"Where to go, where to go…" Leota mused as the small group exited the Toy Room. "We're starting to wind down on rooms here, guys."

"Yay." Salem yawned to show his indifference, and carefully stretched, the backpack bulging with his movement.

"Watch it," Leota mumbled halfheartedly.

Sabrina was not paying attention to either of them; she was preoccupied with her own thoughts. There has to be some explanation for this. Some rational explanation—if the supernatural can be deemed 'rational.' I've never been able to do that before. What triggered it? Was it Emily?

"Sabrina?"

The blond witch's eyes flew open as Leota curiously called her name. "Sorry, sorry!" she chirped. "Just…erm…wondering where we go next!"

"Well…" Leota mused, "why not try the Study?"

"Why not, indeed?" Salem asked dryly. Leota shot him an annoyed look.

The Study was one of the small galleries that opened off from the main hallway. The carpet in this niche was of cinnamon browns and soft blues, slightly less stiff and dusty than the other hallway carpets. The wallpaper was cream-colored, decorated with a lacy and ornate dark-gray pattern that reminded Sabrina of wrought iron.

Why are no monsters leaping out? She bit her lip. It's crazy—if they chase after me, I get mad. If they don't chase after me, I get nervous. The sooner I get out of here, the better.

She pushed the door opened and stepped inside. The Spirit Detective gasped at her first glimpse of the inside.

The room was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.

It was small, but cozy. Octagonal tiles of cream-and-gray covered the floor. Occupying the center of the room was a low couch, richly upholstered in a deep shade of ruby. Before it was a small table with a few assorted trinkets, like an exquisite gold pocket watch under a bell jar. Two other similarly upholstered chairs sat protectively around the table.

At one end of the room sat a marble fireplace, with a massive desk covered in books and paperwork directly in front of it. Sabrina slowly drifted over to examine it. Scholarly-looking papers, as well as several concerning a shipping company, littered the area closest to the chair. Her fingers brushed a horrendously dusty glass table lamp, and examined a small marble bust of Plato seated on the other end. She held up a slender, dagger-like letter opener, admiring the carving of ivy on the side.

"The Gracey family made their fortune in their shipping company," Leota explained, "which is why Master Gracey's grandfather built the house here: it was advantageous to the trade."

"So that's why it was built next to a river!" Sabrina exclaimed. Now it makes sense…

Leota nodded. "There even used to be a ship weathervane atop the house, installed by Master Ambrose himself. When Master George inherited the estate, he had it removed. He thought it was tacky."

Salem snorted. "Right. Like building your house next to a field full of dead people isn't tacky, either."

"Oh, hush," Sabrina murmured absent-mindedly, as she examined an elephant tusk in a holder. Many other artifacts and souvenirs were distributed around the room: a magnificent specimen of a samurai armor suit, a large globe in a wooden stand, a glass box containing several (apparently rare, according to Leota) specimens of insects, and dusty tables filled with odd kinds of mechanical whatnot. Salem recognized something called a gyroscope, explaining how it worked to the group.

As she stepped into the middle of the room, Sabrina realized it had two floors; a wrought iron staircase led to a second floor lined with bookshelves. On one side of the second floor was a beautiful brass-and-ivory telescope.

Her eyes lingered on the golden chandelier, before fastening on the portrait over the fireplace. "That," Leota proudly proclaimed, "is Master Gracey himself."

The Master of the Manor appeared to be in his late twenties when the portrait was made, and was darkly handsome. Tousled waves of black hair topped an aristocratic face with highly defined cheekbones. Sabrina noted the proud tilt of the shoulders, the straight, clean line of his jaw, and the clear, broad forehead. The viewer's eyes, however, were automatically drawn to the young man's eyes. Piercing, penetrating hazel eyes bore into the viewer, as if discerning the secrets of those of flesh and blood, but retaining its own enigma.

Those eyes…they're amazing. I wonder how the artist managed to capture that look.

A wave of self-consciousness swept over the Detective, and she raised a hand to her braids, which must have been unraveling slowly from the night's adventures. Wait. This is silly. It's a picture, not a person. I don't need to be worrying about how I look.

