Chapter Ten
Sir Malcolm enters after her, carrying bags. His beard is there again and he looks more like himself. He sees us facing each other, like two cats about to scrap and pauses, dropping the bags down.
"Mr Chandler," he says and my eyes break away. He embraces me, something he hasn't down before and something I didn't expect, but it is good to see him. "Where is Vanessa?"
"She is at her cottage," I say. "I arrived home from America last night. Myself, Professor Lyle and Doctor Frankenstein went to see her today. The doctor has stayed there for the benefit of the air for a couple of days."
"He is not well?"
We are all standing in the same spaces still, a tableaux. "I think he needed the break."
"I see. Mr Chandler, this is Ebele. She wishes to work here and I thought we could do with some assistance in the kitchen," Sir Malcolm says. Ebele's eyes are still on me and she is smiling softly, but she doesn't repeat her greeting of my Indian name.
"It's good to meet you, Mr Chandler. I hope I can help look after you."
I notice a marking on her hands, a familiar one, a design I grew up with. "You spent time with the Apache in New Mexico?"
"No, Mr Chandler. I have never been there." She looks at her hands. "These markings show what I learned, not as a girl, as a woman. They are my juju's. I will tell you about them some time."
Sir Malcolm smiles and ushers her away to a room I have never seen used. The house is too large for him but I doubt he'll ever leave.
"It's been a long trip, Ethan. Shall we talk in the morning?" he says when he returns. "I can't tell you how much I am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed."
"Goodnight, Sir Malcolm," I say, needing time to think about what I have seen, on Ballentrae Moor and here also. "We'll speak in the morning." I walk away, my name on her tongue still ringing in my ear.
I am woken in the early hours by a dream. Vanessa stands next to the fetish made of her by Evelyn Poole, pulling out her own hair and attaching it to the doll. You can do nothing, wolf, the doll says. She has chosen a different path.
Sweat drips down me, my eyes blurred with sleep. As I open them I see Hecate Poole, sitting at the end of the bed, dressed as a fine lady in hat and gloves, overdressed for the weather.
"Did you have a bad dream?"
"What do you want?"
"Just to say hello. I came to see you in America but your little dark friend's protection was stronger than I thought it would be, given her age and expertise." Hecate stands up, an umbrella at her side and I stare at her.
"You're not real," I say. 'You're a projection."
"Who knows, Ethan, Wolf of God. You haven't cast any of your own little spells, have you? And Vanessa's scorpion could do with a bit of a touch up. Where is she, by the way? Does she no longer need her wolf's help?" She's moved closer to me now, smiling. "I'm still here for you, Ethan. To help you serve your purpose."
"Really? What exactly is my purpose?"
She smiles flirtatiously, ignoring my sarcasm. "To rule at the side of our master."
"I don't have a master, darlin'. The only person I serve is myself. So I hate to disappoint you, but I think you're wasting your time trying to make a convert out of me." I am fully awake now, awake and angry, but I know her power. I try to move towards my guns but something invisible blocks me.
She laughs. "I took precautions, Mr Chandler. I am not as foolish as my mother. How do you feel about ripping out your friend's windpipe with your teeth? Did you feel powerful after? He knew your power and was probably glad that it was you who took his life, a sacrifice. Don't let his life be in vain, Ethan. You are destined for greatness yourself, not as someone's pet guard dog who rolls over when she gives a command…"
Hecate turns around abruptly, the door opening. I expect to see Sir Malcolm, but instead it's Ebele. She wears a red woven cape and her eyes match, an orange tinge to them that reminds me of times during rituals with the apaches where folk will take on board other souls willingly. Hecate looks afraid, she's panicking and backing away from the bed and the door. I find I can move and reach for my gun, Ebele's presence has already weakened her.
"En calooat ini woni. Dañ, yay. Mi yiɗaa ma. Suka o jaaŋgi. Nagge hiri." Ebele's words are almost a whisper until the end when they become a hiss. Hecate pales, the outfit disappearing, morphing back into her barely human form.
"You should be dead," she says. "We killed your kind years ago."
"Some of us were too strong. Dañ yay, Hecate."
"I'll speak to you again, Ethan," I hear the words but don't see her anymore.
Soft chanting hovers through my room, the window drapes shiver. It's as if the words aren't coming from Ebele, that the walls have developed lips instead.
Then there is silence. Ebele smiles calmly and steps further into the room. I keep hold of the gun. "You are a skinwalker, Ba'cho. Your name means wolf, but you have been called it since before you became it. There are legends written about your kind, prophecies that you will be instrumental in stopping dark forces dominating mankind."
Part of me fears this woman who has just appeared, from Africa, with Sir Malcolm and part finds her familiar. "How do you know me?" I think I already know the answer.
