Things Half in Shadow (48 page)

Once all of us were seated, Lucy said, “Before we begin, are there any questions?”

“Yes,” Mr. Pastor said. “Why, exactly, are we all here?”

Lucy, radiating patience, replied, “As you may know, I am also a medium of some renown. Considering what recently happened to Mrs. Pastor, may she rest in peace, I thought it would be fitting to hold a séance in her honor. Perhaps we might even be able to contact her and bid her a fond good-bye.”

That prospect caused a stir around the table as people whispered to their neighbors or shifted in their chairs. Jasper, I noticed, glared at me for having forced him into attendance.

“My gifts aren't as great as Mrs. Pastor's were,” Lucy continued, “so I took it upon myself to try some of her ways of contacting the
dead in addition to those that I employ. Hopefully the result will be a successful, meaningful séance for all of us.”

She next instructed everyone to hold hands. When I took Bettina's, she gave it an extra squeeze and whispered, “This is exciting.”

“Yes,” I whispered back. “It certainly will be.”

To my left, Lucy began her usual act, telling me and Barnum, “I trust you both will be honest gentlemen. If you feel my hands or arms move, pipe up. It's important that no one present thinks there's any trickery involved in this séance.”

A sharp laugh rose in my throat, for I knew that everything about to happen involved tricks of some sort. With no small amount of force, I swallowed it down.

“Has everyone linked hands?” Lucy asked. “I ask that this human chain not be broken during the séance, no matter what transpires. In my experience, spirits who speak through me prefer silence, stillness, and near darkness.”

Her hand wriggled beneath my own in the exact same way it had during my first séance there. “You must pardon me, gentlemen. I need to lower this lamp.”

Barnum and I released her hands, allowing her to dim the lamp behind her. Now the room was lit just by candlelight. The open flames leaped and twisted, giving movement to the shadows in the recesses of the room, almost as if they were alive. I could only faintly make out the others seated around the table. The darkness obscured their faces, leaving only silhouettes against the candles' glow.

Lucy turned back to the table and I felt the prosthetic arm slide across the tablecloth toward me. I happily clasped it, knowing what was about to happen next.

“Is everyone comfortable and ready?” she asked.

The others responded with a couple of nods and a few murmurs that they were.

“Good,” Lucy said. “Let's begin.”

She closed her eyes and gave a single, extravagant sigh.

“I sense something. A presence. One not of this earth.” Her head tilted upward, and she spoke to the air above us. “I feel you, presence. Hovering just beyond this room. Do not hesitate. We are all friends here.”

Lucy then addressed those of us at the table. “This is a familiar presence. A comforting one. A woman . . . now entering. I feel her.”

At that moment, someone really was entering the room. Two people, actually. They were Lucy's old cohorts, Pierce and Millicent Rowland, who emerged from behind the spirit cabinet. Dressed all in black, they crawled along the floor, invisible to those of us at the table.

“Spirit,” Lucy intoned, “if you will, please make your presence known to the others.”

Everyone seated at the table waited for a response. Everyone, that is, but Lucy and me. Since we knew what was about to happen next, neither of us was surprised when one of the candles rose from a nearby side table. The candle hovered in the darkness, high enough so that everyone seated could see it. Next to me, I heard a sharp intake of air from Bettina. A logical reaction, I assumed, if one didn't know the bottom of the candle had been affixed to a wooden stick being manipulated by Pierce Rowland.

“Thank you, spirit,” Lucy said. “Your presence is welcome here. Are you, by chance, named White Sparrow? Extinguish the flame if you are.”

The candle, still floating, suddenly went out.

“White Sparrow!” Lucy exclaimed. “How good it is to be in your presence once again. Are you well?”

This time, the candle leapt into flame again, causing Bettina to give a startled yelp. That pleased me no end, for the trick was my handiwork. The candle was really a thin, hollow rod of wood that had been dipped in wax. Inside it was a lit wick that rose and fell while being pushed or pulled from the bottom by Mr. Rowland. A
push of the wick made the candle appear to light itself. A single pull yanked the flame inside the hollow rod, making it look as if the candle had been snuffed out. Such a simple illusion, but highly effective.

