Boston Metaphysical Society Read online

  “No you don’t, Elizabeth. You’re staying right here with me and all these lovely people.”

  “Ah, sir. Who you be talking to?” the Irishman’s asked with a worried tone.

  “Go tend to the others,” the younger man snarled. “Make sure they don’t shit on themselves.”

  Elizabeth heard the other man shuffle off in a hurry, then felt the cot sag as this mysterious man sat down next to her. He held Rachel’s hand in his again.

  “Now, Rachel. I want you to let Elizabeth speak. It’ll be hard at first. Maybe even a little painful, but I know you can do it. You are both extraordinary mediums.”

  “I don’t know what you be talkin’ about.” Rachel tried to yank her hand back again, but the man held on tight. “Let me go, ye bastard. Or I’ll have all the South Side lookin’ to put your arse in a grave.”

  “Oh, Rachel. This is so perfect. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be able to kill two birds with one stone.” He gripped her hand harder; pain shot up Rachel’s arm, echoing in Elizabeth’s head. “Now . . . let . . . her . . . speak.”

  The mental image of walls torn down, brick by brick, floated through Elizabeth’s mind. She had never noticed them before, but now she understood why Rachel taught her how to construct her own metal barriers. The medium was allowing her to access parts of her psyche she had never allowed anyone to see before. The loss of privacy and control had to be devastating. Elizabeth decided Rachel should not have to make such a sacrifice. She refocused her efforts on returning to her body, but the man’s psychic hold was too strong. It was as if he had hooks in her mind, and every time she moved they tore a piece of her away.

  Rachel cried out, her breathing rapid and shallow. “Please stop.”

  “It will once Elizabeth stops trying to escape.” He sighed. “If you keep this up, you just may kill your Irish friend here. And who knows where you’ll end up.”

  The thought of giving in to his demands sent Elizabeth into an unexpected rage. It filled her with such hate and violence that all she wanted to do was reach out and squeeze his heart until it burst. And then it occurred to her that if she could enter Rachel’s mind, perhaps she could enter his.

  As she refocused her efforts on reaching out to him, she felt one of the metaphorical hooks slip away. Someone or something else was with her. It was the same presence she had encountered before, the one who had burned her boot and grabbed on to her skirt. Whatever it was, it was trying to help her.

  The young man gasped, dropping Rachel’s hand as he jerked up.

  “No, it’s not possible. How are you doing that?” he screeched. “If you leave, I’ll kill Rachel!”

  A rumble came from deep within Rachel’s chest that turned into harsh laughter. “You won’t be killin’ me else I’d be dead already. Go, lassie. I’ll be all right.”

  Another hook slipped away, allowing her to free herself from the man’s psychic hold. She soared into Rachel’s psyche, sending a flood of warmth and strength to her, then fled.

  Elizabeth expected to open her eyes and find herself back at the tenement apartment with Andrew and Samuel, but that didn’t happen. Instead, she floated around in the spirit passageway surrounded by a churning purple-and-green mist. Elizabeth reached out to touch it, but it swirled away to form the outline of a man.

  “If you’re the one who saved me, thank you.”

  The form extended its hand, pointed in a direction beyond her then back to Elizabeth. Though time, space, and direction had no meaning here, she understood that it was pointing the way home. With a massive psychic push, he thrust her in the same direction he had pointed to. Ahead of her was the image of the trinity knot. Her mind flew toward it, picking up speed and energy. Light and noise flooded her vision.

  Samuel was yelling at her. “Elizabeth! Come back! Come home!”

  Andrew’s hands gripped her shoulders; his fingers digging into her scapula.

  She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m here.”

  Samuel knelt in front of her, his face awash in fear and worry. He collapsed onto the floor. “Where did you go? What did you do?” The words came out in gulps.

  “I found Rachel. The same men captured her as the others. And I think a Great House is involved.”

  Andrew released his grasp on her and stumbled backward. “If that be true, we be in a whole lot of trouble, laddie.”

