Hello darlings! I'll be as usual, crazed at DragonCon! When not on panels I'm assisting Kelley Hensing at her art booth in the Hyatt Art Show so come find us! Cheers!
Leanna's DragonCon 2023 Schedule!
THURSDAY:
Title: Sherrilyn Kenyon's Reader (and Fan) Appreciation Party
Leanna will have copies of A HAUNTED HISTORY OF INVISIBLE WOMEN and other Gaslamp Fantasy titles available for sale and signing along with some of her one-of-a-kind jewelry!
FRIDAY:
Title: From Beyond the Grave: Summoning Compelling Ghost Stories
Time: Fri 11:30 am Location: Peachtree 1-2 Westin (Length:1 Hour)
Title: Behind the Curtain: Unmasking the Secrets of Acting Success
Time: Fri 01:00 pm Location: Hanover AB Hyatt (Length:1 Hour)
Title: The Shadows of Folklore: Crafting Folk Horror Stories
Solving crime isn’t only for the living. In turn-of-the century New York City, the police have an off-the-books spiritual go-to when it comes to solving puzzling corporeal crimes . . . Her name is Eve Whitby, gifted medium and spearhead of The Ghost Precinct. When most women are traveling in a gilded society that promises only well-appointed marriage, the confident nineteen-year-old Eve navigates a social circle that carries a different kind of chill. Working with the diligent but skeptical Lieutenant Horowitz, as well as a group of fellow psychics and wayward ghosts, Eve holds her own against detractors and threats to solve New York’s most disturbing crimes as only a medium of her ability can.But as accustomed as Eve is to ghastly crimes and all matters of the uncanny, even she is unsettled by her department’s latest mystery. Her ghostly conduits are starting to disappear one by one as though snatched away by some evil force determined to upset the balance between two realms, and most important—destroy the Ghost Precinct forever. Now Eve must brave the darkness to find the vanished souls. She has no choice. It’s her job to make sure no one is ever left for dead.
From Leanna:
Dear readers, I'm so excited to share this brand new venture with Kensington's brand new Sci-Fi/Fantasy Imprint Rebel Base Books. This series has been in my head for years, thinking about what would happen to the Denbury clan in the next generation.
I'm thrilled to introduce you to Eve Whitby, daughter of Natalie Stewart-Whitby and Jonathon Whitby, Lord Denbury, stars of Darker Still and my Magic Most Foul saga, to return "Gran" Evelyn Northe-Stewart to the center of the story, and to introduce you to a diverse set of talented young mediums and the dashing Detective Horowitz. I'm eager to bring you eerie action and adventure at the end of the 19th Century, in gritty, grand, mystifying and electrifying New York City, where I have been a proud licensed tour guide for nearly thirteen years, sharing the thrills from the obvious to the obscure in this incredible place.
Most of all, I'm thankful for your support of me and my work. This is a very critical book for me at a critical juncture in my career. If you'd like me to continue writing books, supporting this book will ensure I can. I'll be very honest that the last few years haven't been easy, I've continued to publish but the journey has been hard. If this book does well, it can ensure I can keep my head above water and write the next book. You can purchase this book in any format and know that you're not only directly supporting an author whose whole heart and soul and mission are in her books, but you're supporting a brand new imprint run by New York's last independently run publishing house, Kensington. Please support THE SPECTRAL CITY today and share this with other like-minded readers in your life! Cheers, blessings and Happy Haunting!
Hello darling readers! Sorry for the lapse in updates, I've been very hard at work on two new books, the last of the Eterna Files and Strangely Beautiful sagas as originally intended- yes that means Miss Violet and The Great War- as well as working on multiple proposals for new projects! So I promise the reason I've been quiet is a good one; I've been very hard at work on very pressing deadlines on stories that I hope you'll all love as much as I do!
If you're not one for signed preorders and want to take advantage of Barnes and Noble and Amazon's amazing sale $10 preorder pricing, go now and take advantage of the sale!
- PERILOUS PROPHECY LAUNCH TOUR: Cincinnati, OH, Portland, OR and New York City! There will be a chance for each of you fine cities to get a signed copy IN PERSON at one of my three launch events!
June 27th, 6:30 at the Morris-Jumel Mansion, New York City: My Morris-Jumel Mansion Launch Parties have become the stuff of Legend!
Come visit NYC's oldest mansion (a haunted one, no less), drink wine and devour food, listen to a theatrical reading, enjoy a fashion presentation and launch of the Perilous Prophecy additions to the Strangely Beautiful line curated by Wormwood and Gall, get a copy of Perilous Prophecy signed, hear local ghost stories and more!
6:30 Reception begins
7:00 Reading and Fashion Presentation
7:30 Book Signing and House Tours
Tickets are $15 at the door, $10 if utilizing a Group Discount, proceeds go to the ongoing restoration process of this incredible historic treasure. Ticket includes wine and food!
