Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production and not mine
CHAPTER 25: MYSTIC CONNECTION
"A séance?" Elizabeth eyed the peculiar professor.
"Yes," Prof. Stokes said confidently. "I assure you, Mrs. Stoddard, that I have successfully exorcise malevolent spirits in the past. And I'm equipped to do so again. In fact, just today during my lecture, we had a spirit incident. My collection of antiquities proved most effective at driving it away."
The professor paused for a moment to glance at Carolyn before continuing on in his signature rasp.
"I've even recently conducted a séance with your daughter and Miss Winters."
Elizabeth looked at Vicki and Carolyn for confirmation.
Vicki slowly nodded. "It's true."
"Yeah, and I even got to sit in as the ghost's intercom," Carolyn added, visibly unsettled by the memory.
"What more, the ghost in question publicly claimed to be a Collins," Prof Stokes spoke up. "If you would forgive my presumption, it would seem that matters in the West Wing are spilling over into the village. Without investigating we can't know the full implications of these attacks. Whatever these confounding time shadows are, Collinwood may only be the epicenter of this phenomenon."
The professor read the matriarch's face. He couldn't tell what she was thinking. Her features were hard to read.
"I know this is a ghastly request," he added delicately. "But it seems as though your ancestors may somehow be tethered to these attacks. And there's obviously no better place than Collinwo-"
"All right, professor," Elizabeth interrupted. "You may perform your séance."
Prof. Stokes was quite surprised. He was certain she would put up a stronger resistance.
Sensing his surprise, Elizabeth explained. "The spirits of this estate, such as they are, have reached out to Vicki and David in the past.
"David will not be involved in this matter," Elizabeth added firmly. "But Vicki has spoken often of spirits and whatnot."
Prof. Stokes bit the inside of his own cheek to keep himself from asking the six or seven questions that immediately sprung to mind. All of which were invasive, and some quite insulting. None of which would be met with approval by the matriarch.
Elizabeth asked Prof. Stokes, "You'd like to start as soon as possible?"
"Yes, at once," the professor said pleased.
He addressed everyone in the study. "I'd like you all to participate."
"I can't, professor," Joe spoke next to Carolyn. "I have to go."
Carolyn shot a worried look at the professor.
"I understand, Joe," Prof. Stokes replied. "And I don't believe you have even seen these shadows, correct?"
Joe shook his head.
Prof. Stokes knew he couldn't allow Joe to take part anyway. Witches were expecting him. The professor tried to give Carolyn a reassuring look. Trying to mentally will her to have faith in his enchantment. He had refreshed it before they left the classroom. Despite his training, Prof. Stokes was no true mind manipulator. Ethics or no, he simply hadn't the power to make Carolyn relax.
"Good night, Carolyn," Joe told her gently. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Good night, Joe." Carolyn couldn't hide the helplessness in her voice.
"Good night, Mrs. Stoddard," Joe politely added. "Good night everyone."
"Good night, Joe," Prof. Stokes said kindly. "Take care."
"Thanks, professor."
As Joe departed from the study, Willie and Maggie were puzzled by the thinly veiled tension Joe and Carolyn were laying down.
Vicki eyed Carolyn worriedly.
Once Joe was gone, Willie saw his chance. If the town's pretty boy was ditching the séance, they definitely didn't need ol' Willie. After a long clammy night helping Barnabas and Julia summon a smug warlock from hell, Willie wanted no part in another ghoulish Collins ceremony.
"Me and Maggie will sit this one out, too," Willie drawled, edging toward the door, his hand wrapped around Maggie's elbow. "We got chores."
"Oh, but I require you and Miss Evans participation," Prof. Stokes said hastily. "You have both fell victim to the shadow. Your presences might prove beneficial."
"I – "
Willie was interrupted when Roger barged in.
Sharply eyeing the group in the study, his eyes sparked when they landed on Willie.
"Loomis, what are you doing in here!?" the man bombastically snapped. "You're needed in the Great Hall!"
For the first time in her life, Maggie was thrilled to see Roger Collins.
"You can do without him," Elizabeth cut in firmly. "I need both Willie and Maggie this evening."
"W-What?" Roger spluttered. "I hired him!"
Willie and Maggie shared relenting glances. For the second night in a row, they would be playing candlestick bingo with the dead.
Why can't the Collinses have normal rich people hobbies? Maggie wondered wryly. Like yachting or running for office?
Traversing slowly over the snow covered trail in the woods, Joe feebly tried to kick some of the packed snow out of his way as he trudged forward.
His mistress had beckoned.
