Delia's Shadow (22 page)

Dora asked more questions, testing to be sure the ghost answering really was Shadow and not some other wandering haunt. I was satisfied long before Isadora, but I could sense the ghost’s agitation, her impatience to get to the reason she’d sought me out at the start. Shadow’s turmoil filled me, her struggle to resist Dora’s constraints and fill me with her memories welling up in my chest, and edging me toward panic. I was the center of a tug-of-war between them, a prize to be claimed by the strongest.

Isadora won and Shadow’s surrender let me regain some calm. I clung to Dora’s hand and Gabe’s, mindful of the warning not to break the circle or her concentration. A hundred years before people might have called her a witch, communing with the dead a forbidden talent, viewed as a mark of evil and best hidden. Spiritualists and séances were in fashion now, but Dora still hid much of what she was capable of doing.

I didn’t blame her. Fashions changed and people still feared what they didn’t understand.

“Show yourself, ghost. Tell us your name and deliver your message,” Dora whispered now, each word a piece of ice sliding down my spine. “Fill the mirror so that all can see you and hear you speak.”

The odd placement and why the mirror was the only ornament on the walls became clear. None of us had to do more than turn our heads to have a clear view.

The center of the mirror grew opaque, swirled with wisps of gray, flashes of yellow light and a deeper gloom in the background. I stared, struggling to make sense of what I saw. The images were blurred, edges blunted and objects indistinct. Then I knew what I saw. Fog and a night-darkened street.

The start of my nightmare.

“Oh, dear God.” I risked a glance around the table. Jack stared as raptly as the rest of us. He saw this time, I was certain of it. The scene in the mirror was the same when I turned back, an instant from the past frozen in place. “I think I’ve seen this before.”

“The dream you told us about.” Dora squeezed my fingers. “The mirror gives her a portal to communicate with the living. Watch and see if Shadow shows us more or something different. You’re the only one who will know.”

Images grew clearer the longer I stared: lighted windows on the front of a building, a sign advertising beer a nickel a mug, hot baths or a room for a quarter. Sounds came from the mirror scene as well, muted voices and laughter, a foghorn and the deadened clop of horses’ hoofs on cobblestones. We watched the outside of a tavern, seeing the scene as Shadow had. This was the true start of the nightmare, the minutes before she left work and started on her way home.

Light shone around the double doors at the front entrance, cheap pine hung crooked and not plumb in the frame. One swung open and Shadow stepped onto the street. She surveyed the thick fog and darkness, dismay settling on her features. Lines pulled at the corners of her mouth and her shoulders slumped, and I saw just how tired she was.

I felt her weariness as well. Another glance around the table showed Gabe, Jack, and Sadie giving the mirror all their attention, but they didn’t feel the ache in Shadow’s calves or the way her shoulder burned from carrying heavy trays through two shifts. But Isadora’s eyes met mine and I knew she was there with Shadow as well, living those moments with the ghost. We shared that curse, a kinship I felt sure either of us would relinquish gladly.

Shadow tugged the thin shawl tight around her shoulders and started off. The tavern door opened again and a dark-haired, broad-shouldered man stepped out. His nose had been broken and healed crooked, and his bushy mustache made that more obvious. A stained barkeeper’s apron was held around his ample waist with thin ties that wrapped around twice, the apron itself long enough to flap around his calves when he ran. “Allie! Wait a tick.”

She stopped, but frowned and hugged arms over her chest. “It’s cold, Sean, and I’m tired. Have your say and be quick. I’ve the need to get home to Pat and the baby.”

“No call for snapping at me. Hold out your hand, I’ve something for you.” Sean put a quarter on her palm and folded her hand around the coin. “I almost forgot the extra I promised you for staying the extra shift. It’s been a busy night and you deserve the little bit more.”

Allie sighed and slipped the quarter into a skirt pocket. “I’m sorry, Sean. It’s my own fault you needed to come after me and no reason to be cross with you. I was in such a hurry to be off I’d forgotten. Five o’clock again tomorrow?”

“Five is fine.” She started to go, but Sean put a hand on her shoulder and turned her back to face him. “Aileen, come back inside. If I can’t talk you into sleeping in the backroom tonight, wait until I finish closing up. Let me walk you home. I don’t like you out this late on your own. Not with all the stories about people disappearing floating around the bar.”

