A Summoning of Souls Read online

  “There’s an entity following you,” Strand said sharply, looking around. Eve turned. Although there was nothing but a thick mist behind her and the vague outline of trees, a murky reflection of the forest beyond, the hairs at the nape of Eve’s neck wouldn’t settle.

  “The man brings in his wake a terrible fear,” Strand continued, “and promise of violence. In Sanctuary, we are all a bit psychic. The sacred space itself was made from the sheer force of spirit ages ago, made not from mythic creatures but human hearts. We know that man means us harm and I will not have it find us.”

  “Albert Prenze.”

  “Yes, he hates us. Not us specifically, but ghosts. And he’s following you.”

  “Yes. My precinct has been working his case,” Eve said. Strand opened the arched door of Sanctuary just wide enough for their bodies and hurried Eve in, closing it behind her to stand in a shadowy entrance foyer of grey stone arches and colored light. “His irrational hatred of ghosts stems from family torment. I don’t know what purpose could be served by terrorizing you here.”

  “You’ve led him to us,” murmured a voice from the shadows in a light African accent. A young woman stepped into the light cast by a bay of quatrefoil stained-glass windows over the front door, dressed in the same blue habit as Lily Strand, her brown face framed by the white of her wimple, her dark eyes wide and worried.

  “Mara, please, Sister,” Lily said in a low voice. “Eve has only ever wanted to help. That’s why I called out to her in the first place. I trust this living one.”

  “You can trust my whole team,” Eve insisted.

  “But none of them know what we need here,” the woman continued, anxious. “You can’t know the ways in which we are vulnerable, and your presence only tears at our fabric.”

  “Mara, please, light candles if you fear a breach,” Lily insisted.

  The young woman glided away, small hands dancing nervously at the sides of her habit. Eve followed her, wanting to reassure her as she hurried away. She stepped forward under the archway of the foyer and into the nave, but Mara disappeared into a side chapel.

  Eve glanced up at the stained-glass windows of the main sanctuary. The windows changed since last Eve had seen them; the structure altered itself in mysterious ways. She had recalled the windows featuring angels, but now human forms shone from them in all manner of dress, region, tradition, and time period. Was the light beyond their leaded images indeed darkening?

  “My apologies,” Lily said to Eve, following her gaze toward the windows. “My Sisters are uncomfortable for a living soul to come and go from here, and for the company outside. The growing storm. The threat that Prenze represents. Cruel hearts like his, forged by troubles I can’t claim to know, seem to find purpose in disturbing the hard-fought peace of other souls. His hatred of spirits is most particular and personal. This places you in a precarious situation.”

  “You can’t think me the enemy?” Eve asked in a pained gasp. She’d done so much for the spirit world all her life, taken it into her mind, listened to all its whispers when ghosts threatened to split her mind in two. She’d forsaken a higher education due to their pressure to keep them first, so she opened the Ghost Precinct and remained self-taught, she’d devoted her life—

  Lily Strand put both hands on Eve’s shoulders as if she could hear this runaway train of frustration.

  “Of course not. I know you to be our biggest ally. It’s what’s around you. If Prenze is manipulating you here, it’s likely to see if he can wedge in after you. If he were to get in…” Lily shuddered. “I worried enough about little Ingrid’s body and the undertaker. But that disrespect was nothing compared to Prenze’s abject hatred of spirits. I leave it to you and your gifted friends to stop him outside. I’ll do what’s necessary here on the inside. Though I will say, we need every living being who treasures spirits to lend us their love for the amount of protection needed.”

  Lily gestured to the nearest Sanctuary window. “These are the images of our helpers, gifted living folks who are attuned to the veil. Her Holiness, our foundress, asked Sanctuary’s Living Light to reach out to those who can help us weather storms.”

