Page 108 of Angel's Flight
“Meet me tomorrow at midnight.Right here,” the phantom whispered, voice eerie and certain.Meg nodded and made the mistake of blinking too slowly; that was all the time the specter needed to disappear.
Meg stared after the ghost into the darkness, praying she had not made everything worse.
Coolaney
The manor was worsethan Christine had feared, and she had feared it would be terrible.It was built of stone, mostly, with a few additions of wood and plaster that looked like they had been added haphazardly in recent years.The bones of it were older, she could tell, past the swaths of ivy that covered the place, but all parts of it were crumbling.The entrance to the grounds was bordered by briars and overgrown shrubs, interspersed with twisted oaks still clinging to their summer leaves.Maybe there had been a wall, long ago, to keep the commoners out.Now, the few stones and thorns served to contain something that might have been a garden once.
There was a carriage house and stable, but it looked of dubious stability.Erik took the horses in as Christine checked that Pauline was still alive.There may have been some disappointment to find her fully intact.The woman had slept through much of the journey, thankfully, freeing Christine from more conversation had she taken off the gag.
She left Pauline in the carriage, resolving to take her into the house at some point when they found a suitably miserable corner to leave her in.Eventually, they would have to do something with the woman, but for now, she had not answered as to how much money it would take to make her disappear.Christine was beginning to worry it was an amount they couldn’t afford.Or that she’d, again, demand something other than money.
Erik stood in the yard in the shadow of the main house.Maybe if Christine squinted, it would be beautiful.As it was, she wasn’t looking forward to sleeping there.
“It looks haunted,” Erik muttered as she came close.“It feels haunted.”
“Does it?”
Christine took a moment to extend her senses beyond what she could merely see (and smell, which was mainly mildew and weeds).There was a heaviness to the house, like it was watching them and not quite empty.It reminded her of the Opéra or other great buildings like it – this place had seen years of life, and perhaps death as well.Whether there was some restless spirit inside the walls, Christine couldn’t say, but it certainly had a soul, this old manor at the edge of the world.
“You think we’ll sleep well here?”Erik asked.He was looking for a reason to leave.
Christine wouldn’t allow it, and if that meant sleeping among the spiders and rats and ghosts, then so be it.“No, but we’re going to try anyway.”
Erik opened his mouth to argue more, but thankfully, the woman from the tavern who had been attending to the old knight ran up the path to interrupt them at the perfect time.
“It’s better inside!”Siobhan cried, skidding to a halt before doubling over and panting.“The gardener, he’s been—”
“Dead for several years?”Erik muttered, and Christine elbowed him gently.
“Be nice,” Christine hissed in French.“They aren’t to blame for this scheme.”
Erik gave Christine a look that she would have been happy to punish him for were it not for...everything.
“Show us in then,” Erik sighed to Siobhan.She continued to speak – quick and breathless – as she led them to the door and unlocked it.Christine didn’t try to understand it, only catching a few words – king, castle, family, walls.She was telling Erik about the house and its history.
As far as Christine was concerned, it spoke for itself when they entered.Siobahn hadn’t been lying: it was better inside.Christine had expected rot and rats, but, while the front hall was dusty, with cobwebs in the corners and the walls held on to a distinct chill, there was a different kind of warmth there.Somewhere in the past, long ago, this place had been alive and loved.
It made Christine sad to see it now.It reminded her of the village of Coolaney, at least what she had seen of it.It was a place that once had been vital and vibrant and now sat almost forgotten.Beautiful in a way that activated her instinct to heal and repair it.
The main hall would have been grand in another life, with a proud staircase in the center leading to the upper floor.Christine was impressed to see two full suits of armor gathering dust in alcoves.Fitting for a knight.There were double doors to each side, one set leading to a drawing room that looked well-used.It was stuffed with all sorts of furniture and books and papers.There was even a bed, though it was more of a cot.
“Sir Edward has slept down here for a few years,” Siobhan was telling Erik as Christine made the connection.“Too hard to get up the stairs.Now, with the cold coming back and the fireplace...”
Christine drifted across the front hall as Siobhan continued, drawn to the other set of doors that remained closed.Her rational brain told her not to open them, with visions of bats streaming out of the room filling her head.But her curiosity was stronger.
No bats flew out when Christine opened the door, only a single disturbed moth.The room was dark: the shutters closed and curtains drawn, so it took Christine a few moments to focus.The walls were curiously textured.The smell was what made her understand and cleared her vision – paper and ink.
It was a library.Well, not just a library.It was a grand collection of books, waiting on their shelves like friends she had always known yet never met.And in the corner, under a sheet, was the unmistakable shape of a piano.
Christine smiled sadly, forcing herself not to imagine anything.How could she not, though, when the sight was so familiar, like the green hills she had been among for days?Not from her waking life, but from her dreams.She couldn’t be moved, she told herself.She couldn’t see this place and know she was sent there because it was the last place Erik wanted to be.It was hard though, especially when she sensed Erik beside her, looking into the shadows.
“This isn’t so bad,” he muttered.“Siobahn says there’s a clean bedroom upstairs, but no food in the kitchen.”
“It’s only for one night,” Christine sighed.“We’ll live.”
“Probably.”
“Is Siobhan gone?”