She hesitated, but shook her head. “Pat’s after me to quit and stay home like a proper gentleman’s wife. He says this contract he signed with the railroad’s going to make him rich. Maybe he’s right or maybe it’s another of his blue-sky schemes. I’ll stick with what I know until I see the money. I’ve got the little one to think of feeding.”

“Patrick Fitzgerald’s got a fair head for business. Wish I could say he wasn’t a bloody fool when it comes to his wife.” Sean reached for Aileen’s hand, but she stepped back. “The offer still stands, Allie. You and the baby can come to stay for long as you’re willing if things turn bad again. Just say the word.”

“You’re a good man, Sean McGuire. But I said my vows and I’ll live with them.” She pulled the shawl tighter, eyeing the foggy street. “Pat half thinks Jackie belongs to you as it is. If not for that wild red hair on the boy, he’d be sure of it. I best get home now.”

“Oh, dear God, that’s my mother. Pop said she died of cholera. Dora, stop this. Stop it right now.” Jack was half out of his seat, breathing hard and fast, and on the verge of running from the room. “He lied to me! I can’t sit and watch this, I have to leave. Make it stop now!”

“Sergeant Fitzgerald!” Gabe’s voice cracked with command, a tone I’d not heard before. He got Jack’s attention and the snap in his voice went away. “Sit down, Jack. You’re putting Sadie and Delia in danger. Close your eyes if you need to, but give Dora a chance to end this safely.”

Jack’s face was pale and he looked ill, but he nodded and sank into the chair. Sadie leaned toward him, whispering rapidly. The concern on her face grew deeper when Jack didn’t answer. Gabe watched the two of them, worry and confusion in his eyes. We were all confused.

All but Isadora. She glanced at me and muttered under her breath. “Damn it. A blood-tie was the reason he couldn’t see the ghosts. There are times I hate being right.”

Dora began the chant to send the ghost from the mirror. “I release you with our thanks. I will not hold you here nor will your blood and kin. Go in peace, Aileen Fitzgerald. May you find rest soon.”

She broke the circle then. Jack shoved his chair away from the table, shaking so hard I wasn’t sure he could stand, and retreated to the corner. Sadie followed. He kept his back to the mirror and took her into his arms.

I continued to stare at the mirror, understanding why the ghost sought me out, making what I saw even harder to bear.

Shadow—Aileen—looked down on the room, hands folded at her waist, hair neat and the shawl draped over her shoulders. The ghost was aware of all that happened, all that was said, as she had been since we returned to San Francisco. Aileen had been dead thirty years, taken from her child when he was just a baby, but I’d no doubt she’d watched over Jack his entire life. Now she watched her son and Sadie embrace, and I saw tears glisten in the ghost’s green eyes.

Help them, she’d said to me. Help them. What she’d meant was protect them. The danger had pulled even closer, become more terrifying by being real and that we still don’t know who to look for. That frightened me most of all, the not knowing. But I wasn’t alone and I needed to remember Gabe and Dora were here, too. That was a comfort, small as it might be.

Aileen was still here as well, patient and waiting to share the rest of her secrets. I just needed to learn how to hear them.

CHAPTER 12

Gabe

Gabe waited until the patrol car with Jack and Sadie pulled away before going back inside. He eased Dora’s heavy front door closed quietly, determined to avoid waking Daniel. There were enough disturbing things about this night. Isadora’s paramour parading half-naked in front of Delia a second time would only add to the list. He wanted to avoid that if at all possible.

The door to the workroom was closed, but the lingering smell of cinnamon filled the darkened corridor. He couldn’t see details in the paintings hung at regular intervals along the wall, only that they were bucolic scenes, probably the European countryside. The carpet runner down the center of the hall was thick and lush, and he sank into the pile with each step. Like everything else in the house, the carpet was expensive and spoke of more money than a fortune-teller might be expected to earn.

An inheritance or the settlement from an early marriage was his best guess. Gabe wasn’t going to pry into Dora’s background without reason, but he couldn’t help wondering.

Lights burned in the sitting room at the end of the hall, chasing shadows down the corridor. All the lamps and the chandelier in the small room were lit, more lights than necessary and probably more than normal, but he wouldn’t say a word. Gabe wasn’t awfully fond of the idea of sitting in the dark tonight. From the looks of things as he came back into the room, Dora wasn’t, either.

