Chapter III
Witnesses
Before them, lit only by the twinkling gas lamps of the front porch, stood a petite woman with hair so white it might have been translucent. Her body was twisted forward with age, but she held her head in regal confidence. She wore a dress of blood red draped with an intricately woven shawl, and her pale hair was swept into an exquisite updo secured with ruby-encrusted combs. Her eyes were the color of clouded green glass.
Though the ancient woman didn’t speak above a whisper, Jane was struck by the authority of her voice. “Where is she, Mederick?”
“Ah, Moll. Please, do come in.” He assisted her across the threshold, and Jane observed two dark-clad bodyguards behind her on the front walk. The woman called Moll motioned to them as she entered the mansion, and they retreated into the darkness and out of sight.
“Thank you, Mederick.” Her voice was heavily accented, but Jane could not decide the origin of the accent. The ancient lady stepped into the foyer, where she spotted Jane. Her eyes were cold as they looked over every inch of the girl. Something about her gaze reminded Jane to stand up straighter, to keep her hands from fidgeting—she wasn’t simply being examined. She felt dissected by the old woman’s stare.
“My home is honored by your presence. Allow me to introduce you to Jane Thomas Sylfaen.” Jane’s eyes widened and she whipped her head toward her godfather, who gave her a warning glare in reply.
The old woman was watching him, too, digesting his words and observing the silent exchange between host and hostess. “How do you do, Jane?” she asked in a voice that sounded like cannon fire and rustling silk, all in harmony. “I am called Old Moll.”
“How do you do?” she replied weakly. Old Moll? It hardly sounded like an appropriate name for the tiny, fearsome creature before her. She might have been a queen. The door bell rang again.
Angelita appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and assisted Old Moll into the dining room as Dr. Sylfaen moved to answer the door for a second time. Jane swallowed hard, not sure she was ready for another introduction. Whoever it is, they can’t be as scary as Old Moll, she thought as she steadied herself.
But Jane found the next guest equally terrifying, if for different reasons. In direct contrast to Old Moll, this woman was far younger (between twenty-five and thirty was Jane’s outside guess) and she stood nearly six feet tall in her stiletto heels. She was scantily clothed in a dress of jet black lace. Though much of the woman’s ivory skin was exposed, the dress looked far too expensive for its wearer to appear promiscuous. Her hair was piled into a knot of loose coppery red curls. Jane shifted self-consciously as she mentally cursed her own conservative dress.
“Good evening, Dr. Sylfaen,” the red-headed woman practically sang into the old man’s ear as he kissed her cheek hello.
“Lorena, my dear, how are you?”
“Quite well.”
“And your brother?”
“Oh, busy with his intrigues, as always. He was so very disappointed that he was not available for your little soiree.” Lorena’s voice carried the slightest hint of an Irish accent, Jane thought, and her large jade green eyes narrowed as she watched Dr. Sylfaen’s face for a reaction.
He did not react, nor did he appear amused. “Indeed. Lorena, may I introduce you to—”
“Oh, why, this must be Jane! I’ve heard so much about you, my darling. How do you do?” She bent her knees and leaned forward as she spoke, as if she were addressing a small child.
Jane drew herself up. “I’m very well, thank you, Lorena. How do you do?”
Lorena stood erect and clapped her hands together under her chin. “Oh, Dr. Sylfaen! Why, she’s absolutely enchanting!”
The steam rising from Jane’s ears must have qualified as inappropriate behavior because the old man took one sweeping step between the two ladies and caught Lorena by the arm. “Come, my dear, Moll is in the dining room, and I know that she will be anxious to hear all of your news.” As he steered her out of striking range, he shot a cautionary glance over his shoulder.
When she was alone in the foyer, Jane started breathing again. Moments into the process of willing the color from her face, however, the doorbell rang once more. Jane stammered toward the dining room to retrieve her godfather, then stopped short. What if they are speaking about things they can’t say in front of me? She didn’t care if she caused that woman Lorena a little pain, but she had no intention of making an enemy of the older guest. I’m perfectly capable of answering my own front door, no matter who is standing behind it, she thought.
She took the few steps across the stone foyer floor and placed her hands on the enormous brass handles. She pulled open the heavy doors, revealing none other than Charles and Evan Everword.
“Good evening,” she said, her voice flat.
“Hello, Jane, my dear. It’s so nice to see you again… isn’t it, Evan?”
Evan scanned Jane from head to toe, but made no outward sign whether he appreciated what he saw. “Of course.”