Happy Book Birthday to Eterna and Omega, the exciting follow up to The
Eterna Files, a gritty, Gothic, Gaslamp fantasy set in 1882 New York and
London as two paranormal investigative teams are pitted against each other by a
dark force and must begin to work together for the sake of their cities.
Kirkus Reviews has named Eterna
andOmega an August release not
to miss! Now available wherever books are sold, in digital and hardcover! Signed copies are available at WORD in Brooklyn! I also signed copies for the Barnes & Noble Oglethorpe / Savannah, GA store!
Events: There’s a launch event, reading and signing tonight at Barnes & Noble West
Chester, Ohio at 7pm! If you’re a Cincinnati local and can’t make it tonight,
signed copies will be available. In NYC, another incredible event, reading,
ghost-tour and fashion presentation (come in your gothic / steampunk best for a
costume contest) at the Morris-Jumel Mansion in Manhattan, August 11th
at 7pm! Tickets $15 at door, proceeds go to the Mansion’s ongoing restoration
fund and includes wine, soda, food and other perks!
Again, your support of my latest series from Tor is so very
important to me, first week sales are really critical to the survival of a
series and please tell your friends! Get involved by writing a review, let me
know your thoughts on Facebook or Twitter and as always, thank you so much and
Happy Haunting!
The rights to my very first piece of published fiction,DARK NEST, and their sequels, have all returned to me, and I'm thrilled to be making all three DARK NEST saga pieces available in separate digital formats, or in a compilation volume that will be available digitally and in print.
The first DARK NEST novella occurred because I was dared, truly, to write it. I've long been entrenched as a staunch historical fantasy author. However writer friends pointed to my great love of Star Trek as a reason why I should try my hand at a futuristic tale. And they were right to dare, as this tale made it into print long before my far more well-known Strangely Beautiful saga did (which is also slated for it's revised new edition! Pre-order Strangely Beautiful now!).
Huge thanks to the visionary and inspiring Kat Tipton whose support and guidance made these books possible in the first place. Kat has been critical in their reinvention in the world. A blessed thanks to the very talented artist Thom Truelove for these really incredible covers! I am amazed by their depth and unique style! Thanks to Anessa Books for further formatting, and thanks to my incredible friends and family who have always had a soft spot for these tales and encouraged their second life. Thanks to you, dear readers, for picking up the individual tales or the compilation! Everything is available either directly or on pre-order via Kindle, with the compilation, the Nook and print editions forthcoming!
If you're interested in all three volumes, I recommend ordering the compilation. (Again, available for pre-order in Kindle, soon in print)
About each book:
DARK NEST:
Chief Counsel Ariadne Corinth has just found out her
long-time lover, the powerfully gifted Chief Counsel Kristov Haydn, has died.
Newly evolved psychically gifted humans have been sent by the Homeworld on a
space mission aboard two distinct “Nests”. Relationships between the
Light Nest and the Dark Nest have faltered and Ariadne is sure there’s
something insidious behind it. In a matter of hours, Ariadne must find out what
really happened to Kristov, unite her people to discover vast new powers
the Homeworld denied them, or else submit to genocide.
“Here's a fresh new voice on the scene. This
romance fantasy novella hits all the right notes. Leanna has created a world
that is so descriptive it will dance before your eyes. Set in the future, newly
evolved psychically gifted humans are sent by the Homeworld to charter new
territory. But as they discover betrayal, they also realize their true
potential. I say pick this one up." - Maria of
RomanceNovel.tv on Dark Nest
Captain Temesia Elysse has just steered her ship through
almost certain death. With the help of her gifted crew, the Dark Nest has
survived. Her newly evolved psychic people are targets of Homeworld genocide.
Hundreds have been killed aboard the Light Nest. Back on Homeworld soil, her
people are being hunted. Her lover may be dead, the gifted teacher Reyn Wolfe.
It will take all Captain Elysse's restraint, with vast new psychic powers
available to her and her people, not to let her infamous temper get ahead of
her. There must be a rescue mission for those still alive. And there must be
justice. There will be a reckoning. The Homeworld council has no idea that their
persecuted victims are alive, or just how powerful they've become.
Professors Brodin and Saire have been tested upon,
persecuted, and kept apart for decades, sacrificing their own freedom and
happiness to raise a generation of newly evolved humans, the Psychically
Augmented, under cruel and fearful Homeworld watch. When what they have always
dreaded comes to pass, a planned genocide of their people, they must put every last
hidden safeguard they created into place and show their students the staggering
scope of their true powers. Whether the Professors can save themselves as well
as their people becomes a race against time.
