In the Shadow of Blackbirds (34 page)

Death bit at the backs of my ears.
I told you I was coming. Get ready. I’m here.

“You’re not here yet,” I said. “I’m still upright and walking, aren’t I?”

I clutched my mother’s bag and walked five more blocks to Mr. Darning’s photography studio, not far from the site of the Liberty Loan drive where Aunt Eva had purchased my goggles in another life. The red automobile that had been parked outside our house during the photographer’s visit sat next to the curb.

I hurried to the studio’s door and banged on the glass. “Mr. Darning? Are you in there?”

I held my breath. A figure moved inside.

“Mr. Darning?” I banged again. “Please open up. It’s Mary Shelley Black. I need your help.”

The photographer appeared behind the glass with rumpled hair and blinking eyes. With his mask in his hand, he opened the door, and for the first time I saw his entire face, including a trim mustache that matched his copper-wire hair.

“Miss Black. You caught me off guard. I slept here last night because my neighbors all have the flu.”

“It got Aunt Eva, too. I’m scared it’s going to take me at any minute.”

“Oh, Jesus.” He pulled away from me.

“I’ve been breathing the same air she has. I’m dead—I know it. Please take me to Stephen Embers’s house before it knocks me down.”

“What?”

“Take me over there, and convince Julius to allow me inside Stephen’s bedroom. Julius wants to take a picture of me for a contest. We can tell him the best place for a spirit photograph is up in Stephen’s room.”

“But—”

“I swear to you I’ll show you evidence of a soul who’s departed his body. I swear you’ll feel better about that girl of yours who died.”

He tied his mask around his face. “I don’t know if I should allow you in my car—”

“That’s her picture right there, isn’t it?” I pressed my hand
against the window that separated me from the photograph of the beautiful dark-haired woman.

“Yes, that’s Viv.”

“If you had only a few hours left to live,” I said, my fingers running pale streaks down the glass, “and you knew you could spend those last precious moments freeing her soul so she could rest in peace, wouldn’t you do anything you could to help her?”

His eyes shone with tears. “Of course I would.”

“Then help me free a soul I love.” The vinegary sting of grief nipped at my taste buds. “Keep me safe from Julius while I call Stephen to me one last time.”

He craned his neck toward me. “You’re—you’re going to let his spirit go?”

I nodded. “It’s time. They all need to move on, Mr. Darning.”

He blinked, and a tear escaped his left eye.

I took my hand away from the glass. “But I promise you, what you’ll witness in Stephen’s room will be better than MacDougall’s scale experiments, better than my compass, and far better than Julius Embers’s usual photographs. You’ll have proof your Viv lives on in some other place.”

He turned his gaze from me to the picture of the brunette woman, which told me his answer.

He would be coming.

I would be safe to explore Stephen’s last memories in the very room where he died.

.............

I SPENT MY FINAL CROSSING OF SAN DIEGO BAY IN THE
automobile section of the Coronado ferry, seated on the passenger side of Mr. Darning’s ruby-red vehicle, my black bag tucked beneath my legs. Once the
Ramona
docked, Mr. Darning slammed his foot on the gas pedal and we sped across the island that wasn’t an island, past the streetcar tracks that had carried Aunt Eva and me to the Emberses’ house, and alongside the restless Pacific until we reached the two-story cottage with brown shingles.

He pulled the car next to the curb and shut off the motor.

Three crows were perched on the Emberses’ roof. Their sinister caws laughed over the ocean’s roar, and I swore they stared me in the eye.

“Oh no.” A headache erupted across my skull. “You were right.” I slunk down in my seat.

Mr. Darning popped open his door. “I was right about what?”

“I can’t get out of the car until those birds go away.”

“Why not?”

“I see their beaks.”

“Pardon?”

“They’re like scissors. They could tear me to shreds. I don’t like how they’re looking at me.”

Mr. Darning didn’t move.

“Kill them,” I shouted in a husky tone that startled the both of us.

He stepped out of the car and smacked his hands together. “Shoo. Go away, birds. Get out of here.”

The calculating birds didn’t budge.

“Throw something at them.” I slid farther down against the leather. “Hurry, before they smell the gore on my clothing.”