Isadora Bobet was curled up in a huge overstuffed leather chair, shoes kicked off and feet tucked up under her full skirts. A cigarette dangled from one hand and the other cradled a glass of whiskey. She looked wretched, all the brightness and energy normally in her face sapped away by the séance. Any doubts Gabe had about her being a fraud had evaporated with the first hint of movement in the mirror. Her obvious misery added to his conviction Dora was for real. He was pragmatic enough to believe what was right in front of him, no matter how improbable.

The first thing Dora had done after they’d retired to the sitting room was open the rosewood bar cabinet and pour herself a drink. Cocktail glasses and liquor bottles filled the shelves, glittering amber and brown liquid reflecting the glow of lamps. She’d offered drinks to the rest of them as well, but they’d all declined.

All except Jack. He’d downed a full shot and held his glass out for more. Isadora put the bottle away after refilling the glass a second time. Jack was steady on his feet when he left with Sadie, but once he got home to his own liquor cabinet that wouldn’t last.

Gabe could use a shot of whiskey, too, but the need to see Delia home stopped him from accepting. Keeping a clear head was wiser.

Delia sat huddled in a corner of the black leather settee, hugging a crimson throw pillow and chewing on her bottom lip. He’d seen that expression often over the last two weeks. She was thinking, trying to sort things out and make sense of the senseless. He hesitated in the doorway, unsure of where to sit and not wanting to impose if Delia wanted to be alone.

She saw him and the gloomy, preoccupied expression on her face brightened with a smile. Gabe let out the breath he’d held without realizing, the smile all he needed to decide. He sat on the settee, not crowding her but close enough to take her hand.

How used he’d grown to holding her hand when they were together astonished him if he thought about it. She’d taken his hand on all but the first of their walks over the last two weeks, the gesture natural and unforced. He didn’t think about it often, afraid that examining their relationship too closely would stop friendship from becoming something more. Nor did he let himself think beyond merely holding her hand. That seemed unfair to Delia, at least until he admitted to himself that what he felt was more than friendship. “How are you holding up?”

“Enormously tired, but fine otherwise.” Delia set the pillow aside. She reached for his hand and he took hers gladly. “Jack’s the one I’m worried about. There was no way to soften that blow for him, but I still feel guilty. I keep thinking I should have guessed who Shad—who Aileen was protecting before now.”

“Don’t be silly. None of us could have guessed she was Jack’s mother. If he wasn’t already dead I’d plant a curse on Pat Fitzgerald for being a liar and a cad. Not telling Jack the truth about Aileen is inexcusable.” Dora angrily snubbed the cigarette out in the brass ash-stand next to her chair. She swung her feet down to the floor and held out her empty whiskey glass. “Gabe, be a dear and pour me another one. You can go right back to holding hands, I promise.”

Delia fixed Isadora with a disapproving look and didn’t blush, or let go of his hand. “I was under the impression you planned to help. If all you’re going to do is drink and tease Gabe, we should leave. I’d hoped the three of us might make progress toward getting the rest of the answers we need.”

Dora blinked owlishly for a few seconds, mouth gaping half-open. She mastered surprise, cleared her throat, and raised her glass in salute. “Your pardon, Delia. I forget that the quiet ones always have the sharpest teeth. I do want to help. Jack and Sadie are my dearest friends. But I need another drink and if I attempt to pour my own, I may embarrass myself. I’m getting old and that summons took more from me than I want to admit.”

Gabe stood and took the glass from Dora. “Allow me. Water or straight up?”

“Two fingers, straight. It’s a sin to dilute good whiskey with water.” Her hand was steady when she took the glass back, but fatigue showed in her eyes and the way her mouth drooped. She wasn’t faking. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Now we can get down to a serious discussion.”

Dora sipped her whiskey and waited until he’d settled next to Delia again. “As I was saying, you couldn’t have known what the ghost wanted to reveal. I can guess why Jack’s father lied to him about his mother’s disappearance, but it muddies the waters even more. The question now becomes how we get more information from Aileen Fitzgerald’s ghost. It might be a week before I’m up to another séance and we’d have to pull in people from outside. Subjecting Jack and Sadie to that again would be callous.”