AN: It's late, so i promise i'll include translations and such with the next update. Mouse, does this earn me chapter six? ;)
Chapter Eight: The Fourth Star of Three
The elevator shuddered to a stop, and for a breathless moment, Lydia didn't want the door to open. And then it slid open, revealing the darkened hallway that she had walked a thousand times, and she let out a great sigh. She was being stupid, she knew, but she desperately wanted the night to be over. What had begun as an adventure moderately under her control had spiraled into a nightmare, entirely due to the involvement of her currently missing ex-best friend. She would grab her things, go downstairs and flag down a cab, and go home. And then in the morning, she would pack and go visit her parents. Hadn't she said that she needed a vacation? Oh, no… that had been him. Well, she knew exactly who she needed a vacation from.
Halfway down the hallway, a strange sound stopped her cold. The sound of furniture being dragged across a floor. She thought of the glossy walnut reading tables, priceless and irreplaceable, that filled the main reading room. A room almost two city blocks in length. Her heart plunged into her shoes and she ran down the gallery hall to the catalog room, fearing more than knowing what she would find.
The heavy doors to the catalog room were closed but unlocked, which was not a good sign. Dashing through the catalog room, she threw open the ornate reading room doors. And skidded to an astonished stop.
The cavernous room was filled with dancers, swinging through a sweeping waltz in the middle of the cleared floor. All of the heavy tables had been stacked one on top of the other against the end of the hall, and the highly polished floor reflected nothing but the soft glow of the moon through the west-facing gallery windows.
Ghosts. The room was filled with dancing ghosts. And as she stood there, shocked into immobility, they all slowed and stopped, and stared directly at her. She swallowed. Then one little ghost, a young girl in a simple homespun dress, shrieked and pointed. "It's her! The girl who sent the bad lady away!"
A familiar cackled tickled her hearing, and her eyes narrowed automatically. But then the ghosts, seemingly as one, burst into a cacophony of cheering and clapping, hooting and laughing. They swarmed around her, reaching out to touch her.
"She defeated the Witch!"
"She's so small! And young! Bahu didn't tell us she was so young!" This from a delicately-featured young male ghost, his skin the color of an old bruise. Lydia smiled hesitantly at him, and he beamed back at her. "Or so pretty," he added, his skin darkening in a purpling blush.
"Al Mankib! Al Mankib! She is here!" squealed the first little girl, running frantically toward the back of the gallery. A gentle looking woman with a motherly smile reached in to hug Lydia.
"Ah, child, you have done us all a great deal of good." She stroked Lydia's cheek and then stepped back, leaving her equal parts pleased and confused.
"I'm sorry. I don't understand. Beetlejuice sent her back. He did that. Not me." They all gasped and turned to each other with whispers. She said his name! A dark regal-looking man turned and bowed to her.
"You mean Ardra? We do not use that name which you call him by, lest we sent him away."
"Ardra?" Lydia shook her head, uncomprehending.
A small Chinese ghost, a woman with delicate hands smiled and laughed. "To us he is Shēnsùsì, the Fourth star of Three."
Lydia blinked, trying to absorb all of this. "The Fourth star?"
A very old man, his long white hair hanging down to his waist, took her hand and squeezed it. "It is true that Ied Algueze did capture her in the end. But he told us of your great courage in facing the Bell Witch. Of your fearless sacrifice. For this we honor you." And he bowed to her. Lydia stammered a protest, but the old man just smiled and vanished back into the crowd. Others came to touch her, and to hug her, and she continued to shake her head, confused and embarrassed.
Abruptly, a soft undulating blue light filled the reading room, and all of the ghosts looked up and pointed, smiling and nodding and casting knowing looks back at Lydia. She saw nothing but a small blue globe that dropped from the ceiling to the floor, and then it was obscured by the crowd. Voices became murmurs, as the ghosts took up their dance again, and parted to reveal Beetlejuice standing in the middle of the floor, grinning impishly at her. He was dressed in old-fashioned finery: a long black dress coat with a figured gray silk waistcoat, black trousers, and white tie—he might have stepped out of the pages of a Victorian Vanity Fair, except for the wild blond hair and the opalescent sheen of his skin. Lydia just stared, even further lost for words. He lifted an eyebrow at her, and then cocked his head.
"Won't do, Lyds." She felt a curious buzz of staticky energy surround her, and looked down at herself. A full length crimson skirt fell from her hips into a bell, and the bodice was rich velvet, beaded with glass in elaborate patterns. She felt the weight of it, and smoothed her hands over her hips, not able to stop being delighted for a moment. "Much better." He was right in front of her now, full of mischief but with a curious bashfulness in his eyes. "You look… um. You look pretty, Lydia." She smiled, but narrowed her eyes at him again.
"So this was all one big elaborate joke, Beej? Or should I call you 'The Fourth Star of Three?" She lifted a dainty eyebrow at him, and he had the grace to look slightly abashed. Very slightly.
"Not a joke, Lyds… I had to get you here somehow…and you know me—I can't resist a surprise! But, you should have seen your face!" He burst into giggles, and the dignified gentleman image went right out the window. "Oh, Lyds, it was priceless! Your eyes were completely huge!" She scowled darkly at him, thinking over all he had put her through. The intimate possession, the walk in the leys, and the scary story in the basement, and then his leaving her in the dark to find her own way… it had been well played. She shook her head, half in admiration and half in annoyance, and looked up at him. He had a worried glint in his eye now, likely wondering how she would react to his elaborate ruse. She set her hands on his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
"Beej, I am going to beat you senseless with the biggest stick I can find when we get home."
