"Frauds."
Olivia Dunne stubbed out the last of her small black cigar and repeated her conclusion.
"They're frauds. These women are nothing more than confidence tricksters. You can see that, can't you?"
Alice Blakeley pushed a lock of coppery hair off her forehead with a gloved finger, and bit her lip. She hated to think that Dunne was right, but the woman's reputation as England's most brilliant detective suggested that this was more than just a casual opinion.
"But the Heron Sisters are the talk of London!" she cried. "Mr. Wilde has touted their abilities, and even Lord Tennyson is said to have consulted them. So many people have said that they…I… I… want to believe them." In fact, she wanted it so badly she ached. "My… my sister… when she… left me here…"
"When she died." Dunne's voice was cool, but not unsympathetic. She shifted her perch on the corner of her large polished desktop, and ran a palm across the smooth dark-chestnut hair that was bunched into a thick bun at the back of her head. "I know it hurts, but she's gone. She died. Everyone does. And for these people to pretend that they can put you in touch with her verges on the criminal."
"Well, it's actually not criminal until they take money for it." Alice glanced sideways at the bespectacled blond young woman sitting beside her, who had spoken. "At this point, they-"
"Thank you, Eden." Dunne smiled wryly as she cut off her eager young assistant. "We can get into the legal niceties if I decide to take the case."
Eden Carstairs seemed completely nonplussed by the rebuke, nodding a cheerful "Of course," back at Dunne.
Just the way I remember Eden from school, Alice recalled. Always positive, always thinking. That her old school friend was now the assistant and confidante to the great Olivia Dunne had seemed an extraordinary stroke of luck, but now the detective seemed to be dousing her hopes.
"Now, let me sum up." Dunne slid her long legs off the desk, and began to tick off points on slender fingers whose perfect nails were devoid of any trace of polish. "Your sister Ida and her husband were lost at sea. They had no children, and left their substantial estate to you. Shortly after this was made public, you were approached by a representative of these 'Heron Sisters', and informed that they had made contact with your sister from beyond the grave, and that they told you that Ida wished you to use the bequest to fund the Heron sisters' work in 'exploring' the spirit realm. Is that about right?"
"Well, yes," Alice nodded. "I don't really need the money myself, as our late father's estate left both myself and my sister comfortably provided--"
"Then use the money to endow a college or hospital," Dunne interrupted. "Don't give it to these charlatans."
"But what if they're not?" Alice pleaded. "Mircea Heron's message implied that my sister told her many things which only she would know--"
"Doubtless. This is standard practice for all of these mountebanks. They find out things you would swear were known to you alone, and 'reveal' this at their séances, during which time they are supposedly incapacitated: usually trussed up and gagged in one of their 'spirit cabinets.' The genuinely clever ones devise ways of manipulating their environment while appearing unable to do so: they are skilled at escaping their bonds long enough to lift or rap something, to activate a lever or wire with a finger or toe, sound a ghostly trumpet, then refasten the restraints as if they had never been disturbed." She smiled wryly. "The lazy ones just have a concealed confederate or two to create the effects while they remain seemingly helpless."
"But--"
"Miss Blakeley," Dunne cut her off again. "I agreed to see you because you are an old friend of my exuberant protege. My time is valuable, and I can see no point in wasting it, so I will simply reiterate my point: these women are frauds. If you wish to give them money, by all means do so, but don't do it under the illusion that they will put you in communication with your late sister."
Alice blinked back tears. "Then prove it!" She gulped in breath. "If you're so certain that they are attempting to deceive me, then demonstrate that. Unmask them if they are so wicked!"
Dunne sighed. She looked from the determined countenance of her young visitor to the disappointed scowl on Eden's face. Incredible: the twentieth century about to dawn, with the potential for a new age of enlightenment, and these two women still believe in ghost stories.
