Penumbra (The Midnight Society #2) (24 page)

#

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Aria

Dusk was always my favorite time of the day. The ambient orange light cast by the setting of the sun, like a candle burning through the last bit of daylight, was always a reminder that soon I would be home. Soon, I could rest.

But that was before the Midnight Society.

I had no home anymore.

I stood against the rail of the old antique steamboat—a wondrous breathtaking construct—as it traversed through Louisiana’s waters. Us being the only ones on the boat, it was quiet and peaceful.

I always had a misconception of the swamps, believing they were filled with stained waters, unruly moss, and vicious insects. But standing in the steamboat, staring at the orange sky that was dusted with elegant purple clouds, I realized just how beautiful these swamps actually were. The bald cypress trees that emerged out of the waters reminded me of elderly wise men, standing watch with eternal patience, while the world slowly eroded. The leaves from the trees drifted downwards like wet strands of emerald hair, casting a morose look on their weathered visage.

There was a beautiful sadness to these trees.

“Careful you don’t lean too far over the edge,” Beau warned. “I swear the gators in these parts of Louisiana are possessed by demons themselves. They’ll leap right out of the water and shear your arms off that picture perfect body of yours.”

I shot Beau an incredulous look.

“Sounds like a tall tale,” I said.

He smiled back at me with a backwards southern grin which told me he was up to no good. Beau looked handsome in the black, slim fit suit of his. I had to admit, his roughneck charm was endearing at times, though more often than not, it fell into the ‘annoying’ category.

Tonight, he was dressed to impress.

Lincoln on the other hand…

“Did you have to cut the sleeves off my shirt and my suit?” Lincoln asked. He looked absurd with his bare arms protruding from what once was a fine looking suit.

“Let’s get it straight, that suit you’re wearing is actually
mine
, and I thought a fellow like you, with ink—temporary by my guess—all over his arms, would want to display those magnificent pieces of artwork.

“I look like trailer trash,” Lincoln stated. “The least you could have done was given me dress shoes too.”

I looked down at his feet and couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his faded pair of sneakers.

“Had I had known you’d sabotage my formalwear, I would have went out and purchased something,” Lincoln said.

“
My
formalwear you mean,” Beau grinned. “And quit your complaining. You should be thankful that the extent of my revenge is removing the sleeves off the suit you’re wearing. It could have been much worse. A bullet through the back of your skull is a perfect example.”

Beau had a point. In terms of revenge, this had to be one of the more hilarious methods I’ve seen.

“Prepare for docking,” I heard the ship captain announce as the old steamboat chugged along, heading steadily towards the wooden dock.

We were crashing the wedding ridiculously early, but as per Isadora’s instructions, I was to meet with her before the start of the wedding ceremony to sort out the final details of our deal.

I stared with baited breath as we docked onto dry land.

“Here we are,” the captain announced, “Paradise right in the heart of Louisiana.”

We had landed on an island, smacked dab in the middle of the swamp, right in the center of which stood a magnificent, white plantation house.

It was similar to those I’d seen in movies; a two story colonial inspired home with large white columns stemming from ground to roof. In between the columns were large bay windows that reflected the orange glow of the setting sun. Outside in the yard, workers were busy preparing for tonight’s festivities, setting up tables and chairs and stringing lights alongside the large white tents where the dinner and dancing were to take place.

“Well isn’t that something,” Beau said as he marveled at all the work that was being put into the wedding.

An elderly man in old-style butler garb greeted us. “You must be the guests that Lady Isadora’s expecting,” he said.

“Lady Isadora?” Beau guffawed. “She’s royalty all of a sudden?”

The servant frowned.

“Beau, shut up,” Lincoln said, as he turned to the butler. “We’re honored to be guests at her lovely home.”

The butler eyed Lincoln’s suit—more specifically his bare, tattooed arms—and wrinkled his nose.

“Yes…well do come along then,” he said, gesturing towards the big white plantation house. “Ms. Isadora wanted to see you the second you arrived. It’s best we not keep her waiting.”

We walked up the purple carpet laid out on dirt path that led up to the house.

I stepped through the large doors of the estate and smiled. The inside of the home was exactly how I’d pictured it. The walls and ceiling were painted white from top to bottom in contrast to the dark brown hardwood floors. A brilliant crystal chandelier hung from the center of the foyer, accentuating the wealth of this lovely home.

Things were lively inside as well, as servants frantically ran back and forth, hands filled with flowers, food, drinks, and other necessities for a bride’s perfect day.

The butler led us up a wide staircase and onto the second floor. We were greeted by a row of closed doors.

“The very far door on the right,” the butler said.

The three of us began to walk towards it, but the butler was quick to hold out his hand, blocking our paths.

“Only her,” he said.

“Can’t I watch?” Lincoln asked.

The butler shook his head. “Experiencing the gift of Lady Isadora’s magic is something that is sacred and private. Only Lucy…” he paused as he glanced at me with curiosity in his eyes, “…is granted this blessed experience.”

“We can stand outside the door though? In case any sneaky shit happens?” Beau asked.

The butler sighed. “I assure you, no
sneaky shit
will happen. You are our guests, and will be treated as such.

“It’s okay,” I reassured them. “I’ll be okay.”

I wondered if I sounded convincing, especially since I was nervous as hell. I walked slowly towards the last door on the right and stopped in front of it.

I took a deep breath and raised my fists, ready to knock. However just as my knuckles were about to make contact with the door, Isadora called me in.

“You may enter,” she said.

Did she hear my footsteps from outside?

I braced myself for what was likely inside—a black cauldron perhaps? Maybe some decapitated monkey heads on sticks? Or snakes slithering around the bones of old sacrificial victims?