Carolyn and her family apparently had their own supernatural troubles. Joe couldn't be there for them. Couldn't trust himself with their secrets. He couldn't even be sure his mistress wasn't responsible.
Cassandra needed him. Maybe it said something that the thought of his mistress hadn't driven all other concerns from his mind. Still, he couldn't imagine disobeying her summons.
Joe was actually a little excited. He had something special to show her. The wand he had stolen from Prof. Stokes' classroom was still hidden away inside his bulky coat.
The professor himself seemed unaware of the theft.
Joe wondered how the professor would react when he realized what was missing. Would the professor understand his circumstance? Or would he be disgusted and give up? Drearily, Joe supposed it wouldn't matter either way.
His soul had been tightly gripped.
As he passed by some thin, bare trees, he stopped at the sound of joyful laughter.
Gazing through the gnarled, gray branches, Joe saw his cousins Tom and Amy playing in the snow. They were making snow angels. At least Amy was. Tom was mostly flailing in the snow like he was being electrocuted. His little sister's laughter had distracted Joe in the first place.
He also spotted three snowmen off to the side. Two big ones, flanking a smaller one in the middle.
Tom and Amy had built a snow family.
For just a moment, Joe wanted to wade through the trees, throw a snowball at Tom, and declare a family snow war.
But his illustrious mistress was waiting for him.
Tom and Amy didn't notice Joe walking passed.
Tom pushed himself up to his feet, dusting the crisp snow off his backside. He reached down to Amy, who still laid on her back in the snow. She couldn't grab Tom's hand very tightly because of her mitten, but he was strong enough to lift her easily.
Amy gazed down at the snow angels that she and Tom imprinted in the snow.
"Oh, Tom, they're beautiful," the girl beamed.
"Yeah." Tom took in their handy work. His looked a bit more like a spider than an angel. "It's starting to feel a little like Christmas."
"It'll be nice if Chris will come." Amy glanced at the snow family.
"I'm sure we'll hear from him soon." Tom patted her shoulder.
"I hope so," Amy said softly.
"Let's head inside," said Tom. "I'll warm us up some chili."
"Sounds good," Amy said approvingly. "I'm cold enough for chili."
As they were heading back to the cabin, a strange, faintly muffled sound caught their attention.
Something was... ringing.
Tom strained his ears, listening closely.
"Do you hear a telephone?" he asked Amy.
The girl pricked her ears, listening to the faint echoing sound.
"I hear ringing."
"Where is it coming from?" Tom started searching, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Thankfully, winter forests were typically quiet, making it easier to follow the sound to some nearby shrubbery.
The muffled ringing was definitely more audible now. Tom blindly rummaged through the frozen underbrush. He was sure it was here. The ringing was too loud, almost like it was coming from inside his winter cap. Eventually his gloved hand brushed against something smoother than chilled dirt. Swiftly, he dug it out.
Somehow he wasn't surprised to find a starkly familiar candlestick phone, even though it was impossible. But what was surprising about Amy's treasured antique was the volume of its ring. Tom was flabbergasted. The phone wasn't connected to anything. It was freezing cold, soaking wet and filthy. It shouldn't ring, even if it was connected to a phone line.
"What did you find, Tom?" Luckily, Amy was wearing ear muffs. So the almost painfully loud ringing was bearable.
Tom showed her the old and obnoxiously loud phone.
"Isn't this the phone that David Collins gave you?" Tom raised his voice a little to be heard.
Amy's face instantly drained of color.
"How – how did it g-got out here?" she stammered.
"I don't know," said Tom. "I do know we left it in the cabin."
The old phone kept ringing incessantly.
"How can we stop it!?" Amy cried. "Tom, please, don't answer it!"
But Tom never had the option.
The old phone fell silent. The sudden absences of sound in the empty forest was somehow chilling.
"Tom – " Amy uttered worriedly.
Tom examined the phone. "Okay, I think I'm going to hang on to this for a little while, sweetie."
He got back up to his feet, flashing a reassuring smile at his little sister.
"Let's head inside." Placing his hand on her shoulder, Tom lead her back to the cabin.
In the study at Collinwood, Willie and Maggie – along with Vicki, Burke, Carolyn and Prof. Stokes – awkwardly bore witness to Elizabeth's tiff with Roger. Regarding who got to retain Willie's services for the evening.
As mistress of Collinwood, Elizabeth eventually declared she'd won the argument. After all, she was the one who provided Roger with the means to pay Willie in the first place.
Roger huffed away. His party preparations down one key lackey.
Once Roger left, Burke asked Prof. Stokes, "Where would you like to hold this séance?"
"The West Wing, of course," Prof. Stokes answered briskly.
"But it's terribly haunted," Vicki warned.