With a faint snort, she lowered her hand from her hair.

"This is what we need!" Salem remarked enthusiastically, surveying the portrait. "A portrait of me over the fireplace in the music room back home."

Leota rolled her eyes. "Of course. Just what the Spellmans need."

Salem puffed up with pride. "I am a remarkable specimen of manhood, aren't I?" he purred.

"Right down to the arrogant pride," Sabrina mumbled, moving off to examine the rest of the room.

The extreme end of the room, opposite the fireplace, was a large window showing nothing but a dark tree. Leota, rolling over, noticed Sabrina's faint look of confusion.

"It only grew there a few decades ago," she explained, referring to the obstructing vegetation. "There used to be a magnificent view of the oak grove in the back of the house."

It didn't do much to improve the view, in Sabrina's personal opinion. The offending tree loomed sinister just outside of the window, like a silent threat. Sabrina shuddered and turned away.

"Where's that light switch?" she wondered, turning and twisting about. "I don't see it anywhere!"

"Suffice to say, it's somewhere," Salem drawled.

Sabrina scowled. "Thank you, Watson."

"Anytime," the cat smugly noted.

"It seems a bit redundant to ask, but would it be there on the mantel?" Leota suggested.

True enough, centered on the mantle, between two bronze vases (which Salem hypothesized to be urns holding dead Graceys), was a small, pulsating switch.

"One problem. How do we get up there?" Sabrina pointed out. "This is like the Foyer all over again. I can't get up there. It isn't possible."

"What if you moved the desk over, and stood on it?" Salem offered.

Leota negated this. "It's much too heavy to move. Believe me. It took four Mansion handymen together to lift that monstrosity."

"What about the chair?"

"Nowhere near big enough."

As the two conjectured as to how Sabrina could reach the light switch, the girl in question was poking around Master Gracey's desk. Admittedly, she should have been investigating the room to find a route to the switch, but Master Gracey had too many fun toys on his desk for her to ignore.

She found a tortoise-shell cigarette case with gold filigree. She admired it, holding it up where the light of the Beacon could shine on the metal. No sooner had she put it down than she saw the ship-in-a-bottle paperweight, next to the small bust of Plato. She reached across the desk for it.

However, she misjudged the distance, and ended up smacking Plato in the head. And, quite unexpectedly, the great philosopher's head tilted back, as if on a hinge.

The Spirit Detective's mouth was set in a little 'o' of surprise. "Oops."

"Sabrina, did you break something?" Leota called wearily.

"May-" Sabrina was cut off by a strange rumbling and squeaking.

"Great. You broke the Study," Salem scowled at her.

Before the witch could retort, the furniture began lifting upwards. Chairs, sofas, and the desk she was standing at slowly rose into the air. Sabrina squealed and backed up, lest she get hit in the head by a flying settee.

"Why are you so upset?" Salem called from under the globe stand. "We do the same thing at home when Hilda vacuums."

"Yeah, but then I know who and what is doing the lifting!" she shouted back. The Detective cautiously viewed the room. The furniture was indeed levitating, and…that was about it. No strange creatures swooping at her, no strange disturbances in the room…just a chain of floating furniture leading her to the light switch.

The more Sabrina thought about it, the more she was convinced that there had to be a catch. Probably the instant she stepped on the highest-up piece, they would crash to the ground.

But then again, almost the same thing happened in the Conservatory, and I was okay…there's no other option. I'll have to do it.

Cautiously, Sabrina climbed onto a floating footstool. It quivered slightly under her weight, but she half-jumped to a chair before it could do anything. It was a slow climb: she carefully jumped from piece to piece, heading in a straight path.

The furniture was dusty to the touch (with clumps of dust breaking loose everywhere), but solid, and—except for the weak footstool—offered no resistance. Thankfully, the samurai suit had remained in place. She wasn't very fond of the idea of climbing over it—especially with the sharp-looking plates of armor.