Compiled into a single volume for the first
time, discover Leanna Renee Hieber’s award-winning Dark Nest saga of
futuristic, paranormal novellas. Known more widely for her acclaimed and
award-winning Gothic Victorian Fantasy novels such as the Strangely Beautiful,
Magic Most Foul and Eterna Files series, Dark
Nest was her very first foray into published fiction via a small boutique
press. Dark Nest was awarded the 2009
Prism Award for excellence in Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal Romance (First
place, Novella Category)
In the Dark Nest Chronicles, newly evolved
psychically gifted humans have been sent by the Homeworld on a space mission
aboard two distinct “Nests”. Relationships between the Light Nest and the
Dark Nest have faltered and three distinct sets of commanding officers are sure
there’s something insidious behind it. In a matter of hours, in three
high-stakes tales told from different perspectives aboard ships and under
Homeworld siege, these sets of lovers will be torn apart and reunited, secret
survival plans will go into dizzying effect, assassinations and revenges will
be attempted and carried out, and death-defying sacrifices must be made. Each
of these visionary leaders must do their part to quickly unite their people and
discover vast new powers the Homeworld denied them, or else submit to
genocide.
Pre-order via Kindle (This edition will be available in print by September 1) Order via Nook forthcoming --
I'm very proud of these books, they represent a very fun, streamlined, action-packed and stylistically different side of my fiction, a modern voice but the same Spiritualist heart. I hope they carry within their action, adventure and fast-paced plots a certain overarching message of hope and transcendence; tales that encourage those who would be destructive and invasive to leave people their space and dignity, to leave well alone for great souls to live into their own individual best and in doing so, proving there is room to create an uplifting community of celebrated differences.
Cheers, blessings, and as one of my heroines in the series would say, "Choose Joy"....
(For previous chapters, see right side bar. If viewing by mobile, scroll down from http://leannareneebooks.blogspot.com for other chapters)
Dear Readers, as we've crossed into December, today marks the last installment of the serialization to be posted on the blog, however it is not the end of the story! Free serialization has been happening weekly since March, but now that the full novel is available, the Double Life team is letting the rest of the full novel speak for itself in entire completion, in its intended form. For those who haven't already donated, we all hope you'll pick up a copy of the novel. It is now available in print and Kindle formats (Nook / Barnes & Noble links we're told will go live by the end of the week)! (To the Double Life donors who donated $20 or more to the project, your signed books and donor rewards will be shipped/arrive Mid-December). The Double Life team thanks everyone for being a part of this journey. Please enjoy this installment and then the rest, as there's still more story to tell.
Still stay tuned every Tuesday! Because Tuesdays will now become "Teaser Tuesdays" as I release a segment from a forthcoming book or novella, musings on the latest works, insight into the current creative process, or a selection from a work-in-progress. So fresh fiction will still wing its way to you every Tuesday, whatever the current project or teasers for upcoming releases, you'll have exclusive sneak peeks right here, just as you've been the first to read this novel as it's happened! Now I'm expanding the material to a greater range of work. Considering all my series have crossover characters, just think of it as spending time every week with different members of an extended family. An utterly mad and ridiculously colourful extended family...
Jonathon and I jogged up the earthen corridor, coughing. The
increasing smoke would present a problem indeed if we didn't keep moving.
My whole body ached as we finally climbed the stairs into
the cottage. The rest of our compatriots had all found places to collapse ahead
of us, draped on the edges of the bed or leaning bent against fine furniture
that our sooty, bloody, bedraggled forms looked so at odds with.
Someone had opened the front door to the night, to the
forest. Everything outside was still, save for the night sounds of insects and
birds. So quiet. Peaceful. We did not turn on more than the one lamp at the
entrance. We did not want to see the sharp details of what the night had done
to any of us. What it had taken from us.
Jonathon brought a wet towel moistened from an outside water
basin over to me and washed the inked cross from my forehead and then his own.
Reverend Blessing had laid out Maggie's body upon the bay
window where the moonlight upon her face made her lovely face even lovelier and
turned the garish pools of blood all over her dress into grayscale. Mrs. Northe
had Maggie's head in her lap, at work in the moonlight, removing the blood from
her face, neck, arms, and hands with silken kerchiefs.
I knelt upon the divan, and Jonathon drew close. As he sat I
collapsed onto his lap, resting my head in his gentle hands that were shaking
so hard. But he stroked my hair anyway. Wherever we landed, we wept. Silently.
For a long time.
Finally, Mrs. Northe stirred, gesturing Reverend Blessing
over to her side. "Reverend, I'd like to pray with you here, over my
niece, if you would be so kind." I'd never heard her speech so gentle, so
tired, so grieved.
I rose and moved with him; kneeling before the bay window
bier, we prayed over her, said thanks for her, her bravery, and sacrifice. We asked
for forgiveness of all of our sins that led to her death, Mrs. Northe having a
most difficult time with the guilt of it.
I simply took Evelyn's hand, and she held it. I was well
aware it could have easily been me upon those cushions with hands folded over
my still breast. I might have done the same, trying to buy us time, but I'd
never have thought to do what she did, not so boldly. With great sadness I
realized she probably hadn't gotten my letter. I was a fool not to have sent it
sooner.
Death brings such guilt to the living, illuminating all the
things undone and unsaid. It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve such a death. And
yet we didn't deserve such a sacrifice. But if she hadn't done what she did,
likely casualties would have been higher. She may have had no choice.
