Autumn (49 page)

             
Hastily Arabel and Eli broke apart and Arabel rushed to the door, Eli close behind her. Arabel ran down the stairs and followed the noise; she recognized one of the voices as belonging to Morna. The commotion was coming from the front hall so Arabel quickly made her way there.

             
Morna was visibly upset and standing with two of Chief Constable Bartlin’s officers.

             
“What is it?” Arabel queried anxiously. “What has happened?”

             
Morna turned to Arabel with tears in her eyes and she clutched at Arabel’s arm fearfully.

             
“They’ve found her, miss! Your granny, Miss Amelia!”

             
“Where is she? Is she alright?”

             
One of the officers, a tall, burly man with black hair answered solemnly.

             
“She was found outside of the Priory, miss; she is most unwell. The doctor is looking her over now and will likely bring her home if he clears her as fit to travel.”

             
“You are most welcome to come with us and see her now, if you’d like, Miss Spade,” the other officer broke in.

             
“Where is she? Is the doctor with her at the Priory?” Arabel wanted to know.

             
The first officer nodded. “Yes, she’s at the Priory.”

             
Arabel turned to Eli. “We must go straight away,” she said and Eli nodded.

             
Morna quickly brought Arabel and Eli their outerwear and the maid twisted her hands together nervously.

             
“Oh, poor Miss Amelia!” she wailed.

             
The officers did not elaborate on the finding of Amelia Bodean and Arabel could not bring herself to speculate as to what state she might find her grandmother in. Arabel felt tendrils of fear winding their way throughout her system and she searched in her mind for a link to her grandmother. Arabel felt, faintly, a pulse, a sigh, a sad whisper of something.

             
And then nothing.

             
Arabel and Eli rode with the officers in their efficient carriage to the Priory. Ira flew staunchly overhead and Arabel was glad of the bird’s presence. The sun had set and an inky blackness took its place. The air was cold and Arabel felt certain it would snow. She glanced at Eli; his eyes were hooded and Arabel knew by the grim set of his jaw that he was worried at what they might find. Arabel took hold of Eli’s hand and was reassured by his strong fingers linking with hers in solidarity. Eli squeezed Arabel’s hand and she smiled tremulously at him.

             
The officers seemed disinclined to offer up further information and Arabel realized if she wanted details, she was going to have to ask for them. She wondered at the officer’s secrecy and the worry gnawed at her with a sharp, unrelenting bite.

             
“Can you tell me, sir,” Arabel directed her inquiry to the first officer, “what my grandmother was doing at the Priory? She has been missing for days!”

             
“Can’t rightly say, miss,” the first officer replied. “Mrs. Johnston’s not been coherent and I reckon the doctor gave her something for the pain.”

             
“For the pain?” Arabel repeated blankly. “What sort of pain is she in?”

             
The second officer answered her
with an apologetic look. “She’s been hurt mightily
, M
iss
Spade
. Multiple stab wounds.”

             
Arabel’s eyes filled with incredulous tears as the grief and shock of his response sunk in.

             
“Stab wounds?” Arabel turned to Eli, her eyes swimming with emotion. “Stab wounds?” she repeated.

             
“Do you know what happened?” Eli asked quietly, placing his arm squarely around Arabel’s shoulders. He was disconcerted, although not surprised, to feel Arabel shaking slightly.

             
The officers shook their heads. “No witnesses, no arrests. A salesgirl found them when she was on her way home.”
             

             
Arabel latched onto one word. “Them?” she asked quickly. “Who was found with her?”

             
“We haven’t identified her, miss.”

             
“Why not?” Arabel asked the question but realized as she did that she dreaded the response. She knew, surely, it couldn’t be welcome news.

             
The two officers exchanged glances. The first one finally answered after a short, tense pause.

             
“She’s deceased, miss. No identification.” The officer’s eyes rested on Eli momentarily. “Looks to be a Gypsy though so the Chief is calling in a representative to identify the body.”

             
Arabel felt a cold sweat break out upon her skin. Was the dead woman Paloma Porchetto?

             
The Priory stood in the moonlight, eerie, despite the diverse crowds of people swarming the area and the multitude of officers Chief Constable Bartlin and his cohort, Mayor Aldritch, had brought with them. Arabel noted dully that Ira had flown to the top of the Great Torch, and from there, the bird surveyed the chaos and would wait for her. Arabel and Eli were guided away from the masses to the interior of the Priory
,
which was brightly lit with candles and torches and warm from the many large stone fireplaces.

             
Their steps echoed on the marble floor and Arabel felt colder by the second. Under her cape she began to shiver. Eli rubbed her arms gently, to warm her, but it did not help. The chill seemed to be coming from outside of Arabel and being rendered warm again seemed an impossible task. They crossed by the large flower store Arabel loved to visit and the tea and scone parlour where she’d spent many an hour gossiping with Shelaine. These sights and memories did not bring any comfort to Arabel however; her steps were wooden as she mentally prepared herself for the spectacle of her injured grandmother.

             
But nothing could have prepared her for the image which greeted her eyes.

             
Arabel gasped in horror as she caught sight of Amelia Bodean as she lay upon a pallet, ashen faced, still as death; Amelia Bodean had been most gruesomely attacked. Her face was covered in great, gaping gashes, her gown had been ripped across and shredded and she was covered in wounds. Blood was everywhere, soaking through the material of her grandmother’s gown in a heady spread and already doing the same with the sturdy blankets which covered her lifeless-looking body.