  Elizabeth filled them in on what she had learned. It was clear there was a larger plan for all the victims. It disturbed both of them that not only did this mysterious man know another medium inhabited Rachel, but he recognized it was Elizabeth. For some reason, she was a target, though none of them understood why.

  “We need to up your security and inform your father. They may try to kidnap you.”

  “We still have to find out where they’re keeping Rachel and the others. Whatever they’re planning, I can’t imagine any of those people will survive it. I need to contact Rachel again to learn more.”

  “Absolutely not!” Samuel stood up and straightened his jacket.

  “Samuel!” Elizabeth could no longer keep her fury in check. “They need my help!”

  “I don’t care about them, Elizabeth. I only care about you. And what the hell do you think you were doing attempting a vision on your own like that?” Samuel seethed.

  Andrew shuffled his feet, his face taking on a pained look.

  “You knew about this, didn’t you, Andrew? You knew she could do this on her own. Why didn’t either of you tell me?” Samuel demanded.

  “She told Rachel and me, so there’s no cause for alarm,” Andrew tried to calm him.

  “Are you insane? You lied to me!”

  “Samuel, I decided not to tell you until I understood more about it. And I didn’t want to worry you.” Elizabeth calmed down and took his hand. “You’ve had so many changes and upheavals in your life. There was no reason to burden you with more. Please don’t blame Andrew or Rachel. They did what I asked.”

  Samuel let go of her hand and crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re done with this case. I’m handing everything we have over to the police.”

  “No!” Elizabeth stood up, knocking over the chair. “They’ll never find them in time!”

  “In time for what?”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “It’s just something I feel. Like time is running out. The way he talked. His arrogance. And now they have Rachel.”

  “She be one of the strongest mediums in the city, laddie. And if they be collecting the likes of us for some purpose . . .” Andrew shook his head. “We might be in a world of hurt that we don’t rightly understand yet.”

  Samuel paced around, then whirled and pointed his finger at Elizabeth. “Promise me you won’t enter a vision without Andrew present again.”

  Elizabeth hated to do it, but she did. “I promise.”

  “Fine. Now, is there anything else you need to tell me? I can’t work a case properly without all the information that is available. No matter how small it might be important.”

  Elizabeth thought about the entity that saved her. Convinced they would think her mad, she decided not to tell Samuel or Andrew about it. No need to worry them even more. But it was more than that. Right before the entity had hurled her back into her own body, it had put a spectral finger over its ghostly lips. Whatever it was, it understood the power of secrets just like she did.

  “If it’s important, I will tell you,” Elizabeth replied.

  17

  Jonathan arrived at the Capitol Building in Washington, DC, with two hours to spare before he was to be questioned by the Senate Committee on Foreign Defense. His allies on the committee had arranged for a steam-powered car to pick him up at the station then take him to his hotel. He could have taken an airship, but for such a short distance the train was faster. Besides, it would have given Tillenghast operatives a perfect opportunity to have him “accidentally” fall over the railing on one of the viewing decks if they were so incline
d.

  The Greek- and Roman-inspired federal buildings awed the tourists, but Jonathan’s frequent visits only reinforced his belief they were mausoleums for those who didn’t realize they were dead yet. Entrenched in the power and political structure of Washington, the other Great Houses were averse to change unless it involved making money or enhancing their status. Jonathan couldn’t fault them, but business was not for the faint of heart, and he thought it might be time for some new ideas. He hoped that he could use his relationship with the Abyssinians as a way to implement that.

  As he entered the rotunda with four Weldsmore guardsmen flanking him, he noticed that the statues of Grant and Lincoln had been removed, but Washington was still there. Statues were rotated in and out depending on the political climate, but General Washington always remained as well as the painting of the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown. Everyone knew it irritated the British ambassador, so it was kept as a constant reminder of England’s embarrassing loss. However, given the chance, every British envoy liked to point out that the Great States of America had lost the War of 1812 though they were reluctant to admit it.