Jane could not peel her eyes off of Evan, not even when Dr. Sylfaen re-entered the foyer with a scowl. When he took Mr. Everword’s hand, he pulled the man closer to him and addressed him with a sharp whisper. “His presence is not necessary tonight, Charles.”
“I only wanted to ensure that we had a fourth, in case the young lady is not ready to—ah,” Mr. Everword stopped as he inhaled abruptly. He fought away the threatening pain with half a dozen deliberate breaths and continued. “And apparently she is not, Mederick.”
“She is prepared for the task at hand, and we already have a fourth. Lorena is waiting in the dining room, as you no doubt know. Old Moll arrived just moments before her.”
Mr. Everword stepped backward in apparent disbelief. “Moll? But how is that possible?”
“I have called in a few favors to make this evening as successful as possible for my darling Jane. And I will not allow for distractions.” He tilted his head toward Evan, signaling that it was time for the younger man to leave.
In her reverie, Jane did not comprehend her godfather’s gesture.
But Mr. Everword had no intention of allowing his son to be dismissed. “If Old Moll is present, that is all the more reason for Evan to stay. He has not yet been presented to her. Besides, old man, if he leaves, then I leave as well. And then you will be forced to see whether darling Jane is capable of acting as her own fourth.” His lips pulled back into the beginnings of a sneer as he spoke.
Dr. Sylfaen considered. “Fine. But he must leave when it is time to proceed. I must ensure Jane’s undivided attention.”
“Agreed. Now, where are you hiding the rest of our party?”
Back in the dining room, Jane was seated at the foot of the table, with an Everword on either side. While the arrangement had seemed uncomfortable at first, Jane soon found that she had far less claim on Evan’s attention than he had on hers. After a sweeping introduction to Old Moll, during which he’d knelt before the ancient woman and kissed her hand, Evan fell into conversation with his father and Lorena. Dr. Sylfaen was equally engrossed in dialogue with Old Moll near the head of the table. That left Jane, rejected and miserable, picking at her food with a fork and stealing mournful glances at her beautiful neighbor. Why won’t he talk to me? she thought as she sighed into the remains of the salmon on her plate. She let her thoughts drift in a million directions—Why do they all have green eyes? Are they all related to one another? And why is it so important for us to have four people? Why would Uncle Mederick want for Evan to leave?
More than an hour after being seated, as Angelita quietly collected the dessert plates, her godfather proposed that they retire to the library. Evan stood on cue. “Please, excuse me, Dr. Sylfaen. I am afraid I must take your leave now,” he said, as if leaving the party was his own idea.
“Of course, Evan. Shall I see you to the door?”
“No need. I can see myself out. Thank you, sir, for a lovely evening.” He nodded to his father, then, and gave a dutiful tilt of h
is head in the direction of his host and Old Moll. He placed a hand on one of Lorena’s ivory shoulders, and she took it as she gazed up at him. Last, he turned his eyes to Jane and shot her a small, wicked smirk. She felt the color flood her face as she stifled an abashed grin in return.
He stalked out in the direction of the foyer, and as he left, Jane felt the dining room settle into place and her vision return to normal. Dr. Sylfaen was already assisting Old Moll to the staircase in the great room, and Mr. Everword was at Lorena’s chair, offering his arm. Jane followed the two pairs in silence, up the stairs and through the double doors into the library where the guests settled into the upholstered chairs that surrounded the great oak table, except for Lorena, who walked slowly around the perimeter of the room and traced one hand along all four of the shelved walls. Dr. Sylfaen bolted the doors closed behind them.
He was the first to speak. “Are you ready, Jane?” Her godfather’s gaze was intent and inquiring, and she knew instinctively that he was asking whether she had been able to read between the lines of Cris’s notes.
After a moment’s regret that she hadn’t been able to join Cris for an evening as normal as an end of the year high school party, Jane replied. “I am.”
When Lorena had joined the rest of the company at the table, the old man stood, bowed his head, and spoke in a prayerful voice. “Then we will proceed without delay. I bear first witness that the woman, Jane Thomas Sylfaen, deserves the answers that she seeks.”
Lorena followed, singing, “I bear second witness that the woman, Jane Thomas Sylfaen, deserves the answers that she seeks.”
A short silence followed, in which Mr. Everword seemed to battle some internal conflict. His eyes were closed and his brows drawn together, but he eventually rose and spoke out in a voice that suggested more confidence than he appeared to have, “I bear third witness that this woman,” he reached over and took Jane’s trembling hand, “Jane Thomas Sylfaen, deserves the answers that she seeks.”