"Miss Blakeley. I employ my talents and intellect to unravel complex, and frequently dangerous, puzzles related to criminal activity that baffles the minds of Scotland Yard. In this, I endeavor to help ensure the safety of the realm and its citizens, and to provide my brain with challenges stern enough to keep me stimulated. Your problem exhibits none of these characteristics, since you are free to patronize these so-called 'mystics' or not, as you choose; you are in no danger and under no compulsion. However," she went on over objections from both women, "as a favor to Miss Carstairs, I will agree to look into this. When are you to see these Heron sisters?"
"Why… Friday night. The 31st. I am to participate in a séance to contact Ida."
Dunne raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "Halloween? And that bit of irony hasn't persuaded you that this is all a giant sham?" She shook her head. "Never mind. No matter. You will attend the séance as scheduled. Miss Carstairs will accompany you in the guise of your secretary. She will report back to me with her observations that we may pursue the case fully."
"But… she… I mean--you're not going to attend?"
"I have other engagements," Dunne told her briskly. "But you know Miss Carstairs at least as well as I do: she's bright and observant. She will bring me the information I need to act. That is the best I can offer."
After more protests melted into resigned acceptance, Miss Blakeley left, and Eden Carstairs rounded on her friend.
"Honestly, Olivia--what could be so important that you can't accompany us?"
Dunne shrugged. "You know that, from time to time, I take on cases relating to Crown security, for which I must work alone."
Eden frowned. "I notice you don't directly SAY that's why you're not coming. I think it's because you refuse to keep an open mind on this subject."
"The subject of cheap hucksterism?"
"No, the subject of the afterlife!"
"Eden, please, I'm a woman of science, and I hope to make one of you, as well."
"You speak of 'science' as if it were some monolithic creation instead of an ongoing process of learning and growing." Eden leapt up and paced the room, gesturing with her hands, blue eyes wide behind her spectacles. "Why, just look at the advances we have seen in recent years in medicine, transportation, astronomy. Even curing smallpox was always possible, but it didn't happen until science discovered HOW to do it. And communication with those who have passed this mortal plane will always be thought impossible until a serious mind like yours actually investigates it!" She paused, breathless, and blushed. "Oh, Olivia… I'm sorry, I just-"
"I know," the great detective smiled indulgently. "You have a wonderful imagination, Eden. It's one of the things I value most in our partnership. If I seem too cynical about such things, your willingness to believe serves as a great counterbalance." She sighed. "It is my belief that this whole case is just another in a long line of confidence swindles; if nothing else, the fact that they have set their sights on your friend's new fortune is highly suggestive. But go with an open mind. Observe carefully what you see and hear. If there is chicanery afoot, I have no doubt that you will honestly report that to me. And if, by chance, you find that the evening does, truly, produce phenomena which cannot be explained… well, then we will examine it in more detail."
**
The following morning, Olivia Dunne descended briskly from a hansom cab under a grey London sky, instructing the driver to wait, and mounted the steps to the rambling three-story manse that evidently housed the Heron Sisters… and their co-conspirators, as Olivia had no doubt that anyone in the womens' employ was serving as either a confederate or a shill in perpetrating the sham séances. The Mayfair address had confirmed to Olivia that the women were making a more than comfortable living off their "clients."
Olivia hated to deceive Eden and Miss Blakeley by keeping this visit secret from them, but she had been genuinely surprised at the evident depth of Eden's beliefs; it would do her young apprentice good to confront this case on her own… or, at least, to think she was doing so on her own. Of course, Olivia would never truly leave her friend hanging… but by remaining "behind the scenes," so to speak, she would provide an excellent opportunity for Eden to begin to fledge, and perhaps learn a thing or two about such hoaxes. That is, if it actually came to that: it was Olivia's intention that this visit should snip the ludicrous deception at the bud.
Olivia was dressed for the day in a dark suit cut in a trimly mannish style that almost-but not quite-concealed the womanly curves of her figure, with a short cape to match. A beaver-pelt hat perched atop her thickly bunned chestnut hair, and she carried a knobbed walking stick, which she used to rap on the door.
The man that answered was a startling sight: a good six and a half feet tall, his head shaved completely bald, the features of his face seeming swollen into a fright mask. Acromegaly, Olivia mentally diagnosed, as the man held open the door with a hand the size of Olivia's head. The poor devil is likely employed here for the purpose of frightening others with his affliction. Yet another debit in the Heron Sisters' column.