  The tapping of heels coming in his direction caught his attention. A young clerk in his early twenties dressed in the traditional bureaucratic black wool suit with two bands of copper wire sewn into the cuffs of his pants walked toward him. Most of the clerks came from Middle Districts throughout the country, but on occasion the third or fourth son of a Great House was assigned to the Capitol since their chance at inheriting was slim and they needed an occupation. It was a good way to educate one of their own who might eventually be elected to the House or the Senate.

  The man stopped short and gave Jonathan a quick bow. “Mr. Weldsmore.” He ignored the guardsmen as he glanced around, looking for something or someone. “Will your secretary be accompanying you?”

  “No.” Jonathan had left Mr. Evans in Boston and out of the committee’s reach. No sense volunteering a potential witness when he hadn’t even been summoned. Besides, he hated dragging along a bunch of useless assistants

  The clerk’s eyes narrowed. Jonathan could almost hear the man thinking out loud. Jonathan knew the man was trying to figure out what kind of tactic he was using. The clerk quickly gave up.

  “Your security must remain here. If you would please follow me.”

  Jonathan gestured for his men to stay in the rotunda. Carrying his briefcase, he walked a few feet behind his escort as he led the way to one of the committee rooms. The marble floors echoed their footsteps. Only one other clerk passed them, which he found odd. It was quiet for the middle of the week.

  “Are you on recess?” Jonathan asked.

  “Of a sort, sir,” the clerk answered over his shoulder as he approached a large oak door. He reached for the knob, pulled it open, and held it for Jonathan to enter.

  A long rectangular room with a matching table that could seat over twenty men sat in the middle. Two cascading crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, which set off the baroque murals of Constantine Brumidi in all their glory. Jonathan had been here before and found both the room and the murals to be ostentatious. Baroque artwork gave him a headache.

  What surprised him was the lack of the usual flunkies who normally surrounded the seven men and one woman who sat on the committee. Each was a long-standing member of the Senate, and all held positions of influence within their own Houses. The two who held the most sway were Everett Du Pont of House Du Pont and Bai Zhou, the lone woman and chairman from House Zhou in California. Jonathan had a cordial relationship with Miss Zhou, but he did not consider her an ally. A ship-building family like his, the Zhous focused their energy on expanding the Asian market, and they had yet to come into conflict. He knew it was only a matter of time before they became a threat to one another, but he hoped they would be able to work out a mutually beneficial deal before then.

  The oldest on the committee and an expert negotiator, Zhou was a stickler for protocol, which should work in his favor. Everett was smart but not as smart as her, and even though he was an ally of House Weldsmore, Jonathan had seen the Du Ponts make some serious mistakes, much like House Carnegie. He had no doubt it would come back to haunt them in the future.

  The rest of the committee was comprised of George Eastman from New York, Hank Carroll from Texas, Ernesto Garza from Arizona, Edwin Stellmacher from Oregon, William Hibbard from Illinois, and Justin Butler from Georgia. Senator Butler was one of three half Negroes in the Senate. Jonathan had had business dealings with all of them or the Minor Houses that were allied with them from time to time. Hibbard was a lackey for Tillenghast even though they were technically a Great House. They had been taken over in everything but name by the Tillenghast family during the House Wars. Jonathan suspected that House Tillenghast continued to prop them up to use them in situations like these so their influence was not quite so obvious to the outside observer. The government had to at least give the appearance of being unbiased to its citizens. It helped prevent revolutions.

  “Mr. Weldsmore.” Hibbard smiled. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. We wouldn’t have asked you here if it weren’t important. Please sit. We had water, coffee, and tea brought in.” He gestured to the silver coffee and tea set in the middle of the table as Jonathan sat down. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Zhou burst out laughing. “Important? Nothing about this is important. You’re the one who dragged us here, Mr. Hibbard. Please inform the committee what is so critical that I had to miss my train and cancel my plans.”