I wondered what had happened in Chicago right before Maggie left. I wondered
if she had dreams like I did. She'd shared with me, once, that the demon had
visited her dreams. What if she knew it was all as inevitable as I had known?
Somehow that gave me comfort, as her actions seemed far too calculated to have
been inspiration in the moment.
Mrs. Northe had promised there would be death. But even the
most clairvoyant, if too close to the truth, couldn't see it. Not precisely.
"I should have known, I should have seen. It should
have been me." Those words she kept repeating numbly in different
variations. I shook my head at her.
"That does no good, Evelyn," Blessing murmured. "Accept
the facts as they lie. As you live, give thanks for her life. Pray for her
undying soul, that will be rewarded in heaven for such selfless acts."
Mrs. Northe nodded and just kept stroking Maggie's hair. That
was a comfort, the idea of her reward. I hoped in heaven, for Maggie, there
would be lots of balls and pretty dresses and exquisite company, that she'd have
no need for gossip or intrigue, merely be loved and cherished by heavenly hosts
until I'd see her again in some future day and thank her soul myself. I moved
back to rest in Jonathon's arms.
After some time, Brinkman banged upon the iron door from the
other side, making us all jump. He called out to us to let him in.
"Most of the wing was saved," Brinkman said as he
entered, mopping a sweaty brow. "Thank goodness for stone frames between
wings. But you'll need a new dining room, Lord Denbury. I'm off to Scotland Yard,
friends," Brinkman said, crossing the cottage in a few stern strides. "I'll
fill out the reports and keep your further involvement to a minimum. I'll push
for an immediate trial."
"Shouldn't you rest, Mister Brinkman?" I asked.
"Not until I have my satisfaction," he said
gravely. "Those wicked bastards have my son. My child. My only joy in this
goddamn world. I'd rip out all their throats with my bare hands if I thought I
could still find him without their knowledge."
There was a terrible silence in the room at this still
unfinished business.
"Let us know how we can help," Mrs. Northe said
gently.
"Thank you," Brinkman said, burying his pain. He
glanced at Maggie's body. "I take it you knew her. I'm sorry for your
loss."
"We'll be praying for your son," I offered.
Brinkman managed a slight smile.
"Thank you. Ladies, you were very brave. I doubt the
men hidden in those walls waiting for the signal could've done all you did. If
it were up to me, I'd have the queen award you a medal, but I doubt we'll be
allowed to talk much about this, if any of it, ever again," he said with
bitterness. "I'll follow up with Knowles about the properties to make sure
any lands and assets seized by the Society are returned to proper owners. This
is your estate. You've a grateful family who have been ferried off to the
station that would like to return Rosecrest to you."
Jonathon nodded. Brinkman bowed slightly and stormed off. I
heard a cry urging on a fast horse. Hoofbeats pounded off and faded into
silence. For poor Brinkman, this was just one ongoing nightmare. Suddenly I
felt very lucky. I had my joy in this room with me. Maggie's body
notwithstanding.
I glanced from Mrs. Northe to Jonathon, to the tall form
across the room of Reverend Blessing, dark skin gleaming in the moonlight as he
remained in prayerful watch over Maggie's eternal rest, to the brave entwined
couple of Nathaniel and Lavinia who had risen to the ultimate challenge. Lavinia
was already fast asleep on Nathaniel's shoulder.
I had everyone I needed right here, except Father. Mother
lived on in my heart, having always shown herself when I needed her most. Love
was like that, taking the form of angels when faced with devils.
As the cottage had neither amenities nor staff, it was not a
place we could weather the night. The appetite we'd all lost during the battle
returned with painful awareness. But we couldn't be seen like we were.
Nathaniel gently roused Lavinia, and we each did as best we could to put
ourselves together. We hid our bloodstained clothes under cloaks and rode into Greenwich proper in
Nathaniel's fine carriage. All of us were able to fit as Lavinia chose to ride
up above with Nathaniel driving. At the back of the carriage, laid out upon
clean boards and swathed in thick layers of black fabric, Margaret Hathorn's
corpse made the journey back with us.
We went to the nearest inn, a modest establishment, and took
over a shadowed corner of the public rooms and ate everything they could lay
out for us. Something about the looks on our faces did not invite any comment.
It was late, after all. And we were a bedraggled, strange set of compatriots
that thankfully no one took exception to. Surely we looked as haunted and as at
the precipice of death as we felt.
The gentlemen took turns driving back to London, all of us dozing in and out. That night,
in Jonathon's flat, the whole motley crew remained gathered. None of us could
bear to be alone or separated because our collective trauma made us stronger.
I cried myself nearly sick. Nothing else would do. The anguish
I felt was only matched by a wave of hatred for myself, guilt threatening to
drag me under into a mental state that I wondered if I could recover from after
the progressive stages of grief. I'd been stronger when I had been trying to
soothe Mrs. Northe. Now that reality was truly setting in, I was coming undone.