Inside, I was greeted with a normal looking bedroom—a king sized bed on a beautiful rosewood bedframe, elegant flowery drapes, a vanity mirror that went hand-in-hand with a milk-white makeup table, and a black leather chaise pushed up against the window.

I’d watched too many B-rated horror movies as a kid.

Isadora sat on the bed, wearing a stunning long black dress that flowed from her breasts all the way down to the floor. Even without make up on she had looked gorgeous but now, with a few touches, she was a goddess. Her beauty was enchanting.

“Oh wow,” I said, surprised by her radiance. “I swear you’re going to steal the bride’s thunder.”

Isadora smiled. “I hope not,” she said. “Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it.” She gestured towards the edge of the bed. “Close the door behind you, and then come and sit.”

I did.

“Do I have anything to worry about?” I asked, bluntly.

“Have a little faith,” Isadora said, “After all, this is what this experience is about: Faith.”

She reached for a wine glass, filled with a clear liquid, by the bedside table. She handed it over to me.

“Drink,” she instructed.

“What is it?”

“A potion.”

I stared at the contents and wrinkled my nose. “You’re drugging me?”

Thankfully, Isadora seemed to have a lot of patience with me tonight. “Do you know why I chose you from the others?”

“Bec
ause I’m the least annoying?” I speculated.

“True,” Isadora said, “But that’s not the reason why. Out of the three of you, the ghosts that haunt you are the strongest—both the ghosts of the living and the dead.”

I was puzzled. “How can the living be ghosts?”

“Ah, now this is where we get down to the basis of my voodoo,” Isadora explained. “We all have a spirit inside of us. Some call it a soul, but I like to see them as living ghosts. These living spirits are not restricted by the confines of our body. They are free to wander the ends of the earth, haunting the people whose lives the individual has made an impression on. You understand?”

“Okay,” I said, doing my best to be objective about the entire thing.

“Have you ever felt heartbreak?”

I thought of Shadow and nodded immediately.

“That’s a living ghost, haunting you,” Isadora said. “Has someone ever done something that made you smile every time you thought about it?”

Once again, I thought of Shadow, dancing the Macarena in Cambodia, and I nodded once more.

“A living ghost, seeping into your memories.”

“What about dead ghosts?” I asked.

Isadora’s voice suddenly took on a more serious tone. “The dead ghosts are the ones that you don’t want to fuck with,” she said. “Their ghosts are far stronger than that of the living. Their presence feels different too. They linger in your thoughts and leave far more devastating impressions on a person. Even if they’re not menacing in nature, these ghosts can still wreak havoc on our emotional being.”

I thought of Justin. What she was saying seemed to have some validity to it.

“The ghosts that cling to you, both the living and the dead, are far stronger than any I’ve seen,” Isadora said. She squinted. “Two of the living ghosts you have are in conflict of each other as well.”

I raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I like you Lucy…though I’m not convinced that’s your real name.”

“Aria,” I said. There was no harm in telling Isadora who I was. “Aria Valencia.”

“The Crow Killer?”

I sighed. “Man, is that how I’m going to be known to the rest of the world? Aria the Crow Killer?”

Isadora grinned. “I’ve always been drawn to strong women.”

“I’m not as strong as you think,” I sighed.

“I’m here to help you regain your strength.” Isadora gestured towards the glass that was still in my hand. “Let’s see if we can sort out your living ghosts, and more importantly, exorcise the dead one. Trust in me. Now drink.”

What the hell. It wasn’t like had anything else to lose—except perhaps my life. But the value of all human lives these days seemed pretty low to me.

I needed something different.

I drank the sweet liquid within the glass in one single gulp.

Immediately, I felt warmth radiate through my body. My toes and fingers began tingling. I felt pleasant, glowing almost, like I had downed a couple of glasses of wine.

“Now, close your eyes Aria. What we are going to do is free
your
own living ghost and enter into the world of others. We are going to make a connection with the three spirits that surround your thoughts. Remember, there are no boundaries for what your spirit can do. There are no inhibitions or consequences. You are in control of what happens.” Isadora explained. “Now, focus on my voice.”

I did.

“Three doors,” she said, her tone of voice almost lyrical in nature, “three closed doors in a place where you feel safe, in a place you trust.”

Her voice seeped into my mind as I felt my body go completely numb.

The world around me faded into white. I closed my eyes, inhaled, and when I opened my eyes again, I found myself standing at the center of the University’s campus—the place that I had spent the last three years of my life trying to achieve my lifelong dreams of being a concert pianist.

At the time, I had hated waking up at seven a.m. to make it to morning lectures, my eyes often swollen shut from the lack of proper sleep
. I remembered dragging my tired ass to the lecture hall only to endure an hour and half long snoozefest. But now, being far removed from it, I missed the University more than I could have imagined.

I missed having a purpose. I missed living.

“Approach the first door,” Isadora said, “And discover your desires.”

I drifted through the luscious green grass of the campus, the smells of spring tulips filling my nostrils, as I approached Berlioz Hall. It was where most of my classes were held. I opened the white double doors and stepped inside.

All the classrooms in the first floor of Berlioz Hall were gone. Instead it was replaced with a large room, decorated with elegant, vintage furniture. The walls and floors were made out of wood, filling the room with the fresh scent of cedar mixed with exotic spices and sweet scented smoke. A single black chair rested at the center of the room and behind it was a large stone fireplace. A painting of a moon—the same as Lincoln’s tattoo—hung above the mantle. The smell of firewood burning and the warmth of the heat generating from it were both welcoming.