Old Moll stood next. Her eyes sought Dr. Sylfaen, and she whispered. “You take full responsibility for this child, Mederick?”
“I do.”
She closed her eyes and bobbed her head thoughtfully for several seconds. “Then I bear fourth and final witness that the woman, Jane Thomas Sylfaen, deserves the answers that she seeks.”
Dr. Sylfaen exhaled audibly and sat down hard in his chair. He spread his hands out over the table before him. When he looked up, Jane observed that he had a glimmer of tears beginning in his eyes, and she was surprised to see him so emotional. What the hell just happened? She, too, was feeling affected by the solemnity of the occasion, but she didn’t have a single clue what all the nonsense about “witnessing” had meant. Of course I deserve the answers I seek! What is going on?!
“Now, then,” her godfather resumed after he had regained his composure. “We cannot afford to waste a moment.” He looked again at Jane, who nodded him on in encouragement. She had figured out the reason for tonight’s meeting, at least well enough to be confident that he would not have to endure too much pain.
He continued. “Where is the Book?”
Dr. Sylfaen steadied himself against the table and waited for the stab of angry daggers in his belly, but it never came.
Jane, too, had tensed when her godfather asked the question. She had suffered doubt in the last second before he’d opened his mouth. What if I didn’t guess correctly? What would happen to him if he was overtaken in front of these people? Until the moment that she visualized the old man lying in an unconscious heap on the library floor, at the mercy of the surrounding company of green-eyed strangers, Jane hadn’t fully understood how suspicious and strange she found them. She wouldn’t have put anything past Mr. Everword. They may have been guests, but that by no means qualified them as friends.
But she had guessed correctly. Granted, she hadn’t expected a book, per se, but Cris’s findings had suggested to her that some type of collection that contained writings about her condition was the purpose of tonight’s gathering. If she and Dr. Sylfaen could find it, then she would finally have access to all of the answers to the questions she couldn’t ask out loud. She had desired the knowledge merely for her own peace of mind until Cris explained that her lack of information made her “especially vulnerable to pain and death”; now, she knew that this book was essential to her survival, as well.
What was supposed to happen next, however, was beyond her. Is somebody just going to pull the book out from under their seat? Did they need four people so they could conjure it somehow? Jane seemed to remember from some old stories that, when witches cast really heavy spells, it sometimes required four of them working together to handle the magic. Then again, she had never cast a spell herself, so she didn’t think that her ability had anything to do with witchcraft. Still, she found the thought intriguing, if a touch unsettling.
Old Moll was the first to break the silence that followed Dr. Sylfaen’s inquiry. She spoke in a whisper that still echoed from the library walls, “I understand, Mederick, you are anxious to make haste, but I believe I require some answers before I divulge any information about the Book. Charles, Lorena…would you be so kind as to assist us while we converse?” As she asked, she stretched one withered hand to the center of the oak table with the palm held expectantly upward.
Dr. Sylfaen reached across to her in one automatic motion. He took her hand in a gesture not unlike a handshake. Jane thought, for a moment, that she saw white sparks jump between the palms of the two hands just before they met, but when she looked closer, the sparks were gone. I must be imagining things, she thought. Then again, I’ve certainly seen stranger…. The old man and the ancient lady maintained their contact in the center of the table; their eyes locked on one another’s gaze.
Lorena and Mr. Everword were slower to respond to Old Moll’s request. As the table was too long for the two of them to join their own hands in the center, they were forced to reposition themselves. Mr. Everword stood and moved himself close to Dr. Sylfaen so that he could reach to lay his own hand over the other two. Lorena shrugged flirtatiously and hoisted herself gracefully onto the tabletop before adding her own hand to the top of the stack.
When all four had joined hands, Old Moll continued. “Now, Mederick, I expect you to explain how this has happened. I was under the impression that you were a Compassionate.”
In the instant before Jane closed her eyes to blink, she perceived a dark cloud form around the old woman. She reopened her eyes in alarm, but the cloud had disappeared.
“I was, Moll. I am,” Dr. Sylfaen replied. As her godfather answered, Jane unfocused her eyes and looked past him, as if she were staring at one of those 3-D optical illusion pictures; the black cloud returned—this time encircling Dr. Sylfaen. Jane struggled to hold her blurred gaze, but she was too surprised, and the moment she refocused the cloud disappeared again.
Mr. Everword and Lorena were gravely silent as the conversation began. Jane noticed that Lorena was biting her bottom lip so hard that it seemed to have faded into a thin white line below her teeth. Mr. Everword’s brows were knitted together in solemn resolve.