"Marvelous." Prof. Stokes beamed. "When hunting goose, start by the lake."
Willie and Maggie shared a weary look. They hoped they were not going to summon any demons they'd already met. It could get awkward.
Joe arrived at the frigid doorstep of the witches' residence. The sound of crashing waves thundering in the background. Carefully kicking the snow off his boots, Joe opened the door and invited himself in.
He found the parlor bathed in flickering candle light and the orange glow of the hearth.
His mistress knelt by the fire, wearing a thin black silk robe that seemed to bleed into the fringes of her dark hair. She stared into the flames intently. Joe noticed that in the warm fire light, her robe almost appeared translucent.
Apparently, she was so fixated on the dancing flames, she hadn't noticed Joe at all. He cleared his throat to draw her attention.
Cassandra lifted her dreamy eyes to him. "Joe – where have you been?" She slowly rose to her feet.
"The collage," Joe replied.
"Ah – the ne'er-do-well returns from his daring caper!" Nicholas flamboyantly strode into the parlor in his gray smoking jacket, flashing a pompous smirk.
"Caper?" Cassandra narrowed her eyes on Nicholas. "You're using him without my consent?"
"Really now, my dear," Nicholas responded nonchalantly. "Let's not quarrel over matters of consent. At least not in regards to your slave."
The witch swung her gaze on said slave. "Well, what have you done?"
Joe wondered how something as beautiful as those deep blue eyes could be so terrifying.
"Nicholas said to – " Joe was careful to say those words first " - sneak into the collage and steal this hippie stuff." Joe turned out his pockets, producing packets of rare, quasi-mystic herbs, incense and salt.
Cassandra dispassionately took stock of his booty. "Nicholas had you rob a collage pantry?"
Joe didn't know what to say. He hadn't thought much of this junk, either.
"Don't be too hard on him, my dear," Nicholas rejoined the conversation. "You can't expect a mortal to have any real sense for magic." The warlock condescendingly patted Joe's shoulder. "I asked the boy to fetch and he fetched. You should be praising him."
Cassandra didn't look interested in praising. She was staring, transfixed, at Joe's chest, not even registering her "brother's" commentary.
"What are you hiding?"
Without waiting for a reply, the witch simply tore off her slave's coat, finding the stick, and whipping it up to Joe's face.
"Is this a wand?" she demanded.
Nicholas stared at the mystic item.
"Why, yes," he said. "A powerful one, even."
"It came from the limb of an apple tree." Cassandra eyed it closely.
"Really, an apple tree?" Joe's eyes crossed slightly as he examined the wand in front of his nose. "I thought as much. But how can you tell?"
"There are two earmarks," Nicholas spoke up. "One is the light honey coloring of the smooth finish. Two; the rancid thing is practically crackling with good magic."
"It is?" Joe couldn't help but feel a little thrill that he was right. He'd felt stupid walking around with a stick under his arm all day.
"The wands made from apple trees produce positively aligned magic," Cassandra informed Joe.
"Honestly, I applaud your initiative," Nicholas encouraged. "It is magical. But its like the rhetorical square peg in a round hole. Its stuck up purity would only weaken any proper spell cast with it. In fact, my magic would immediately corrupt and destroy the poor little twig."
"Well – we could figure something out," Joe reasoned. "I mean, it has magic. Couldn't you sacrifice it to something, or boil it in a cauldron?"
"Joe, I appreciate your enthusiasm," Nicholas said drollery. "But your mistress could use this about as much as a maternity dress."
Nicholas took inventory of the herbs and salt in Joe's hands. "This was all you could find?"
"That's it," Joe said dejectedly.
"Fair enough. Just throw all of that away before you leave."
"What?" Joe was confused.
Nicholas was already moving to the foyer.
"Where are you going?" Cassandra demanded.
"I have plans this evening," Nicholas said smugly.
He briskly slipped into his gray winter coat and fedora, raising his voice so Joe could hear him in the parlor. "I was sure you would be caught. But instead, you followed my instructions along with your own initiative. Congratulations, I'm impressed. I might've been wrong about you."
Nicholas' condescending dismissal of his efforts had heat rising in Joe's cheeks. He hadn't been this angry since his enslavement. He felt stupid for taking Nicholas seriously in the first place.
The warlock preened in front of a mirror in the foyer before he spoke again. "Your next trip to that collage with the pretty little Collins girl, when will it be?"
Joe scowled, even though Nicholas couldn't see him.
"Why would it matter?" He was surprised by how angry he sounded.
Nicholas, however, didn't notice or care. "I have something in mind. Something important. A few pieces are yet to fall into place. But as soon as the time is right, I'll know who I can rely on."
