Whisper of Souls

  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.

  Sarah had followed him in, shutting and locking the door behind them. Now she looked upon the supplies with shock, picking up each item.

  “Flour…and sugar…and…” She turned to Adelaide, her blue eyes shining. “But you didn’t have to…Goodness! This is so kind.”

  Adelaide smiled, waving her off. “Nonsense. I’m simply being neighborly. To say nothing of the many times you have provided me with much-needed company.”

  Sarah lifted a small tin from the bundle of supplies. “You’ve brought tea!”

  Adelaide laughed. “Of course.” She lifted one of the smaller packages. “And biscuits.”

  Sarah clapped her hands. “Lovely. I insist that you stay and share them with me.”

  At this, a small cry sounded from a corner near the hearth.

  “That will be Mary.” Sarah made her way toward the cradle against the wall, reaching into it and withdrawing a plump, pink-cheeked bundle wrapped loosely in a blanket. She cooed, kissing the baby’s cheek. “Do you mind holding her for me while I make the tea?”

  She passed the child to Adelaide without waiting for an answer. Adelaide had to force herself not to shrink away.

  “I could make the tea if you like.” Adelaide spoke to Sarah, avoiding the eyes of the squirming package in her arms. “I’m certain Mary would prefer her mother over me.”

  Sarah laughed. “Don’t be too certain! I’m all she has for company. She’s surely tired of me by now. And if the truth is told, sometimes it’s nice to simply move about without an extra fifteen pounds in one’s arms.”

  Adelaide was instantly sorry. Of course Sarah needed a respite from the demands of motherhood. She didn’t have maids and nurses to bathe and feed her child, as Adelaide did. There was no way for Sarah to avoid her maternal duties, though Adelaide was sure from the gleam in the young woman’s eyes when she spoke of her daughter that Sarah would pursue no such avoidance, even if she could.

  “The fire is stoked, Mrs. Milthorpe.” Adelaide was surprised to find Edmund at her shoulder. “Is there anything else I can see to for Miss Montrose?”

  “Thank you, Edmund.” Adelaide turned to Sarah, who was busy pulling two chipped teacups from a shelf on the wall. “Can Edmund help you with anything else, anything requiring a man’s strength?”

  Sarah shook her head, opening the package of biscuits and setting them neatly atop a tiny plate. “I don’t think so, though I’m ever so grateful for the wood and fire. I must confess that I woke with some worry this morning when I felt the chill air in the room.”

  “You needn’t worry,” Adelaide said. “You will not go cold or starve if I have anything to say about it.”

  “I’ll just wait downstairs, then,” Edmund said.

  “But you needn’t leave!” Sarah exclaimed. “Won’t you stay for tea?”

  Edmund shook his head. “The carriage stands out like a sore thumb. Besides, I’d like to pick up a newspaper for Mr. Milthorpe while we’re in town.”

  Adelaide knew the excuse for what it was. Edmund could have purchased a newspaper at the general store when they were procuring supplies for Sarah. Still, she appreciated his discretion and his willingness to offer her privacy, especially on an errand of which he disapproved.

  “That’s fine, Edmund. I’ll be down after my visit.”

  He nodded and left the room. Adelaide heard the door shut behind him. Little Mary squirmed in her arms, and Adelaide bounced her a little. She turned her attention to Sarah, who was lifting the steaming kettle from the stove.

  “Have you found employment?” she asked.

  Sarah shook her head as she poured. “It is impossible to find an employer willing to let me bring Mary, and there’s no one I trust to her care for long hours. I have been taking in some sewing, though. It isn’t much, but it has been keeping us in wood and food.”

  The baby coughed, sputtered, and began to cry.

  “Oh, my goodness…” Adelaide looked down at the infant, her tiny face scrunched up, the downy hair near her ears damp with sweat. Adelaide unwrapped the blanket and set it on the back of a chair. Mary instantly quieted.

  Sarah laughed. “She’s probably not used to so warm a room!” She carried the teacups to the small table near the firebox. “You’re rather good with her, you know.”
br />   Adelaide looked up in surprise. “Me?”

  Sarah nodded. “She likes you. I can tell.”

