24 March 1860
The last fingers of fading blue stretched out from the horizon before being swallowed by dusk as the guests took their seats in the center of the room. Mahala turned away from the window and pulled a small sheet off the face of a mirror. Across from her, each of her parents did the same with the mirrors to either side of them and turned them inwards. Candlelight reflected from each pane and any flicker of the flames or slight movement at the table could be clearly seen by all participants regardless of the direction they faced.
“Are they here?” The man at the table asked with a pinched voice that betrayed his feigned indifference from earlier. His wife had arranged this appointment and he had wasted no time in letting Mahala know that he had only accompanied her to ensure that she wasn’t “up to any of that Fox sister nonsense.” His reference to the confession by a friend of the Fox sisters nine years prior that she had helped them fake the famous spirit-rapping insulted Mahala more than it should have. The glimmer of fear in his eyes now was rightful retribution.
“The spirit world is always connected to ours,” Mahala replied flatly as she lowered into one of the few empty chairs around the table. “Do take care to remember that I need total silence to hear it once we begin.” Her mother sat in another chair, but her father made towards the door. “A party of five brings unnecessary risk,” she reminded him. When the client’s husband’s brows furrowed with concern she explained, “I waste no precautions to avoid extending our invitation to demons and spirits alike.”
With a sigh, her father joined them at the table. “I wish you’d asked Henry to stay in the main house tonight,” he muttered as he placed his palms in the circle. The warmth from the sides of their hands pressed together contrasted the cool, smooth surface of the small table.
The high-pitched semblance of a laugh escaped Mrs. Norwood’s lips at her husband’s complaint. “Tuh! If you refuse to compensate that man to sacrifice his few hours of rest, you can withstand it. Go on, Molly.”
“Before I do, there are two rules you must hold sacred. No interruptions. Any break in my concentration makes it more exhausting to reconnect. Above all else, do not remove your hands from the circle. If spirits other than your son choose to join, they will seek out weak points of our connection in search of a vessel. Stay quiet and hold still, understood?” After speaking, Mahala locked eyes with the woman and received an immediate nod. She turned her gaze to the client’s husband, who nodded. The ridge of his throat rose slightly as he swallowed, presumably holding back another nervous question. The corners of Mahala’s eyes pulled upwards ever-so-slightly. He was a quick learner, at least.
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A small bowl made of clear class held a couple spoonfuls of olive oil on the table. Two candles bordered the bowl to the north and south. A fresh lily sat on the eastern side. To the west, a bible was opened to 1 Samuel, Chapter 28 with a single quartz resting atop the pages. Mahala pricked the middle finger of her left hand with a thin embroidery needle and carefully set it on the floor outside of the circle. Any metal on the table might deter a spirit, so the couple had been asked to arrive without any jewelry to avoid the awkwardness of asking them to remove it in their parlor. The medium squeezed a single drop of blood into the center of the oil, wiped her finger on a handkerchief, and replaced her hands in the circle. The crimson orb remained suspended on the surface, refusing to mix into the surrounding oil. The flame of a candle to Mahala’s left flickered blue for a split second.
“Hello again, Frederic,” Mahala said with a faraway smile directed about three feet above the table. The pale light her brother refracted to show himself was such that it could only be seen while both looking in the direction of and not fully focusing on him, sort of like finding the hidden picture in a stereogram. His features were crisp, which she took as a sign that he was doing well--or at least as well as a ghost can. “Looking for another friend. Did one called Timothy accompany you today?” Her brother’s ethereal form ushered forward a small figure outlined in a silver light. Its features were mostly blurred, still growing accustomed to redirecting energy in this state. Finding a link from the spirit world to ours seemed to take a lot out of spirits, especially for the newly dead. “Hi Timothy. Thank you for making such a long journey to us today. Can you see your parents here with me?” The top of the small figure bobbed excitedly. The recognition seemed to strengthen him, and the outlines of his facial features started to darken. “That is wonderful news! Your mother has some questions she’d like me to ask you. Is it comfortable where you are?” Timothy shrugged. “Are you still in pain?” Another shrug, then he shook his head. “Do you spend a lot of time in your parents’ house?” He shook his head again. “Is someone looking out for you?” He nodded and mouthed a word that looked like Poppa. Mahala confirmed, “You’re with your grandfather?” The boy nodded, his face growing clearer as his connection with this realm strengthened. Frederic shifted uneasily. It wouldn’t be long before others sensed that their worlds had been bridged. “
“He’s teaching me to manage the books!” Timothy’s face was strained as he tried to shout the words, but they came out in a raspy whisper. His parent’s eyes widened as they heard a breathy sound, although the words were only discernible to Mahala.
She answered, “That’s an important responsibility, you must be proud.” Timothy’s head bobbed with enthusiasm. He started to say something else, but Frederic placed a hand on his shoulder and gestured somewhere behind him. Others would be here soon. “Your mother loves you!” Mahala called as the boy waved goodbye. Frederic spun around to cross back to the spirit realm and expelled enough energy to blow out the remaining candles as they left. This was the strongest effect he’d been able to have on the physical realm, and it had taken years of focus and practice for him to achieve. It at least served as a way to close the door behind him, so to speak. She reached behind her for a bell and rang it three times to be safe.
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Mahala repeated Timothy’s words for his parents while her mother carefully navigated through the darkness to retrieve a lamp from the other room and relit the candles. “That’s it? Seven dollars for less than five minutes?” The client’s husband asked, fear replaced with doubt once more.
Mahala sighed and replied, “Yes, sir. I was tired even before the first minute ended and the danger grew tenfold each moment on. You wanted a seance, correct? Not demonic possession?” His nose scrunched up like he’d just trod through a fresh pile of horse manure.
“Correct--stave off the demons, please!” His wife interjected, shaking Mahala’s hand. Her eyes still glistened despite several dabs with her handkerchief. “Thank you, Miss Hala. Ignore him, your rates are truly a bargain compared to-” She stopped herself short before admitting to who she’d shopped around with first. “Well anyway, I would pay twice as much to speak to our boy again.”
Duly noted, the medium thought to herself.
“And I’m sure they’d happily take it. How do we know she didn’t make all that up?” The man haughtily protested, much braver with all the candles relit.
“Charles, don’t be rude. Timothy mentioned my father’s business, and she knew nothing of that. Besides, the candles-” Her voice trailed off as Mrs. Norwood quietly ushered the couple to the door.
Mahala sank onto a chaise against the parlor wall, too exhausted to carry herself all the way to her room just yet. The seance really had drained her almost immediately. She wondered if her brother felt as tired or whether sleep was even necessary in the spirit realm. He had seemed so nervous tonight, almost shifty. Mahala frowned, eyes closed, and tried to imagine what a ghost could be afraid of. Her pondering was interrupted by a knock at the manor’s front door.
Unforeseen Circumstances - trouble.muffin & ElizabethStark [M]
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