Born of Illusion (17 page)

I help her into her handcuffs while keeping an eye on the two women as best I can. What are they up to? Do they mean my mother harm? Are they here to learn her tricks or to discredit her? In England, one medium hired a rube to throw acid on the face of a rival during a manifestation. I try to signal to my mother with my eyes, but she’s playing her part of empty vessel so thoroughly that she either doesn’t notice or is ignoring me.

Breathing in and out, I invite Cynthia and her husband to check her handcuffs. Usually, I ask that all the guests check, but I don’t want Mrs. Lindsay anywhere near my mother.

I shut and lock the cabinet. Hesitating only briefly, I snuff out all the candles, leaving only a small one in the middle of the table. All I can do now is help create the illusion. I keep an eye on the women as I begin to chant. My voice isn’t nearly as effective as my mother’s, but it does the job. It’s only meant to give my mother time to slip off the handcuffs and caftan dress and out the hidden panel.

Halfway through the chant, Cole’s eyes fly open in the dim light and his head jerks toward the two women on my right. He looks back at me, his face dark with worry.

He knows something’s wrong.

He can feel it.

The hairs across my arms prickle as I feel for the first time someone trying to get a read on
me.
It’s almost as if he has cast a silver strand in my direction and is trying to connect with me. My voice stumbles for a moment before I regain my composure. My mother is counting on me. Panicked, I look back at the women; both are still in their seats, watchful.

A cloud of smoke explodes near the cabinet. The others gasp as the vapor hangs in the air for a moment, shimmering in the candlelight.

Cynthia and the Hungarian woman scream as a ghostly apparition floats in the darkness near the cabinet. The mask covers my mother’s face and hair, and because of the dark suit she wears underneath the caftan, the face seems disembodied.

Without warning, the temperature of the room drops and fear prickles across my skin. My head swivels from side to side as I search the darkness, dread tightening my chest. The last time I felt this . . . There’s another flash, and then a figure appears behind my mother. I freeze and stare, my eyes burning from the smoke as the image wavers, then grows stronger. My fingers clench around the edge of the table so tightly I’m surprised they don’t snap off. A young man, dressed in army green, stands at rigid attention, his dark eyes trained directly on me.

My head turns to see if anyone else can see it, but it’s hard to tell because everyone’s face is already shocked. Only Cole’s eyes seem to be looking beyond my mother, his brow furrowed in concentration.

I turn back to the figure only to find his hand stretched out.

“I need to speak to you.”

Fear snakes its way up my spine.

Walter.

Ribbons of light reach toward me and a roaring sounds in my ears.

“No!” I scream, waiting for Walter to inhabit my body.

“Anna!” I hear Cole’s voice, but it comes to me as if through a layer of frost.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Lindsay rise from her chair. She’s muttering something incoherently under her breath. Desperately, I cry out, “
Go sabhála Dìa muid ar fad!
”—Gaelic for “God save us all!” The use of another language impresses the clients. While I’m yelling, I stomp my foot against the floor three times. My signal to Mr. Darby.

A smile plays across Walter’s face.

“I could always speak to your mother.”

I leap to my feet, fists by my side.

Mrs. Lindsay moves toward my mother, but Cole lays a restraining hand on her arm. He shoots me a look of alarm, but I don’t have time to puzzle out what he means. I’m still focusing on Walter, whose fingers rest lightly on my mother’s shoulder.

“
Go sabhála Dìa muid ar fad!
” I scream out again, stomping harder, a short, staccato burst of sound. Walter hesitates. Cole’s hand tightens on Mrs. Lindsay’s arm, who’s now mumbling a strange, unintelligible chant. Her daughter is clinging to her other arm and whispering fiercely in her ear. Owen must have caught my desperation because he stands as well. Suddenly, I hear the slight whir of the machine from downstairs and nearly collapse. It has to work. In the chaos that follows the clock moving, my mother will be able to return to her cabinet.

If Walter lets her.

The Hungarian woman lets out a soul-splitting scream, pointing at the clock hanging suspended over the mantel. Cynthia clings to her husband and stares transfixed. The mother and daughter turn toward the clock and I see the women look up, as if expecting to see strings.

Suddenly, the clock shoots across the room and smashes into our beautiful rose cut-glass lamp. The Hungarian woman screams hysterically, and even the rival medium pales in the candlelight.

Mother disappears and, to my horror, so does Walter.

Did he go after her? Is he at this very moment taking over her body?

I pound on the door of the cabinet. “Mama! Are you okay?”

Nothing.

“Walter!” I scream, and then clap my hand over my mouth. No one except me even knows he’s here.

“Right here,”
a voice to my left murmurs.

I whirl toward it, breathing hard. I can’t see much in the darkness but an outline. I turn back toward the spirit cabinet, tremors running through my body.

“I’m sorry for playing tricks. I don’t have much time. But you helped me, now I can help you.”

I want to ask him a million things but I’m frozen. Frozen because I’m speaking to a dead person and frozen with worry that the others will know I’m speaking to a dead person. I stare fixedly at the cabinet.

“You don’t want them to know I’m here, do you?” He sounds disappointed.

I give the slightest shake of my head. I can hear Cynthia tending to the Hungarian woman, who is still moaning, and Mrs. Lindsay whispering angrily to her daughter.

“I’m here to warn you, Anna. You helped my poor, sweet mama and I want to help you. There’s danger all around you and your mother.”

I turn toward him, not caring if the others think I’m crazy. “What kind of danger?” I whisper.

Walter shakes his head.
“I don’t know. But there are people here who would do you ill. Take care.”

His image begins to shimmer in the darkness.

“Wait!”

But Walter is gone.

I turn back to the cabinet. Has he invaded my mother’s body after all? “Mama!”

