The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Forty-Six

Veronica arrived in her rooms oppressed by a great melancholy. Fingering the keys to the upstairs room, wondering what she was doing with them, she went out onto her balcony. The sky was so black, it was as if there had never been any rain. Behind the ruined bell tower, the two tall cypress trees rose like horns above the woods. The full moon shone between them, large with mist.

Profound, poetic humors wafted through Veronica's mind. It was difficult to understand how something as remote and clear and wonderful as the moon could induce madness and chaos. But she was beginning to feel how it could. And it would. Tonight.

Stiff with tension, she went in and sat by her struggling fire. The Bestiary was on the ottoman, waiting with its great tongue of red silk, to teach her things she did not want to know: about lycanthropy and the mural of Saint Lupine, who was really Sovay, leading her pack of wolves.

Lupine... Lupus...

The fire sizzled up. The flames jumped and flashed as if they would leap from the hearth, throwing a dazzle of light over The Book of Unholy Beasts.

The Bestiary was on the ottoman. With a sigh of acquiescence, Veronica picked it and held it on her lap.

Homini Lupus...Lupa... a wolf lady... in yellow.

She found a page of the translation with a note attached, just under the ones describing werewolves.

The Magical Personality

In order to make his magic more effective, the Magician must shed his ordinary personality for one greater than himself. To this end he creates a Persona, a character who embodies the attributes that the magician needs in order to affect the magical outcome he desires. This Persona, or Magical Personality, is a vehicle in which he may travel to other worlds, a robe of power before which the demonic realm must kneel.

The note appended to this page was a drawing of a picture Veronica had seen before: a lady in a yellow gown in the jaws of a wolf.

"I was right. Sovay and Lupine are one and the same," she whispered.

By putting this bit of information right under the description of the werewolf, and adding this drawing of Saint Lupine, it seemed Rafe was trying to tell her, without spelling it out, that Lupine was Sovay's magical personality.

She read a little further: If over-used, the Magical Personality may overshadow that of the magician. It may take on a life of its own. Such is the danger of the Devil's Work.

Veronica laid her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to think any more, but sleep was impossible. The door was open now. Maybe she should pack her bags and slip away at dawn, before anyone could stop her.

A thump on the wall startled her. The dog was barking, whining. He must have come downstairs, desperate for a walk. She would have taken him, but she'd been ordered to stay inside. What would Rafe do if her caught her outside? Would he strike her with his fist? Would he lock her in for good?

It saddened her to be afraid of Rafe, to feel this threat, this dread. It was possible that, on a night like this, he was trying to protect her. He knew something she didn't. She'd yet to see how the full moon affected him. It was unthinkable that he might be like the twins.

What if there were deaths reported in the newspaper tomorrow... of people mistaken for wolves? Realizing how tired she was, she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind.

Soft cries wafted through the house. The twins were calling to her.

Grabbing the keys and a candle branch, she hurried out to the corridor and started down the gallery.

"I'm coming, Jack!" she shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

With unsteady hands, Veronica grasped the banister and looked up into the darkness. Wolfgang was up there, pawing at the door and whining to be let in.

A long, low growl drifted down then faded. A savage snarl, the sound of splintering, tearing, a loud explosion, blew Wolfgang away from the door. He lunged back at it with a frenzy of barking.

"Jack, hold on! I'm coming. Just a second."

The voice was in her head again, taking over her thoughts. Shaking her head to drive its insidious influence away, Veronica started up the stairs.

"Don't, Miss Everly! Stop!" Mrs. Twig shouted up from below. "You're not to go in."

"But, I heard a crash. What if they've been hurt?" she shouted down to Mrs. Twig.

Mrs. Twig looked about to swoon. "I'm sure they've heard you, Miss Everly. Now, please, come down at once."

A moan filled the house, like a low relentless wind. Wolfgang began barking and lunging at the door.

"Mrs. Twig! I think we should..."

"No! Come down!"

Veronica tore herself away, and hurried down the gallery to the stairs.

Howls fell down from the twins' room, high-pitched and eerie. Veronica froze. No human being could make that sound. Only a wolf could sound like that.

Wolfgang howled, and scrabbled at the door. With a voice that didn't feel like her own, Veronica cried. "The dog wants to go in to them, Mrs. Twig. He seems quite mad."

Mrs. Twig raised her voice. "Leave him. Come downstairs!"

The house was freezing, as if all the fires had gone out. Veronica hurried into her room to grab a shawl. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she looked out the window. The moon had risen higher between the two cypress trees, shedding its light on the ruined chapel and the bell tower.

The bell was tolling.

Fighting the instinct to ignore Mrs. Twig and go to the twins, Veronica spun around on the landing, then, giving way to orders, ran down the stairs. Mrs. Twig's face was grim with determination. She handed Veronica another ring of keys.

"What are these for?"

"You must help me with something. I want you to go to Mr. Croft. Tell him to come immediately and make sure the windows of that room up there are secure. He'll have to do it from the outside. He'll need a ladder. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. But... All of those rooms should have been built without windows. All of them."

"But, Mrs. Twig, Mr. Rafe told me not to leave the house."

"But, I have to stay here. I am better prepared to guard the door."

"The door. Guard it from what? From her?'

"Yes."

A high wind blew up out of nowhere, swirling around the house, smashing branches down from the trees. Veronica swallowed hard. She didn't want to go out. It seemed she could see black striations in the wind, flying like a hail of arrows.

"That wind, Mrs. Twig..."

"Its not a natural wind," Mrs. Twig murmured, her eyes darting around in the gloom. "It's a magical attack."

Veronica swallowed hard. It was true. They knew all about such things. "Why must I go for Mr. Croft? I thought you locked the twins in the windowless room."

Mrs. Twig's face was grim. "I did. But those sounds you heard.... I'm not sure the door held out. It's old and weak... and they are strong."

"Where is he? Where is Mr. Croft?"

"He should be in the cottage beyond the stables. Go through the house and find the service door at the far end of the servants' quarters. You'll see the lane to Pitchfork Cottage. Hurry."