She floated in nothingness, safe and warm, the darkness surrounding her like a protective womb. Everywhere was warmth and comfort—and utter sense of serenity.
This is what death is, then. It's not so bad…I guess…
Of course, this begged the question of exactly where she was. Not Hell, obviously. But not Heaven, either. Had the blood she had spilled barred her from attaining Paradise? But if so, what had kept her from falling into the pit of Hell along with Thorne? Was there some strange balance of karma she wasn't aware of being adjusted here?
If this is Purgatory, I think I can deal. It may not be the best place, but it's certainly better than damnation.
So. She was dead, then. The mission had been completed, but she would never be able to tell Drell herself. Would he send her replacement to discover her fate? Who would discover her body?
She pictured herself slowly rotting away, like Ambrose Gracey's portrait; only to be discovered like Edward, a pitiful skeleton. The most I can hope for is for Drell to recover my body and give it a nice funeral.
The faces of her aunts floated before her. What will they tell Aunt Hilda and Zelda? Or Dad?
One thing's for sure…I never did see Mom again…
Diana Spellman's sweet face appeared, and Sabrina could see it covered with pearly tears, the soft blue eyes bloodshot and reddened with grief.
I understand…while you're comfortable and safe here, you're constantly reminded of what you left behind… I suppose I deserve it.
Another face materialized, with soft cornflower eyes and flowing flaxen curls, and Sabrina was stumped for a minute, attempting to guess who it could be.
Emily?
The ghost appeared before Sabrina in her teenage form, sapphire taffeta dress rustling and curls flowing in a nonexistent breeze. Lydia, the porcelain doll, was cradled in her arms. Her sky-blue eyes were soft with sympathy.
Is Emily's soul trapped here, too?
No.
The firm negative response struck a chord that rippled through her being…if she had a 'being' left. Had someone just spoken?
It's time to go…
Emily? Is that you?
The ghostly figure of the girl nodded.
Go where?
It's time to go back… Come.
Emily held out a hand, beckoning. Sabrina hesitated for a moment, but the memories came flooding back, and she could feel herself reaching out a nonexistent hand to take the ghost's.
Somewhere, a door creaked…
Voices jabbered, speeding up and slowing down, conversing unintelligibly. Her eyelids were pressed down like weights were attached. Something was pounding in her head, and icy tingles danced up and down her spine.
"Sabrina? Sabrina? Oh, dear…"
What's going on? Am I still dead?
"Got the wind knocked right out 'o 'er sails, she did."
Do angels talk like this whenever someone shows up?
"A right brave gal…and 'lil lady, she was."
But if I'm dead, why does my head feel like it's being smacked with golf clubs?
"She did sort of grow on you…"
I think there's some sort of mistake here. There has to be.
"It was a honor to serve the maiden…"
That's it! That's the only explanation! I never died to begin with!
"She…she's gone…" the speaker trailed off in sniffles.
"I'm not dead yet!" Sabrina hollered, from where she lay flat on her back.
The six ghosts turned around from where they'd stood, discussing the Spirit Detective's 'death.' Eyes wide, they watched her slowly pry her eyes open, and attempt to sit up.
"Sabs!" Salem squealed, leaping onto her lap. "You're not dead!"
"You made it!" Grandma Bootsie cheered, clapping her hands together. "We are so sure you'd…well…passed on."
"I thought so, too." Sabrina felt a sharp stab of pain in her left shoulder, and winced. Yup. I'm alive, all right. "Anyone want to tell me what happened?"
"We came as soon as we could," Red Roger began to explain, "once we 'eard what 'appened ter the rascally codswallop. And there ya were, sprawled on the floor, and we all thought that 'e'd got ya…didn't we, Sartoris?"
Colonel Sartoris nodded, twirling his pistol around one finger. "Thought the dad-burn skunk'd gone and rubbed ya out, miss. Turns out we were mistaken." He flashed her a grin. "Knew you'd stand up undah fahr."
Sabrina rubbed her head with her good arm. "So I…passed out?"
"And dislocated your shoulder, as well, I suppose," the organist cut in. "You must have lapsed into unconsciousness because of your injuries."
"But you survived, and are victorious, milady!" Sir Bertram beamed. "We are free of that tyrant's control, due to your outstanding valor."
"And it's all thanks to you and…Leota?" Brunhilde trailed off.
Sabrina, Salem, and the six ghosts stared at each other. Leota had said nothing while Sabrina had been passed out, nor during the current conversation.
Oh, no…when I used her crystal ball as the core…did I use Leota's life force to battle Thorne? Did I…kill her?
Sabrina carefully pulled the Beacon onto her lap. "Leota? Are you…okay?"
She pried open the clasps—a bit hard to do with one hand—and dropped the crystal ball onto her lap. The ball swam with inky clouds, and the psychic's head couldn't be seen.
"Leota?" Sabrina called again, the name sticking in her throat.
Oh, God, please, not Leota…don't let her be…
Sabrina nearly choked, thinking of her mentor as…gone. We came all this way, just for you to sacrifice yourself…
The inner clouds abruptly tinged green, and parted to reveal a dizzy-looking Leota. "Take that, you overgrown grub! …What's going on? Is it over already?"