"I'm here to see the Misses Heron," Olivia declared. The man began a protest, but Olivia thrust a card into his enormous hand. "Doubtless they don't receive visitors unannounced. But I assure you they will receive me." He glanced down at it, and grunted. Olivia had taken the liberty of using the card with the Queen's seal which she generally reserved for when she was on official business, but it seemed a harmless way to expedite a matter she hoped to finish quickly.
"Wait here." The man's voice was an intimidating rumble, and Olivia reflected that he was probably already suffering greatly in the ravages of the disease, and likely doubled as a particularly bad-tempered bullyboy for the fraudsters, as well as a doorman. If Olivia's visit today proved unsuccessful, this behemoth would be an important factor to keep in mind.
After a few moments, the giant returned and wordlessly ushered Olivia into the presence of his mistresses.
She was shown into a comfortably-furnished office, with no obvious mystical trappings or appurtenances. Doubtless there was a salon in the house reserved for the hokum; but from here, the whole enterprise felt more businesslike than supernatural, thus reinforcing Olivia's conviction that what was happening here was more mercenary than mystical.
The room was occupied by three women, all regarding her intently as she entered.
Behind the desk was a voluptuous brunette, probably near fifty but still more than handsome, with no real hint of running to fat, either in her figure or her sharply observant face with its limpid brown eyes. Coal-black hair with thin streaks of white was piled in ringlets on her head, and her face had an almost Mediterranean tanned complexion. From what Alice Blakeley had told Olivia, this was Mircea Heron: the "true sensitive" of the pair of sisters.
Standing at her shoulder, just straightening up from a whispered conference, must be the other sister… if indeed they were sisters, as Sabinia Heron bore surprisingly little resemblance to Mircea. She appeared the slightly older of the two, but with a whippet-lean figure that was outfitted in a pearl-grey suit, with collar and cravat, even more masculine than Olivia's. Her hair was a short shock of steel grey that matched the bleak pallor of her eyes. She slipped a cigarette holder from her thin mouth and dismissed the doorman: "Thank you, Sykes." She then addressed a somewhat younger woman that Olivia took to be a secretary: skinny to the point of boniness, with short, tightly curled red hair and small, suspicious-looking brown eyes.
"Grizelda, we will need a record of this meeting." As the ginger-haired secretary went to her own desk to get pen and paper, Sabinia turned pale eyes on their caller.
"Olivia Dunne." She pronounced the visitor's name without inflection.
"You have no doubt heard of me," Olivia addressed the women, coming straight to the point.
"Who has not?" Mircea spoke up from her seat, with an accent that was slight, and sufficiently difficult to place that Olivia filed it away as an imposture. "The papers are so often full of your investigative exploits."
"Then you know the danger to anyone who crosses my path with criminal intent." Olivia studied the faces for some hint of reaction, but naturally, such talented performers would be well schooled in keeping their feelings hidden.
"One might almost consider that an accusation," Sabinia put in. "And you're making it before witnesses."
"I can think of no better way to describe your attempts to prey upon Miss Blakeley."
"Miss Blakeley's case is a most interesting one," began Sabinia. "My sister's gift of sensitivity--"
"Enough!" Olivia snapped. "While I would gladly rid the world of frauds like you who prey on the gullible and foolish, I have not the time for such an enterprise, and no wish to prolong this or to cause undue pain to Miss Blakeley."
She took a step closer to the desk, glancing at Sabinia, but saving her ire for Mircea and her supposed "gifts." She regarded the medium with contempt.
"I'm prepared to be generous with you. I would have preferred to have you cancel your appointment with the young woman, but that would just leave her in the throes of cruel doubt. Instead, you will give Miss Blakeley her 'reading.' You will tell her that her sister has found peace in the hereafter, and that worldly concerns like money are no longer of interest to her; she is ready to move on and be at peace. You will then charge Miss Blakeley your standard fee, you will refuse any possible offer of more, and will have no further contact with her." Olivia grimaced. "I frankly find even that level of deception to be distasteful, but I think we can consider it a form of 'white lie' in this case, that will be less distressing to Miss Blakely than the truth."