“Then explain why you have done this terrible thing,” Old Moll continued, her inflection suggesting that she was more amused than angry. Jane concentrated on maintaining her unfocused vision this time, but the ancient woman’s next question nearly threw her off once more. “Have you married this girl, then?”
What?! What does she mean by that? That’s disgusting! Jane was shocked. No, Jane, don’t lose your concentration! I have to see this, she thought furiously, and the dark cloud returned in rolling wisps of black vapor around Old Moll. They looked like twisting serpents poised to strike, but they were yanked abruptly into the center of the table, into the twist of joined hands. There, they split apart and diverted to Lorena and Mr. Everword. While both reacted to the pain, neither felt the full force of the attack. They are taking the pain for her so that she can speak to Uncle Mederick, Jane realized,
and they’re splitting the pain so that they are not overcome by it! That’s brilliant!
“No, of course not!” Dr. Sylfaen growled. “She is…my goddaughter.”
Old Moll considered on that point, bobbing her white head as she had when deciding whether to bear witness for Jane. “Is that possible, Mederick?”
“Apparently, though I did not know as much when I agreed to the arrangement. Her parents were Peter and Helen Thomas, who were mortal…dear friends of mine before they were killed in an accident. Some time before they died, they asked me if I would consent to become her godfather.”
“They were…your pets?” The old woman sounded a bit incredulous.
“They were my friends.”
“And you agreed?”
“I did. I was honored.”
“Mederick, they were mortal.”
“They were friends.” Dr. Sylfaen spoke the last with a tone of finality that suggested the end to that line of conversation. As Moll continued to mull over his account, Jane dropped her concentration and collapsed deeper into the upholstered chair. Pets? Mortal?! What does that make Old Moll? What does that make Uncle Mederick? What the hell does that make me? And what the hell is a Compassionate? She had distinctly heard Old Moll call her godfather a Compassionate, like that was a title rather than a mere personality trait. But that doesn’t make any sense! Jane’s head swam—she didn’t think she would be able to watch any further. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused on listening to the remainder of the conversation, cataloguing each word away to consider later, when she did not feel so blindsided and confused—and when she no longer felt like she was on the verge of vomiting onto the library floor.
Meanwhile, Mr. Everword’s face had taken on a pallid, ashen color as he fought the onslaught of vapor snakes, and Lorena was faring even worse. Though she was still conscious, her shoulders slumped forward and her head swayed. She was nearing the point of collapse.
Old Moll took no notice of the condition of her fellow guests. “It seems that you are a Compassionate, after all, Mederick. Was there a ceremony?”
“There was.”
“In a church?”
“Yes.”
Old Moll nodded. “That is…most interesting. Indeed. A very interesting accident. You never fail to surprise me, my old friend. Only you are capable of bumbling into a discovery of this nature.” She began to laugh, her hunched shoulders quaking in amusement.
“Please, Moll. We cannot continue much longer.” His eyes were taking in the conditions of the man at his side and the woman seated upon the table. “You must tell me what you know. Where is the Book?”
After a full minute more of her thoughtful bob, the old woman relented. “I, myself, received a most unusual early Christmas present this last year.”
“So recently?” Dr. Sylfaen interjected, an eager glint suddenly appearing in his green eyes, at the same time that Lorena uttered a low, mournful groan.
“Yes, but I was compelled to impart my curious gift to another just two days after Christmas. I must say, I was sorry to see it go.”
“To whom, Moll?” Dr. Sylfaen’s impatience became more apparent as Lorena and Mr. Everword’s suffering became more acute.
“To Madame Antoinette d’Asp. I believe that you are acquainted with her, Mederick.”
He nodded stiffly at the old woman. “We are done then, Moll.”
“Almost,” and she gripped his hand more tightly as she turned her head to peer at Jane, huddled in her chair with her arms wound tightly across her body. “She’s very much like your last, Mederick. I sincerely hope that she will not befall the same fate.” Mr. Everword uttered a low groan that sounded like a pained, defensive growl.
“She will not. I swear it.” Dr. Sylfaen withdrew his hand swiftly away from the center of the table, and the connection was broken—Jane didn’t have to see the black cloud-snakes in order to know that the four were no longer attached. Mr. Everword swayed but steadied himself against the table’s edge as he inhaled and exhaled in the same deliberate manner that he’d demonstrated in the foyer earlier that evening. Lorena, however, gasped and sputtered. Her perfectly styled hair had become a wild array of red curls around her face, and her makeup had smeared with tears of pain, creating dark stains under her large jade eyes.