Her anxieties dropped away like a cast-off anchor, and Sabrina sighed with relief. "Yes. He's…I k-kil…he's gone."
"And from what I saw, he's not coming back anytime soon," Salem reassured her.
"All the souls have been freed and are safe," Grandma Bootsie beamed. "I'm so proud of the three of you."
Sabrina smiled. Ah…a job well done. Wait…wait a minute…
"What about the souls of his minions?" Sabrina asked, panic tingeing her voice. "You said the souls from the Beacon were safe…"
"Ah don't rightly know," Colonel Sartoris admitted. "Most are gone fer good—devoured completely. Some musta 'scaped back ter the Netherworld, ah reckon. I bet they're not gonna come back anytime soon," he darkly chuckled.
Sabrina slumped slightly. I can't explain why, but I feel…sorry…sorry for them. How horrible it must be, to have your soul destroyed. To not…exist…anymore. She shuddered.
"You must be chilled, my lady," Sir Bertram announced, mistaking her gesture. "Come, we shall adjourn upstairs. We shall conduct you to the Master."
"Yes…we've got to tell Edward the good news," Leota murmured. I can hardly wait to see his face…to tell him…
The group then made its way to the Stretching Chamber, Sabrina taking the rear. Before she entered the room, she took one last look at the Inner Sanctum.
She could almost picture a stone dais in the center of a smooth, unblemished stone floor: a man in a linen shirt with a fussy collar placing a battered ancient lantern atop it with the utmost care. He turned around and smiled, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Sabrina smiled back as he nodded and then turned around to face the dais. Her mind's eye vision of Ambrose Gracey faded, and Sabrina entered the Stretching Room.
It was a long walk from the Foyer to the Study; and Sabrina had a sneaking suspicion that the ghosts could go through walls, but were refraining out of good manners. Her shoulder continually throbbed and made a slight grating noise as they walked through the hallways.
Edward Gracey had been pacing in the Study when they arrived; he looked up, startled. His coal-black hair was slightly damp, and the circles under his eyes had deepened. Worry was etched onto the contours of his face.
He took a step forward, and stopped, almost as if in disbelief. "Thank God," he whispered hoarsely as Sabrina stood in the doorway. "Miss Spellman…I had feared the worst…"
Sabrina gave him a tired smile as she slowly ambled into the room proper. "It's good to see you too, Mr. Gracey. The fireplace looks really inviting, and my shoulder's hurting like a bi…" she trailed off, ashamed of her thoughtless lapse. "My shoulder really hurts, so do you mind if I sit down?"
"Yes…yes, of course." Edward's eyes widened with worry and surprise, lingering on her shoulder. She didn't escape totally unscathed…but she's alive.
"Did you hurt yourself, honey?" Leota cried in dismay.
"Thorne slammed me against a wall, and my shoulder did something funny. It made this popping noise, and it feels like it's grating or something…"
Salem made a tsk noise. "Probably dislocated."
The teenage witch sighed. "Wonderful. How do I fix it?"
"Put it back in the socket."
"But I don't know how to do that."
"Get someone else to do it."
"I don't see any doctors around here."
"Well, that's not my problem, now is it?"
Sabrina bit her lips to keep from screaming. It probably wouldn't be polite to throw one of Edward's neat little gadgets at Salem. Turning to the ghosts, she smiled. "Is there a doctor in the house?"
"Lemme take a look, now," Red Roger boomed. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and carefully examined the joint. Sabrina hissed, as pain flared at the slightest touch.
"Aye, that's got ter hurt. All swollen up, it 'tis. Well, I can fix this quick. Hold still."
"Ghosts can touch people?" Sabrina blinked. "I thought they went right through things."
Leota shook her head. "Ghosts are the tangible form of the soul's energy left on earth, after the body has died. If a soul is impeded from leaving, its energy forms into a ghost. As you've discovered before, Soul Energy does have a physical form—partially solid, although it's also gas-like."
Taking advantage of the distraction, Roger yanked Sabrina's arm back into place.
Sabrina yowled suddenly with pain. Wincing, tears springing to her eyes, she rubbed her shoulder. "I believe you now."
Edward stood in the background, not quite paying attention. "He's gone," he murmured, almost in incredulity. "After a hundred and twenty years…after so much pain and torment…we're free. Free from the curse." His hands trembled.
He could remember hanging in the air, heels kicking wildly at nothing until the darkness abruptly claimed him…bloody shapes on the floor that had been friends and family…the knife jerking into her chest, tearing her life out as she crumpled, crimson drops spraying, to the floor.
"My heart beats for you alone…"
"Elizabeth," he whispered.
Her name hung in the air like an unspoken promise.
It had been little more than a century, but it had seemed like an eternity. They were together in life, but separate in death. But the impediment was gone. The curse was broken, and they all could have a second chance.
And I vow that I will finally be with you, my love.
Edward looked up at the group before him: his dearest friend, Leota, the ghosts who had helped protect the Beacon, and their saviors. The girl—and her cat—who had risked her life to save a haunted manor filled with ghosts, all of whom were total strangers.
A strange sense of euphoria bubbled up inside of him. His cup runneth over. Thorne was GONE and the mansion's residents were safe, and Elizabeth…
What would be best to do?
"Edward?" Leota called from near the fireplace. "What're you doin', hon?"
