Spirit (4 page)

N
ot a day later, they took the quickest, most direct way available to them, at least according to Horrick. Tobias was sad to see him go. A butler who knew where to get occult artifacts and make decent travel arrangements was hard to find.

As the small ship from New York to Massachusetts groaned and rocked, Tess stood on deck in the cold air and kept herself from worries of drowning by examining Tobias's behavior instead.

He was inside the ship, enjoying the camaraderie of other travelers, but Tess had needed separation from the group. Crowds were a poison to her.
Quit thinking about it,
she told herself. Quit thinking about what it would be like if the boat were to sink, and what the screaming, panicked passengers would look like, and sound like, and feel like.
I'm trying,
she thought again. Not hard enough.

Then she wanted to laugh.
Normal people have conversations with other people. Stop nurturing these images of your death in a completely unlikely disaster and think of something else.

Consider Tobias.

Tess felt herself wondering how she had gotten pushed into
this dark journey, with barely a day to prepare. She laid out the meager clues, one by one.
A graveyard spirit tells us that not all the accused in Salem were innocent. Horrick uncovers an unnamed First Accused, a person who may have fled with the others to the mysterious, dead town of Blackthorne, where there is now a winter carnival.
And, though it was too vague to count as evidence, she and Tobias had begun sensing a kind of distress call. Or was it merely the power of suggestion?

She reconsidered. No, it wasn't that alone. There
were
emanations from the woods beyond Salem, and they were strong. To be precise, it felt something like a wave of chilled air, or like hearing a roaring crowd from a great distance.

But Tobias was not above a bit of cunning to convince her to do what he wanted. It occurred to her this was happening more often. These emanations
were
real. So why the trickery, the oiling of the truth? He made that a habit for others, but why now for her?

She wondered if she knew him well enough to say. He was hardly a bully, but he had seemed more concerned with her happiness when she was in Pennsylvania. In his letters back then, he quoted poetry and wrote fantastic meditations on the change of seasons or about birdsong—imagine him reciting pretty little poems now. She couldn't help feeling rather ensnared, caught up in his recklessness.

She remembered a moment when they first met, at the church overrun with orphans, when he had cleverly sent a constantly chattering boy on an errand so that Tess could have some quiet. She had been impressed with his ability to keep the others away
and to protect her without seeming overbearing. Later, he had become artful in managing his uncle, who would never do anything Tobias wanted unless Tobias could trick him into it.

But the years with Uncle were just part of the picture. Tobias had always needed to shepherd people carefully. His father and mother had rarely paid attention to him unless he did something outrageous or morbid—so Tobias strived to satisfy them.

His parents had argued frequently, and Tobias learned to lie to each about the other's habits to avoid conflicts.

Thinking about this, Tess arrived at the conclusion life had rewarded Tobias for his minor deceptions. The question was, did he employ his bag of tricks with her? Regardless, she had to admit he was terribly amusing when he wasn't scaring her to death.

The chill wind shifted. The boat was steering toward port. The weak flow of spirit tidings coming from the land seemed to grow slightly, to push against her mind.

 

Inside the ship's cabin, Tobias felt the prickling in his head, the turning of some faraway spirit force and he lusted for it. He calmed himself by looking out the porthole at the lonely figure of his wife on deck.
What a unique girl she is
, he thought.
With a full mind and heart. Not like the boring, prattling society birdbrains in here. Is it only because I let my wife be as she wishes and other husbands do not?

“Is she yours?” asked a nearby gentleman, who reeked of jealousy, like a scent on his skin.

“You mean like a horse or a caged bird?” said Tobias. “No. But we've been married almost a year…and I'm afraid the constant
excitement of my company is wearing her down.”

“Constant excitement, huh? You think well of yourself.”

“Not at all. I long for a day, hopeless though it may be, when I am as colorless and unremarkable as those around me.”

“Ah,” said the gentleman, oblivious to the insult.

T
he Goodravens spent the night in Salem, awaiting the next day's festivities in Blackthorne. They slept at an inn dripping with fangs of icy ivory. Their dreams were unmemorable, washed in a moodless whiteness, as if winter had found a way to freeze the images in their minds. They were left with a sense that in all the world, they had only each other.

When they awoke they felt a heaviness of movement, a dazed quality, as if they had taken a long afternoon nap and could not shake themselves to full alertness. Each felt as if it were not early dawn at all, but a vague, unmoving time of day that had leaked out of their dreams.

Wind rattled the frosted windows. The sensations they'd felt of invisible forces in the forests beyond the city seemed to withdraw.
We are not here,
the presences seemed to say.
Do not worry yourself.

As Tess dressed, she wondered if the things she sensed in Blackthorne could be sensing her back, becoming aware of her.

 

Tobias pretended to be energetic, pulling his clothes on quickly, starting a fire, and packing up for the trip. This morning he had the odd feeling that the Blackthorne presence had a
family
characteristic to it. That is, he felt unmistakably that his own father and mother were the ones calling to him.