  The nearest window struck Eve to the core; the leaded glass portrayed a woman in contemporary dress of light blue, but the rest of her was entirely without pigment. Hair and skin white as snow, her ice-blue eyes sparkled and her smile was kind. Radiant white light artfully shone from behind her in leaded strokes as if her whole body was lit. A stunning, ethereal vision. While Eve didn’t recognize the woman, she desperately wanted to know her. One of Gran’s earliest Spiritualist lessons had been to declare that powerful women were keeping ghostly balances steady all around the world; she and Eve were but two actors on a grand, mysterious stage.

  “She’s our best living asset, that one,” Lily said, following Eve’s gaze to the stained-glass portrait. “You’re not the only gifted conduit to the dead, Eve.” She gave a teasing smile. “And we need all of you here, at the end of an era, to be sure we’re all not torn apart, to lend your lights. But as for you, go on; you’ve been here long enough. You’ll have worried whoever came after you this time.”

  The deaconess returned Eve to the front door. Glancing out a beveled glass lancet window, she exclaimed, “Ah! It’s the mortal whose faithful heart created this portal! Go on!”

  Eve turned back to the nave to see several Sisters heaving great shutters over the Gothic arched windows, closing over loving, saintly looking faces from all around the world, battening down before a storm.

  “It’s getting worse, my friend,” Lily said sadly. Thunder rolled in the distance. “Take care out there as we take care in here.”

  It was as if the whole spirit world shouted it at her in a thousand accusatory murmurs: “Don’t let anything in!” Eve clapped her hands over her ears for the furor of it.

  The deaconess heaved open the great wooden door, and as the light beyond blinded Eve and she raised her arms against it, the woman placed both hands on Eve’s shoulders and pushed her forward into the brilliant void.

  Eve fell again, that dizzying lurch and queasy pain distinct to this out-of-body experience, praying she’d come to again in one piece. She’d had quite enough of going unconscious and waking up without remembering the journey. For someone who loved to be in as much control as a paranormal life allowed, this was a fresh hell and terrifying new habit.

  When she opened her eyes, would he be waiting for her? Albert Prenze? Had he been the one to drive her here, or was it her own unconscious, powerful desire to drink in the divine mysteries of Sanctuary mortals were not supposed to understand?

  A shadowy figure suddenly obscured all ethereal light. She knew that form. It had been at her window. A torment. The astral projection of Albert Prenze’s energy had been appearing to her of late, uninvited and unwelcome.

  “I renounce thee!” Eve shouted to the enemy at the gates.

  She snapped her energy out from her like a whip, and the figure vanished.

  Eve’s knees struck a soft bed of leaves, pine needles, and moss.

  “Hello, dear,” came a familiar, kind voice from behind.

  Eve, bent and kneeling, whirled her head around to see a tall, striking, and elegant woman of nearly seventy.

  Regal and fierce, Evelyn Northe-Stewart stood before her: powerful psychic, paranormal counselor, medium, philanthropist, visionary, and most of all, Eve’s best friend, ally, and grandmother. Wearing a magnificent House of Worth day dress with doubled green skirts and a royal-blue jacket with gold embroidery, her waves of white hair were swept up beneath a satin hat with flourishes, feathers, and tulle. Seeing the woman for whom she was named was like dawn breaking after a long, dark night.

  “Gran!” Eve tried to run to her beloved mentor, but her body didn’t cooperate. She fell on a bed of leaves. When one entered Sanctuary, it was the soul that went through while the body remained lif
eless behind. The reconnection was dizzying. Eve empathized with Frankenstein’s monster, waking up to an unwieldy body awkwardly made.

  Rushing up, Gran brought Eve to her feet. The distinct lines of her face were distinguished and thoughtful rather than old or worn. A widening expression accentuated the deepest lines, those around her smile. “I know, my dear, that the detective came for you last time, despite all spirits’ warnings not to. I know I can hardly make up for his handsomeness”—Gran added with a laugh—“or your attraction to him—”

  Eve’s face went red as she tried to stay stable on her feet. “I am—I have no such—”

  “You’re a gifted psychic but a terrible liar, Eve Whitby, and I raised you to be exactly so. I do see through everything.”

