Whisper of Souls: A Prophecy of the Sisters Novella (4 page)

When he spoke, his voice was strong and sure.

“You will not join me, Mistress?” The guttural intonation of the Soul who had spoken to her was there, under the surface, dangerous enough to thrill her without making her truly afraid.

She found herself stepping closer to him, almost against her will, lured by the eerie caress in his voice. “I have…responsibilities, children.”

He narrowed his eyes. “If you wish to spare them your pain, you will open the Gate to me. There is much that must be in place to see it done. We must begin.”

“I cannot.” But even as she said it she began to think that she should. It was, after all, her calling. Her duty as Gate. Who could fault her for doing the tasks that were assigned her before time itself? And wouldn’t it be a relief to succumb to the ceaseless temptation?

But then she thought of Lia and Alice, of baby Henry and the husband who loved and cherished her.

She looked up at the man—
No, not a man, the Beast
, she reminded herself.

“I need more time,” she finally said.

Samael surveyed her with hooded eyes. He could take her now. Lift her onto his horse and disappear into the sky of the Otherworlds. In many ways, it would be a relief. She would not have a choice, and if she had learned nothing else in her lifetime, she had learned that having a choice was often a burden.

He made no move toward her. “I will not be patient for long. You must choose.”

Then he turned his horse, looking over his shoulder one last time before galloping away. The Souls convened behind him, first at a trot and soon at a run, all of them beating a path into the sky. She watched until they disappeared, a swarming black shadow, into the horizon.

They seemed to take with them what little life the Otherworlds held. The air was quiet and still, the world nearly dead. When she was sure they were gone, she lifted into the sky and flew home as fast as her powers of travel would allow, the pull of the astral cord comforting as it led her back to her body. She grasped at it like a drowning man to a life raft, pushing herself into her sleeping form with force.

As soon as her spirit clicked within the confines of her body, she sat up. She was trembling, shaking from head to toe. She removed the medallion quickly, throwing it into the darkest corner of the room, wanting only to be rid of it, however temporary the respite might be.

She had very nearly made a mistake, one from which there would be no recovery. She must be more careful, avoid the Plane and Samael at all costs. She could no longer trust herself not to aid him.

Forcing herself back on the pillow, she lay in the dark for a very long time, her breath coming hard and fast. She told herself it was fear, the kind of fear she needed, the kind that would keep her from getting too close to Samael again.

And all the while desire hummed under her skin.

Adelaide woke shivering the next morning, not from her travel on the Plane and her meeting with Samael, but with cold. She lay huddled under the coverlet until Margery came with wood to stoke the fire and hot water for the basin.

Only after the maid left, the fire crackling as it roared back to life, did Adelaide dare to rise out of bed.

The floors were cold underfoot despite the thick carpet. She made her way to the window, half expecting it to be another gray, dreary day. But when she pulled back the curtains the sun nearly blinded her. It shone brightly across the fields, the frost-tipped grass glittering under a clear, ice-blue sky.

Soon it would be too treacherous to go to town. She would take advantage of the fair weather now, though it was never truly easy to get away without Ginny, who insisted on accompanying her to even the most mundane of destinations. Always watching. Always worrying. As if her simple observation could keep at bay Adelaide’s desire for the Plane.

Seeing a dark trail of ribbon in the corner, she bent to investigate, realizing it was the medallion. She picked it up and placed it in the back in the night table. She tried not to think about how many Souls had entered through the Gate she had opened by wearing it, however unwittingly.

She washed and dressed quickly, hoping to reach Edmund before everyone was awake and about. But when she left her room, dressed in her favorite emerald day gown, the house was quiet and still. She crept down the stairs and grabbed her cloak before opening the front door and slipping outside.

Her breath materialized like smoke as she crossed the grounds, the harsh bite of the coming winter stinging her cheeks. The carriage house was some distance away, back behind the main house. Her boots stuck in the cold, thick mud along the way. For a fleeting moment she thought it was madness to sneak out of the house at such an early hour on an errand Thomas would surely see as unnecessary, but she needed the solace of someone with whom she could speak plainly. Someone who would not judge her or gaze upon her with worried eyes.