There’s a few moments’ silence and then my mother begins sobbing, which is exactly what she’s supposed to be doing.

My knees buckle.

Cole is there in an instant, steadying me.

Everyone gathers around the cabinet to see my mother.

“Stand back!” I order. Part of me is dying inside, wanting to make sure she’s all right, but I also have to give her time—there are so many things that can go wrong when she’s appearing as an apparition, and she has to look exactly the same as when we left her.

Please God, let her be the same and not possessed by a dead boy.

“I have to make sure the spirits are gone.” Slowly, I fumble with the locks and then hold my breath as the door inches open.

Fifteen

M
y sigh of relief as I see my mother sitting exactly as she should be is audible. In spite of everything, we haven’t been caught and my mother is safe.

For the moment.

Now I just want to get those women out of our house. If there is danger surrounding me, as Walter said, it’s probably from them.

“What was that?” Cynthia twists her beads around and around, her blue eyes wide.

“I think, my dear, we were just treated to a visit from the nether world,” Mr. Gaylord drawls. Animation lights his face for the first time.

I unbind my mother and lead her back to the table. She’s still weeping softly, real tears streaming down her cheeks. Had my mother wanted to pursue a career as a stage actress, there’s no doubt she could have been the best.

“She always has this reaction after manifesting a spirit,” I tell the others. “It’s very taxing. Please sit down. She’ll be all right in a moment.”

Everyone sits, except Cole, who asks if I would like him to clean up the glass.

I nod as I tend to my mother. “The broom’s in the hall closet.”

My mother takes a deep, shuddering breath and glances around the table as if just coming out of a trancelike state. “What happened?” she asks in her little-girl voice. But I hear something different as her eyes zero in on me.
What the hell happened?

Cynthia and the Hungarian woman get up and fuss over her as I turn on the overhead electric light. I shoot a quick glance around the room to make certain that everything is in its place. All is as it should be.

“That was quite amazing,” the Hungarian man tells me. “I’ve never seen such a talented medium. I hope you don’t mind if we tell our friends about your mother, do you?”

“Of course not,” I tell him wearily. That’s what I want, right?

“I think it’s time everyone left,” I say, raising my voice. “My mother needs her rest.” My mother assumes her pathetic face, but I’m not fooled. I’m sure she’s keyed up from her performance and ready to grill me about the broken lamp. The Hungarian couple leaves right away, but Cynthia grabs my arm and walks with me to the door.

“I got in touch with Doctor Bennett. He’s holding the very first meeting of the American branch of the Society for Psychical Research tomorrow night and especially asked us to be there.” She clasps her hands together in excitement. I can’t help but smile at her in spite of my own agitation over the séance. Her enthusiasm is infectious.

“I have a show tomorrow night,” I tell her.

“I told him that, so I’m going to attend the show, and we can go after. He said he would wait for us.”

I smile and agree to go, in spite of the nervous butterflies fluttering in my stomach. As afraid as I am of being exposed, I’m more worried about protecting my mother. What had Walter said? We were in danger from someone at the séance. I turn back to the sitting room. My bet is on Mrs. Lindsay. But I would like to know for sure. I want some real answers, and if Dr. Bennett has them, I need to get them, no matter how much I distrust him.

The Gaylords and the Hungarian couple are gone, but for some reason, the Lindsays are lingering. Mrs. Lindsay sidles over to my mother and I stiffen.

“That was really quite impressive.” Her eyes poke and prod the room, looking for signs of trickery. “You’ll have to show me how it’s done.”

My mother arches an eyebrow, then sits weakly in the nearest chair. “The spirit world is a mystery, even to me.”

“Oh, posh!” the woman says scornfully. “You and I both know that this was an illusion of some sort. It was. No one can do what I—”

“Mother!” The daughter’s pale skin grows red and she lays a restraining hand on her mother’s shoulder.

I quickly slip beside my own mother, who draws herself up. “I can assure you, Mrs. Lindsay, this was no illusion. The spirits work—”

Mrs. Lindsay smiles thinly. “In mysterious ways,” she finishes. “So you’ve said. Come, Lisette. I think we’re finished here.”

Owen raises a brow as the women leave. “Well, you two certainly do know how to have a good time.”

My mother snorts and goes into the kitchen, no doubt to pour herself a good strong drink. I hear voices and know she’s talking to Cole, who is throwing away the last of the glass remnants. I take Owen’s arm and lead him toward the door. “Thank you so much for coming.”

He laughs. “I can take a hint, but you know I didn’t really come to attend the séance, don’t you? I came to ask if you would like to go out with me Friday night after your performance. Some friends and I are going to a little speakeasy up in Harlem. I think you’d like it.”

My stomach falls at the sudden silence in the kitchen. “I’m not sure my mother . . .”

“Go ahead!” My mother’s voice comes from the kitchen. “You should get out more with people your own age.”

My face burns, then I get angry with myself. What do I care if Cole is listening? “Well, I’d love to, then.”

Owen reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I look forward to it.”

His touch kicks my pulse up several notches. His hair, which was slicked back formally when he first arrived, has fallen down over his forehead. With his slightly crooked nose, sparkling blue eyes, and impish smile, he looks like a naughty child. I smile as I shut the door behind him.

Owen is definitely interested in me, but am I interested in him? Why shouldn’t I be? He’s handsome, funny, sophisticated, and the life of the party, and even more important, he has a stable job and a stable life. Of course I’m interested. Any normal girl would be.

Cole comes into the hallway. His mouth is set. His eyes swirl with anger and something else. . . . Could it be jealousy? The thought rocks me back on my heels and I look up at him with surprise. He seems so much older than I am most of the time, so proper and solemn, it never occurred to me that he thought of me that way.