"I will tell you in days to come. You have friends who know me. Ethan, she is going to come again and again. Hecate is a strong witch and will influence others, but she does not have her master on her side, that is what she seeks. I will protect the house my way, but it may not last. When Sir Malcolm's Miss Ives returns she will add to its strength, without even knowing of mine."
I sit on the edge of the bed, the gun now on the bedside table. "You don't want her to know about you?" This feels wrong somehow.
"No, it isn't that. Let her find out for herself. She is still learning," Ebele backs away to the door. "Goodnight, Ethan. Sleep well. Hecate will not bother you again tonight."
The Navajo Indians have a belief in yee naaldlooshii, or skinwalkers, witches who through breaking a taboo have acquired the power to take the form of another animal. Such people are usually evil, wanting the power into order to kill or maim or terrorize others. Ela first called me a skinwalker when she found me at my brother's grave. Knowing the legend behind it the hatred of myself deepened. I have never asked for this, it was given to me and at the start of my trip to America I gladly would've ended my life to be rid of it, but then she had taught me further, Tak a silent audience.
My eyes close and I feel something akin to peace as I settle for sleep. For the first time in months, since before Vanessa even came to find me in that bar, I know I won't sleep with half an ear open, waiting for whatever specter is hunting.
Doctor Frankenstein accompanied me that morning to deliver the medicines I had prepared for those who had requested it. It wasn't something Joan had done: she had been reclusive and that had been where suspicion in such a small village had developed. In the last few weeks I had begun to be regarded as a force not to be feared. I didn't take their offerings of money or silver or food and when I recognised a face from the night of Joan's burning I had learned to look away. Ballentrae Moor was as far removed a society from London as could be thought: superstition was as strong as the church, and while London had embraced the ideas of science and the supernatural to a certain degree, the devil was everywhere for those of Ballentrae. How little they understood.
"Miss Vanessa!" I turned around as we took a path to the local inn to deliver a remedy for gout. "Miss Vanessa! Can I come to see you tomorrow?"
It was Alice, who was seven, a tiny girl with fair hair and fragile health. I had studied the books to try and help her as her parents couldn't afford the doctor. They had been scared of me at first, wary, as if I was about to wave a wand and turn them into something nasty, but Alice had been curious, unafraid and gradually I had her parents' trust. I would miss her when I returned to London.
"I'm not sure," I said. "I don't know if I'll be there. I'm going back to London on the next day or two."
Her face crumpled and broke my heart.
"I'm going to leave you everything you need for a few weeks and then I'll be back," I said, putting and arm around her.
"Miss Ives," the doctor said. He had been hovering a few paces behind, looking at the scenery. "The gentleman you were with yesterday is coming towards us."
I looked up at him and smiled, amused. "He is a friend, Victor. He is nothing to be worried about. Meet Alice."
She solemnly stuck her hand out and shook his. He managed to smile and asked her a very unchildlike question. I half listened to her response as Mr Donne approached, blonde hair ruffled by the wind and wearing riding attire.
"Good morning," he said, the epitome of pleasantness. "Although I think rain is on its way."
"When is it not?"
"Very true. You still have your guests?"
"Just the good doctor. We leave the day after tomorrow or even tomorrow to return to London."
He looked disappointed, as if my words were an unexpected blow. If this meeting had been before the visit of Mr Chandler I knew my feelings would have been different. Instead I braced myself.
"I thought you were here for good." He began to step away so that I would follow him. "Or at least until you had dined with me."
"I'm sorry Mr Donne, but there is business to attend to in London. I am needed there."
"And it cannot be delayed? Or dealt with by my own solicitors?"
"It is not business of that nature. I am sorry to leave and I do intend to return but I cannot promise when." He removed his hat and faced me. We were now a little further away from the doctor and Alice, who were now involved in an in depth conversation, and out of earshot.
He looked down at his feet. I reached forward and lifted his chin to look in his eyes. "You are a good man, Mr Donne. In the short time I have be acquainted with you I know you to be a kind man. But I am not a kind person in the way you are and I have my fair share of battles to fight still. And they aren't here."
He could not raise a smile. "I could try to fight them for you? If you will let me?"
"No. I'm sorry. By the time I've returned you'll be happy and content and I will be a memory."
He shook his head. "I fear not, Miss Ives, for you have rather captured my imagination unlike any other."
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek, as I had done with Dorian months ago. "I wish you well." The doctor and Alice were making their way to us, still talking. I called to them and Mr Donne tipped his hat and walked away.
"We shall leave first thing," I said to the doctor once Alice had made her way back home.
There were a few seconds of silence while he processed this, the call of the lapwings' haunting melody louder as we moved away from the village. "You are ready to return?"
"Yes." And I was.