  “I was wondering the same thing, William,” Everett chimed in. “Please enlighten us.”

  “I’ll ‘enlighten’ the damn lot of you. This bastard is doing business with the enemy,” Hank Carroll leaned forward on his elbows as he glared across the table at Jonathan. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, boy?”

  The Texan was broad shouldered, heavy set, and had a bulbous nose. At seventy-two years of age, he called any man younger than sixty “boy.”

  “So we are all clear, I’m assuming you are referring to the contracts I have to build ships for His Majesty, the King of Abyssinia,” Jonathan replied.

  “His Majesty, my ass. He’s just a jumped up n—”

  “Senator Carroll! That will be enough,” Zhou growled at him. “That language is unbecoming of a senator. And don’t think I don’t know what you call me behind my back. Besides, I have not brought this committee meeting to order.”

  The Texas senator sat back, folded his arms across his chest, and curled his upper lip. “Fine. Get on with it.”

  “I bring the Senate Committee on Foreign Defense to order,” Zhou announced. “Our first and only order of business is the legality of the contracts of House Weldsmore and the Abyssinian government. Please open your folders.”

  The lone clerk who attended the meeting passed around leather-bound folders to each of the senators as well as Jonathan. He opened it to discover a detailed report on his meetings and the two contracts he had with the Abyssinians: one for the ship he was building and one for the workers to be sent to Abyssinia to build a small fleet. He scanned the information and realized most of it had been gleaned from the newspaper article. Jonathan flipped through to the back and didn’t see anything damaging.

  Zhou and Eastman thumbed through it. Garza didn’t even bother to open his, though Butler took the time to get out a pen to mark his up while Stellmacher looked bored.

  “There is nothing against the law that says a Great House, or any business in our country, cannot conduct trade with a foreign government. We all do it.” Everett threw up his hands in exasperation. “Why are we even here?”

  “Because he’s a liar and a traitor!” Carroll shook his finger at Jonathan. “Just admit it, Weldsmore. You’d like to see this country run by European dandies and so-called African monarchies.”

  Jonathan did his best to keep a straight face throughout the Texan’s tirade.

  “I want to review these c
ontracts in more detail,” Senator Butler announced in his soothing southern accent. “I suggest we recess.”

  Senator Eastman scratched his balding head in frustration. “We don’t have time for that. This whole thing is ridiculous.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Zhou interjected.

  “But he hid them from us!” Carroll yelled. “What else can he be hiding?”

  Zhou frowned. “Mr. Weldsmore made these deals public at the appropriate time. Do you make your deals public before all parties have come to an agreement, Senator Carroll?”

  “Senator Zhou is correct,” Garza interjected, his Spanish accent cutting through the din. “House Weldsmore has done nothing that risks the security of this country. And that is the question at hand, is it not?”

  Jonathan watched as Garza gave him a nod of understanding. He didn’t know much about the youngest member of the committee, which was something he’d have to rectify. Garza had the demeanor of a man who wanted more for his House and was willing to show his allegiance when it counted. House Garza had become a Great House a mere twenty years ago, so it was still young in the hierarchy, and allying itself with an older and more prestigious House would benefit it.

  “He’s hiding something. I can smell it.” Senator Carroll grumbled.

  “We are all hiding something, Hank.” Everett remarked. “Can we call this a wash and go home? I have a play to catch in New York tonight.” The senator from New York slid his chair away from the table.

  “Yes.” Zhou nodded. “All who agr—”

  “I abstain,” Butler announced.

  “Very well.” Zhou sighed and made a note in her agenda book. “Once again, all who agree that House Weldsmore is in compliance with the Foreign Defense Act of 1868, please raise your right hand.”

  As the four hands of Zhou, Du Pont, Garza, and Eastman shot up, Edwin Stellmacher cleared his throat in such a manner as to make everyone groan.