Nicholas moved to the door. "Don't worry, I'm sure my dear sister will be able to spare you."
Without waiting for a reply, the warlock took his leave.
Cassandra was left fuming by the fire in the parlor.
Joe still wasn't ready to give up on the wand.
"I got this for you, not him," he told Cassandra. "I think we can do something with it."
Cassandra only looked at him skeptically.
In the cabin on the grounds, Tom and Amy's chili dinner simmered in the crock pot, wafting a spicy aroma through the little home.
A warm fire in the hearth threw dancing shadows against the walls.
Sitting on the couch, leaning forward with her elbows braced on her knees, and the back of her hands holding up her chin, Amy stared at the antique telephone sitting unassumingly on the coffee table.
When they returned, she'd confirmed the phone was indeed missing. It seemed the phone they'd found in the snow was the same one.
After stirring the chili, Tom joined Amy on the couch.
"Hey, what's eating you, kiddo?" he casually asked.
"Tom – how did the phone get outside – and got buried in the snow – when we left it in here?" Amy looked at him frightened.
"I think David's been sneaking around," Tom opined. "Probably just pulling a prank."
Frankly, Tom was a lot more concerned about the Collins heir sneaking around his home, stalking them in the woods, then he was letting on. But Amy didn't need to worry. Tom couldn't even be sure he was worried yet.
Amy eyes widened. "But how can it ring like it does?"
"That I don't know," Tom admitted sheepishly.
He finally noticed how starkly white Amy's face was. Is she still cold from the snow?
"Amy, you okay?"
"D-Do you think it's h-haunted?" Amy spluttered out her deepest fear.
"What – the phone?" Tom was taken aback.
"Yeah, it came from Collinwood," Amy said defensively.
"Well, personally, I've never heard of a haunted telephone," mused Tom. "But I think I will take it to an antique dealer in town. Maybe that will give us some real answers. If that doesn't work, we'll mail it to the Vatican or something."
"That doesn't sound too bad." Amy sounded reassured.
She started to relax.
Tom however was definitely unsettled. He didn't know how the old phone rang like it did. But he wasn't ready to believe that the spindly candlestick telephone was somehow possessed. Given the bizarre setbacks in the West Wing, Tom was willing to believe in haunted houses.
But haunted telephones? No.
Carl and Pansy were having a lovely evening, wafting gaily down the dark passages of the Great House. However, their romantic "stroll" was thoughtlessly disturbed when a sizable group of the living bustled through their invisible forms, heading in the direction of the West Wing.
Predictably, three in the group were flesh and blood Collinses. Not to say the rest of them were boring. The young woman who resembled Rachel Drummond, was a known commodity. As was her companion, who wore Carl's face. The dark-haired gentleman – Devlin as he was known – had often been seen around the house, but had a striking presence all the same. However, a refined looking, heavy-set stranger was the real attention grabber.
"Are they goin' to the West Wing, ducks?" Pansy whispered to Carl.
"Why!" Carl huffed. "We gave them ample warning. And who's the big one suppose to be?"
Pansy read the portly stranger. Looking at him, you'd think he was just a fat man in a well tailored suit.
"Oh, Carl." She shuddered. "The fat man. I feel his aura."
"Huh?" Carl furrowed his brow.
"He might be a mentalist," Pansy told him, collecting her bearings. "Or maybe a clever warlock."
"And they're taking him to the West Wing!" Carl was alarmed. "Even I wasn't this irresponsible."
"Do ya s'pose they want him to exorcise the whole Wing?" Pansy sounded concerned. "'Course, Quentin ain't goin' to stand for that. This might end in a catastrophe."
"We have to tell Beth!" Carl urgently grasped Pansy's hand.
Wintry darkness encroached on the West Wing. As natural daylight sank away, deepening shadows stretched across the walls. Beth guarded Quentin's cell. His music hung in the air like the specks of dust in the moonlight.
Beth felt the music had become every bit as cold as the ice spreading outside the windows.
"Beth, my dear," Quentin's velvety voice seeped through the walls. "Why don't you join me tonight?"
"I never left," Beth retorted.
"No, I mean come inside," Quentin invited smoothly. "Keep me company."
"Don't patronize me, Quentin," Beth said lividly. "We both know I won't."
"Come now, Beth, I have not forgotten you are my jailer," Quentin drawled seductively. "I merely cannot forget you are a lovely one."
Anger contorted Beth's face.
Something glimmered further down the forbidden corridor. Carl and Pansy's ghosts blinked into view.
"Beth," Carl whispered from a distance.
Composing herself, Beth floated over to them. "What is it, Carl?"