“I'm detecting an additional presence in the room,” Lucy announced. “White Sparrow, have you brought more spirits with you?”

When the candle went out again, she asked, “May I speak directly to them?”

The flame popped into view again.

“Thank you, White Sparrow.” Lucy closed her eyes again. “Spirits of the Great Beyond, I beseech you, honor us with your presence. We have gathered together in the spirit of curiosity and respect to communicate with you. If you wish to join us, please enter this solemn room.”

When she spoke, I felt two taps on my right foot. They were from Millicent Rowland, on the floor behind me—a signal that the second phase of our grand illusion was ready. I, in turn, reached out with my left foot and tapped twice atop Lucy's toes.

Prompted by the cue, she said, “Now, kind spirits, please make your presence known to us. Show us that you are here.”

That was Thomas's cue to raise the instruments scattered about the room. While Mr. Rowland had been manipulating the trick candle, his wife had set about attaching the instruments to strings that descended from the pulleys in the ceiling. Now all of them rose, pulled by Thomas from inside the spirit cabinet. The bugle I had handled earlier twirled convincingly. The bell Mrs. Dutton had touched now swung gently back and forth.

Yet I hadn't been content to let the instruments simply float about. Some of them also began to play themselves. At least, that's how it appeared. The invisible hand that tapped out a steady beat on a hovering drum was actually Pierce Rowland, beating a twin instrument in the darkness just below it. It was the same trick for
the bells, which Millicent Rowland was manning. The bugle was actually being played by Thomas, who tooted on one inside the spirit cabinet.

And what about the thrumming strings of the violin that floated a few feet behind me? That was yours truly, plucking a beaten-up banjo—also found in my attic—that sat on the floor between Lucy and me. The whole illusion provided the desired response, for gasps of awe rose from around the table.

“Thank you, spirits,” Lucy said once our guests had been suitably impressed. “Are any of you familiar with someone seated at this table? Rap once for no, twice for yes.”

Mr. Rowland rapped on the drum two times.

“Do you know
more
than one person present?”

Two taps again.

“Spirit, have you only recently entered the Great Beyond?”

Another two taps.

“Spirit, I thank you and welcome you back to the earthly realm,” Lucy said. “May I ask, are you the famous Mrs. Lenora Grimes Pastor?”

This time, the two beats of the drum arrived slowly, with Mr. Rowland pausing between them to draw out the tension. When the second tap arrived, it caused a noticeable tension at the table. I felt it zip through our clasped hands, the frisson of fear and excitement being passed from palm to palm.

“If you are indeed Mrs. Pastor, kind spirit, then please find some way to prove that it is you.”

The tambourine in front of Lucy, untouched since the séance began, started to tremble. It rattled across the tablecloth in front of her for a moment before leaping into the air. That, of course, was also the work of Thomas, pulling the string Lucy had attached to it while the rest of us were watching the other instruments. Still, it prompted Robert Pastor to cry out, “It's
her
! Only Lenora would choose the tambourine!”

Some of the others nodded their agreement as the tambourine continued to bob up and down.

“Welcome, Mrs. Pastor. You honor us with your presence.” Lucy flinched, as if she had just been insulted. “No, you're wrong. We
do
welcome you.”

A confused murmur rose from the table, lifting and falling in the same manner as the tambourine. Lucy, meanwhile, continued her one-sided argument. She had rehearsed it several times during the night, and by that point it was utterly convincing.

“Not all of us wish you ill. Some of us miss you. We long to see you again, to speak to you again.”

The tambourine shot upward, slamming into the ceiling. The impact, coupled with a mighty tug from Thomas, separated the instrument from its string. It dropped to the table with a rattling crash, now lifeless.

Mr. Pastor cried out, “Lenora, no!”

“She's angry,” Lucy warned us. “After all, one of us killed her.”

The other instruments, which had been floating quietly the entire time, began to sway and spin. The violin, just like the tambourine before it, flew to the ceiling before crashing to the floor. That set off a shriek from Mrs. Dutton, who repeated it when the bugle followed the same course. Next was the drum. Then the bell. One by one, all the instruments hurled themselves toward the ceiling before raining onto the floor.