             
Arabel uttered a short, sharp cry of horror and ran to her grandmother’s side. She sank to her knees beside the pallet and she clutched at Amelia Bodean’s hand, noting the coldness of it as she felt her own chill intensify in reaction.

             
Arabel knew immediately that Amelia Bodean was going to die.

             
Tears streamed down Arabel’s face and she was scarcely aware of the presence of Eli beside her or of anyone else in the room. Her tears fell on her grandmother’s hand where they mingled with her blood and Arabel’s head fell forward in grief.

             
Regret was swirling through her; regret she hadn’t found more compassion when it could have made a difference, and that now, she’d have no such opportunity to let her grandmother know how much she loved her. Because love Amelia Bodean she did. Arabel felt the weight of it now. Her grief was silent and all-encompassing.

             
The doctor, a stout man in a double breasted waist-coat rushed toward Arabel.

             
“Arabel Spade?” he asked and Arabel nodded.

             
“These wounds are not human made,” the doctor said hurriedly, without bothering to introduce himself.

             
Arabel glanced at him in surprise, shocked out of her regretful reverie.

             
“Not human made?” she echoed. “Whatsoever do you mean, doctor?”

             
The doctor glanced around, as if he did not desire his words to be overheard by a great many people. He leaned in closer to Arabel and Eli. He gestured toward Amelia Bodean.

             
“The gashes on her arms are clean and disinfected. That sort of cleanliness only comes with magical attacks. Her entire body is similar. It’s as if the very air did this to her! The Gypsy woman, too, sustained identical wounds. There’s no human component directly, or physically, involved.” The doctor ended his short speech on a wondrous note, as if his mind was bending at the sheer level of mastery this brand of tortured magic would require.

             
“Is she in pain?” Eli asked quickly. “Is it likely she’ll regain consciousness?”

             
The doctor shook his head. “No pain,” he said, “and I reckon she will not awaken.” He looked at Arabel and gave her a sad smile. “I’m sorry, miss. Best say your goodbyes now, young lady.”

             
Arabel did not reply. She was deep in her mind, searching telepathically for Amelia Bodean. The link had to be there, somewhere, she knew. Arabel massaged her grandmother’s hand lightly and brushed her hands lovingly over her blood-matted gray hair. As if from far way in the distance, Arabel heard Eli thanking the doctor and saw that the officers who had brought them to the Priory had returned to speak with them further.

             
“We’ve identified your grandmother’s companion, miss,” the first officer spoke to Arabel. “The deceased has been identified as one Mrs. Paloma Porchetto, lately of Ravenswood Glen. Can you tell us what your grandmother’s involvement with this Gypsy woman could possibly be?”

             
“I’m sorry, officer, I have no idea what my grandmother was doing with her,” Arabel replied wearily, shielding her eyes from their astute gaze and focusing again on finding a telepathic link to Amelia Bodean.

             
“Can you tell me, miss, what enemies Mrs. Johnston might have had? Or anyone she’d recently been arguing with?”

             
Besides me? Arabel thought sadly to herself.

             
Out loud, she replied, “No, sir, I can think of no one with whom my grandmother was having a dispute.”

             
The officers fell into a thoughtful and respectful silence as Amelia Bodean’s faint breathing became decidedly further shallow and it was obvious for all present to see she laboured for air.

             
“Doctor!” Arabel cried out immediately.

             
The doctor was a short distance away, speaking to some other officers but he ran over at once.

             
“Has she worsened?” he asked and Arabel nodded anxiously.

             
“I don’t want her to suffer,” she implored him.

             
Arabel sent her grandmother a wave of love and asked for her forgiveness for their lack of understanding of one another. Arabel realized that she could not regret. Her heart was flooded with love for this woman who had raised her and Arabel kissed Amelia Bodean’s forehead in humble affection.

             
“Thank you,” she murmured gratefully. “I love you, grandmother. I truly do, with all of my heart. I love you so much.” Arabel’s voice broke at the last of her sentence and she laid her head down beside her grandmother’s dying body.

             
Blood began to saturate Arabel’s cloak and her hair but she paid no heed as Amelia Bodean drew her last breaths. One… Two…Three…

             
And then, Amelia Bodean Johnston was gone, departed from the earthly realm and freed at last from her ravaged physical form.

             
Directly in front of her, Arabel immediately saw five shimmering, vertical columns of invisible energy. It was her grandmother, she intuitively understood. The energy was a tangible presence in the room and it exuded ecstatic waves of invisible shimmers.

             
Arabel felt the columns’ energy permeate her own energy field and fill her with delighted presence. Arabel felt the lightness and the surrender of Amelia Bodean’s tightly constricted and soured soul. Arabel felt fresh tears fall down her cheeks but these tears were symbols of gratitude that her grandmother was finally free of the sorrows and the curses that had haunted her.

             
Peace had come for the dead. At least for one of them.

             
Arabel glanced over as Chief Constable Bartlin approached her. To Arabel’s surprise, the Chief was accompanied by Xavier Cross. The Chief nodded to Arabel and mumbled a brief condolence and then got to the heart of the matter.