A smile slowly stretched across the gentleman's features, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners. "I've decided to throw a party, in celebration of Miss Spellman's victory. Tonight. Or, rather, this morning, as the case may be," he gestured to the window.
The pitch-colored sky had lightened to deep gray, and would obviously be dawn in an hour or so.
And the world didn't end…the sun came again…
The corners of Sabrina's mouth turned up. A party of full of ghosts, huh? A real monster mash… "Sounds good."
Edward gave his collar a quick tug into place, and the brisk, efficient manner of the head of the Gracey family and Gracey Shipping, Ltd., came surging back. "Excellent. If someone would round the servants up, we may begin preparations…and I have a special job for you, Herr von Baroketch."
The organist grumbled, drawing his cape closer. "I'd rather be back at work, but it seems I'm left little choice," he complained under his breath.
Leota rolled her eyes. "The old codger complains about everything," she confided to Sabrina in a stage-whisper. Sabrina laughed, drawing an annoyed glance from the organist, himself.
Edward turned to her, smiling. "Miss Spellman, you're obviously exhausted. Would you care to freshen up before the party?"
Sabrina raised a hand to her partially unraveled braids, self-consciously aware of her disheveled state. "Um, yeah. That would be great. I'm a mess, aren't I?" she laughed nervously, realizing she was babbling. "Um, yes. Thank you. It would be lovely."
Grandma Bootsie volunteered to lead the girl to a bedroom where she could clean herself up. Sabrina was led down the hallway, and into a small wing that branched off of it.
"We were never here, were we?" she asked, cautiously. I think I'd remember…but then again, there are so many rooms here, that I don't think I can remember half of the ones we've been in.
"Actually, no, we haven't," Leota informed her. "This is the residential wing, hon. Where the family members' bedrooms were."
"Hmmm," Grandma Bootsie pondered, "I hardly know where to take you. It wouldn't be proper to use the Master Bedroom, because that's Eddy's, you know. And the others belonged to other family members, or were guest bedrooms… Well…if she doesn't mind, perhaps this is the best one…"
They stopped before a door with curling vines etched into the doorframe. "This was Emily's, before she died, but I don't think that she would mind," the elderly lady prattled. "It should have everything a young lady needs to smarten herself up, and I should know. I may not look it, but I was quite the catch back in my day."
Sabrina laughed nervously, as the grandmotherly ghost sighed, caught in her reminiscing. "I'm sure you were. Will Emily really not mind that I'm using her room…even if it's just temporarily?"
"Of course, dearie. Goodness, Emily was the sweetest little thing, I'm sure she wouldn't mind sharing her room for one night. Now scoot along! Make yourself lovely for the party! And just scream if you need anything!"
Grandma Bootsie chuckled merrily as she headed back to the Study, leaving one nervous Sabrina standing before the bedroom.
It feels like grave robbing, somehow. Oh well, here goes…
She twisted the metal knob, and pushed the door open. What she'd expected, she didn't know, but Emily's bedroom was nothing like the other rooms.
The first thing that struck her was the wallpaper: a deep shade of salmon pink with intricate rose-colored flowers. If she has pink wallpaper, she's got to be okay.
A canopied bed, with draperies in deep rose, filled the center of the room, with two ponderous armoires to its immediate left. The furniture was made of heavy, solid oak, but with carved scrollwork and scalloping.
Cautiously, Sabrina stepped in, scanning the room, as if expecting Emily to stomp out and demand that she exit the room. Sabrina understood how precious a teenager's room was; it was a sanctuary, a place where one could sit and simply relax, to do whatever you pleased in utter privacy.
But then again, Emily's a super-nice person, so I don't think she'd really mind…
Dust had collected thickly on the ivory carpet, tingeing it faint gray. The footprints of a teenage girl and a cat showed clearly against the furry scourge. Sabrina decided not to worry too much about getting dust on her clothing; her dress was already torn and filthy, and her hair and skin followed suit.
Instead, she opted to quickly explore Emily Gracey's bedroom.
Bookshelves framed a picture window set with cheery rose curtains. A writing desk was placed below the window, so Emily could gaze out the window while penning poetry or writing down the day's events in her diary. A teakwood writing case was perched near the edge, paper strewn untidily over the desk's surface.
To the bed's right, close to the door, was a dressing table, a velvet-padded stool pulled out invitingly. Carefully plopping herself down, Sabrina eagerly explored the table's contents, while Salem poked around under the bed. A jewelry box that resembled the writing case was placed in the center, ivory-handled brushes and combs fanning around its base. A small gallery of crystal perfume bottles clustered at one side, the pungent liquids evaporated.
Sabrina turned her gaze upward, to the mirror set at eye level above the table. A pale face stared back at her. The Spirit Detective leaned forward to examine her reflection.
Her heart-shaped face was pale—perhaps even more so from tonight's…events. Faint rings of purple were beginning to bruise under her eyelids from lack of sleep, and her normally cheerful sapphire eyes were sloping with fatigue. The blond braids that had been so carefully arranged at the start of the mission had begun to unravel; hunks of hair falling unceremoniously down the side of her face, and down the nape of her neck. Only one bow was still tied; the other loose, and hanging for dear life.
I look like crap. Well, that's only to be expected, from fighting evil on a night like this.