"People are in the Wing," Pansy reported.
"They brought a stranger with them," Carl added. "But Pansy thinks he feels suspicious."
"They're already in the West Wing?" Beth pressed.
"Yeah." Pansy nodded frantically.
"Are they bringing him here?" Beth hissed.
"I don't know, exactly" Carl said helplessly. "They just strolled right through us and were on their way."
"Maybe the man is a exorcist," Pansy suggested.
"Was he wearing priest robes?" Beth questioned.
"No, nothin' like that, but he has powers," Pansy said eerily. "I reckon he knows the West Wing is haunted. The way things have been, I'd wager it's hard not to notice."
"And yet we have more of the living underfoot than ever," Beth bemoaned.
"You zhould zee to ziz." Magda surprised Beth from behind. "Sandor will guard Quentin. I will tell Josette."
"Ah, yes."
Beth saw that Sandor had already took up his post at the wall.
Carrying a lit candelabra in her right hand, and a blanket wrapped bundle of blue candlesticks under her left arm, Vicki lead Prof. Stokes down the half-refurbished corridors of the West Wing.
"I'm sorry, professor," Vicki said sheepishly. "We haven't finished our renovations."
"That's quite all right, Miss Winters," Prof. Stokes spoke from behind her. "A malevolent haunting could disrupt most home restoration projects. But time traveling shadow attacks strike me as particularly untenable"
"I suppose," Burke muttered.
Elizabeth, Carolyn, Willie and Maggie followed close behind.
Before long, they were standing in front of the double doors to the lounge.
The room was empty and dark. The wall paneling and molding were mostly complete, but much of the hardwood flooring had been removed entirely, replaced by creaking plywood. The bay windows were iced over from the outside. The empty fireplace was the room's best feature. Mostly because it had been left alone.
As the group followed the governess into the half dismantled room, Beth observed them from the rafters, with Carl and Pansy by her side.
As the group assembled in the lounge, Prof. Stokes gently took the rolled up bundle from Vicki, spreading the blanket out on the floor.
He paused to take in the once grand room.
Vicki's candelabra cast eerie, bouncing shadows on the walls.
"This is where the first shadow attack occurred?" he asked fascinated.
"We were together by the fireplace when it took us," Burke said in the shadowy gloom.
"Given our environment, it may well be safer to conduct our séance on the floor," Prof. Stokes decided. "Now, Miss Winters, you stated downstairs that this Wing is particularly haunted."
"Yes, I think more than one ghost haunts this Wing," Vicki expressed. "Yes, I'm certain there's more than one."
Willie and Maggie glanced at each other warily in the bouncing candle glow. Each wondering how they were dragged into this.
As Vicki still carried the candelabra, Prof. Stokes arranged the blue candlesticks, placing each of them down on the cold makeshift floor in the center of the lounge. He set them out in a wide circle, surrounding the blanket.
Elizabeth and Carolyn watched him together. Elizabeth seemed a little uncomfortable. Perhaps she didn't want to sit on dirty plywood. Or maybe she was nervous that a random dark family secret would be revealed.
The professor struck a match and began lighting the candles.
Beth, Carl and Pansy watched them invisibly, floating in front of the icy bay windows.
"Oooh, I think they're gonna have a séance," Pansy whispered giddily.
"Why?" Beth wondered miserably.
Prof. Stokes finished lighting the blue candles. He gestured toward the group.
"Let's take our places, shall we?" He lumpily and uncomfortably slumped himself down on the loose plywood, which creaked loudly.
Wearily, Elizabeth and Carolyn complied.
Vicki carefully placed the candelabra down on the floor, near the circle. She and Burke joined in.
Willie and Maggie reluctantly took their places last. They arranged themselves clockwise. With Willie on the professor's left, Maggie next to him. Then Vicki, Burke, Elizabeth and Carolyn, finishing the circle.
The extra candle light illuminated the gothic, half-gutted lounge. Only making it seem more dissident.
"I'm afraid we must hold hands," Prof. Stokes said matter-of-factly. "Normally, our hands need only brush against each other, but we lack the luxury of a table. And for safety's sake, we best hold on tight."
Vicki and Burke were the first to grasp hands. Everyone else followed suit. With Willie being the last, awkwardly taking the hand of the professor.
Beth, Carl and Pansy watched on in nervous fascination.
"Shall we begin?" Prof. Stokes glanced at Elizabeth for confirmation.
She offered a curt nod.
"We call now to the spirits who dwell in this manor. We mean you no harm. We only wish to communicate with you."