Mircea Heron responded with what sounded almost like sincerity. "And why would I deprive Miss Blakeley of the opportunity to realize her poor departed sister's desire to support my work?"
"Because…" Olivia's eyes narrowed. "In my career as an investigator, I have become quite well versed in every form of medium trickery there is." She glanced at Sabinia, to ensure that her threats were clearly understood by both women. "And should you deviate even slightly from the path that I have outlined here, you will find yourselves exposed in the press, your secrets revealed, and your attempts at blackmail divulged to the police. I have no wish to waste my energies on the destruction of your petty schemes, but if you set me in that direction, you may rest assured I will not be swayed from it."
"Indeed." Sabinia nodded to the secretary. "I presume you got all that down, Grizelda?"
The red-haired young woman nodded grimly.
"Excellent," Olivia snapped. "Then we shall consider the matter concluded."
There was a long pause, with Olivia uncomfortably aware of the presence of the giant doorman at her back. Finally, Sabinia Heron took another puff at her cigarette, and smiled.
"I suppose we have no choice, then, but to accede to your demands."
"None," agreed the detective, and turned to Grizelda. "Good to know that you got all that," she sniffed.
She sent steely grey eyes around the room, and was met with a blank stare from the doorman, a resentful glare from the secretary, and a quizzical expression from Mircea Heron that was as hard to read as her tone of voice had been: was it possible that she was something less than a complete fraud? Or, at least, that she believed herself to be? Sabinia's face was easier to read: it was the supremely confident expression of the predator, certain of her ability to overcome her prey; Olivia uncomfortably recognized in the woman's expression a calculating strength that she often saw in her own mirror when in the throes of the hunt. Giving the barest nod, the detective strode out.
Back in the cab, Olivia lit up a small cigar and mentally appraised the situation:
Their attitude betrays bluster, but no denials, and no sign of surrender, either. Mircea may or may not be more than she seems, but Sabinia is the real danger. She's a cagey one. I fear that she's going to try to call my bluff, assuming that her hold over Miss Blakeley is strong enough to defy me. Maybe it's best to just let them go through with the farce, and give them enough rope to hang themselves. She sighed. It seemed she would have to take a direct hand, after all.
**
Alice Blakeley's coach deposited her and her "secretary" at the front of the Heron sisters' house just as the sun was beginning to set on a fog-shrouded All Hallow's Eve. Mounting the steps, and sounding the bell, Eden focused on keeping a confident, but controlled attitude; she must show her old friend an objective outlook, not one of either credulity or disbelief.
As they waited for a response, Eden again had to work to fight down the resentment at Olivia's not being here. While this was hardly the first time she'd been kept in the dark about the detective's plans, she had never before been thrust into the role of sole investigator as a result. She tried to be flattered that Olivia had that much confidence in her, but she was feeling uneasy at the prospect of facing the unknown without her friend at her side. For all that she tried to place her confidence in Olivia's rational appraisal of what she was to see tonight, entering a house supposedly replete with mystic energy and spirits of the dead was an unsettling thing to be doing on a chilly Halloween night.
Her confidence wasn't bolstered by the sight of the huge man who opened the door to them. She tried to put aside her unease at his strange appearance, but when she met his eyes directly, she found a dark ugliness that had nothing to do with his physical deformity.
"Miss Blakeley." The mellifluous voice came from a tall woman with short grey hair who had materialized at the man's shoulder. "And you have brought a companion. Miss…?"
It actually took Eden a moment to recall that she was here under an assumed name, until Alice returned the greeting.
"Yes. I am Alice Blakeley, and Miss Jones is my secretary and confidant."
The woman's expression flickered briefly with displeasure--probably due to my unexpected presence, Eden thought--but she quickly followed that with a thin smile.
"I am Sabinia Heron. We are so delighted to be able to assist you in communicating with your beloved sister. Won't you accompany me, so that we may begin our preparations?"