  Eve’s twisting stomach had nothing to do with the fall from Sanctuary and everything to do with how much she cared for Jacob Horowitz, dashing detective and unexpected suitor. She had to change the subject lest he become her entire undoing. “Gran, how did you find me?”

  “You’re not about to leave my house unannounced and under mesmeric influence without my following. I was furious with myself the last time you tore out here on your own.” She tapped her temple. “Ever since then, I’ve been fine-tuning our connection.”

  Eve grimaced. “That…shouldn’t be your responsibility, I don’t want to be a charity—”

  Gran clucked her tongue. “My dearest namesake, you’re being targeted by a villain and if I don’t intervene, your poor mother… She’ll never forgive either of us. Now come away from here.” She fussed with Eve’s coat, closing it more securely before guiding her out of the clearing.

  “Now, when you were returning to yourself,” Gran continued, “I know you weren’t issuing a renunciation to me, my dear, so who did you see beyond? Did Prenze loom at you again?”

  “I thought so,” Eve murmured, brushing detritus from her skirts. “He vanished after I renounced.”

  At the edge of the wood Gran paused, looking back toward the glade. “That this place proved meaningful after all... I’ve tried my whole life to create and fund sacred spaces. That I made one just out of my intent for a chapel, carving out a link to the spirit world, is an honor. An awe-inspiring legacy.” Gran frowned. “That someone should be trying to tear open what I have hoped to make transcendent, to hurt what should be hope, to intrude between the spirit world and the divine…”

  “The Sisters inside Sanctuary are shoring up all the windows and bolstering their ties to living psychics around the world,” Eve said. “They’re very worried. They don’t want me to accidentally let anything in. I was pushed back out, to you.”

  “We have to do better about shielding,” Gran declared.

  “And warding,” came another distinctive voice from the edge of the wood.

  Eve turned to behold a striking figure. An array of golden silk accentuated the eerie, piercing quality of gold-green eyes. Clara Templeton Bishop was a powerful psychic in her own right, and she intimidated Eve fiercely. In her late forties, Clara was a woman of hard angles, sharp points, and careful boundaries. Her crepe hat and its gossamer veil were crowned with large, gold-painted thistles, as if her fashion served to deter anyone without a delicate, decorous touch from getting too close to spiny edges.

  Hair in braids, a coil was carefully pinned to hang low over one ear to hide a terrible scar Gran had instructed Eve to never notice, which only made her wonder more. Gran and the Bishops were psychic veterans of international wars. Eve wished there was a way she could better honor their service. But like many who served, after a war, they didn’t want to talk about it. Ever.

  Clara was attuned to raw power; her gifts tapped into ley lines, the primal sources of spiritual energy. “The latitude and longitude of Earth’s eldest spiritual energy,” Gran once explained. Manipulating ley lines made Clara’s body react in painful or epileptic extremes. But her sheer presence was as unmistakable and echoing as the ringing of some huge carillon.

  “Mrs. Bishop,” Eve exclaimed, her face again coloring. She wanted to impress the woman but always felt awkward in her consuming presence. “I didn’t know…”

  “When Evelyn ran after you, she instructed her staff to call me.” Clara smiled pleasantly. “I do live just up the hill, you know. I suppose I ought to have a read on the both of you now.” She tapped her temple as Gran had done, the psychic indication of tracking an important soul, like following mental footprints. It was Clara that Eve had gone to in order to find Gran when she was abducted at the beginning of their current case.

  “I’m so sorry to be a bother,” Eve whispered, dropping her gaze to the gravel path.

  “No, it’s good, really,” Clara said brightly. “If I don’t use my powers regularly, then when I do, they cause pain. Just like stretching a muscle, one must make sure their gifts remain flexible, lest I turn brittle and snap to bits.” She turned toward Eve, her voice softening. Her intense presence didn’t negate her kindness. “You force me not to turn away from the world but toward the better parts of it. Being tuned to you is no bother. Everyone’s got a bit of a musical pitch to them if I put my mind to it.” She stepped closer, cocking her head to the side. The tulle of her veil fluttered in the breeze as her silk skirts rustled against leaves on the path’s floor. “You’re very gifted and have a fair handle on your talents, so the note of your spirit is a pleasant one.”