Nevertheless, she felt safer once she had reached the sofa, and began slowly reaching for the mantle. Her hand grazed the edge, and began groping along its length. Where is it? It was here before!

Finally, Sabrina's fingers fastened around the switch, and she yanked, feeling the handle yield. The chandelier's globes burst into light, as did several wall lamps and a flickering gas one. Carefully, the furniture began to move back to their respective places.

Slightly terrified, Sabrina clung to the sofa as it gently soared to the middle of the room, and settled down in its former position. She remained there for a few seconds more, to make sure it wouldn't move again. Satisfied that it was still, she pried herself out of the seat.

"That was unusual," Salem commented, golden eyes blinking as he crept from under the globe.

"Well, it's done now," Leota shrugged. "Time to get to work." She gently rolled over to Sabrina's feet, waiting for the girl to pick her up and place her in the backpack.

Sabrina stared at the painting. "Not yet."

"Excuse me?" Leota blinked.

"Not yet." She pointed, and the other's eyes followed.

A soft, whitish-blue light was draining out of the portrait of Edward Gracey. The ball of light—or energy, or whatever it possibly could be—slowly drifted down, floating to hover before Sabrina, and then moved, lazily, before the desk.

Salem padded over, Leota's ball rolling along, as Sabrina stood still in shock. The ball began to swell and lengthen, eventually forming the figure of a man.

Sabrina didn't need Leota's sharp intake of breath to tell her who it was going to be.

The ghostly man before them was impeccably dressed in charcoal trousers, a soft black jacket, a golden waistcoat, and a ruby crushed-velvet cravat. His hair was more tousled than in his portrait, and his eyes more incisive and inscrutable than paint could have ever hoped to capture.

Edward Gracey smiled faintly at his audience.

"I welcome you to Gracey Manor," he greeted them in a soft but clear voice. "Although, I do wish that your visit could have been under more…amenable…circumstances. I am Edward Gracey, Master of the Mansion."

It's like we're being introduced to royalty… Sabrina thought briefly, noting the gaze was directed mostly at her.

"And you are?" he asked, with a small smile.

"Sabrina Spellman, currently Spirit Detective of the Other Realm." Unsure of 1800s etiquette, she extended her hand. What he does with it is up to him.

He caught her hand (He's insubstantial! How does he do that? she wondered), and briefly pressed his lips to it. "The pleasure, Miss Spellman, is all mine."

His gaze transferred to Salem. "And who is your companion?"

"Huh? Oh, that's Salem," the teenage witch replied, slightly dazzled by his sophisticated charm.

"Salem Saberhägen. Former warlock, once near-leader of the free world, currently a familiar and housecat," Salem replied, shooting an annoyed glance at Sabrina. I hope she remembers that the guy's engaged.

If Edward was shocked and surprised to meet a talking housecat, he covered it well. He gave the cat a half-bow, before turning again.

This time, shock and surprise were clearly written across his face as he saw the psychic. "Leota," he gasped, upon seeing the Creole woman.

Leota smiled warmly at him. "It's been far too long, old friend."

The lines slid from his face as he returned the gesture. "Indeed." He looked up at his living guests. "Please," he gestured toward the sofa, "have a seat. We have much to discuss, and very little time to complete it in."

"Time, time," Salem grumbled, "everyone's always talking about time, and we don't know how much of it we have, or what's left. I don't even know if it's tomorrow yet!"

Edward gravely looked at Salem. "We may never see tomorrow, if your task is left incomplete."

As soon as the girl was seated comfortably, Salem curled up beside her, and Leota's crystal ball placed on the coffee table, Edward sat down in a chair opposite that of the couch. He leaned back, resting his arms on the chair's wooden ones.

"I presume you have questions that I may answer?"

"Only about a thousand!" Sabrina burst, leaning forward. "Who is this Thorne guy? Why is he here? What's going on here?"

Edward laughed slightly, holding up his hands. "One at a time, please!" he chuckled merrily, before stopping. "It all begins with the Beacon, I suppose." All four turned their eyes to examine the relic seated innocuously on the other side of the sofa. "Leota told you some of its history, I suppose?"