Someone dying in your arms is something no one can prepare
you for.
It is the most terrible thing in the world.
It is the most incredible thing in the world.
Because never are you so aware of your own fragility, of
that precarious moment between life and death. One moment here. The next, gone.
A fleeting, breathless moment gives over to no breath ever again.
It was eerie, it didn't feel real, it felt like a thousand
knives in my heart and in my eyes, replaying her final moment. Her fine,
amazing, brave, incredible final moments. Here I thought I was brave and she
was weak. I was a fool, and she was a savior.
I threw up everything that was in my stomach and cried every
tear that could be cried and still they came. Jonathonjust continued to bring me water and hold me
tighter. But he couldn't hold this away. Sometimes we cried together, for my
tears granted permission for his.
Seeing his reanimate mother had to have been one of the
worst possible sights a person could ever see. The fact he retained his sanity
was a miracle. I was grateful I'd encountered my dead mother again as a ghost,
a beautiful spirit helping me from the beyond. Poor Jonathon had been first confronted
with his mother's desecration, and I would do anything to have taken that sight
away. At least her spirit had won out and helped us, managing to redeem that
dreadful blasphemy into a transcendent truth.
Our pain was so severe and so specific, we just held on to
each other, knowing we were all we had, companions who had been through every
level of personal hell, together, miraculously still alive to speak of it.
Though I wondered if we'd ever speak of it again. I wanted to forget everything
but the feel of his arms holding me as the sensation made life bearable.
Jonathon just held me until it was inappropriate for him to
be in the same room with me any longer. It was only a mere hour or so before
dawn. Lavinia and Nathaniel were curled up somewhere, recovering on their own time
and terms.
At some point sleep claimed me until I was roused by
something bright and cold hovering at the foot of the guest room bed.
Maggie floated before me.
I couldn't be sure if it was real or a dream, but I was very
glad to see her spirit, in whatever way it wished to see me.
"Hello, my friend," I whispered. The tears came
again. "I don't deserve you."
"Me?" Maggie scoffed. "The friend that almost
had you killed back in New York?
Of course you did. You do. This was
my penance, Natalie."
"No, Maggie—"
"It was, Natalie. It was foretold. Your mother has been
very kind to me. She's been showing me the ways of this place, this in-between
area where I'm still watching the world but above it. The Angel Walk, she calls
it, as she fancies herself your guardian angel."
"She is," I stammered through my tears.
"There are two walks," Maggie's ghost said
excitedly. "The angels walk a path. And so do the devils. That's the path
the Society was trying to carve open. From here you can see where things have
come and where things may go. One life to the next, one body, one soul to the
next… So many possibilities." Her voice was filled with a beautiful
wonderment. "When you and I meet again someday, I'd like to think we will
be better friends."
"We will be," I said through renewed tears. She
was staring at me with such calm, such care, such love, the sort of warmth I
always imagined an angel or Jesus might look upon me with, a look that knew of
terrible suffering, temptation, and pain but chose to stare lovingly instead. "I
promise you. If whatever or whoever I am is too blind to see the woman you're
capable of being, shake me out of it."
"I think you'll know, next time," Maggie said. "If
there's such a thing as past lives, well, we will have learned in the next one."
"We are imperfect creatures down here, Maggie. I'm sure
things look so much different up there."
"Perspective." She said, bobbing slightly in the
air. "Don't lose yours. There may be storms yet ahead, who knows. You have
people who need you."
"We all needed you."
Her grayscale form smiled. "It was nice to be needed
for once."
"You were never not needed, we—"
Maggie held up a ghostly hand to shut me up. "Stay
safe, Natalie Stewart. Take care of that lord of yours."
"I promise I will. If you can visit again... I hope you
will."
Maggie shrugged. "I don't know... I've a lot of
exploring to do."
"Evelyn will want to see you. Your aunt is devastated."
"In time." Maggie shrugged. "When she's
ready, she'll see me. We see what we need to see when we can best handle it,
whether it feels like it or not. I've a letter for you, back in New York. It will
explain everything."
"Thank you." I reached out to the chill air before
me. "Truly. I owe you so much more than that, but—"
"You're welcome," Maggie said, waving a ghostly
hand as if it were nothing. When it had been everything. "Truly."
(For previous chapters, see right side bar. If viewing by mobile, scroll down from http://leannareneebooks.blogspot.com for all chapters)
Chapter Twenty Six (Part 5)
Mrs. Northe, seeing that we had the family well in hand,
turned her attention to the wavering wall portal, staring at it with concern.
She began murmuring another iteration of numbers, but this time, from what I
could guess, it was a sequence in the proper golden ratio, as high as she could
think of and starting back again at a low number. Reclaiming the divine
patterns, wresting a semblance of peace from the grip of malevolence. The edges
of the carved wall, now cleansed of the blood tokens, flickered back into
becoming a wall once more.
