A Midwinter Fantasy (6 page)

The two of them stared at each other for a moment.

“Those are questions for which I have no answers,” Michael said thickly, breaking the long silence.

The nurse came with ointments and gruel, and so Michael was spared telling that familiar story. He kissed Charlie’s feverish head before leaving, heavyhearted. His powers had once kept anxiety at bay. Powerless, he was becoming its slave.

But, there was a duty to be done. Likely the spirits would chastise him for cowardice. He must anticipate their demands and begin to try and prove himself before their harrowing
journey began. Perhaps he could avoid it entirely. Even better, perhaps he could save Rebecca the trial to come. This, above all, strengthened his resolve.

He ascended the grand staircase of Athens Academy and up to the third-floor apartments where his princess lived, again taking up his knightly quest. “It will do no good to cloister ourselves away,” he murmured, trying to rally his courage. After all, he was the suitor. He had to call. But his hand trembled as he lifted his fist to knock upon the door. Behind his back he tightly clutched two bouquets, and thorns dug into his palm.

“Yes . . . ?”

“Hullo, Headmistress! May I have a moment of your time?” Michael’s voice jarred him as it was reflected back, loud and forcedly jovial, against the wooden door. “It’s been . . . days.”

Her booted footsteps grew nearer but hesitated. “Hullo, Vicar,” he heard. After a long moment Rebecca opened the door. “I suppose.”

Michael smiled—a reflex—and took in the sight of her. She seemed taller somehow, there against the door frame in her usual choice of prim grey dress that was blue-grey like her eyes. As it was winter she wore pressed wool, and a cameo brooch at her throat. She was always appointed with quiet elegance. Her face was, as ever, stoic, but those eyes betrayed tides of emotion. As for her hands, one was pressed tightly against the door frame, one was behind her back. He doubted they shook the way his did.

Not to be deterred, Michael reminded himself of the fact that generally when he smiled at her she could not help but smile back. He lifted one of the two bouquets out from his back, roses of an exquisite deep burgundy, and his cheeks reddened as he presented them. “For you.”

“Oh, Michael, how lovely! Thank you,” Rebecca said,
blushing as well. “Come in, let me put them in water.” She gestured him into her small rooms filled with carved wooden doors and fine rugs, countless books and scattered pieces of art. “Sit, I won’t be but a moment.”

As she disappeared, Michael withdrew the second bouquet from his back, a cluster of yellow posies, made his way to his favourite chair in the corner of the sitting room, a Queen Anne partly facing the window, and sat. Staring at the Athens courtyard below, snow-covered, with its fountain angel lifting up wings, a book and flowers toward heaven, he silently asked the statue for her benediction.

There was rustling in the pantry. Michael shifted the flowers upon his knees, unsure what to say when Rebecca emerged.
Good God, this could not be more difficult if I were sixteen
, he thought wearily.
Why I didn’t press my claim at sixteen I’ll never know
.

Rebecca returned with the flowers in a vase and set them on a carved wooden table. Turning to Michael, she raised an eyebrow at the second bouquet.

“For Jane,” he murmured. “It isn’t as if we can ignore our grief. It rules our hearts at the moment.”

Rebecca blinked back tears. “Indeed. It would be nice to lay them on her tomb.” She paused, then said, “I would offer you tea, but I simply must get out of these rooms. I’ve entirely shut myself away here—”

“I know.”

She looked at the ground. “Yes, I suppose you do. I am sorry if not admitting you before seemed rude. I was . . . I
am
unfit for company.”

“I’ve never thought so.”

If anyone had ever seen her truly vulnerable, unfit for company, it had been he. He’d always made himself available
at times of her need. He wondered if she resented that—or feared it.

She glanced at him. There was an uncomfortable silence.

Michael rose and brandished the flowers, moving to the door. “Jane always would exclaim about yellow flowers whenever we passed them in the street, even en route to an exorcism or poltergeist. I bought her some for her birthday, once, and now I’m ashamed I didn’t buy them for her all the time.” He opened the door and gestured Rebecca into the hall.

“I’m ashamed of a great deal,” she replied, following his lead. Her voice was thick. Starting down the stairs, they descended to floor level.

