The Shadows: A Poppy Farrell Mystery

Chapter 20

Clair's new tower room was posh, but it was so dark and theatrical, the silence so thick as to be claustrophobic. With all the statues and the paintings and the candelabra, it was like having a religion imposed upon her, some mysterious Egyptian cult. The thin light filtering in through the draperies barely penetrated the deep, velvet shadows. The slightly musty air was tinged with the scent of dead roses. Craving fresh air and sunlight, she drew the curtains away from the windows. The slant of the light that came in was autumnal. The yew hedge loomed up at the back of the building, and the golden trees were full of crows, making the atmosphere even gloomier.

She missed Poppy's companionship and the open, natural beauty of their rooms. Their argument had not been serious. It was just a meltdown. With all the stress they'd been under, wasn't it only normal to let off a little steam?

Clair didn't like being alone, either. Her psychic ability was difficult to turn off, and with no one to distract her, she felt every ping in her solar plexus, saw every telepathic image in ethers, her dreams were disturbing, and she felt like she was leaving her body at night. The statues seemed alive in some way; they had auras around them, as if they'd been charged with dark magic.

But to what purpose?

Clair didn't like secrets and hidden workings. She needed to be in calm, stable, earthy environments in order to stay balanced. She began spending time with Vanessa who at least didn't laugh at her sensitivities the way Poppy did.

In Vanessa's room, there was always a plate of chocolates on the table. They always had red wine, which helped to dull the psychic impressions that assailed Clair on every side. Vanessa didn't really understand the effects of alcohol. She seemed to think that it increased psychic ability.

"This is just to get you into a nice, receptive state of mind," Vanessa said, handing Clair a goblet of Bordeaux. They didn't drink from glasses any more, but from silver chalices.

Clair sipped her wine slowly. She and Vanessa didn't have much in common. There were no riveting or fun conversations like she'd had with Poppy. They played games instead.

Out of uniform, Vanessa wore long dresses, or black trousers with Gothy-looking tops, and always that necklace with the single Egyptian eye. The eye, in its orb of glass, was greenish-blue, surrounded by a serpent of hammered silver that shimmered in the candlelight. When Clair was tipsy, its glow filled her head until it was all that she could see. She would lapse into staring at the eye. Sometimes, it seemed to look back.

Vanessa spoke in a low, soft voice. She liked to play at hypnosis, or read tarot cards. The cards were spread out on the table now, shuffled by Vanessa, and laid out by Clair in the shape of a Celtic cross.

Clair was staring at Vanessa's pendant, entranced by the glimmering Horus eye.

"Your eyes are heavy, very heavy, your thoughts focused on the cards, tuning in," Vanessa whispered. "All you can see are the messages on the cards. The true messages..."

"Yes," said Clair, lowering her gaze to the cards on the table.

Vanessa's long, manicured finger pointed to the image of a dark man on a throne.

"This is Lord John Ranleigh," Vanessa said of the card. "Now, Clair, tell me: What are my chances with John Ranleigh?"

"King of Pentacles," Clair said. "A dark-haired man. A rich man. Very wealthy. Titled."

"Yes. Go on."

The card of the Empress was in his house. Clair pulled two more cards from the deck to modify her meaning. Two Pages came out.

"He has a wife and two children."

"I know that."

"Do you see this? 3 of Cups and 9 of Cups? He's very happily married. Again, the 6 of Cups; it shows two children. It's a very close-knit family."

Vanessa sat back in her chair and looked daggers at Clair.

"I don't care about that. What does he think of me?"

Clair leaned her elbows on her knees, rubbed her wrists nervously. "You don't appear."

"What does that mean?"

"It means he doesn't think of you at all."

"You're chalice is empty." Vanessa picked the two goblets up, rose and went into the kitchen. After a moment, she came back and set them back down, full of wine.

"Perhaps this will improve your powers," she said, nudging the drink toward Clair.

Clair didn't want any more wine. Once she was drunk, drinking more made her feel ill.

"It won't matter. It's not up to me. Perhaps there's someone else for you."

Vanessa sat down in a huff. "No. There is no one else for me. I want John. He wanted me once. Enough to take my virginity. What can I do to get him?"

"How old were you?" Clair was astonished that Vanessa had ever been a virgin.

"I was nine."

Before Clair could exclaim, Vanessa swept the cards up and began shuffling intensely, eyes shut, lips moving with her prayer.

"There!" She put the cards on the table and began laying them out herself.

Death, the Devil, the Moon, the Hanged Man and Ace of Swords, turned up beneath her fingers.

"Tell me what you see."

Clair stared at the layout. She didn't need to be psychic to interpret such a message. All of these cards were malefic, especially combined.

"What is it, Clair?"

"You can't do this. You can't!"

"What do you mean? Tell me what they say, damn it!"

Clair pondered how to put it. "There would have to be a death. His wife would have to die. But that's no guarantee you would get what you want."

Vanessa leaned back in her chair, purring. She tapped her lips with a long, jeweled finger and seemed to be hatching a plot.

"Vanessa," Clair whispered. She'd seen and sensed too much wickedness not to be concerned. "You cannot consider doing something so evil just to get a man. You can't."

"It is my dream, Clair, to have him. It has been my dream since I was nine years old."