She continued, stepping into the refuge of the carriage house with relief, feeling as if she had escaped the snapping jaws of an unseen monster hiding in the frigid woods that surrounded Birchwood Manor.

Breathing deeply, she tried to compose herself before seeking out Edmund.

She found him at the back of the building, giving gentle instruction to one of the younger stable hands as he wiped wax off one of the older carriages.

“Excuse me, Edmund. May I have a moment of your time?”

He stood, turning with obvious surprise. “Mrs. Milthorpe? Why…What on earth are you doing out at such an early hour? And on a cold day like this one?”

“I…I need to run into town…to take provisions to Sarah Montrose.”

Edmund gazed at her in silence. It wouldn’t be the first time she had called on Sarah, though bringing the widowed young mother supplies only fueled the whisperings of the townsfolk: that crazy, rich Mrs. Milthorpe went to Sarah not to be charitable, but because of Sarah’s well-known abilities as a spiritualist.

Edmund likely suspected there was more than simple charity to Adelaide’s visits with Sarah, but so far, he had said nothing. Still, he was a loyal friend and servant to Adelaide’s husband. She had to assume that Edmund reported her visits to Thomas, though Thomas had never spoken of it to her.

“Wouldn’t you rather wait until the afternoon?” Edmund asked.

Adelaide shook her head. “I’m worried about Sarah and the baby. It’s been too long since I last called.”

She felt a twinge of guilt. It was not a lie. Not entirely. She’d grown fond of Sarah and her cherub-cheeked infant, Mary. There was little Adelaide could do to resolve her own situation. To make right Henry’s legs or the quiet resentment that seemed already to exist between her daughters. But she could take a bundle of wood and a bag of food to Sarah. Could see her face brighten, relief softening the tension in her still-beautiful young face.

And if Sarah could offer Adelaide solace through her gift, could see and feel the suffering to which Adelaide was daily subjected, well, what was the harm in such an alliance?

“All right.” Edmund nodded slowly. “I’ll get an extra blanket for the carriage.”

Edmund guided the horses toward town, the wheels of the carriage bumping against the nearly frozen ground.

Adelaide looked out the window, across the fields of long grass stretching toward the clear blue sky. Despite the sun, it reminded her of one of the seven Otherworlds. One which she avoided for its desolation, for the stark loneliness and, yes, even fear, that lay over her like a wet woolen blanket when she was there. She preferred the other places on the Plane, ones in which the sky was deep and welcoming, the sun warm on her face. She savored the soft wind that graced her skin in those worlds where everything was beautiful and mysterious and Samael himself seemed closest of all.

She turned away from the window as they came nearer to town, preferring to let her mind drift amid the dim light inside the carriage. Here there was no time, no urgency. She wished she could stay forever, jostled to and fro in the in-between place where she would not be forced to make the decisions that loomed on the horizon.

Finally, Edmund stopped the horses with a gentle “Whoa, boys.” A moment later, the door opened and light leaked into the shadowed interior of the carriage.

Edmund held out a hand with a tip of his head. Adelaide took it, stepping down and making her way across the walk with Edmund on her heels. She kept her head held high, her back straight, even as she saw the stares of the townspeople. Saw the women, women who fancied themselves well-bred but who were really simple-minded bigots and gossips, whispering to one another behind gloved hands.

The Milthorpes’ wealth made them a target for such behavior, but it was not simple jealousy that set them apart. It was their seclusion, the air of mystery, somehow threatening, that inevitably arose when one kept to oneself. It did not help matters that the Milthorpes didn’t attend church. That they did not participate in any of the fairs and festivals that so excited the townspeople. That she and Thomas were friendly with people like Sarah and the gentleman who brought Thomas rare books for his collection while they eschewed contact with the affluent families undoubtedly deemed more in keeping with their class.

She nodded good morning anyway, not wanting to give them any more reason to think her strange or unfriendly. A bell tinkled as Edmund stepped ahead of her and opened the door to the shop. Adelaide stepped into the warmth of the store.

 “Good morning, Mrs. Milthorpe,” Charles Owning, the store’s proprietor, called to her from behind the counter.

She smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Owning.”

She had always liked the old shopkeeper, though she was never sure if he regarded her with genuine fondness or was simply looking out for his own business interests. The Milthorpes may have been regarded as strange, but they gave generously to every town cause and frequented the local shops for almost all of their necessities.

“What can I do for you this fine morning?” Mr. Owning asked.

Adelaide stepped up to the counter. “Let’s see…I’ll take a dozen eggs, and a bag each of sugar and flour.…”

“Shall I purchase one bundle of wood or two?” Edmund asked her.

“Two, please. Now that it’s getting colder, Sarah will need it for warmth as well as cooking.”

Edmund left to procure the wood as Mr. Owning wrapped the eggs. He turned to the big barrels on the floor, scooping flour and sugar into muslin sacks sitting atop the scales on the counter. When they reached five pounds each, he tied them with string.

She ordered tea, packages of shortbread, and two sweet sticks—one pink and one white—for Lia and Alice. Mr. Owning had tallied her purchases and was pushing the goods toward her when Edmund returned with the wood. He handed several bills to the shopkeeper and picked up the packages from the counter.

“Let’s stop at the butcher before we make our way to Sarah’s,” Adelaide said as they returned to the carriage with their supplies. “I’d like to see about bringing her some meat.”

Edmund didn’t protest. She couldn’t help wondering if it was because he didn’t dare or because he sympathized with her mission.

They crossed the street to the butcher, where Adelaide purchased a small package of beef. When they returned to the carriage, Edmund helped Adelaide inside. They made their way down Main Street before turning into the dingier alleyways that would take them to Sarah’s small flat. The farther they got from the center of town, the more run-down the neighborhoods became. Adelaide knew that Edmund deemed the area too rough for a lady, but she saw nothing that concerned her. Children played in the streets, laughing and running as any happy child would. It was true that they wore too-thin clothes and had dirty faces, but they were as innocent as her own three children. Seeing the men walking to and from the paper mill only solidified her gratitude for everything she had. There was no rhyme or reason to this life, it seemed. She could just as easily have been one of them.

Edmund turned the carriage onto a small, narrow road. A moment later, the horses slowed, and then came to a stop. Adelaide gathered her hat while she waited for Edmund to open the door. He carried the packages in his arms and followed her up the crumbling steps to the crowded hall that acted as an entryway for the tenants of Sarah’s building.

They made their way carefully up the steps. The treads were solid underfoot, though the wood had long ago lost its polish. Children scampered to and fro, and Adelaide heard the sounds of shouting from somewhere above their heads. The smell of cooked onions permeated the air. Adelaide did not find it unpleasant.

She was relieved when they came to the second-floor landing. It was not the dirt or smell that bothered her but the confines of the narrow stairwell, the too-low ceiling above her head. She was used to the large rooms at Birchwood. To the sweeping grounds that opened and expanded the world on all sides, the never-ending sky of the Otherworlds.

Small spaces made her skin clammy and her heart beat too fast.

She made her way down the hall with Edmund in tow, stopping at the fifth unmarked door and rapping on it. At first, all was silent, but a moment later Adelaide heard the soft cry of an infant, followed by shuffling and the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Who’s calling?” Sarah asked from the other side of the door.

“It’s Adelaide.” And then, worried that this might be too familiar a greeting for Edmund’s liking, she stood taller and corrected herself. “Mrs. Milthorpe.”

“Oh!” There was a jangle as Sarah disengaged the chain lock. The door opened, and Sarah stood there, regarding Adelaide with a surprised smile. “Mrs. Milthorpe! I didn’t know you were calling today.”

“Yes, well, it was so cold this morning. I wanted to make sure you and the baby have everything you need.” Adelaide turned to Edmund, whose arms were full. “Would you take everything inside for Miss Montrose?”

Edmund looked to Sarah for approval. She stepped aside, opening the door wider, and he crossed the threshold into the two-room flat. He stopped at the small table in the kitchen and began to unburden himself of the packages. Then he turned to the firebox, the flames so low as to be almost nonexistent, the wood glowing only faintly orange. He set the wood on the floor and set to stoking the fire with it.