Smirking at her unkempt appearance, she gauged the destruction of her dress. The skirt was ripped up one side, dusty petticoats hanging out. Dust and dirt were smeared haphazardly across the bodice and skirt, and her right cuff was beginning to fray. Dried mud and sewage were caked on her boots, with scuffs and scratches completing the job.
Yup. Makeover time.
Sabrina gasped suddenly as the mirror's reflection showed light beginning to gather, coalescing into a shape behind her. With reflexes honed by dodging flying plates, attacking giant spiders, and leaping across flying books, she whirled around, fumbling for the Beacon.
Shoot. I left it in the Study, didn't I?
It turned out, as the figure finished forming, that she hadn't needed to worry about having a weapon.
"Emily?" Sabrina gaped. The ghost hovered a few scant feet away from her, like a small star hung from a wire. The teenage witch slowly pulled herself up from the stool, cautiously, like the ghost girl was a cobra coiled to strike.
The ghostly young woman offered the detective a sweet smile, unperturbed to find a living being in her room after nearly a century and a half of disuse. Emily stepped forward, her ghostly skirts and flowing curls swaying softly, but making no noise. A light, transparent hand brushed against one of the unraveling braids.
"We should get you cleaned up."
"Um, yeah," Sabrina stuttered, self-conscious in front of Emily's perfect visage, "w-we…uh…probably should."
Unable to conjure up an actual bathroom, Sabrina simply made do by creating a large washtub filled with warm water and rich, soapy suds. A pile of fluffy towels plopped next to it; Sabrina winced at the thought of dust covering them. She turned her back on the other girl, more out of nervous habit than anything else, and quickly stripped and stepped into the tub. It took a great deal of self-control to not zap it into a Jacuzzi, but she allowed herself to relax in the soothing water briefly before beginning to scrub the dirt off.
I can hardly wait until I get home. Real showers, and no dust or spiders, and rooms that stay the same with no flying books or crazy shrinking devices, and my aunties…
A lump suddenly stuck in her throat as the images of Hilda and Zelda Spellman flashed in her mind. Were they worried about her? What had Drell told them? What would have happened if she'd really died? A sudden wave of homesickness broke over her like a wave of nausea.
Emily, who had decided to simply sit and wait until Sabrina was done bathing, watched her in shock. Sabrina was sitting in the tub, water lapping at her skin, as still as a statue, a single tear running down her cheek. Her face was distant and frozen, and so lonely that it tugged at Emily's heart…or, rather, her sentiments, being as she lacked a physical heart at the present time.
She slowly knelt forward, reaching out a hand to touch the living girl's cheek. "I know how it feels," she breathed softly, her voice as clear and soft as wind chimes in a gentle spring breeze. "Being away from the people you love…it feels like a cord tugging at your heart, beckoning you back."
Sabrina's lips trembled slightly. "I wanted to come back so badly," Emily continued, musing. "Daniel and I were lost there; it was so unfamiliar. Our souls were trapped so far away…it took forever to find home again…and then, this…"
The Spirit Detective's face scrunched up briefly. "I want to go home, too," she whispered. "I miss them so much. I was so afraid…afraid that I'd never see them again."
"You'll get to. After all, it took me nearly a year to find my way home after I died; but I found it. You will, too."
Another tear dropped even as Sabrina smiled.
After a slightly awkward pause, Sabrina began to scrub her skin and wash her hair more vigorously, until she decided that she was clean enough. She mournfully examined her ruined dress as she toweled herself dry. "Just great," she grumbled, "and I don't know any repair spells, either. This is juuuuust great."
"You can wear one of mine."
Sabrina turned to face Emily, blinking. "Beg pardon?"
"My dresses." Emily gestured towards the armoires on the other side of the room. "You may wear one of them to the party. If you'd like," she hastily added.
Sabrina smiled. She really is generous… "Thanks."
It was hard to choose; even for living over a hundred years ago, Emily had great taste. But when her fingers brushed against a dress wedged near the back, she felt somehow compelled to pull it out. Bewildered, Sabrina held the dress up for inspection.
It was a simple dress of deep forest-green velvet, with a drop-waist and a skirt that fell in soft, simple billows of fabric. The neckline was low and square, edged in a simple design of lace that also adorned the cuffs. She stared at it for a moment, trying to place the garment.
The memory flashed by almost too quick to latch on to. This was the dress I was running down the Endless Hallway in!
There was a snatch of the dream—twirling before a mirror, the skirt flowing out around her thighs—but it was gone just as quickly.
Emily noticed her examining it. "Try it on. We're about the same size."
Indeed, it did fit. The velvet shaped itself nicely against her body, the sleeves neatly reaching her wrists. "You may keep it," Emily said softly, almost embarrassed. "It isn't like I'm going to wear it." She gazed wistfully at the ghostly dress she was garbed in.
As she carefully shut the armoire door, Sabrina couldn't help but feel a throb of pity for Emily. The ghostly girl would never be able to grow up, never again be able to wear the clothes and jewelry and perfume her room was adorned with. She brushed her hair, tying it back with an ivory-colored ribbon that Emily had produced from the jewelry box. Emily's feet had been smaller, but Sabrina was able to magically augment a pair of dancing slippers to fit her own larger feet.