I stayed focused on the shifting paintings and the
struggling possessed bodies, though I wanted to see the look of surprise on the
faces of the two conscious leaders. None of them could have possibly known we
could directly reverse one of their most consistent magics. I deserved a
self-congratulatory moment of pride, but I didn't dare take my eyes off my
targets.
Nathaniel rose to grab the little girl, even as a shot rang
out. There was a scream and a clatter of a gun. One of the Majesties was
clutching a bleeding forearm, blood all over the white tablecloth. It would
seem Vincenzi had tried to fire a weapon, trying to take advantage of the chaos
of wind, still-hovering objects, and the maddening whispers that summoning demons
produced in the air, but Brinkman got to him before he could fire, a wisp of
smoke floating up from Brinkman's own pistol.
Vincenzi was too late. The countercurse worked its magic.
There was a crackle of fire, and a fresh new screaming in
the air added to the ongoing wail of Lady Denbury's ghostly retinue. In a huge,
roaring pop, the paintings all came off their hinges and slid to the floor,
leaving tracks of greasy, bloody paint along the wall as they descended; the
canvasses were wet with indeterminate moisture. Trapped now in the frames
leaning at odd angles against the wall were horrid forms, twisted and nearly
gargoyle-like. Indistinct, demonic heads topped the fine clothes that were
warped and dripping. Only the most ugly ephemera remained; an evil imprint,
oily and greasy, a sheen of bloody perspiration bubbled up on sulfuric
canvases.
So too did the bodies fall, slumping to the floor as if
marionette strings had been cut. We knelt with the families as they began to
rouse, terrified, but as Jonathon did, having some sense.
Brinkman took one look at the horrid exhibition against the
wall and blew his whistle loud and several times, until the room crawled with
officers. He instructed them to get the Winsome family to safety and explained
in no uncertain terms who was friend and who was foe. The family was all too
happy to exit the premises. The little girl threw her arms around me. The
husband scooped up his son in his arms and seemed too ashamed to look at any of
us who had helped him. The mother collected her daughter and murmured to me as
an officer ushered her out: "I don't understand, but thank you…"
Above the din of the police, Reverend Blessing continued the
exorcism rite, and this seemed to give comfort to the pallid officers, coming
into the scene with no idea what to expect, but seemingly glad for some kind of
spiritual offset. If the officers were uncomfortable taking blessings from a
man of color, they didn't show it. I think they knew, seeing this scene, what
was right to fear and who was a mere brother in humankind.
Blessing clutched the Society's insidious '"book of
death,'" and between scriptural declamations he continued to read off
names within, bidding that the souls mauled by the claws of the Society find
their deserved rest.
"Spirits who weep here, heed me," Blessing
bellowed into the foul air, his deep, rich voice captivating and compelling.
"These men seek to gain power through methods of torturous unrest. Be
their downfall by granting your own souls the peace God wants for you."
There was still a wavering line where the portal had gaped
wide. Mrs. Northe was facing it, her arms out, her body fierce and taut,
proclaiming scripture at the portal to try to shut it at last. Wrestling
against the closing of the door, a black form darted out from the portal and
careened into the hall. A demon on the loose.
"No!" Jonathon cried and ran after the wretched
thing in the instant.
"No!" I cried and ran after him. I didn't think
twice any more than he did. I just pursued.
Dimly, I realized the force was headed for the study,
snuffing the lights out down the hall as it passed. Light by light, the vile
force plunged our surroundings into darkness. We pursued it into the study
where one gas-lamp chandelier remained dimly lit, casting the room into an eerie
glow.
But the moment we both crossed the threshold, the door
slammed shut behind us of its own accord and the gas lamp guttered into a pale,
sickly blue pilot. Now it was just us in the dark. And a raw, untethered demon.
Jonathon went to the desk and turned a lamp, which
illuminated for us that the black form stood in front of the window where
beyond, the night was cool and dark, but the demon was blacker than the black
night, its form not richly beautiful in night shadow, but empty and void of all
life.
Jonathon and I stared at one another helplessly, and in the
instant we both started crying scripture at its chasm-like form. Jonathon threw
himself in front of me as the form floated closer. I struggled to put myself in
front of him instead, but he kept me behind him. If such a thing inhabited
Jonathon again, my mind would crack under the strain.
I withdrew the sharp scissor point from my bodice. But what
a blade would do against an incorporeal force was laughable.
A wave of anger and despair washed over me, perhaps the
effect the presence had upon us. Suddenly I wanted to shove Jonathon away from
me. To be anywhere but near him. Ugly sounds gurgled in both of our throats.
Snarling, animalistic noises. It would turn us against each other. In a locked
room. While chaos still reigned in the rest of the house.
Down the hall I could hear that the wailing had resumed.
This time, it had more voices.
The siren that was dead Lady Denbury had all the officers
screaming too. It was, in the end, too much for us.