“You mustn’t be. Not about Prophecy, not about Jane, none of it. Whatever you fear, none of us has ever been perfect.”

“My gift failed, Michael. It failed because of my frailty. Would you tell Judas Iscariot not to be ashamed?”

They crossed the foyer, devoid of students gone on holiday, and rounded the corner toward Athens Chapel. Michael shrugged. “We’ve all of us parts to play. And you hardly sent a messiah to His death. Are you
still
grieving over choosing Miss Linden as Prophecy over Percy? Haven’t we moved on?”

Rebecca looked sharply at him. “The part of the betrayer was never a part I wanted.”

“I daresay Judas wasn’t fond of it either, but it was necessary.” He wagged a finger at her. “But don’t go equating yourself to scripture, Headmistress; our dramas are not played on so grand a stage. And remember: that same gift went on to save Percy’s life.”

Rebecca sighed. “I suspect you’ll be taking my ongoing confessions for some time. The past months weigh upon me so.”

“It will be my pleasure,” he replied.

She offered him a slight smile and looked away. He wanted so desperately to touch her, but the chasm between their bodies seemed impossible to cross.

The chapel of Athens Academy was white and modest, with a plain table draped in white linen for an altar and windows with golden stained-glass angels lining the walls beside unornamented pews. A painted dove of peace floated on the back wall.

“So strange, to come here and not have it open to our sacred space, eh?” Michael asked. “Strange, to have this simply be a chapel. So strange to be
normal
.”

There were two alcoves in the back, like those that would house baptismal fonts but less elaborate; this was built a Quaker institution and thus there was no great pomp in the style. The founder of Athens had his tomb here and had left space for another. Rebecca had long ago abdicated her natural claim to it, not wishing to live floors above her imminent grave. None of The Guard had ever dreamed it would eventually be the resting place of their dear friend Jane, but it gave them some small comfort to know that she was close, that her mortal coil was interred here in this space that had been the doorway to so many incredible things, so near the raw power that had once driven their lives together.

Michael and Rebecca approached the tomb bedecked in fresh bouquets: other Guard had paid their respects. Rebecca stared at the flowers, her hand to her lips.

“They’re all those yellow favourites of hers . . .”

“For as self-involved as our group has been, we listened to small yet important details,” Michael said with quiet pride. He offered his bouquet for Rebecca to do the honours.

Her blush had returned. “And some remain oblivious . . .”

Michael was unsure what exactly she meant.

“Pray over her, Vicar. Please,” Rebecca insisted, closing her eyes.

Michael searched his mind for appropriate Scripture and found it in Corinthians, an adulation suitable to the Grand Work that in recognizing separate gifts had created their family for life: “‘Some people God has designated in the church to be, first, apostles; second, prophets; third, teachers; then, mighty deeds; then, gifts of healing, assistance, administration and varieties of tongues.’ We miss you, Jane, you and your gift. All of our designated gifts left with you. We hope to somehow honour your name as we live on without you. We . . . we wish to see you again, but not if that would cost you your peace. Be our angel, Jane. You always were.” Michael looked up. “Oh, Heavenly Father, I hope you recognize what gold you’ve collected unto your bosom.”

He felt a cold draft and glanced around in anticipation. But . . . there was nothing. Perhaps he’d imagined it. Surely Jane was at peace; gone to the arms of a long-lost love. He could not begrudge her that. What more could they wish for her than love and peace? It was selfish, wanting to see her again. He forced back tears.

Rebecca’s face was unreadable. She moved to a pew and sat. Michael joined her, keeping a decorous distance though he yearned to slide close and put his arm around her. Just for support, for commiseration, for contact. He yearned for simple contact. How could it be too much to ask?

The silence continued. Perhaps it was the sanctity of the church setting that was keeping them quiet, but Michael felt a riptide roiling deep within him, struggling and churning.
Please. Say something. I don’t know how to begin, Rebecca. You know how I feel; I’ve already confessed. Your silence makes me believe it was all in vain. I admitted my love, but what are you
going to do with it? Insist you still that you were the one God should have taken? Can you possibly know how that pains me?