Once she had been deemed worthy, Sabrina accompanied Emily (with Salem tagging at their heels, still on the lookout for mice) down the hallways, towards the first floor, and to the Ballroom door. The change from Thorne's blight was immediately perceptible: no spiders scurrying across the floors, no creaking suits of armor or creepy-crawlies scuttling about. Even the daguerreotypes of the crumple-faced ghouls had morphed into stiff, formal photographs of Gracey family members.
Emily looked about with interest at the hallways she'd played in as a child. It's changed…and yet, it hasn't. No portraits leered, nor marble busts glared, as the two girls made their way through the dusty corridors.
All too soon, Sabrina and Emily stood before the double doors of the Ballroom, muffled strains of music and snatches of conversation sounding just beyond. The ghostly young woman paused shyly, turning to her living companion. "Time for the party," she whispered softly, and beckoned to the doors.
As if they had a life of their own, the massive double doors slowly creaked open, much like the gate had when Sabrina first arrived at Gracey Manor. The butterflies in the detective's stomach leaped and swirled.
Why am I so nervous? Maybe…I wonder how the ghosts will take it now that Thorne's gone…what they'll think of me…
The doors opened to reveal a "swinging wake," as the Phantom Five had earlier sung. The 999 happy haunts of the Mansion had crammed into the Ballroom for the party of their afterlife. Luminescent specters stood in small groupings, talking animatedly. Old Pickwick, of course, was dangling precariously from the chandelier, chortling drunkenly and shouting greetings to friends he spotted below.
Herr von Baroketch, the Organist, was seated at his beloved grand pipe organ at the far end, pounding out "Grim Grinning Ghosts" arranged as a waltz. Phantom couples in masquerade attire danced on the main floor, twirling back and forth, in and out, in a dizzying pattern. Even more waltzed through the air like macabre butterflies.
Garlands of dried flowers were entwined around the marble pillars, and similar wreaths and bouquets were hung upon the walls. The marble surfaces glittered as if freshly scrubbed. Scattered tables dressed in faded linen held shimmering bowls of an iridescent liquid that Sabrina guessed was ghostly punch.
Salem nudged insistently against Sabrina's legs, prompting her to lean down and scoop him up. "Great party," he drawled. "But where's our host? Or should I say, ghost host?" he teased.
"Ha, ha. Very funny," Sabrina mumbled. Even so, she scanned the length of the Ballroom, desperately trying to sort out Edward Gracey from the masses of spirits. Darn it, Edward…where are you? Come to think of it, where's Leota?
Suddenly, he was there, moving amongst his guests, shaking their hands and greeting them, after so many years… With a slight turn of his head, intense hazel eyes were boring into Sabrina, and a half-smile graced his lips.
"Brother?" Emily whispered. She took a few hesitant steps forward.
Her younger brother—physically older than she—stopped as if rooted to the ground. It was as if the prodigal child had returned; instead, the long-lost sister had found her way back to the family fold. "Emily," he murmured. Could all his dreams have come true? Had his family, whom death had relentlessly snatched away, come back to him?
Emily's lips trembled, unsure of what to say or do. This tall stranger who stood before her: could this possibly be the dark-haired little brother who built castles of wooden blocks? Was this suave gentleman the same boy who ran around in the garden with his big brother and sister, letting his shoes and socks become muddy beyond belief? Was this "Master Gracey" really Eddy?
And then a century fell away in a rush, and Emily ran, crying, into her brother's arms. Edward cradled his sister as she sobbed, relieved, into his shoulder. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting the Detective's. "Thank you," he mouthed.
Sabrina nodded. After all this time…I'm glad that they're reunited.
A smaller black-haired boy, who greatly resembled Edward, pushed his way out of the crowd, impetuously flinging his arms around the two siblings. Edward reached down and wrapped an arm around the boy, hugging the two smaller figures closely, unwilling to relinquish them after more than a century of separation.
That kid…I recognize him from that portrait! He's Daniel!
Daniel Gracey was attempting to calm his older sister down, while darting nervous glances at Edward for approval. Edward's maturation, Sabrina decided, had caused his older siblings to treat him like a superior. Edward's arms were around them both, and he was beaming down at them fondly. He rather reminded Sabrina of her father, ten years ago…
Come on, Sabrina, stop thinking about your family. It'll just make you more homesick…
"Edward?"
A hush quickly fell over the crowded hall like a damper. Cursing genetics for causing her to be so short, Sabrina hopped up and down, trying to see over the crowd to determine who had spoken.
The masses of spirits pulled back, forming an aisle across the floor of the Ballroom. Standing at the other end, in front of the doors, was Elizabeth. The bride's veil had been pulled back over her dark curls, and her chocolate-brown eyes were wide with amazement. A single tear trickled down her cheek. Sabrina could see her hands trembling around her bouquet.
Hushed murmurs slowly grew as the ghostly partygoers excitedly noted Miss Hollingsworth's arrival. Edward, back to the speaker sighed with a note of frustration as he reluctantly released his siblings. Upon the sight of his bride, he froze—for the second time that night. "Merciful God," he whispered.
Elizabeth's lips trembled, tears welling in her eyes and nearly blurring her vision. "Edward…" With a cry, she dashed across the floor, voluminous skirts billowing around her slender frame. The bride flung herself at her long-lost groom, sobbing into his chest.