He did not mention it to Tess. It was impossible that his parents could have anything to do with the Salem witch trials. They had never been to this place. And yet he had a subtle feeling they were, in fact, out there waiting for him. Intriguing.

Was it possible that a spirit could look inside him and be aware of his memories? Could a spirit imitate a feeling of family? He'd never known this to happen before. But if it wasn't mimicry, then what on earth was his family's connection to witches killed two hundred years ago?

Downstairs, he begged a coffee cup from a fellow traveler so he could avoid the babbling innkeeper, Mrs. Celia Harnow, who could be heard clanging pots in the kitchen, her laugh grating obnoxiously at this early hour.

Back in the room, he made an effort to smile at Tess as he threw open the curtains, but he didn't hold her gaze. He had to be careful, or she'd sense his uneasiness.

Keeping his feelings secret was difficult, but vital. Tess had spent much of her early life with a half-mad mother who lavished her with love and affection—then suddenly took it away and hid in her room for days on end. Tess had been trained to need the crutch of someone beside her; at first, a kindly housemaid, and later her governess. She couldn't have him faltering in his confidence.

He'd have to disguise his mood better, perhaps by playing the cello. He put his mind on a melody, and complimented himself on keeping his worries completely silent.

But in fact, Tess could sense perfectly well he was hiding something.

 

Later that morning the Goodravens arrived at the train station in a comfortable coach. Salem, its frosty harbor bustling with sea traffic and its streets busy with factory clamor, proved harder to get through than expected, but they would make the train to Blackthorne in plenty of time.

As the horses halted, the couple appreciated the stillness for a moment, not wanting to leave the relative warmth of the coach just yet, or to rush into a new crowd of unknown travelers. Tobias took a breath, and nervously tapped his cello case.

“I think sometimes if we didn't have these, I'd lose you to one of those states of yours,” Tess said thoughtfully, running a finger over the shoulder of her own instrument case.

“What state is that?” said Tobias, sad-eyed, with phony good cheer. He started to get out, but Tess took his arm.

“We could stay in here and keep warm a little longer, couldn't we?” She tried to look romantic, even scandalous, but she knew her fear of the journey ahead was quite obvious to him.

“Love to.” Tobias smiled with equal amounts of reassurance and roguishness. “But the train will be leaving. You can hide in here—but then you'd miss all the fear and terror and wonder of it all.” With a mischievous look, he opened the door, taking her hand.

She stepped outside into a cruel wind, as the coachman unloaded their luggage.

They watched as a tired mother rounded up four little girls. She looked surprised to see their instrument cases. “What's this,
something to ward off evil spirits?” she joked.

“I hope not,” said Tobias.

“Well, we've got plenty around here,” said the mother, nodding toward her little girls, who were chasing one another fiendishly. “It's all very romantic really, isn't it?” added the woman. “A perfect escape from the city.”

Do we look as if we need escape
? Tess wondered. She had thought they appeared like any happy and typical young couple, but her view of “typical” was perhaps not common. Tobias had a bemused expression; he seemed worn-down, but making-the-best-of-it, pulling his coat tight against the cold, his whitish blond hair a part of winter itself. Tess could see herself from a window reflection, so small beside him, but thoughtful, poised, perhaps even beautiful. Her ample dark hair was tied up, loose strands framing her petite features. Not unappealing, overall. Certainly respectable. And she hid her fears quite well.

As the children passed, casting off joyous fragments of wildness and excitement, Tobias watched with some jealousy. He said, “What would you give to feel like that every day?”

Tess smiled at him. “It's Christmas, Tobias. You should be no different.”

But then the father of the little girls crossed into the snowy scene, shoving through the crowd, and it was as if the whole world grew suddenly darker. The man had an evil about him; it came off his body like the odor of death itself.

“Children,” he yelled, yanking the arm of the youngest, “get out of the way of these people, before I have to punish you, and believe me, I'll use all the force my arm can give.”

Their mother turned away, ashamed, while the man looked gruffly toward Tobias, complaining, “Can't leave 'em at home—we're all going to the ice festival.”

Tobias eyed him coldly. “That ought to brighten our spirits.”

 

The crush of people had begun streaming into the frosted gates of the Salem train station.

While the coachman took their baggage to the rear of the special express, Tobias and Tess stood apart from the flow of other passengers.

“Last chance to turn back,” Tess murmured.

“Nonsense. We're about to find out if there really are witches up there.”

A stooped, elderly conductor ambled past them, pushing to get through the gates. “Make way now, or we'll be running late,” he muttered. “A lot of out-of-town folk here, looking for land in Blackthorne. Train's crowded. You may need to sit apart.”

Tobias looked down at the trainworker. “Oh, we're never apart.”

The old man, walking on, looked at him over his shoulder. “Dangerous to need each other so much. I'm a widower, I can tell you a thing or two about that—”

“And no new lady has snatched you up?” mumbled Tobias, under his breath. “You wonder how that could be possible.”