The quiet continued. Michael felt himself drowning in it. They were too old. They were too broken. It was too late for them. Any relationship they could cobble together would be a joke. He was second best and always would be. Knowing what they knew about the afterlife, even death wouldn’t change that. He felt a heretofore uncharted depth of melancholy, and speaking his love aloud now seemed its own death sentence.

The room grew frigid, and a harrowing wind burst through, though there were no open windows or doors. A darkness came over Michael. He and Rebecca cried out in unison, and then there was a new silence; deathly empty.

“Oh, no, the spirits,” Michael murmured. He thought he had time, that the ghosts would come at night, that he might prepare her. “I should have warned you! Rebecca, can you hear me?”

On his feet, he reached out his hands but found nothing; no pews, no Rebecca, only darkness. He’d failed. His cowardice had doomed them both to what surely would be a harrowing, ghostly course. Would she be ready for it? Or would it at last break her?

What in the Whisper-world were they in for?

Percy was startled by Billy bursting through the wall, his torn clothes flapping about him where he floated in the air of the Rychman estate parlour. “It’s begun, Miss Percy! They’re at the academy. Are you comin’ to be the guardian angel for the headmistress, then, like Miss Constance said?”

Percy rose to her feet. “Oh, yes, Billy, but I wasn’t expecting it so soon.”

The ghostly urchin shrugged. “It’s one.”

One in the
afternoon
. Perhaps it was a ghostly joke. This wasn’t Dickens’s story, this was their reality, so either way Percy could not expect it to play out in the grand tradition of famous literature.

“Do be careful, Percy. It’s a danger, bringin’ the Liminal threshold down on the living. Might trap us all if we’re not careful. We’ll need that light of yours to keep us from turnin’ Whisper forever . . .”

Percy nodded. The spirits had explained the Liminal to her, and she knew she could not control it like she did other portals to the Whisper-world. But she was undeterred, despite her aversion to the Whisper-world and its contents.

The bell of the grand clock down the hall tolled, and she rushed into her husband’s study. “Alexi, it has begun. I must go to Athens. What horse shall I take?”

He rose and closed the distance between them. “You think to go alone, that I’ll not be by your side? Danger may come
in an instant. The headmistress is my friend, too, you know. My best friend. I wish to help. I’ll be on hand,” he declared in a tone that clearly brooked no argument.

“Darling,” Percy said in a soft murmur, her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t you see you may do more harm than good? All I ask is that you leave me to my task.”

Alexi’s stern brow furrowed in confusion.

Percy explained what she felt was obvious. “If the headmistress were to see you during this vulnerable time . . . well, it wouldn’t be without its complications, considering her feelings for you, it would likely set the task back. Come with me if you must, but please remain in your office. I’ll run to you the moment the spirits are done. Though I’ve every faith in the couple of the hour, it’s just best . . .” Her eyes glittered with sudden tears. “Oh, my dear, don’t you see? I cannot imagine how difficult it would be to fall out of love with you. Thank God I don’t have to,” she murmured, cupping his chin and kissing him.

Alexi’s cheeks coloured slightly, and Percy found it the greatest treasure in the world that she could make such a man blush. Fate be damned, true love was the only power she craved—and it was her own. She hoped the spirits would help grant it now to her friends.

“Come,” she said excitedly. “While I keep watch, you must send Withersby and Josephine to the property, and you must plant the letter—”

“It will all be done according to plan, my dear,” Alexi stated, and went out to ready the carriage.

Despite the delay in their trip, he seemed to have taken to the plan they’d discussed and to leading part of the charge. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he wished his friends the very best and would do whatever he could to assure it. Percy had not mentioned the specific dangers the spirits discussed,
lest Alexi worry maddeningly over her in ways that would not be helpful. But where the Whisper-world was concerned, one could never be entirely sure.

She bit her lip. So much of her life had been throwing herself toward things she did not entirely understand or trust, events where she was fearfully unsure of the outcome. She shuddered and offered a prayer that it would not come to what the spirits had warned her about, the grim possibility of an
extraction
. The Whisper-world fed on melancholy, provender of which the headmistress was keen; it might not wish to let her go. Percy might have to step in. Perhaps literally. And there was no conceivable place she wanted to revisit less.