Edward, for his part, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair.
Daniel and Emily simply stood there, confused.
"I was waiting," Elizabeth choked, "for s-so long…"
"I know," Edward mumbled. "I missed you. Every day, I couldn't stop thinking about you…how I'd failed you."
"You didn't!" Elizabeth lifted her tearstained face from his chest.
"If I hadn't arrived so late…" His eyes were downcast to the floor, unable to face her with the guilt bottled inside.
"It wasn't your fault!" She lifted her free hand to touch his face. "Look at me." Edward obeyed, shame haunting his features. "It wasn't your fault," Elizabeth softly insisted. "We were victims of a madman, of circumstances beyond our control. There was nothing that we, mere mortals, could have done to prevent it."
He swallowed, still feeling a slight twinge of guilt.
Elizabeth sighed. "But it's over now. We can move on." She peered into his face, her eyes softening. "We're together again. Nothing can hurt us, or pull us apart."
Edward paused, hazel eyes meditative. He pursed his lips, then nodded. "Yes. I see. But still…can you ever forgive me?"
His bride sighed, exasperatedly, and shook her head in mock dismay. A smile slid across her face. "Yes. I forgive you, love."
Edward brushed a curl out of her face, looking at her lovingly. Elizabeth hugged him again, nestling her head in the crook of his neck.
Sabrina sighed. I love a good love story…and while this one had a rough middle, and incredible obstacles, it still had a happy ending.
"Love endures all, no reason, no rhyme," a throaty female voice intoned. "It lasts for eternity, beyond the end of time."
Sabrina blinked. Sounds like…
"Leota?" Salem called, confused.
Several more guests parted to reveal the psychic's crystal ball placed upon a nearby table. Inside, the spirit of Madame Leota Toombs smiled, dead and well.
"You look ravishing, hon," she winked at the teenage witch. In a louder voice, she announced, "Now, let's see. We've got the decorations. We've got the hall. We've got the witnesses. And we even have the minister." (Here, an elderly ghost dressed in ministerial robes waved his hand merrily at Leota.) "So…what are we missing?" The Creole psychic shot a sly glance at the couple in the middle of the floor.
"Elizabeth." The bride turned to face her beloved, who continued, "Shall we finish what we started one hundred and twenty years ago?" He extended his hand towards her.
The bride smiled, reaching up to pull the veil over her face. "Yes." She placed her gloved hand in his, and the two turned to face the ghost of the Reverend, who had produced a Bible from somewhere within the folds of his clothes.
As if on cue, von Baroketch began pounding out Mendelssohn's 'Wedding March' on his beloved pipe organ. Emily and Daniel looked at each other, shrugged, and stood at their brother's side, stealing amazed and shy glances at the woman in bridal attire.
Sabrina folded her arms and smiled. "It's so sweet," she sighed. "They finally can be married, after so many years of waiting for each other."
"Yeah, yeah," Salem mumbled as he crawled under a table. "Wake me up when the mushy stuff's over."
Sabrina shook her head, chuckling, and watched as the ceremony proceeded. It's the perfect end to a story as horrific as this…love conquers all, and everything turns out as it should be. She paused, leaning against a stone column as Edward kissed Elizabeth's hand, giving her a loving smile. But where do I fit into all this? What is my role in the ending? There's so much that I don't understand…
"And do you, Elizabeth Hollingsworth, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish in death as in life?"
Elizabeth smiled at her groom from underneath her veil. "I do."
"What God hath joined together, let no one cast asunder," Reverend Ryman declared, tucking his Bible under his arm. "From this day forward, you will be joined as one for all eternity." He beamed at the couple.
"Edward, I think you know where to take it from here," Leota smirked.
The crowd erupted into cheers as the groom folded back his bride's veil and kissed her, cupping her face in his hands. "Whoo hoo!" Sabrina yelled, clapping.
"It's about time!"
"Congratulations!"
"Aren't they so sweet?"
Edward had stopped kissing Elizabeth, and she was laughing at the cheers and catcalls, curls beginning to fall out of her bun. Edward wrapped his arm around her, and the guests began to swarm up to offer their congratulations. As he shook hands and acknowledged the well-wishers, Edward scanned the Ballroom for the only living guest. Gently nudging his bride, he made his way towards the detective, Elizabeth following.
Sabrina was disturbed from her reveries as the ghostly newlyweds approached her. She smiled, and shyly reached out to touch Elizabeth's hand.
"Thank you," Elizabeth whispered. She gently smoothed a section of Sabrina's hair. "I..I…thank you." Tears were beginning to slide down her cheeks. "Thank you so much…for freeing us."
Sabrina flushed, embarrassment beginning to make her uncomfortably hot. "Y-you're welcome."
"No," Edward insisted. "We truly thank you, Miss Spellman." He turned the hazel intensity of his eyes to bore into hers. "You came to a place you knew nothing about, to help people you had never met or heard of. Willingly, you agreed to free us from a madman's curse, at the risk of your very life. And for what in return?" Edward paused for breath. "We have offered you nothing." He looked at her in wonder. "And yet you still helped us, the damned."