The group sat in tense silence, waiting for a response. After a few moments, the professor continued, in a somewhat less formal tone. "I know we must seem like a terrible bother, pestering you this time of night. But things seem to be terribly out of sorts in the West Wing."
Willie fidgeted nervously. Maggie felt his palm moistening. If Prof. Stokes noticed, he didn't call attention to it.
"Please, come forward," the professor pleaded. "We wish only to communicate."
"Carl, stop this," Beth ordered in a whisper.
Carl gawked at her. "Stop it, how?"
"In your customary fashion," Beth replied.
Carl gasped in wonderment. "Really!?"
"Yes," Beth said patiently.
"Oh, joy." Carl rubbed his hands together gleefully, a devious glint in his eyes.
"I'll join in." Pansy smirked cheekily. "This is a grand opportunity to perform me act in front of a whole new audience."
"Are you referring to that song you always sing?" Beth asked dryly.
"It's me signature piece, love." Pansy winked.
Carl grabbed Pansy's hand in giddy anticipation. "Come now, Pansy dear. Let us make this the grandest musical prank of all."
While the eternally betrothed couple reveled in what they thought would be their greatest prank in decades, an unexpected occurrence took place in the candle circle.
Willie and Carolyn began softly moaning from each side of Prof. Stokes. Slowly rolling their heads around on their shoulders, pupils dilating.
"Willie?" Maggie shrieked.
"Carolyn?" Elizabeth cried from around Burke. She might have let go of his hand if he hadn't held on so tightly.
"It's the spirits," Prof. Stokes interjected firmly. "They're both safe if we don't break the circle."
"They're possessing Willie and Carolyn?" Vicki watched them worryingly.
"It's perfectly normal, I assure you," soothed the professor.
"A ghost is possessing my boyfriend!" Maggie burst out, horrified. "Your assurance doesn't mean much!"
"Mr. Loomis will only be indisposed temporarily," Prof. Stokes said calmly. "Please do not forget the importance of the circle we have formed together. There's no telling what could happen to Mr. Loomis and Miss Stoddard if we panic."
Maggie shot the professor a look that was a mixture of gobsmacked and fury. She and Willie had experienced being possessed by ghosts. It wasn't the sort of thing you just kept calm about.
But the professor was right. The best she could do for Willie was hold the circle. He just had to come out of this okay.
"Professor," Vicki said from her spot in the circle. "We've never had two ghosts talk to us at the same time in a séance."
"Coincidentally enough, neither have I," Prof. Stokes confessed.
Elizabeth watched Carolyn worriedly.
Willie and Carolyn stopped rolling their heads. Their eyes were hazy and unfocused.
"Oh, why must it happened?" a sad, cockney voice leaked out from Carolyn's mostly still lips.
"The warlock has risen," a defined, cultured voice spoke from Willie, whose face was equally lifeless.
"A warlock?" Prof. Stokes raised his brow at the worrying title.
"Yes, one that struck the Collins family long ago," the educated voice passed urgently through Willie's lips.
"A warlock cursed my family long ago?" Elizabeth pressed the possessed handyman before he could continue.
"You are a Collins." With Willie's unfocused eyes, the male ghost stared in Elizabeth's direction.
"Yes," Elizabeth said unflinchingly.
"You do not know of the family curse?" The male ghost sounded taken aback.
"Our family hides many sordid secrets," Elizabeth amended. "Often times we even hide them from ourselves. I have never heard of this warlock."
"He's awake now," the cockney woman piped out of Carolyn. "The damned Collins is ta blame. Reckless, vain and graspin'."
"Miss Winters and myself have been warned about this," Prof. Stokes recalled his classroom séance. "Are you by any chance Mrs. Leticia Collins?"
"Aye, gov'nor." The ghost turned Carolyn's head to the professor, cracking a wide smile, rapidly blinking lifeless blue eyes.
Maggie regarded her possessed boyfriend beside her. "Who are you?"
The ghost turned Willie's head toward Maggie. "Desmond Collins. Leticia is my wife."
"This warlock that has awakened," Prof. Stokes interjected. "Is he part of the shadows? The haunting in the West Wing? Was he involved with Quentin Collins?"
"He was mates with the Quentin we knew," Leticia relayed.
"And his shadow has always slithered over our line," Desmond added.
Burke listened with a stony expression.
"What can you tell us about the shadows?" Prof. Stokes asked.
"The warlock's face is a lie," Desmond's ghost stressed through Willie. "The curse is his weapon. A noose around your neck. It cannot remain forgotten."
"Ya hafta stop the warlock," Leticia said seriously through Carolyn. "There is such an evil in 'im."