“—you'd better get in. They're boarding now, sir,” the old man said, not even listening.

Hiding a smile, Tobias imitated the man's fearsome voice, “They're boarding now…”

Tess considered him. “You don't have the right inflection. You
have to sound more like you're hiding a human head under your coat.”

Tobias tried again, darker, more convincing. “They're booooarding now…”

“Much better. The human-head element was right there. Palpable.”

“Tobias! Tess!”

Behind them, Celia Harnow, the innkeeper, arrived, her golden curls bouncing as she hurried to them. She was a large, bubbly, blustery woman, whom Tess thought somewhat likable in all her stumbling kindness, though Tobias found her quite annoying, which he openly admitted.

“You forgot your train tickets at the inn!” she said, her baby face flushed.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harnow,” Tess said politely.

“I'm so jealous of you two, tighter than two doves. Me, I'm stuck with the old goat. He wants me to stay with the inn and feed him and his firemen friends, so I can't even go to the carnival.” The “old goat,” her husband, was the usual target of her complaints.

“Yes, thank you, ma'am, we've got to be going now,” said Tobias. Moving away from the inkeeper as he whispered to Tess, “The dead hate to wait.”

As they neared the line for the train, Tess saw the four little girls again. Nearby, a scowling, thin woman was arguing with a porter over a cart piled with some boxes. “Be careful with those, they have my dolls in them. They're for sale at the festival.” She rudely warned one of the girls, “Don't touch these. They're not for you to play with.”

Tobias watched the sweet, tiny child turn sad. Out of spite, he reached over and swiped one of the woman's boxes. Tess hid her amusement. As the thin woman fussed, not even noticing him, Tobias broke open the box and pulled out a boy doll. He looked at the girl. “What do you want for Christmas?” he asked.

Tess watched the little girl answer, “Mmm, something…”

Tobias grinned, handing her the doll. “Like this?”

“Something scary.” The girl giggled.

“Something scary? For Christmas?” Tobias asked.

“She loves scarecrows and Halloween,” said the child's sister, while her parents obliviously moved ahead.

“Sounds like my kind of girl.” Tobias pulled the head off the doll. “Headless horseman,” he said. “All you need is a horse.”

“You're a strange man,” the girl said.

“Yes,” said Tobias, good-naturedly. “Yes, I am.”

Tess reached out to squeeze the girl's hand. “Tess Goodraven,” she said, and gestured to Tobias. “My husband, Tobias Goodraven.”

“Husband?” The girl laughed. “You're too small to be married.”

“Not at all.” Tess smiled back.

The girl's father turned, calling the children angrily, and Tess could see Tobias growing tense. “What I love about Christmas is, it always brings out the best in people,” she joked uneasily.

Tobias took on a mock-scary voice. “And all the ghosts get homesick.”

She kissed him. “I feel brave.”

They moved toward the train, with its magnificent black engine, dragon-breathing steam over the imposing station, whose
square brick towers and buttresslike side wings were ominously reminiscent of a medieval fortress.

Several youngsters turned to Tess, shocking her, for their eyes were pearly white and fixed upon nothing in particular. Others stood with closed eyes, and carried canes to help them along. The blind children stood with their chaperones, and Tess felt a pang of sadness that they could not see the sorcery of winter around them, the beauty that the train and the station created together.

Everyone was silent. Tobias and Tess stood out brilliantly from the crowd; as always, he in gray, she in white. They looked around, observing every detail with amusement and fascination, as the snow collected on the other passengers' drab black and brown coats.

Normal people. Odd little curiosities.

The train was now ready, but the pace of boarding was slow. Impatient, Tobias led Tess away from the others, and entered through a coach farther up, slipping a bribe to a steward.

The train was a masterpiece. Tess and Tobias moved through several parlor cars, beautifully appointed in dark leather and mahogany. The trip today would be a short one, but the festival organizers had spared no expense.

As they walked through the first-class section, car after car grew more opulent. Tess found herself wanting to sink into the chairs of each room, for they were truly rooms, dripping with grandeur, presenting plush sofas, dazzling chandeliers, and wide windows, rooms in which millionaires like J. P. Morgan or Andrew Carnegie would have looked quite at home.

Then came the dining car, ornamented with cherrywood
tables, brass fixtures, silver, linen, and china—a feasting place for kings. The second dining car was less expensive-looking, but only slightly less extravagant.

And there was a smoking car, a mobile gentlemen's club complete with upright grand piano, a harp, pre-Raphaelite paintings, and a high ceiling made of glass so that Tess could see the snowflakes drifting down upon them, like in a fairy tale.

Finally Tobias and Tess reached the elegant passenger cars, and found their seats. Tess had traveled quite a bit in her few short years of life, and this train was as perfect a creation as she had ever seen in New York, London, or Paris.

It was a shame every piece of it seemed to radiate a mournful dread.