Sabrina felt she must have turned cherry-red by now. "Well…someone needed to help," she hedged. Even thought I had no choice in coming here, I could have left. Instead of investigating a creepy old house, I could have teleported myself back home, and got Aunt Hilda to intervene at Council. I Feel like I don't deserve his thanks, and yet…
"Such bravery and selflessness should not go un-rewarded," he pursued. "But what in return?" he mused. "…Ah! I have it!" He turned to the detective, beaming. "Stay here, with us. I shall hand the deed to you: the entire estate is at your disposal. We'll give you a position…Head Caretaker. You can use the Gracey power and wealth as you see fit."
Edward beamed. Elizabeth paused, looking a trifle concerned. So much responsibility you're placing on her…can she handle it? Is this even the right course for her to take?
"I…" Sabrina's voice trailed off and died. The possibilities circled dizzily around her. Edward was offering her power and wealth for her disposal…
Think of the possibilities…
The finest schools would leap to have her apply…she could save thousands of whales…she could have a wardrobe the envy of every single girl at school, including Libby… She'd be the toast of society… An image of her on the beach at the French Riviera dangled enticingly before her: dressed in a chic two-piece, perfectly tanned, with gorgeous European hotties swarming about her, lathering her skin and offering her grapes…
Salem rubbed against her ankles, purring, desiring to be picked up and held.
And then a different image presented itself… Sitting at home with her two aunts, playing Scrabble and eating (or throwing) a huge mound of popcorn. Aunt Hilda showing her the scales upon a violin. Aunt Zelda absent-mindedly puttering around her lab, trying to end world hunger or create a cure for the common cold.
A lump formed in her throat, choking her, as hot tears slid down her face.
I don't care. I don't care about power or money or any of this…I just want to see my family again…sleep in my own house…I want to go home!
She shook her head, trying to rub away the tears with her sleeve. Elizabeth had started forward, concerned at the younger girl's tears. Sabrina sniffled, and tried her best to become composed. She broke into a smile for the Graceys.
"I—I appreciate your offer, Mr. Gracey," Sabrina began. Edward smiled at her encouragingly. "It's incredibly kind and generous of you to offer me this, but…"
The proud smile on Edward's face slipped away and shattered, leaving him confused and peering at her in curiosity.
"I'm only seventeen. I still have a year of high school left—and four more of college. I have a boyfriend, and a family, and a lot of training to do before I can become a fully qualified witch." She drew a deep breath. "I would love to stay here, in this beautiful old house, and live like an American princess," Sabrina admitted. "But I love my life at home—in my community. I have friends and family, and a future ahead of me that, unfortunately," she smiled wryly, "doesn't involve a shipping company or a haunted house."
Edward was upset for a moment, having a brilliant plan dashed—but only for a moment. He nodded acceptingly. "I see." He sighed mournfully. "You would have made an excellent Gracey heir."
Elizabeth smacked Edward with her bouquet.
"All right, all right," he hastily amended. "No subtle influencing. I promise."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes playfully as she stepped forward and kissed Sabrina on the cheek. "You made the right choice," she whispered. "We may think nothing of it, for we are among the dead, but you must enjoy life while you are still alive."
She pulled back, and the Spirit Detective and ghosts stared at each other, silence settling between them.
"I suppose you must leave soon," Edward murmured.
"Yes." Sabrina paused, attempting to find the right words. "It's almost sunrise."
Elizabeth looked down at her bouquet. "I thought that the sun would never rise again, as long as Thorne held his reign of death over us. But here it is."
"Will you have a way back home?" Edward inquired, conversationally.
"I can teleport myself back." There was a pregnant pause, as what should and could be said were weighed.
"I…I don't want to go," Sabrina cried, frustrated. "I've never met," she whispered, "people that I could share my secret of witchcraft with. And here, I found people that accepted it—even if it was because they were supernatural, themselves. I don't want to leave you!"
"But you have to," Edward explained gently. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's necessary for all of us to leave what we've come to know and cherish. Everyone—humans and witches alike—must open that door to the unknown and continue living. We cannot; we are the dead. But you," he whispered fiercely, "still have a future. You still have hope."
"What will happen to you once we've left?" Sabrina looked around at the hundreds of ghosts filling the room. "Where will you go?"
"We're free to move on." Edward placed his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders. "We may—or may not. It is my home, after all."
Elizabeth smiled. "I suppose we may decide to move on, one day—who's to say when? We'll decide, eventually." She smiled at her husband.
"Besides," Leota called from the edge of the room, "not knowing is half of the fun!"
Sabrina turned towards the psychic, tears beginning to well in her eyes. I never thought we'd have to say goodbye…not like this… "Leota…"
"That's Madame Leota, to you!" Leota joked. At the distraught expression on the detective's face, the psychic softened. "Honey, you have to move on, like we will, one day. You—and us, included—can't stay here forever."
"But I'll never see you again," Sabrina whispered.
"We'll meet up again, some day." Leota winked. "I've seen it in my crystal ball. And the crystal never lies, hon. I should know—I'm in it!"
Sabrina laughed through her tears, sniffling again. Salem padded over to Leota's table. For a moment, the cat and the psychic watched each other.
"So long, Leota."
"Goodbye, Salem. Please," Leota lowered her voice, "take care of her. She needs your support—and guidance—more than you think."