Hope bloomed in his expression. "We, Lyds? Does that mean you forgive me? That you like this? You know, they wanted to meet you…"
She couldn't help her smile now. "It means you better be a really good dancer, Bahu."
He grinned at her in return, and slid an arm around her waist. "That's Sanskrit, you know."
"Uh huh. Beej, what have you been telling these people about me, anyway? And why do they call you all these different names?"
He looked nervously around him at the ghosts that surrounded them. "Um, later, I promise, I'll tell you everything. Dance with me, now?"
"Everything?"
"All of it."
"And I can beat you with a stick?"
"All this senseless violence!" He swept her out onto the floor, and spun her into a waltz with gentle ease. She laughed, the tension easing away, and her questions forgotten for the moment. Which is what he wanted, anyway.
And he was a good dancer, in his wild way. Lydia soon got accustomed to not quite touching the floor, and as the night went on, the music got stranger and louder, with twists of Asian music, and throbbing African rhythms, making her spin with her arms to the sky and lose herself in the laughter and harmony. She danced with the dark boy who had told her she was pretty, and with many others, male and female alike, but she always ended up back in his arms, her wild, golden-haired poltergeist. Each time he took her back he seemed to hold her closer, and for longer. In fact, he had been holding her, with her head on his shoulder, for quite some time now. Her toes brushed the floor, and she lifted her head and smiled gently at him, and then reached up to stroke back his hair. He closed his eyes at her touch, and a fireflower blossomed in her belly. Before she could process this strange reaction, she realized he was gazing intently at her, his eyes flickering from her eyes to her cheek to her mouth. She laughed nervously.
"You look like your trying to decide whether to have me with white sauce or red, Beej." He looked surprised, and then glanced down at the floor, an impish little boy caught red-handed.
"Sorry—I forget sometimes that I'm a prick."
She flushed, feeling guilty for something that she knew deep down she was right about. But he had taken it such to heart, and that, she had never expected. "I… I don't think you're a prick. Honest. I just said the first thing that popped into my head." She poked at him. "See, you aren't the only one that does that." He smiled at her, just the tips of his gleaming teeth showing, and stroked his thumb over her cheek, pulling her hair back and tucking it behind her ear.
"Are you still in a forgiving mood?" His voice was gruff, and the music and the dance swirled around them as they stood still.
"Depends on the offence."
He rolled his eyes. "This from the woman who has promised to hit me with a stick."
"You think I'm a woman?" Her slow brain finally processed that strange feeling in her belly, and had even put a name to it. Desire. He nodded, all traces of the smile gone now. She shook her head, trembling now. "I'm sorry, but this is a lot to take in all at once, Beej." His shoulders slumped, and he tried to mask a frown.
"Sure." He nodded, frowning openly now. "Sure Lyds. It is a lot. You're a hero. You'll need a costume, an' all…" He faltered as she peered at him, her large brown eyes flashing with ire.
"Will you shut up for once?" She took a deep breath. "And come home with me?" His frown vanished in a look of astonishment, and she had to grin at him. Two times in one night she had rendered him speechless. He nodded at her.
"Um, yeah—okay. Yes. Let me talk to Rahim. Tell him we're… going home." He flashed her a quick, radiant grin, and was gone into the crowd. She suppressed the nervousness. Whatever he thought, they were going to do a lot of talking. He owed her as many answers as she had questions. When he returned a few minutes later, Rahim, the old man with the long white hair, was behind him. Rahim took her hands in his and squeezed them gently, his face wreathed with smiles.
"You are a fine woman, Lydia. You have honored us. I hope you will come back and dance here again?" She nodded, not trusting her voice. "Shall I call you a cab?" She shot him a strange look, and suddenly Beetlejuice looked unaccountably nervous.
"No! I got it, Rahim, old pal." He nodded briskly and took Lydia by the hand, but Rahim stopped him.
"Ied Algueze, you are far from home. Even you cannot carry her so far twice in one night."
Lydia found her voice at this. "He didn't carry me here. We walked the leys." Beetlejuice looked at her, aghast, and then turned frantically back to the old man.
"But, Lydia, you can't use the ghost roads. Only the dead can…" Suddenly, a horrible suspicion shadowed over Rahim's weathered face. "Ied Algueze, you did not do this thing." Beetlejuice stammered out something unintelligible, and shot Lydia a plaintive look. But she was growing a suspicion of her own.
"What thing can't he do, Rahim?" She held up a finger and Beetlejuice fell into a resigned silence.
"What he must have done. I see it now." He nodded soberly. "This was wrong to do. A possession like this, it is very bad."
"Why?" Lydia felt all the warmth of the moment past rush out of her at once.
Rahim turned to her and took her hand. "Lydia, he did not explain this to you. We possess for very few reasons. For domination, some do. Like the Bell Witch did to you. But you do not understand how it feels. To be cold so long and then be warm again, with blood and breath and heart and heat… it is extremely intimate. I would not tell you this if I thought that he would."
Lydia just shook her head, and then looked up at Beetlejuice, who was standing with his eyes closed, his jaw working in frustrated silence. But when Rahim tried to speak again, he held a hand to his mouth. "Alright, old man. " He tried to look Lydia in the eye, and nearly succeeded. "What he's trying… why he's upset, is because he thinks you don't know how I feel about you."
She swallowed, suspended between despair and disbelief. "And how do you feel about me?"
He looked as if he was in physical pain. The room had fallen silent, all eyes trained on the drama unfolding in the center of the room. He glanced around, and then looked again at her eyes. "I… gods, I…love you."
She gaped at him. "You what?"