The spirits animating the corpse, the open portal, the
lingering dark magic, all the amassed horrors the Society had brought upon this
house, down into the floorboards and mortar, it was in the end too much for a
few stalwart souls to close up and shut down. We needed an army of those as
experienced as Blessing and Mrs. Northe. The rest of us were too beaten down,
our reserves tapped by so many facets of this unexpected war. We'd fought a
good fight. But now…
Our shoulders sagged as Jonathon and I both choked and
shook. We were paralyzed by the dread and horror that was the core of the
demonic presence. I felt a hand clamp around my neck. It wasn't Jonathon's. It
was my own, the terrible force eating us inward, turning our own tired selves
against us. We sunk to our knees, both of us gasping and snarling. I tried to
rally, to reject the presence. A choking "I renounce thee..."
afforded me one deep breath before the suffocating darkness threatened to
overwhelm me once more.
I clutched the small scissors in my hand. Whispers careened
around my ears. They urged me to drive the blade into my own flesh. To just
give up. To let them in. To give them room. The point of the very sharp scissor
point pierced my wrist, by my own doing. A drop of blood welled up. I remembered
the runes that the magic had carved into my flesh, and I found myself making a
line up my wrist, searing, burning pain sharpening every sensation.
"Natalie," Jonathon choked. A tendril of black
shadow sweeping out from the demon's wake was wound around his neck, manifest
evil taking shape and wielding violence.
I stared at the line of blood seeping from my wrist, my
heart racing from the burning pain of it. I couldn't give up like this. This
incorporeal beast before me was just that: incorporeal. It needed to be shot
down with a bullet of light, faith, hope, and determination.
I pulled upon everything that had brought me to this point
in one final shrugging off. I thought of all the sacrifices, Maggie's lovely,
bloodstained face flashing before my eyes as if I were praying to a saint. She
was a saint here today, and I was stronger than this. If she could take in five
of the beasts, I could take on one. The worst wretches of the corporeal and
incorporeal world always underestimated determined young women.
I remembered the cross that burned upon her, and with one
even slice of the open scissor blade, I intersected the bleeding line up my
wrist with another one, to make a cross. I lifted up my wrist, blood pooling in
the lace at my cuffs. "I renounce thee!" I cried as the black
silhouette of the demon advanced upon me, hovering.
But like Joan, I needed more armor. I looked around wildly
for something else. I picked up the inkwell on Jonathon's desk, and I plunged
my finger into it, making the sign of the cross upon my forehead as if it were
Ash Wednesday. From dust we were made and unto dust we would return. But not
today.
"I renounce thee!" I shrieked again. Jonathon was
trying to close the distance between us, and I fell to my knees before him,
using the inkwell to paint a messy cross over his brow. "We renounce
thee!" Our rejection caused a tremor in the room. Books rattled on their
shelves. The expensive trinkets from around the world shuddered on the marble
fireplace mantel. The window panes shivered.
Jonathon shook his head, as if tossing off a terrible dream.
He narrowed his eyes at the hesitating, pulsing dark form. "Upon the
graves of our beloved mothers," Jonathon bellowed, "we renounce
thee!"
A sudden burst of light had us blinking and wincing, and
suddenly between us and the horrid, silhouetted form of congealed evil, floated
the bright white forms of two beautiful women. Angels called down to the fight.
I recognized one of the angels as my own. And the second one looked a great
deal more like Jonathon than that thing wailing down the hall did.
"You leave our children alone," the spirit of my
mother said to the vacuous silhouette in a venomous tone. "This is the
end. Your kind has failed. You cannot win against such wondrous love as
this." She turned her beaming, beautiful face upon us, and tears of
amazement rolled down my cheeks.
"Did you hear that?" said the second spirit, a
beautiful woman in a lavish gown, in a vicious hiss In the name of God the
Father, of the Son, of the Holy Ghost. In the name of all the saints, the host
of angels, and everything that is holy, get out of my house!" shrieked the spirit of Lady Denbury.
Lady Denbury was not tied to that body in the dining room at
all but instead tied to her beloved son. Her spirit was resilient and made new
again in the fight. The bright, transparent form of Lady Denbury lifted an
elegant hand into the air and sharply backhanded the inelegant, tar-black form
before her, and it splintered into a spattering mess, wet ashes upon the fine
rug, nothing but ugly residue.
Jonathon seized me and stepped back so that none of the
demonic muck could land upon me, all the while staring up at the ghost of the
mother he'd never had time to grieve. The two ghostly women looked down at
their embracing children.
"Don't go, Mother," Jonathon gasped, his tears
flowing as freely as mine. "I never got to say good-bye, I—"
"I love you too, my darling, perfect boy," Lady
Denbury said with a dazzling smile. "And you needn't say good-bye. I'll
always be with you."
"I am so sorry, Mum," Jonathon said in gasping
breaths. "I should've done more, I should've saved you—" He tried to reach
out and touch her, hold her.
"You've done everything you can," Lady Denbury
replied. "Look at all you've done. You've done more than you even know, my
darling. I am so proud of you."