  Adelaide looked down at the baby. She regarded Adelaide with solemn eyes, her arms flailing out as if seeking to grab on to something. Adelaide took one of the child’s soft, dimpled hands in her own. Mary closed her tiny fist around one of Adelaide’s fingers. Adelaide’s heart tightened. Was this what holding her son would be like? Would he gaze at her with such trust, even after what she had done to him? Would he be as soft and light as a feather, the smell of powder and sweet baby sweat all about him?

  But there was no point wondering about such things.

  She walked toward Sarah, holding the baby out to her. “I think she’d like her mother now.”

  Sarah smiled sadly, taking the baby from Adelaide’s arms. Adelaide pushed away the emptiness that filled her with the baby’s absence.

  “Let us hope that she’d like her cradle instead,” Sarah said. “That way we can have a proper visit.” She set the baby in the cradle and returned to the table. “Please, sit.”

  She poured the tea and took a biscuit, biting into it with relish, closing her eyes as she chewed. For a moment, Adelaide envied her. The younger woman knew struggle the likes of which Adelaide never had, nor would. And yet she savored every pleasantry. Held her child with joy. Found happiness in each small blessing.

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Milthorpe. I do appreciate your kindness. And your friendship. I hope you know that.”

  “I do. And I appreciate you as well,” Adelaide said, taking a sip of tea.

  Sarah put down her biscuit and reached across the table, taking Adelaide’s hand in her own. “But you are not here simply for tea, though I am grateful for the company. There is something else on your mind, is there not? Something which causes you great fear and concern.”

  Adelaide nodded.

  “May I help?” Sarah asked. “As you know, there is no way to be certain if we will find the answers you seek. But I’m certainly willing to try for so good a friend.”

  Adelaide nodded again, her throat tightening with emotion. It was not simply that Sarah was so kind in her offer of help. It was that Sarah had called her a friend, and Adelaide could not remember the last time someone had done so.

  She looked down at her hands. “I…I’m still traveling, traveling the Plane each and every night, though I promise my husband and sister that I will not. Though I promise myself that I will not.”

  Sarah nodded, her eyes kind as she waited for Adelaide to continue.

  “I feel him calling me,” she whispered.

  “The demon spirit about whom you’ve spoken before?” Sarah asked.

  Adelaide nodded. “Not just on the Plane, but day and night, in this world and every other. It is all I can do to stay away from my chamber during the day. To avoid the Plane even while the rest of the world—even while my daughters and husband—move through the day with ease. The truth is, I’m exhausted with the effort of staying in this world. Sometimes I don’t see the point in it. I have little to offer those around me.”

  “When you feel the demon summon you,” Sarah began, “do you feel afraid? Under threat?”

  Adelaide shook her head. “That is the thing that I can tell no one. I am not afraid of him. I…I want to join him. To stay with him in the Otherworlds. To cease fighting my duty.”

  She was aware that she was babbling, that the words she spoke would make little sense to Sarah, for though she had come to Sarah in the past, had sought her particular brand of expertise, she had not told Sarah of the prophecy that bound her and Ginny. The prophecy that had bound generations of sisters before them and would continue to do so until someone was as strong enough to close the gate to Samael—or open it and end the struggle once and for all.

  Sarah squeezed Adelaide’s hand. “Let me try to see something. Perhaps it will help.” Sarah reached across the table, taking Adelaide’s other hand. “Close your eyes and be very quiet now, Mrs. Milthorpe.”

  Adelaide obeyed, waiting in the darkness, listening carefully. At first, there was only the ticking of the mantel clock, slow and rhythmic, and the occasional rustle of Mary moving in her cradle.

  Then Adelaide heard Sarah’s breathing quicken.

  “I feel them,” Sarah whispered, her voice finding Adelaide through the blackness behind her closed eyelids.

  She knew that she should not speak, that her voice would disrupt Sarah’s concentration and whatever tenuous connection she had with the spirit world. She waited patiently, ignoring the chill that ran up her arms. She felt them as well, though she was firmly grounded in the physical world. The world in which the Souls should not be able to make their presence felt. And yet they were there, in the ether, their spirit presence hovering around the periphery of the table.

  “There are so many of them,” Sarah said softly, her voice filled with awe. “They are…angry. No, wait…that’s not quite right.” Sarah paused. “They are frustrated. They want you to open the…the…”

  “The Gate,” Adelaide whispered, breaking the rule of silence. “They want me to open the Gate.”