“What gore? Why are you talking like that? Your voice sounds different.”

“Just kill them.”

“I can’t go throwing rocks at somebody’s roof. Let me fetch my box of photographic plates from the backseat so we can go inside. Ignore the birds.”

“I can’t ignore them. Look at their eyes. They’re watching me.”

He backed away from the car. “You’re starting to scare me. Please … let me fetch my plates from the backseat.”

The dark thugs on the roof flapped their wings and took flight. I ducked and gasped and covered my head with my arms while their feathers beat against my neck.

Mr. Darning touched my back and made me jump. “The birds are headed east. They’re nowhere in sight. You don’t need to be afraid of them. All right?”

I lifted my head and made sure the birds were truly gone. “All right.” My voice resembled my own again. “I’m sorry. They bother me these days.”

He opened my door for me. “Calm yourself and stop shaking so much. There’s nothing to fear.” Despite his bold words, his own hands trembled.

A disorienting bout of light-headedness threatened to stop me from making my way up to the front porch, but I gulped deep breaths and persevered, still keeping an eye out for crows. And the flu. My dizziness and confusion could have been the first signs of fever.

Mr. Darning’s raps against the front door sounded as loud to my ears as cannon blasts. We waited almost a minute, with no results, and then he knocked again.

I reached out to the wall below the porch light for support. “What if Julius isn’t home?”

“Shh. Let’s listen for his footsteps and make sure he’s not avoiding us.”

We tipped our ears toward the door and stood stock-still, but I only heard waves breaking on the shore across the street.

Mr. Darning swallowed and looked my way. “He might be dead.”

“Oh no.” I jiggled the brass doorknob.
Locked.
“No!” I pushed against the door as if I were truly strong enough to break it down. “This can’t be happening. His cousin came to our house just yesterday. Julius was alive as of her visit.”

Mr. Darning shook his head. “Being alive yesterday doesn’t mean a thing with this flu.”

“Don’t remind me. My aunt …”

“I’m sorry.”

I glanced behind me at the empty lawn where the lines of photography customers had waited. I thought of the studio … and the porthole-style windows.

“Oh … wait … Stephen’s entrance.” I tore down the front steps.

“Where are you going?”

“Stephen used to climb through the studio’s windows,” I said, my feet squishing across the dew-soaked front lawn, “to save the equipment at night when Julius left them open.”

Mr. Darning trailed after me with his brown case of glass plates in hand.

Around the corner, beyond the studio’s entrance, I saw three round windows—all open to allow the chill from the night to settle inside the house. Or else left open by a man unavailable to shut them.

Stephen’s grandparents had built the openings six feet off the ground, so the portholes were more a useless nautical decoration than a means of view or escape. A larger window faced the ocean at the front of the house, but I had always seen its shutters closed and locked, perhaps so Julius could further provide a dim and ghostly atmosphere inside the studio.

Two options existed: a coral tree with thick branches that reached out to the windows and a sturdy white trellis that was attached to the wall next to the leftmost porthole. I didn’t feel like shinnying up a tree trunk in my taffeta dress, so I grabbed hold of the trellis’s latticed wood and started to climb.

“You can’t go into that house alone,” said Mr. Darning. “Not when Julius might be in there.”

My head still felt dizzy, so I didn’t dare look down at him.
My hands brushed past a flowering vine that tickled the backs of my fingers. “I’ll run”—I grunted and kept going upward—“straight to the side door … and let you in right away. I just hope Stephen isn’t furious at me for coming.”

“Why would
Stephen
be furious?”

I wrapped my right hand around the bottom edge of the left window. “He believes there are creatures inside the house that want to hurt me. Nightmare creatures.” I peeked inside the studio.

“Do—do you see anything in there?”

I shook my head. “It’s empty. The lights are off. I’m going in.” I clutched the trellis again and went a few inches higher. “Please turn away, Mr. Darning. This won’t be ladylike.”

“Be careful.”

“I’ll try.” I reached out to a nearby tree branch, gripped it with both hands, and swung my feet to the bottom edge of the round window. I then slid my legs carefully through the opening so I wouldn’t take the six-foot drop in one loud go. With my fingers still locked around the branch, I held my breath and listened for Julius’s footsteps. Or Stephen’s voice.

