She sat up again, realizing the subject matter was too serious to be discussed while lolling.
And so she told him. She told him of how the Essedenes had looked at her from the map and how terrifying that moment of connection had been. She told him of how she, Brother Michael, and her father had learned all they could about the fearsome tribe and their necromantic practices. She explained how what she had learned in the British Library had given her and her father reason to suppose things would only get worse if they did not act. She told him how she believed Joe Colwall was now host to a Resurgent Spirit.
John listened attentively, interrupting only to ask for more detail or to clarify a point. When she came to telling him about the viscount at the ball he took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair.
“So you see,” she went on, aware that she was speaking a little too brightly, knowing she was unsure how he would respond, “I am of the opinion that Viscount Eckley is now an Embodied Spirit, and that his cousin knows this.”
“But, Hecate, the more I hear of this the more I fear for your safety.”
“I am not facing this alone, John. I have my father, my friends at the cathedral…”
“Your ghostly friends?”
“Quite so. And, I very much hope, I have you.”
“Yes, yes. Of course you do. Of course. And yet I do not see how I might help. Indeed how any of us might stop these dreadful … spirits.”
“My father brought me up to be a woman of action. To strive for things. To be ambitious, much to my mother’s displeasure. For any chance of success, he impressed upon me, one must be prepared. He told me of times during his archeological expeditions when it was this preparedness, this planning, that had saved his enterprise, and on occasion his life. I have no intention of tackling these risen spirits unless I believe I can defeat them. To that end I must equip myself with what I need.”
“Which is?”
“Knowledge. Regarding their habits, their aims, their weaknesses.”
“What weaknesses might they have?”
“According to Father Ignatius’s letters, they have a low tolerance of alcohol.…”
“Which would explain the viscount’s unwise behavior. Surely he cannot have wished to draw such attention to himself.”
“One would think not. It seems, in addition, animals are uneasy near them, which may at least give us an indication of their presence. Most importantly, the monks had some success using the services of an exorcist.”
“Ah.” He smiled at her. “There I am most definitely your man!”
“Remember I said ‘some’ success.” She let him think about this and then added, “Father Ignatius wrote that one of the priests who had tried to perform the rites was himself lost to the Essedenes’ spirits. Our endeavors will not be without risk.”
His expression was serious. He reached across the rug and placed his hand over hers.
“What manner of priest would I be to shy away from those risks? What manner of friend would I be to think for one moment of letting you face them without me?”
He paused and she resisted the urge to speak, for she sensed he had something important to say.
“In my years as the appointed exorcist for the cathedral I have been called upon to perform my duties infrequently, but each occasion has been memorable for its own details. Its own heartbreak. Its own dangers. Those who seek help for one they believe to be possessed do so only after a deal of reluctance to accept such a thing might be true of someone they know, perhaps someone they love. I recall one such case. I was newly arrived in the city and had been at my post a little under a year. This was not, however, the first distressed family who had requested I attend their home, so that I was not unduly concerned. I had been instructed in the rites of exorcism. I had assisted the outgoing incumbent before his departure and performed two services on my own. All had gone according to expectations and brought some comfort and good outcomes. The family who lived south of the river, however, were another matter entirely. They had requested my services and a date had been fixed upon for the following week, but their grandmother’s condition worsened quickly, so that they implored me to visit them on the Sunday night after Evensong. I remember it was raining heavily, and I arrived at their cottage dripping rainwater from my hat. At the door, the man of the house, Mr. Fisher, did not so much as comment on my state but took me by the arm straightaway and hurried me through to the parlor at the back of the house. This was the room of his mother, Mrs. Doris Fisher, a woman in her later years, frail and bent. I did not find her as one might expect, folded in a chair, nor lain upon the brass bed, snug beneath the patchwork coverlets. Instead I found her crouched in a dark corner, her arms flung above her head as if warding off blows. She was agitated and muttered continually, though I understood nothing of what she said. Her son had scarcely had time to apprise me of her condition when she leaped forth. He cried out a warning to me, but I was caught off guard and the poor creature, her face contorted with demonic fury, knocked me off my feet. We fell to the ground, whereupon she set about attempting to bite me, Mr. Fisher all the while doing his utmost to pull her away.”
“How shocking! You must have been at a loss, for you could not defend yourself for fear of hurting the old woman,” Hecate said.
“Precisely. I mustered my thoughts, bringing my training to mind, holding my crucifix before me as I spoke aloud the words of the exorcism, for there was no doubt Mrs. Fisher was host to a foul presence.”
“Did your words quell the creature?”
“They inflamed its fury, so that it raged and ranted, twisting this way and that with such energy I feared it would prove too much for the old woman’s brittle bones. I had no choice but to continue. There came a moment when I was able to pull from my pocket a bottle of holy water and fling the contents forward. The demon spirit hissed and writhed but could not remain where it was. In the next second, it left the poor grandmother’s body, revealing itself to be a gray whirlwind. It flew to the open window and out, leaving a rancid stench in its wake.”
“You had defeated it!”
“I had driven it from its temporary home.”
“And the old woman? Did she survive the ordeal?”
He could not look at her then. Instead he held her hand tightly, casting his gaze down upon it as he continued.
“She was greatly fatigued, but unhurt. I helped her son put her to bed and then took my leave, assuring him I would visit the following day. I recall how grateful he was for my assistance.”
“Understandably so,” Hecate said.
“The rain had stopped. I walked from the cottage shaken but satisfied that I had been successful. There was almost, I am ashamed to own it, a spring in my step. Alas, my pride was ill-deserved. I had not gone thirty paces when I heard, coming from the house I had just left, the most terrible screams and cries. I ran back. Up the path, through the unlocked front door, into the parlor … what I saw there, the sight that met me, will stay with me forever. It seemed the demonic spirit had not fled, but had merely hidden, awaiting its moment. As I left the house it swooped upon that hapless family, this time taking possession of Mr. Fisher. In a matter of seconds it had claimed his mind and control of his body, compelling him to strangle his own mother, squeezing the last breath from her. The cries I had heard were from him, as he came to his senses. Unable to bear what he had done, he had retrieved his shotgun from its place above the mantel. Before I could stop him he had put an end to his own life.”
“Oh, John…”
He looked at her then. “I tell you this not to frighten you, Hecate, but as an illustration.… I know the dangers. I will not leave you to face them alone. I give you my word.”
Hecate felt a surge of affection for him. She was aware she was going against her father’s wishes in sharing so much of what she knew with John, but he did not know the man as she did. He was not there, looking into John’s eyes at that moment, seeing their sincerity. She trusted him.
“I am fortunate indeed to have you as an ally,” she told him. Out of deference to her father she omitted to tell him one detail: She did not speak of the fact that they believed someone was summoning the spirits. She did not tell him that the list of people who had access to the means to summon them was very short. She did not share with him the fact that his own name was on that list.
“I wish you had spoken to me of this sooner,” he said, still holding her hand.
“My theories were so poorly formed. I wanted to wait until I could speak with more certainty. Until I was ready to take action.”
“But, from what you tell me, there is still much we do not understand.”
