The Napoleonic Rose

Part 4

I stood just outside the main entrance to the chateaux, enjoying the night air. The sky had fully cleared by sunset, and thousands of dim stars were the only outside illumination. The moon was nowhere to be found, and we were far enough to avoid the bloom of light from the city itself. I had left a kerosene lantern on a stand in the front hall, and the feeble light afforded just enough vision to allow me to navigate the room safely.

"Miss Masters." Mme. Montaigne came up behind me, settling the palm of her hand between my shoulder blades. "It is time."

I turned to face her, and nodded. She had suspended her usual small talk upon awaking from her rest, busying herself with the various smaller, but no less important, preparations for the séance. I brought my lantern with me, but the hallway into the Western wing was well lit with dozens of the candles. I had learned that they were very specifically made. A combination of beeswax and sheep fat, but it seemed to have no effect on their lighting ability. We turned the corner into the dining room, where the instruments were strewn across the table in what seemed like a random pattern.

She had taken the time to tear apart a rose, a real flower, and scatter the petals across the table as well. I saw at least one raven's feather, and an empty wine bottle. She gestured to the seat at the head of the table, and I didn't argue. I sat stock straight,folding my hands on the surface in front of me. I didn't know what to expect from the séance, still finding it difficult to believe that we were going to be dealing with ghosts. The somber ambiance that Mme. Montaigne had crafted only added to the general creepiness of the manor itself. I tried to convince myself that this was how they fooled people into believing in the spiritual movement in the first place, but somehow I couldn't believe that the Major would lead me astray.

"Are you ready, Eve?" She asked quietly, reaching out to pat the back of my hand. "Once I've opened the way, the rest will be up to you."

"There's only one way to find out." I said, the thought of a challenge bolstering my courage. I leaned forward, and watched as she removed her hat, allowing me to see her eyes for the first time. My own were a very pale blue, the color that generally passed for gray. In contrast, her eyes were a deep navy, the color of the ocean, or a starless night sky. She offered a reassuring smile, and then her attention was gone.

Her speech was soft, at first, and I couldn't understand any of it. I didn't strain to hear, she wasn't directing the words to me,after all. The seconds stretched into minutes, and if I were to guess, I'd say a half an hour passed before she began to speak in a more audible tone.

"Espirit de Chateuax Chevalier, I request that you come to us now, use the channel that we have opened to manifest in our presence. If you are capable of contacting us, please, do what you may with the instruments before us." Silence, sudden and deafening, followed her request. My eyes were locked on the bugle that sat dead center on the table, minutes stretching as nothing happened. Despite there being no indication that we would see something occur, I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck. My glove creaked as I formed my hand into a fist, and that seemed to be all the sound that was needed.

It wasn't the bugle that lifted first, but the French horn. It shivered atop the table cloth, before drifting nearly a foot above the surface. I pressed my mouth into a tight, bloodless line and watched in rapt fascination as it slowly rotated in the air. Mme.Montaigne watched with respectful quiet, as a haunting melody began to drift from the instrument.

Soon,the bugle had joined in, to the degree that it was capable. The noises were mostly used to punctuate the French horn's mournful song, and I pressed myself tightly up against the high back of the chair I was seated in. Somehow, I felt more at ease with a solid surface against my back.