"Both of you," my mother added. "Don't they
make a perfect couple, Lady Denbury?"
"Indeed. She's Lady
Denbury now." Jonathon's mother smiled at me. "And I couldn't rest
happier."
"Be well, darlings," my mother said as she and her
friend in heaven began to fade. "We're never far, we live within you, and
in any darknesses, we are with you. Never forget. Live in the light."
"I love you," both Jonathon and I blurted to our
mothers simultaneously before they faded entirely. We swayed on our feet,
breathing heavily. The study door swung open again of its own accord. There was
no more screaming anywhere. Just the murmur of activity. Of cleanup. Of a
battlefield victorious.
Somewhere I could hear Moriel raving as he was being led
away, leveling threats and decrying the undeserving underclass. There was
another loud smacking thud, and I suspected Brinkman had knocked him out again.
It was admirable Brinkman hadn't killed Moriel, really. I'm sure the government
would have given him leave to do so; however, whatever secret Moriel held had
something to do with someone Brinkman loved. Human beings could do amazing,
nearly inhuman things for love. This was something the Society seemed keen on
subverting though they seemed unable to understand it. It was not something
they could overpower. That was their ultimate hubris.
I heard Mrs. Northe calling for us.
"In here," I called into the hall with the last of
my energy, allowing Jonathon to gather me up into his arms, sinking with me
again onto the floor, our backs against his beautiful bookcase.
We were bloody and drenched in sweat, ink, and water, our
clothes torn and besmirched. Bruised, battered, alive. Grieving. Joyous.
Relieved. Exhausted. Alive. Jonathon
tore his black silk cravat and made a bandage for my wrist.
Suddenly there were shouts and screams once more. Did I
rejoice too soon? I smelled smoke. And burning flesh.
The dining room was on fire.
Brinkman popped a sweaty, smeared face into the study,
standing wide-eyed at the threshold. "The corpse. The corpse of Lady
Denbury… It..."
"Went up in flames," I finished. "The spirits
will have their revenge. Let them combust the body. It's part of
resolution…"
"My men are instituting a bucket brigade from your rear
well, Lord Denbury," Brinkman said. "We'll do what we can to save the
building. You've a haven at a safe distance, yes? We should evacuate you and
your friends from the estate at last."
Jonathon nodded. "Up the earthen corridor behind the
library. A cottage."
"Go on then, quickly." Brinkman shooed all of us
into the hall and toward the library. I saw my four friends going on ahead, with
Reverend Blessing carrying Maggie's corpse in his strong arms. The sight made
tears spring forth again. Nathaniel and Lavinia directed them toward the
library, and they disappeared into the next rooms.
"Do hurry," Brinkman insisted. "After all
we've been through, I'd hate for a lowly fire to take you down. I'll join you
once I see to it the men are at work with the well."
"Thank you, Mister Brinkman, for everything,"
Jonathon called. Brinkman batted a hand in the air and ran off.
Jonathon Whitby, Lord Denbury, III, paused in the middle of
his corridor, watching flames licking out into the hall from Rosecrest's lovely
dining room. Jonathon stared at the flames of destruction.
"Sometimes," he murmured in a haunted, sad voice that was elder than
his years, "some things are best left to burn."
He grabbed me by the arm, and we darted toward safety.
--
(End of Chapter 26.5 - Copyright 2013 Leanna Renee Hieber, The Magic Most Foul saga - If you like what you see, please share this link with friends! Tweet it, FB, + it! The Magic Most Foul team really hopes the audience will continue to grow and it can only do so with YOUR help! If you haven't already, do pick up a copy of Magic Most Foul books 1 and 2: Darker Still and the sequel: The Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewartand/or donate to the cause! Donations directly support the editorial staff.
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Actress, playwright and award winning, Barnes and Noble bestselling author of ghostly fiction and non-fiction such as the STRANGELY BEAUTIFUL, the MAGIC MOST FOUL, The ETERNA FILES and THE SPECTRAL CITY series of Gothic Victorian Fantasy novels for adults and teens as well as THE DARK NEST CHRONICLES and TIME IMMEMORIAL Space Opera stories for Scrib'd and Bryant Street Publishing. A HAUNTED HISTORY OF INVISIBLE WOMEN: TRUE STORIES OF AMERICA'S GHOSTS, co-authored with Andrea Janes, was a Bram Stoker Award Finalist for Superior Achievement in Non-fiction. Her books have been translated into many languages and chosen for multiple book club editions. Four-time Prism Award winner for excellence in her genre. Actress (Member AEA, SAG-AFTRA), lifelong Perky Goth, vegetarian, devotee of all things 19th century, loves nothing more than a good ghost story (she works for Boroughs of the Dead tour company) and a long stroll through a beautiful graveyard. Passionate lecturer nationwide on Gothic, paranormal, women's history, ghostly and 19th century themes. As seen on "Mysteries at the Museum" and "Beyond the Unknown" discussing Victorian Spiritualism. leannareneehieber.com
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