"It was made by Druids, and Thorne wants it so he can steal its power," Sabrina summarized. "That's all I've been told." She shot an accusatory glance at Leota.

If the psychic had hands, they would have been held up in a 'don't blame me' gesture. "I told you, there's a time and a place for everything. Besides," she turned to her fellow ghost, "some of these things should really be told from Edward himself."

Edward smiled wryly at the Creole. "Thank you for the vote of confidence." Leota smirked. He turned his attentions to the blonde.

"What Leota told you is correct, but it is not the full story, nor the full truth."

"I gathered as much," she mumbled, before letting him continue.

"The Beacon was passed down in the Brotherhood, constantly changing hands, always trying to avoid the Order. However, this operation was somewhat flawed, as back then, there was only so much of the 'civilized world' out there for it to be in."

A light of understanding slowly dawned in the girl's eyes.

"To add to the difficulty," Edward continued, "witches—your kind, I believe, if you are from the Other Realm, as you say—were being forced to retreat into hiding as public opinion soured against them. They were forced to admit humans into the ranks of the Brotherhood at last.

"It was in the late eighteenth century that my grandfather, Ambrose Gracey, joined the Brotherhood. He was a human sea captain from England, young and very idealistic—and very ambitious. He agreed to undertake the burden of hiding the Beacon. Grandfather was head of my family's shipping company, back in England, but he was having a home built in the New World."

"This house?" interrupted Salem.

Edward smiled and nodded. "This very house. He secretly designed hidden rooms and chambers in which to store the Beacon-"

"One of which we found in the Foyer," the cat interrupted again, as Sabrina scolded him.

Edward smiled wryly. "Indeed. It was after Grandfather died that my father came into possession of the Beacon. By that time, the Brotherhood had kept up the ruse of hiding the Beacon in Europe, which was apparently severely upsetting the Order—their numbers had dwindled since the Inquisition, and the members were getting desperate. Father, however, believed that we had nothing to fear from the Order, since he hadn't heard news of them in years. So, he locked the Beacon away, and raised a family."

"We met your brother and sister in the Toy Room," Sabrina offered shyly, unsure of how the man would take the news.

A bittersweet smile slipped across Edward's face. "I believed you might. We had so many happy memories together in that room, that it seemed to be a logical place to find them."

"But why was it so…peaceful?" Sabrina asked, leaning forward intensely. "I don't understand. Just like this room, it was free—or, mostly free, from enemies." Her face momentarily darkened, thinking of the spirits that had tried to harm Emily.

"Part of it is due to the fact that we are the owners of the house. For some odd reason," Edward began to explain, "we hold more power of this place than most of the other ghosts. I presume that it was Emily and Daniel's power—or perhaps those joyful memories that filled the room—that preserved it from the evil rotting away at this house. As for this room," he continued, "I beg your forgiveness from any vanity I might be professing, but I hold the most power over Gracey Manor—power, though, and not magic." He sighed moodily. "If I possessed magic, perhaps this would never have taken place."

Leota gently chided him. "Edward, stop it. You are not at fault."

"If only I-"

The psychic shook her head. "You can't change the past. It's all said and done. Don't blame yourself."

Edward rubbed his head. "True…" He stared, broodingly, over Sabrina's head for a moment, looking into nothing. It passed, and the urbane young master reappeared. "My power over this house has allowed me to transform this into my own little sanctuary, of sorts." He laughed bitterly. "My spirit was actually locked into this room. The most I could do was preserve the way it had been, and keep Thorne's blasted Netherworld nuisances out." He looked, startled, at Sabrina. "I beg your pardon for my language, Miss Spellman."

"It's all right," Sabrina muttered self-consciously, thinking of the expression on his face if he'd heard some of her epithets earlier on in the night.

"To continue, then…" he prompted.

"So how did Thorne find out it was here?" she asked curiously. Edward gestured towards a lectern set near the window.

