frowned. “That someone should be trying to tear open what I have hoped to make transcendent, to hurt what should be hope, to intrude between the spirit world and the divine…”
“The Sisters inside Sanctuary are shoring up all the windows and bolstering their ties to living psychics around the world,” Eve said. “They’re very worried. They don’t want me to accidentally let anything in. I was pushed back out, to you.”
“We have to do better about shielding,” Gran declared.
“And warding,” came another distinctive voice from the edge of the wood.
Eve turned to behold a striking figure. An array of golden silk accentuated the eerie, piercing quality of gold-green eyes. Clara Templeton Bishop was a powerful psychic in her own right, and she intimidated Eve fiercely. In her late forties, Clara was a woman of hard angles, sharp points, and careful boundaries. Her crepe hat and its gossamer veil were crowned with large, gold-painted thistles, as if her fashion served to deter anyone without a delicate, decorous touch from getting too close to spiny edges.
Hair in braids, a coil was carefully pinned to hang low over one ear to hide a terrible scar Gran had instructed Eve to never notice, which only made her wonder more. Gran and the Bishops were psychic veterans of international wars. Eve wished there was a way she could better honor their service. But like many who served, after a war, they didn’t want to talk about it. Ever.
Clara was attuned to raw power; her gifts tapped into ley lines, the primal sources of spiritual energy. “The latitude and longitude of Earth’s eldest spiritual energy,” Gran once explained. Manipulating ley lines made Clara’s body react in painful or epileptic extremes. But her sheer presence was as unmistakable and echoing as the ringing of some huge carillon.
“Mrs. Bishop,” Eve exclaimed, her face again coloring. She wanted to impress the woman but always felt awkward in her consuming presence. “I didn’t know…”
“When Evelyn ran after you, she instructed her staff to call me.” Clara smiled pleasantly. “I do live just up the hill, you know. I suppose I ought to have a read on the both of you now.” She tapped her temple as Gran had done, the psychic indication of tracking an important soul, like following mental footprints. It was Clara that Eve had gone to in order to find Gran when she was abducted at the beginning of their current case.
“I’m so sorry to be a bother,” Eve whispered, dropping her gaze to the gravel path.
“No, it’s good, really,” Clara said brightly. “If I don’t use my powers regularly, then when I do, they cause pain. Just like stretching a muscle, one must make sure their gifts remain flexible, lest I turn brittle and snap to bits.” She turned toward Eve, her voice softening. Her intense presence didn’t negate her kindness. “You force me not to turn away from the world but toward the better parts of it. Being tuned to you is no bother. Everyone’s got a bit of a musical pitch to them if I put my mind to it.” She stepped closer, cocking her head to the side. The tulle of her veil fluttered in the breeze as her silk skirts rustled against leaves on the path’s floor. “You’re very gifted and have a fair handle on your talents, so the note of your spirit is a pleasant one.”
“Well, thank you,” Eve murmured, cheeks scarlet, not knowing what else to say.
“What was in this wood with you, on the other hand, was terribly discordant.”
“Did you see Albert Prenze?” Eve asked. “He’s been dubbed ‘the shadow man’ by the spirit world. A hatred of spirits that began with his mother is now a dark obsession.”
“I didn’t see a negative, hateful energy, but I felt it,” Clara replied. “I heard it. Once I was able to sense your spirit returning from across the veil, I could hear your renunciation, your banishing of him. You did a nice job shielding. I merely boosted your vehemence with my own energy.”
“I greatly appreciate your support, Mrs. Bishop. I’m always trying to hone my gifts, but I’ve been stumbling lately. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to keep from being led here as if on strings. I don’t know—”
“Not a single apology from you,” Clara interrupted, lifting a finger. “You’re still learning. No one can predict what will befall them in careers like ours. We are, by unfortunate nature, reactive. Circumstances push us into trials by fire.”
Despite being the leader of her own department, Eve couldn’t help feeling untrained and out of her depth.
Clara gestured up the lane. “Care for lunch? Our Sikh friends from the embassy were just visiting, and our kitchen is still benefiting from their generosity and knowledge. My energy work has become increasingly sensitive to eating meat of any kind; I can taste the death itself, so I’m grateful for vegetarian recipes. I’m trying to learn as many as I can.”
Eve’s stomach roiled, not the least of which at the casual mention of tasting death. “I’m sure I should eat, but I’ve no appetite for it.”
Gran put one arm around Eve and reached toward Clara, grabbing the woman’s thin hand. “Could I beg you and Rupert to come teach the girls how better to shield themselves?”
“Yes.” Clara nodded. “A critical lesson. Your girls have what it takes, but you must be stronger. And Rupert’s the very best in this regard.”
Eve was surprised to hear Clara’s husband’s name. As far as Eve knew, he didn’t usually involve himself in the paranormal; he kept to the business of embassies and ambassadors.
“Yes, Rupert too,” Clara added, as if reading Eve’s mind. Maybe she had. “Didn’t you know he’s a mesmerist?” Clara’s tone implied Eve should have known better. “Go on to the train. The light is brightening and that isn’t good for either of our eyes. I’ll talk with Rupert. Tonight will be best. There’s no time to waste in matters like these.”
“Agreed.” Gran gestured to the glade. “This dear place should be warded too, if you wouldn’t mind, Clara. I worry for the thin barrier between worlds beyond if there isn’t something helping it stay strong from our side and on our behalf.”
“Indeed. I’ll send Rupert to ward the arch. I’d best not be near the thin veil myself, but I agree it should be protected from disruption by darker energies.”
Eve turned at a nearby sound. A delivery truck. Two workers in suspenders and shirtsleeves, caps low over their sweaty faces, with a large wooden spool on the side of the road ahead, were filling dirt over a line in shallow ground.
“What’s that about?” Eve asked.
Clara shrugged. “Another telephone line up the lane? It’s growing exponentially: technology, the sprawl of the city. Won’t be quiet here much longer.…” Clara’s smile looked forced as she clapped her gloved hands. “Well then, go and ready your girls for our visit!”
With a whirl of golden fabric, Clara strolled off toward a line of bright maples in the end of their autumn splendor. Beyond those red and golden leaves lay the Bishops’ home and a striking view of the Hudson River.
New York City loomed further down the line, and Eve knew she had to get back to protect it, whether it knew it needed her help or not.
Chapter Two
“I’m paying for a private compartment,” Gran stated, patting Eve’s shoulder and stepping up to a uniformed conductor. After she had a few quiet words with him, he gestured toward a compartmentalized car. Gran put her arm around Eve and walked her further up the platform. “The hem of your nightdress is hanging out from under your coat, and I just don’t want people to think the worst of you, dear.”
“Again…” Eve muttered. Another sleepwalking episode, another layer of distrust to add to her roster of recent mishaps.
“Your precinct colleagues are still resting and relaxing at my home as you left them,” Gran continued, letting Eve step up the train car steps ahead of her. “We’ll go there first. You will