Leslie Dutton continued to shriek, now joined by Mrs. Mueller. Their screams ended once the last instrument fell, only to start up again when the table began to shift beneath our hands.

“What's happening?” Bettina asked in the darkness.

“It's Mrs. Pastor,” I said. “She's seeking to disrupt the séance.”

In truth, it was Lucy, using the lift she had devised to make the table shimmy and shake.

“Please, Mrs. Pastor,” she begged. “Let us speak with you!”

The table rose, prompting surprised yelps from everyone seated there. Bettina's grip tightened around my right hand as the table rose and fell. Someone was crying, although darkness made it difficult to tell who it was. Soon the sound was completely drowned out by Lucy's voice.

“She knows!” she exclaimed. “She knows which one of us killed her!”

Under the table, she tapped my knee. It was my cue.

“Who did it?” I asked, trying my best to feign frightened curiosity.

Unlike Lucy, I hadn't had the luxury of much rehearsal. But whatever flaws there were in my performance, they were covered by Mrs. Collins, who ominously said, “She won't say. She refuses to say. Instead—”

She paused to give a gasp of horror so well rendered it belonged on the stage.

“No, Mrs. Pastor! Please, not that!”

“What is she saying?” I asked.

Lucy stuttered for dramatic effect. “S-S-She says she wants revenge!”

By this point, Pierce Rowland was hurrying around the table, using a fire puffer to shoot bursts of air at us. The table, meanwhile, bucked and swayed as Lucy continued her frenzied speech.

“Mrs. Pastor plans to manifest herself,” she said. “She wants to appear to us once again. And when she does, she intends to bring harm to the person who killed her. She intends to commit murder, just as
she
had been murdered!”

A strong gust of air pushed into the room, snuffing out the candles. The wind swirled around the table, circling us. All of the scattered instruments sounded out in the breeze—a chaotic symphony of drumbeats, horn blasts, and discordant plucks. One of the instruments—a bell, from the sound of it—flew across the room and clanged against the wall.

Bettina released my hand. Everyone, in fact, had let go, breaking the circle entirely. In the dimness, I saw people cover their ears, their eyes, their heads. The only hand that remained clasped was my own, gripping the fake one Lucy had laid on the table. When the fingers wriggled beneath my own, I realized she had, at some point unnoticed by me, taken my hand for real.

“What's happening?” she whispered fearfully. “This isn't what we planned.”

No, it wasn't at all. Inside the spirit cabinet, tucked in tight with Thomas, was the painted-white figure for the Pepper's ghost illusion. We had planned an additional trick, one in which the ghostly figure flew from the cabinet, riding a wire stretched along the ceiling. But when Thomas pushed it through the cabinet door, the figure merely caught on the wind and flew away. It, too, hit the wall—a crumbling bundle of wood, leather, and lace—before joining the bell on the floor.

I was the only one who noticed it. Everyone else was too busy shrieking or cowering. Mr. and Mrs. Dutton clung to each other, her face buried in his shoulder. Mrs. Mueller covered her eyes, peeking now and again through her fingers. Robert Pastor, half standing, looked to the ceiling, the wind whipping his hair.

“Lenora, stop!” he shouted into the breeze. “Stop this at once!”

Shockingly, it did. The wind ceased. The instruments stopped their clamor. The table dropped back to the floor, a slight wobbling the only sign it had been airborne at all.

Something rose from the center of the table, passing easily through the wood and tablecloth. Not quite a figure, not quite a shadow, I can only describe it as a black fog that stretched upward and then outward. It reminded me of a bat unfurling its wings, opening up, revealing a human figure hidden inside.

Soon the fog faded entirely, leaving behind the shape of a woman. Not much taller than a child, she stood on the table, shifting and shimmering. Features began to appear. Rounded
cheeks first, then a slight curve of chin. A small nose bumped outward before eyes appeared. Keen, sparkling eyes that stared directly at me.

I could only stare back, dumbfounded and convinced without a doubt that I was looking at the ghost of Lenora Grimes Pastor.

“H
ello, Mr. Clark,”
Mrs. Pastor said.