filling my nostrils as we walked towards the wrought-iron gate a short distance away.
The sounds of the city street were more apparent the further we went.
It was comforting that at least they existed here in the past, or wherever it was that we were.
It was obvious we’d gone through some kind of portal, but how much was real and how much was illusion was still a mystery. We paused by the gate. Like the garden, there was discord between what I saw and what I heard.
Sounds of the city bustled around us, but almost no one was on the street. No cars, no throng of people rushing to and fro. It was afternoon here, summer, which meant that it was hazy, not sunny but not cloudy. The sky was a faint shade of pale green, like it might storm.
That gave me no information at all. Orphium was always on the brink of a storm.
It was bizarre though that there were no throngs of people, only the sounds they would have made if they were here.
And then I saw her, the post-lady, coming our way.
She had the gate open before she saw us.
Even then, she recognized we were there, but only barely.
Eryx greeted her. “Good day.”
She nodded, but continued moving past him to slide the mail through the slot in the front door. I stepped into her path. I wanted to try something. “Excuse me, has my copy of Women’s Watch Weekly come?”