Before Prof. Stokes or anyone else could make further inquires, Burke surreptitiously cleared his throat. "Ah, professor, not to derail the séance, but the shadows..."
Prof. Stokes' attention was riveted on their "guests." So he was not immediately aware of what Burke was going on about. Until a queer phenomenon caught his eye. Despite the flickering candle flames, the shadows in the room remained unchanging, frozen in place. Or perhaps ready to pounce.
The professor spoke quickly. "We mustn't let go of each other's hands, no matter what happens."
Before anyone could express their confusion, darkness swirled around them in a rapidly tightening vortex. The sound of rushing wind and crashing waves drowned everyone else out.
Willie and Carolyn's bodies slumped over as Desmond and Leticia were violently wrenched from them. Their exit was so icy, they extinguished all of the candles, dousing the living in darkness.
With the rejected virtuous stick in hand, Joe stepped out of the witches' house. The crisp sea breeze served as a balm to the overwhelmingly alluring presence of his mistress. Thankfully, she hadn't torn the buttons from his coat, so he closed it.
Joe began absentmindedly stomping through the snow. His eyes glued to the wand in his hand. It glistened in the moonlight. That caught Joe's eye. He'd never seen an ordinary stick shimmer quite like this.
There really is something about it, he thought. It has to be better than the castoffs from that professor's spice rack! Not that they cared about any of that, either.
As he went on staring at the wand, obviously lost in his own thoughts, Millicent fretfully watched over him, camouflaged in the mist.
"What on earth are you doing with that wand, Joe?" she whispered.
Joe went on staring at the stick for several more minutes, before finally he exclaimed, "Why couldn't I use good magic if Carolyn's professor can?"
He understood the witches couldn't use it themselves. But he was just an ordinary guy. Wouldn't an independent source of magic he could carry around be useful?
Joe started to consider just how much easier getting Cassandra's portrait back would be if he had that kind of power. Wasn't magic basically what was keeping him out of the Old House in the first place?
Joe spun around, determined to make that argument to his mistress. He froze, confidence fading just as quickly as he'd found it. She knew a whole lot more about magic than him, and she hadn't even considered he could use it.
Maybe he should try it out first. He was still a little embarrassed by his supposed collage caper.
He pointed the stick skyward.
"I – um – I command my mistress' portrait – up – up at the Old House – um – fly to me!"
With baited breath, and rising embarrassment, he waited for something to happen.
Nothing happened.
Joe centered himself and tried again. His wand still pointed skyward.
"I command the portrait of my illustrious mistress – up at the Old House," he said, with a spark of genuine command resonating in his words.
This time, he felt a distinct tingle in the back of his head. The sensation almost made him sick. It then vanished along with all sense of reality. All Joe could see was a painting. A portrait of a blonde woman in a colonial dress.
The sea-blue eyes were unmistakable.
They were the eyes of his mistress.
It was her. Her portrait.
He could even see the individual brush strokes.
Joe reached out for it, but he didn't have hands. The portrait was his whole reality. He couldn't feel anything or even breathe. He couldn't be sure if he was even seeing it with eyes.
Was he dead?
"No!" Joe gasped, coming back to his senses.
He almost lost his footing since he forgot where he left his feet. As it was, he kicked up a little snow as he got his bearings back. He frantically patted himself down, not unlike Cassandra earlier. Making sure everything was still there. What even was that?
It was surprisingly hard, but Joe forced himself to calm down.
"So, that was magic, huh?"
That had definitely been his mistress' portrait. He'd bet his soul on it.
Again, Joe stopped himself from going to Cassandra. He hadn't really done anything yet by her standards. Meanwhile, Carolyn's professor had warned him not to give Cassandra any reason to uncover his enchantment.
Of course, getting a hold of his mistress' precious portrait would probably earn him a lot more leeway.
Millicent watched in shocked wonderment as Joe's spirit settle back into his body.
"I need to talk to the Countess about this," she whispered.
Burke used his flip lighter to re-light Vicki's candelabra, giving the room much needed light.
The rest of the group were still gathered inside the now extinguished candle circle. Maggie wrapped the shaken Willie in her arms. While Elizabeth consoled Carolyn.
Vicki fretted quietly.
"What happened?" Carolyn asked groggily, massaging her temples.
"Well, we certainly found the professor's goose," Burke grumbled wryly.
Carolyn looked to her mother for an explanation.
"The shadow," Elizabeth said curtly. "It attacked us, I think."
"It tried to," Prof. Stokes rasped. "But you all bravely held the circle."
"Oh, sure, no time traveling for Carolyn," the woozy heiress joked.
"It's not all it's cracked up to be," Vicki chided.