Sabrina slowly pried herself out of her seat and moved towards it. The Tome of Shadows. Again. I hate this book…I really do…

It flipped open at her touch, and she began to read aloud.

Tome of Shadows

Volume IV

Page 320

The Beacon has turned up in the New World. Remnants of the Brotherhood have acquired an estate on the outskirts of the fever-wracked bayous of Louisiana and hidden it within. However, my scouts have sensed a powerful aura in the mansion that I will have to overcome. Though I cannot be sure, there is something familiar with this aura.

A. Thorne

Grand Master

The Order of Shadows

April 30th, 1856 A.D.

"His…scouts…found it?" she asked, puzzled.

Edward shrugged. "The Order employed eyes and ears everywhere. The older, deposed members had left enough gold to satisfy any greedy human foolish enough to serve the Order as an informant."

Sabrina shut the book with disgust. "So that means someone your father trusted wasn't worthy of that trust."

"Quite so—that was written was I was a small child. But," he held up a hand, "that is of little consequence in comparison to the events at hand."

"So what do we do?" Salem asked. "We just seem to be running around wherever Madame Cleo tells us to."

"It's Madame Leota," the psychic sternly corrected, "and I told you—we have multiple jobs to do. We need to find the missing memories of my friends and all the Soul Gems to fully power the Beacon, if we want to save all 999 of the spirits trapped inside here."

Salem rolled his eyes.

"Ostensibly, yes, that is your goal," Edward agreed. "What truly needs to be done, however, is the complete destruction of Thorne. Only then will this curse be broken, and we can find peace."

"What curse?" Sabrina frowned. "Leota, you never mentioned a curse."

"The curse," Leota sighed heavily, "is this: Zeke Holloway and I hid the Beacon and its pieces around the Mansion shortly before Thorne took over the Mansion. We knew he would come, but we hoped to delay our destruction. Thorne was furious. He ended up raising the spirits of those buried on the Mansion grounds, and trapping them here. We can't leave to find our eternal rest. We're constantly roaming these halls, seeking a way out—when we're not being pursued by Netherworld demons, of course."

Sabrina and Salem sat is shock. "How horrible," Sabrina whispered. To be trapped forever…to be denied rest in the afterlife…that is unspeakably cruel.

"The coward," Salem hissed. "When he can't get what he wants, he makes others suffer. And he calls himself a man? I'm twice the man he is!"

Edward smiled sadly at the cat. "You are correct in that statement, my friend," he murmured.

"So if you defeat Thorne, you'll lift the curse," Leota explained eagerly. "Now do you understand why I was so anxious?"

"So Sir Bertram and the other ghosts…" Sabrina mused, semi-ignoring Leota, and pondering her earlier statement.

"Hadn't necessarily lived here, but were buried on the grounds, but their spirits were raised anyway," Leota explained, understanding the vein in which the girl was going. "Understand, though, that not all of the ghosts realize this. For most of them, they're trapped in their own minds."

"They keep reliving that day," Edward whispered, staring at his hands.

Sabrina blinked, curiosity piqued. "What day? What happened?"

The dark-haired ghost slowly tilted his head upward. Dark, haunted eyes bore into her own. "You will find out, in time," whispered Edward. "You will discover the true tragedy that haunts Gracey Manor. It cannot come from my own lips, but you must seek the truth out."

The teenage witch stared at him, the hairs rising on the back of her neck. Okay, he's cute, but he's officially creeped me out.

The dark young man sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "A thousand apologizes, Miss Spellman. It was not my intention to frighten you. Please, forgive my callousness."

"Uh…it's all right," Sabrina stuttered awkwardly.

Edward straightened out of his chair. "I have detained you long enough, I'm afraid. You still have much work to do. Please accept this small token of my gratitude." He lifted his hand, revealing a small scrap of yellowed paper.

She gingerly took the piece of a Death Certificate, and dug the other pieces from her backpack. Together, the crumpled scraps portrayed a picture of an opera diva on stage, resplendent in armor and a horned helmet. Her arms were thrown in a dramatic gesture, mouth open in a frozen trill. Above, the ceiling was slowly cracking in pieces, large chunks of stone falling onto the oblivious audience below.