Salem started. "My guidance? Me? The same warlock who nearly conquered the Mortal Realm?"
"Yes, you, Mr. Hotshot," Leota rolled her eyes. Her manner abruptly shifted from playful to seriousness. "You've got a good heart, Salem. Don't forget that."
The cat slowly nodded, perhaps in disbelief or grudging friendship, and turned back to the teenage witch. Sabrina knelt down to pick him up, and buried her face in his fur.
"Salem…let's go home."
Leota sadly smiled, as she watched her pupil turn to the doors, familiar following. Sabrina opened them, and took one last, long look at the Ballroom, and the souls she'd saved. She focused her gaze on Leota, and for a moment, saw her as a tall, proud woman, in a flowing blouse and skirt, wavy hair piled high. Vision-Leota smiled sadly, and slowly waved.
Sabrina waved farewell to the assembly of ghosts, before closing the door behind her. A lone tear trickled down Leota Toombs' face.
"Goodbye."
Many of the ghosts—the newlyweds, Emily, Daniel, and the 'Welcoming Committee'—accompanied Sabrina to the front door. She stood in front of it, trembling, facing the same doors she'd entered in what felt like a century ago. Sabrina held up a hand to push the nearest door open, and stopped. The Seafarer's Ring glittered like seawater on her finger.
Dismayed, she turned around. "Edward, I forgot to give you your ring back!"
The new groom shook his head. "Take it. Let it be a reminder of your time in Gracey Manor—and of us."
Sabrina paused, searching Edward's face, but understood. "All right."
Turning again, she pushed the door open. Both massive doors slowly creaked open onto the porch. Before Sabrina was a soft gray sky, pearly and sweet. The land was cold and dark, but crisp and fresh, slowly revitalized after decades of suppression. Soft rays of light peeked from the horizon, ready to announce the dawning of a new sun. The wind was brisk and refreshing, as if steeped in life.
She turned back once more, to look upon the faces of those she had come to hold close. Edward held his hand up, in farewell, as Elizabeth wrapped her free arm around his waist, loosely hanging on to her bouquet. The bride slowly nodded, tears silently slipping down her face.
I guess…sometimes, to hold on to something…is to let it go…
And with a deep breath, the girl looked at her cat, who nodded his assent. She slowly walked out of Gracey Manor, out of the darkness and into the light.
The door slammed with a dull thud behind her, and she understood then, that when she opened the door to the Haunted Mansion, she opened the door…
…to the rest of her life.
Ladies and Gentlemen: it has been ten long and wonderful months, but we have finally reached the inevitable: the Epilogue, and last chapter, of Tribute. I am unbelievably happy that I have managed to successfully begin and end a story, and pay "tribute" to some of my favorite things in the world (Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, the Haunted Mansion, Phantom of the Opera, etc.)
But I couldn't have done it without you: the reviewers. Thank you: to each and every one of you, and especially to Flashbeagle, the first reviewer, whose interest and encouragement has kept me going. I'd also like to extend a HUGE thank-you to Javer and Zennou-Sakusha, who reviewed the entire story because I asked them to. Claps for you, and THANK YOU! To Favourite: Thanks for reviewing this and my other stuff. You rock! Also, thanks to reviewers Morainerulz dude and Kenny. And last, but not least, to my dear ElfQueen86. I hope you're enjoying Tribute off at college, and you still help to inspire me! Thanks!
I must admit, I purposely omitted the Author's Notes from the previous chapter in order to make the chapter the ultimate cliffhanger. Was Sabrina dead? What happened?
Now, for the comments that would have been added as an Author's Note in the last chapter: Most of the dialogue in the Stretching Room was taken directly from the ride, albeit tweaked a little. The scene itself is fairly true to the ride, as well.
Each of the major ghosts died in a way appropriate to the way their characters were portrayed in the ride: Edward, the "Ghost Host," hung himself (the Ghost Host in the ride does the same), the Bride with the beating heart was stabbed (heart…blood…stab…it just sort of associated together), and Madame Leota was beheaded (because all we ever see of her is her head).
If any of you have caught on by now, doors are a HUGE theme in this work. I used this for many reasons, one of which being that it symbolizes both beginnings and ends (The end of the Gracey era, the beginning and end of Thorne's reign of terror in Gracey Manor). Doors can also be impediments to overcome, or passageways to knowledge. I saw this as a symbol for Sabrina's quest for self-knowledge. Oh lord, this is starting to sound like an English essay. I'll stop right here.
Even though this fanfiction has ended, don't be fooled into thinking that the adventures of Sabrina as a Spirit Detective have ended. They've only just begun… Sabrina's adventures continue in the next installment of the Spirit Detective Files, a crossover with the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. If you liked this story, please, please read the sequel. I can guarantee that you won't be disappointed.
It is my goal to create a series of stories spanning the length of Sabrina Spellman's career as Spirit Detective of the Other Realm. The stories, which will be based on a blend of the Sabrina TV show and the newly transformed manga, will slowly be tied in with Yu Yu Hakusho near the end. Never fear, the Reikai Tantei will make an eventual appearance.
I'm winding down, and I'm out of words to say…I can only once again repeat my thanks to those who have supported Tribute, and express my hopes that you will continue to do so in the future.
From Crescent Venus Productions, I'm Crescent Venus. Good night.