“Are you all right?” Mr. Darning called from down below.

“I’m fine. I’m going to push the top half of my body through and see if I can twist around and hang on to the ledge before dropping.”

Somehow, I did exactly that. With a swish of black taffeta and the thuds of tumbling feet and elbows, I landed on the studio floor—bruised but intact.

The house inside tasted of smoke and poison and blazing-hot metal. It felt wrong to be there, and I would have bolted out the door if I hadn’t felt in my gut that Stephen’s room hid the missing piece in the puzzle of his death.

“What are you doing in here?” asked someone behind me.

I leapt to my feet.

Julius came toward me through the open pocket doors, but he staggered rather than walked. His pace was slow and his footsteps unsteady, like the movements of a drunk. His pale face had grown thin compared with his appearance just four days earlier, and his wild black hair needed a good brushing.

I ran over to the side door and opened it for Mr. Darning.

Julius stopped in his tracks when he saw the other photographer entering the studio. “Why are you both here?” he asked.

“We thought you were dead from the flu.” I grabbed hold of Mr. Darning’s arm for support. “You weren’t answering the door. We got worried.”

Julius took four more labored steps and spoke as if we were idiots. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

I steadied my breathing. “I’m here to put your brother to rest. I’ll sit for that photograph you want.”

Julius’s eyes—so bloodshot they must have burned—blinked as if I’d just woken him from a long sleep. He stood up straight and made his voice deeper. “Why are
you
with her, Darning?”

“I’m curious about her abilities. I agreed to accompany her to ensure you’ll be sending a legitimate photograph of your brother’s spirit to that contest.” Mr. Darning lifted his brown case. “As usual, I’ve brought my own plates, marked with my initials, to prevent you from switching to your own doctored versions.”

Julius scrutinized Mr. Darning through uneasy eyes. “You sure you’re not plotting to get me arrested?”

Mr. Darning lowered his case. “I swear I’m only here for the sake of psychical research. I believe this girl is genuinely capable of luring your brother into a photograph. If we can get him to come, there would be no need for you to be arrested, would there?”

I lifted my chin and tried not to let my fear get the best of me. “Please let me help your brother, Julius. I know he’ll come to me.
You
know he’ll come to me.”

Julius leaned his hand against the wall for support, right next to the picture of the white-draped phantom and me. He sniffed and rubbed his nose. “You look terrible, Mary Shelley. Are you sick or something?”

“No—just tired and anxious to contact your brother. Will you let me?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and hesitated some more. My eyes and throat stung as if a cloud of cyanide hovered overhead, and Julius looked equally sickened by the toxic atmosphere.

To speed things along, I spoke to his way of thinking. “Are
we ready to win this prize, Julius? Should we help both you and Stephen get out of this house for good?”

“How much is the prize?” asked Mr. Darning.

I kept my eyes on Julius. “Two thousand dollars for solid proof of the existence of spirits. Isn’t that right, Julius?”

Julius stirred back to life once again. He pushed himself off the wall. “Bring Stephen quickly … and then send him far away from here. I don’t want him anywhere near me, so don’t—”

I hurried out to the house’s main entryway.

“Hey! Where are you going, Mary Shelley?”

Julius and Mr. Darning followed me out to the hall, their footsteps amplified in the deep, hollow space, which still reminded me of the belly of a ship with its dangling brass lantern and knotty wood walls.

“Why are you out here?” asked Julius. “The studio’s back—”

“Shh.” I lifted my finger, for I thought I had heard a whisper down the way.

The grandfather clock continued to preside over the far end of the hall, but the second hand ticked louder than I remembered. A shadow hiding the round white moon face seemed to lengthen across the wall to the clock’s left and stretch toward the staircase. I remembered what the stairs looked like—the shine of the dark wood, the green runner trailing up the steps behind Stephen. An electrical hum rose in their direction, drowning out the ticking of the clock.

I kept an eye on that back portion of the house. “We have
to photograph him in his bedroom to catch him with your camera.”

Julius shook his head. “No! Absolutely not. You are not going into his room.”