  “Well, thank you,” Eve murmured, cheeks scarlet, not knowing what else to say.

  “What was in this wood with you, on the other hand, was terribly discordant.”

  “Did you see Albert Prenze?” Eve asked. “He’s been dubbed ‘the shadow man’ by the spirit world. A hatred of spirits that began with his mother is now a dark obsession.”

  “I didn’t see a negative, hateful energy, but I felt it,” Clara replied. “I heard it. Once I was able to sense your spirit returning from across the veil, I could hear your renunciation, your banishing of him. You did a nice job shielding. I merely boosted your vehemence with my own energy.”

  “I greatly appreciate your support, Mrs. Bishop. I’m always trying to hone my gifts, but I’ve been stumbling lately. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to keep from being led here as if on strings. I don’t know—”

  “Not a single apology from you,” Clara interrupted, lifting a finger. “You’re still learning. No one can predict what will befall them in careers like ours. We are, by unfortunate nature, reactive. Circumstances push us into trials by fire.”

  Despite being the leader of her own department, Eve couldn’t help feeling untrained and out of her depth.

  Clara gestured up the lane. “Care for lunch? Our Sikh friends from the embassy were just visiting, and our kitchen is still benefiting from their generosity and knowledge. My energy work has become increasingly sensitive to eating meat of any kind; I can taste the death itself, so I’m grateful for vegetarian recipes. I’m trying to learn as many as I can.”

  Eve’s stomach roiled, not the least of which at the casual mention of tasting death. “I’m sure I should eat, but I’ve no appetite for it.”

  Gran put one arm around Eve and reached toward Clara, grabbing the woman’s thin hand. “Could I beg you and Rupert to come teach the girls how better to shield themselves?”

  “Yes.” Clara nodded. “A critical lesson. Your girls have what it takes, but you must be stronger. And Rupert’s the very best in this regard.”

  Eve was surprised to hear Clara’s husband’s name. As far as Eve knew, he didn’t usually involve himself in the paranormal; he kept to the business of embassies and ambassadors.

  “Yes, Rupert too,” Clara added, as if reading Eve’s mind. Maybe she had. “Didn’t you know he’s a mesmerist?” Clara’s tone implied Eve should have known better. “Go on to the train. The light is brightening and that isn’t good for either of our eyes. I’ll talk with Rupert. Tonight will be best. There’s no time t
o waste in matters like these.”

  “Agreed.” Gran gestured to the glade. “This dear place should be warded too, if you wouldn’t mind, Clara. I worry for the thin barrier between worlds beyond if there isn’t something helping it stay strong from our side and on our behalf.”

  “Indeed. I’ll send Rupert to ward the arch. I’d best not be near the thin veil myself, but I agree it should be protected from disruption by darker energies.”

  Eve turned at a nearby sound. A delivery truck. Two workers in suspenders and shirtsleeves, caps low over their sweaty faces, with a large wooden spool on the side of the road ahead, were filling dirt over a line in shallow ground.

  “What’s that about?” Eve asked.

  Clara shrugged. “Another telephone line up the lane? It’s growing exponentially: technology, the sprawl of the city. Won’t be quiet here much longer.…” Clara’s smile looked forced as she clapped her gloved hands. “Well then, go and ready your girls for our visit!”

  With a whirl of golden fabric, Clara strolled off toward a line of bright maples in the end of their autumn splendor. Beyond those red and golden leaves lay the Bishops’ home and a striking view of the Hudson River.

  New York City loomed further down the line, and Eve knew she had to get back to protect it, whether it knew it needed her help or not.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m paying for a private compartment,” Gran stated, patting Eve’s shoulder and stepping up to a uniformed conductor. After she had a few quiet words with him, he gestured toward a compartmentalized car. Gran put her arm around Eve and walked her further up the platform. “The hem of your nightdress is hanging out from under your coat, and I just don’t want people to think the worst of you, dear.”