  “Yes, yes!” Sarah’s voice was agitated. “I’m trying to hear you, if only you’ll be calm.”

  Adelaide did not speak again. Sarah’s words were not meant for her, but for the Souls with whom she was communicating in the Otherworlds.

  “They want you to open the Gate. They say that if you don’t, he will detain you on the Plane. Wait,” Sarah continued. “I’m trying to understand. To whom do you refer? No, don’t go! You must stay and help me understand.”

  But Adelaide understood every word. Samael was speaking to Sarah through his Souls. Telling Adelaide that the time had come to make a decision. That if she did not agree to open the Gate, he would detain her in the Otherworlds, separating her soul from her body, and wait for the next generation of sisters—her daughters—to open it.

  “Mrs. Milthorpe?” Adelaide was not aware that her eyes were still closed until she heard Sarah’s soft voice reaching to her through the darkness. “You can open your eyes now, Mrs. Milthorpe.”

  Adelaide opened her eyes, blinking against the dim light, still too bright after the blackness behind her closed lids. Sarah was still holding her hands. She gave Adelaide an apologetic shrug.

  “I’m sorry. I lost them.” She looked into Adelaide’s eyes. “Did you understand their message? I tried to get them to stay, but they were agitated.”

  Adelaide freed her hands from Sarah’s grip.

  “I understood.” She reached for her teacup, trying to keep her shaking hands busy. “Thank you, Sarah. I…I think I should be going now.”

  “All right, then.” Sarah rose. “I hope I haven’t upset you.”

  “Not at all.” Adelaide stood, her quaking nerves make her feel clumsy as she set her napkin on the table and reached for her hat. “I simply must get back in case Thomas has need of the carriage.”

  A sputtering cry rose from the cradle. Sarah crossed the room, picking up the baby. “I understand. Thank you again for all you do to help us. I don’t know what we would do without you!”

  Adelaide tried to smile. “It is no trouble. I enjoy our visits. And if you and Mary need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to send word to the house.”

  Sarah nodded. Adelaide didn’t think she was imagining the relief in the other woman’s eyes.

  Adelaide was almost out the door, her hand on the knob, when Sarah’s halting voice came from behind her.

  “Mrs. Milthorpe?”

  Adelaide turned. “Yes?”

  “Do be careful in your…travels.” Sarah’s brown eyes were wide, and Adelaide noticed for the first time that the young woman’s face was quite pale. “There was something there. Something beyond the masses to which I was speaking. Something speaking through the masses. It was…” She shook her head, either unable or unwilling to go on.

  “It was what?” Adelaide prompted.

  “It was very evil.” r />
  Adelaide nodded, and then spontaneously walked back to the other woman, who was still holding the baby in her arms. She bent to kiss Mary’s soft cheek before looking into Sarah’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  Adelaide was grateful for the carriage ride back to Birchwood. Edmund had seemed startled when she had emerged from Sarah’s building, and she could only presume she looked as horrendous as she felt. She would need the ride to compose herself. It would not do to worry Thomas, or worse, Lia and Alice, both of whom were sometimes too observant for their own good.

  She thought back to Sarah’s words. To the power of the Souls, felt even across the worlds, though she was sure someone else—someone without Sarah’s gifts and without Adelaide’s curse—would not have noticed their presence.

  And then there was Samael.

  She had felt him, too. Had wanted to go to him. Even now, the dim light inside the carriage and the rocking of it across the ground served only to make her think of her chamber. Of a dark room in which she could close her eyes and fall into the Otherworlds. This, despite the threat that existed to her very soul.

  In some ways, it was a relief. The gauntlet had been thrown. The ultimatum given. Now there was no question as to her fate, for there were only three choices.

  Give in to Samael and open the Gate to this world.

  Give in to her weakness, travel the Plane at will, and allow her soul to be detained there for eternity.

  Or end it on her own terms.

  She did not consider fighting an option. She had been fighting. Had been trying to deny her increasingly weak will for so long now that she could not remember when it had begun.

  And she had failed. She had allowed countless Souls to pass through her as she slept, every one of them now here in the physical world, waiting for Samael to lead them in a takeover that would end life as everyone knew it.

  No. She was already doing too poor a job of fighting.

  Neither was willingly opening the Gate to Samael an option. The guilt of her travel already threatened to kill her. She would not be able to live with herself if she were responsible for unleashing such evil on the world.