"Professor, I think whatever that was, it was probably trying to stop the séance," Maggie put in.
"Why? What happened?" Carolyn asked.
"The ghost calling herself Leticia Collins possessed you again, Miss Stoddard," Prof. Stokes said at the head of the circle. "A new spirit identifying as her husband also possessed Mr. Loomis."
"What do they want?" Carolyn asked, still groggy.
"Your self-proclaimed ancestors feel quite strongly that your family has been cursed by a warlock."
"Apparently, this warlock cursed our family in the distant past," Elizabeth added somberly.
"Is this big bad warlock Quentin?" Carolyn wondered.
"Wasn't Quentin supposed to be a ghost," Burke grumbled.
Willie and Maggie listened to the conversation with detached interests.
"Before we give any credence to their warnings." Prof. Stokes looked directly into Elizabeth's eyes as he spoke. "We should verify the identity of these messengers."
The professor thought for a moment. "I believe Flora Collins was one of the few published novelists to hail from our humble village. Unless I'm mistaken, she bore a son named Desmond."
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. "And he was in fact married to a Leticia Faye. Though, we seldom mention it, I believe he was... a lawyer?"
All the while, the ghosts of Beth, Carl and Pansy searched the room in confusion.
"Was that one of me ol' aunts talkin' off lil' blondie?" Pansy wondered. "I didn' know a Faye married one of you lot!"
"But, Beth, they couldn't be Collinses," Carl said confused. "We would know them. Or at least see them."
"Ghosts typically aren't invisible to each other," said Beth. "We are possibly dealing with Petofi, however, so I suppose it's not impossible."
"Maybe not, but it's very close, seeing as Josette has the Great House locked down," Carl pointed out.
"Don' know if that bushy ol' tramp even knew 'bout you Collinses before he met Quentin," Pansy added. "He hated gypsies, didn' he?"
Beth heaved a sigh. "It's Josette's duty to see to the affairs of the living descendants. Let us focus on guarding Quentin."
The couple nodded in agreement.
Inside his cell, as his music now lowly played, Quentin's ghost sat on his armchair, sharing it with his own rotting skeleton. Leaning forward, resting his chin on the back of his hands, his elbows resting on the armrests, he brooded in heavy contemplation.
His bedroom – now his tomb – shrouded in pitch darkness.
But the glow emitting from Quentin himself provided faint blue illumination.
Quentin sensed that flea bitten gypsy Sandor, as he loitered outside. The indignity of sharing his company with such refuse was infuriating.
On the other hand, it was exhilarating. His presence confirmed several theories he'd developed of late. Beth was adorably possessive of her duties in regards to himself.
Yet, so many spirits had passed through the West Wing in just the last week. Beth couldn't help but be pulled away. So, Quentin, naturally, reached out. The telephone trick was something he'd been working on for years. But the troubles in the rest of the house had been every bit as helpful. The much put-upon Beth was all too accommodating. Leaving everyone from Carl, to Tim Shaw and even Rachel Drummond, to watch over him while she saw to new problems.
But leaving the gypsy seemed especially provocative.
No matter. Over the course of the week, Quentin's powers had miraculously and dramatically increased. He had a foot-holed in the outside world now. Jamison – or David as the fools insisted on calling him – had been a obvious first point of contact.
But then, Nora had helpfully spread his influence even farther.
Clearly, that was why the gypsies were in Collinwood plotting. Quentin knew Magda would try to fend him off. To keep him in the deplorable state she'd left him in.
But this time, fate's joke was on her.
Despite his isolated existence, Quentin wasn't only aware of the return of Petofi, but also what he wanted. He would to be sure to thank his benefactor properly upon his escape. And Quentin was hellbent on escaping.
He hadn't forgot about the witch who attacked Jamison.
Clearly, that French trollop wasn't fit to serve as a matriarch. Everyone, especially his enemies, needed to be put in their place.
At the cabin on the Collins grounds, Amy was in the bathroom brushing her teeth.
Tom sat on the couch in the living room, waiting for his younger sister to be done in the bathroom.
The phone rang.
Tom mechanically reached for the phone on the end table. When he picked it up, the ringing continued.
It wasn't the modern phone he was hearing.
Tom slid his eyes to the antique phone on the coffee table.
Maybe there's a timer that sets it off ?
Tom hung up the modern model and quickly snatched the antique one, hastily answering it.
"What the hell is wrong with this piece of junk?" he griped rhetorically.
"Hello," a smooth gentleman's voice silkily trailed out of the receiver.
Tom started, color draining from his face.
"H-Hello?" he stammered. "Who's this?"
"My name is Quentin Collins."
Next Chapter: The Undercover Command