So that in the end, when she uttered the word that freed them and bound them at the same time (all but those few spirits that still had the ability to think as well as feel, and had slipped away before she could ensnare them), no matter what hate had brought them here, the focus for that hate became Reginald Fenyx. She gave them the look, the sense of him; told them without words where to find him.
This was why she had chosen so carefully her gods of East, South, West, and North. Each of them embodied, in his or her own way, the spirit of deception.
She bound the whirling circle of spirits with a word, and set them free with that same word, a single syllable that exploded outward, sending them, the deadly spiritual shrapnel, flying.
The circle of mist burst apart; the light of the stones went out like a snuffed candle. And all of it in a strange and echoing silence in which nothing could be heard but four people breathing as one.
And with that word, she dropped to her knees, exhausted.
But the deed was complete. The tomb was empty, the power within it and beneath it drained. The only glow now came from the guttering candles.
Carolyn and Lauralee stared at their mother, mouths agape, and shaking. In spite of her weariness, Alison could not help smiling. She'd never done a Great Work in their presence. Now perhaps they'd think twice before challenging her.
Warrick Locke was clearly impressed, but not nearly so cowed. And it was he who—following her instructions, true—recovered first, and began the dismissal ceremony, speaking his words and snuffing his candle. Blinking and uncertain, the two girls followed his lead as Alison got back to her feet again.
She snuffed her own candle, then cut the circle rather than going through the tedious business of uncasting it. With the circle cut, the shield dispersed, leaving them all standing in the rock-walled tomb, looking—a little silly. Especially her, in her black velvet, hooded ritual robe.
She wished now that she had given in to the girls and driven here in the auto. But—
But what if someone had seen it here?
On the other hand, Warrick was looking decidedly chipper. . . .
"Warrick, could please I prevail upon you to get the motor from the inn and come bring us back?" she asked, and offered him a smile that promised a great deal more than she was prepared to give. The Morrigan, the deceiver, was still with her, it seemed.
Well, she would let the Morrigan continue to have her way. If he demanded, she would let him take her to his room, then cast a spell of sleep and self-deception on him, and let him dream that he had what he wanted. She had strength enough for that, and even tired, he was no match for her.
Weak-willed man that he was, Locke saw the promise and leapt for it. Then again, perhaps Loki was still with him, and thought to trick his way to what he'd never gotten before. "Of course!" he replied, with a sly smile. "After all that, I'm not surprised that you're tired."
Before she could say anything else, he was off, leaving her to drag off her robe and change back into her masculine garb, then join her daughters in waiting for him She looked up into the night sky at that waning moon. And smiled. Well, let him think he had the upper hand. A contest between the Morrigan and Loki for craft and trickery was no contest.
No contest at all. ...
"Mother?" Carolyn said, timidly. "Were those ghosts?"
"Of a sort," she replied. "They are properly called revenants, and they fall under the power of the Earth Master, since they are bound to earth for—well, for whatever reason. They are the unquiet dead, who never took the step through the door of the afterlife. Some Earth Masters spend their entire lives going about freeing such things and sending them on their way through the door they have been avoiding."
"Why?" Lauralee asked.
"Because some Earth Masters are idiots," she said, surprising a giggle out of both of the girls. "It makes about as much sense to me as going out to be a missionary. Both careers are fraught with hardship and difficulty, and ultimately in both cases you are dealing with creatures who have little or no interest in what you are trying to tell them."
"But you—you told them what they wanted to hear?" Lauralee hazarded.
Alison smiled. Well, it looked as if at least one of the girls had inherited some of her intelligence. "That is how you bind them to your target instead of their own," she explained. "After all, most of the time the target of their hatred is as dead as they are, and generally has more sense than to linger. You tell them how your target represents everything they hate. Then you give them enough power to do what they want, and turn them loose."
"Can they break through the protections on Longacre?" Carolyn wanted to know.
"Some might. But even if they don't they are powerful enough to force Reggie to see them, awake or asleep." She sighed with content. This had truly been a job well done. "We'll let them torment him for a while, and use up all that extra power I gave them. Then you'll move in."
"But how will we banish ghosts?" Carolyn cried. "We can't even make a simple love-charm work on him!"
"Ah—"Alison laid a finger aside her nose and nodded. "There's the beauty of it. Once they use up that extra power I gave them, the geas I put on them will start to fade, and they'll lose the ability to make him see them. And as the geas fades, they'll forget why they're haunting Reggie and start to drift back to their old homes. You won't have to do anything, yet Reggie will think that it's you."
They both stared at her, looking awestruck. They hadn't given her that particular look since they were tiny children, and she had amused them by catching a faun and making it dance.
And as she heard the chattering of the motor in the far distance and chivvied the girls into cleaning up the site and heading back down the path to the road, it occurred to her that this evening might represent a triumph in more ways than one.
Not only had she gained supremacy over an army of the dead, she had once more gained the upper hand, most decisively, over her own children. They would be long in forgetting this.
And that was—a good thing.
15
April 30-May 1, 1917
Longacre Park, Warwickshire
REGGIE HAD COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN—until his mother reminded him of it over dinner—that the next day was May Day, the day of the school treat at Longacre and the school prize day. Well, why should he remember? The day of the school treat and prize day had always been June first, not May Day when he had been growing up.