Sabrina winced. "Apparently, this lady accomplished what Carlotta never did—she not only sang the chandelier down, but the ceiling, with it." At Edward's politely bewildered expression, she explained, "Phantom of the Opera."

If that made sense to the ghost, she didn't know; he merely flashed her a charming smile.

"We should really leave, you guys," Leota piped. Sabrina smiled sheepishly.

"Yes. Of course."

Edward Gracey stepped forward again and caught her hand, his lips briefly brushing the skin. "As before, a pleasure, my dear."

"Uh, yeah," Sabrina stuttered giddily. "It was nice meeting you, too. But we'd better get going, right, guys?"

Salem rolled his eyes. The small group made preparations to leave, Edward instructing them to return to the Study if anything went wrong.

It's really nice in here, Sabrina thought as she carried Salem and Leota to the exit. I don't really want to leave…Oh, God! I can't believe I forgot! She jumped guiltily. "Mr. Gracey, I almost forgot something important. Geez. I'm such a ditz sometimes, you know?"

Edward smiled patiently. "Yes, my dear?"

"Uh…" Sabrina stopped, not quite sure of how to phrase her statement. "I met Elizabeth."

His hazel eyes snapped intensely as he teleported to her side. "Elizabeth? You have seen my Elizabeth? Where is she? Is she all right? Has that scoundrel harmed her?"

"I-in the Maids' Room. She's fine—I think." She continued hastily at his anguished look. "She was dressed in a wedding gown, and I…I could see…" she swallowed. "Her heart was beating…through the fabric. I could see it beating and glowing." The last came out nearly in a whisper, the memory sharp and macabre.

Edward didn't seem to be bothered at all with the description. His eyes had slightly glazed over. "Elizabeth…" he whispered, the word hovering in the air. The bride seemed to almost be a tangible presence in the room.

"She said she was waiting," Sabrina whispered. "She told me to tell you that she's waiting for you—that she's always been waiting for you."

Something akin to desperate hope dawned in Edward Gracey's eyes. "So she's not gone then," he breathed. "Merciful God, she's still here?"

"It is true," Leota conceded, her voice taking a somewhat husky and mystic tone. "She walks these halls still."

Edward gripped Sabrina's shoulders. "Miss Spellman, I beg of you. Help us shake off this curse. Help us destroy this madman." His voice dwindled to a passionate whisper. "Help me find my Elizabeth. Please."

He loves her so much…the two of them were desperately in love, and something horrible happened to them…How can I deny them, or any of these people, help?

Sabrina raised her head, a proud tilt coming to her stance. "I will. I shall do everything in my power to help you," she swore. "I just need a little more time."

"Which we may not have much of," Salem quietly pointed out.

The group fell silent.

"True," Edward agreed, letting go of Sabrina. "You must make haste. I can tell you, the end is near, but still so far…"

Sabrina nodded, scooping up her companions into the backpack. "We're going. You can count on me, Mr. Gracey."

"I do," Edward softly noted as she proudly exited the Study, "I do have faith in you, Detective. Please, help us…"

For the curious, my version of Master Gracey is based on the actor who portrays his character in the movie, Nathaniel Parker. I am a huge Nathaniel Parker fan. Master Gracey and Elizabeth's love was part of the movie, although in ride legend, Gracey had his own love troubles, as well, especially involving the enigmatic Attic Bride…

The reference from "Phantom of the Opera" comes from Act One, Scene Nine of the play, where the characters are acting out an Italian play with the prima donna, Carlotta, in the lead role. The Phantom, who wants Christine to play the lead role, torments Carlotta as the chandelier starts to blink erratically, claiming "She is singing to bring down the chandelier!" …From all my sporadic references to it, you should understand by now that I love Phantom of the Opera. I feel that it goes along so well with the Haunted Mansion.

Next chapter:

The gang's all ready to soak up the sun, when their fun is interrupted…and the gang meets a diva who brings new meaning to the phrase "bringing down the house."