Alice glanced over at Eden, as if looking to the young apprentice detective for assurance. Eden's stomach began to roil at the weight of the responsibility, but she lifted her chin, and gave a wink in response, hoping that it conveyed more confidence than she actually felt. The huge doorman took their cloaks, hats, and gloves, and Eden found herself nervously patting her blond hair into place atop her head, and fiddling with her spectacles, as a way to keep her hands busy. Not a good sign; relax, Eden. Olivia's counting on you!
**
If the entryway of the house had seemed benign and ordinary, the parlor into which they were escorted was the opposite: no more appropriate setting for a Halloween gathering could be imagined. The room was dimly lit, solely by a few candles. The chairs were of heavy wood and leather, appearing more imposing than comfortable. Tapestries and paintings that sported unsettling mystic symbols adorned the walls, and the candles appeared to give off a heady scent that Eden couldn't place.
Dominating the room, from the center of the left-hand wall, was what appeared to be a large wardrobe made of some heavy wood: mahogany, perhaps. A "spirit cabinet," Eden knew, from her research. For the séance, the medium would be placed in that cabinet, locked away from the outside world, and presumably unable to produce any tricks or deceptions; supposedly, the isolation would also better enable her to serve as the "medium" between this world and the next.
"Miss Blakeley." The two women jumped at the throaty purr of a voice that greeted them from behind.
Eden admonished herself for failing to notice Mircea Heron's entry. She's capable of subtlety, just like her sister; I've go to keep my eyes open.
The shapely brunette's figure was draped in an outfit of white blouse and heavy silks, and festooned with strings of beads that seemed to be reinforcing the notion of a Gypsy heritage.
"Miss Heron. How nice to meet you at last!" Alice's enthusiasm seemed nervous to the point of giddiness--hardly surprising since she was anticipating a reunion with her late sister. And for all that she planned to keep an open mind, Eden wondered if that might be just a little bit too easy to believe, in this environment of spiritual suggestiveness.
"And this is my secretary, Miss Car--Jones!" Alice blurted, and Eden prayed that the woman hadn't noticed the slip of the tongue. Mircea Heron cast an appraising eye over the young investigator, and for a moment Eden felt as though she'd been stripped naked, with her identity plain for anyone to see. But the medium gave no sign of alarm, simply shrugging.
"This is most unusual: generally, our clients inform us in advance if they are bringing extra visitors into our home." She glanced at Sabinia, who nodded solemnly.
Alice and Eden both blushed at the rebuke, but the woman went on.
"However, since I have no doubt that Miss Blakeley will wish to share tonight's events with her friends and associates, I think we may permit Miss… Jones… to join us… under certain conditions."
"Conditions?" Eden cursed the squeak in her voice. Mircea Heron nodded.
"Sabinia will see to the preparations, to help ensure that nothing which happens tonight can be construed as trickery on my part--or anyone else's." She turned to Alice. "It is essential to your belief that neither I, nor your assistant, could possibly be in a position to affect events in this room. Therefore, I will be placed inside that spirit cabinet, bound and gagged, before the manifestations begin. Miss Jones will be seated in that chair, there… secured in the same manner."
It took a moment for the penny to drop; then Eden blurted out "Wait… I'm to be bound and gagged?"
Mircea Heron shrugged again. "It is vital that Miss Blakeley see that no other hand can interfere with the activities of the spirits: neither mine nor yours."
"Of course," Sabinia broke in, "you can wait out in the foyer, or have your driver take you home if you prefer."
If the woman thought she could put Eden Carstairs off, she had another think coming: no matter the discomfort or danger, she was certainly not going to return to Olivia with a story of running and hiding.
"Very well." Eden drew herself up to her full five feet four inches. "I will submit to your procedures, even though there is no need: I am as anxious as Miss Blakeley to have only the truth emerge here tonight."
"No doubt," murmured Sabinia Heron dryly. She gestured to the chairs. "If you will both be seated." As the two visitors placed themselves into two of the heavy wooden chairs, Mircea crossed to the large wooden cabinet, and opened it, to reveal the interior.
"As you can see, there are no mechanisms, no devices. I will be completely alone and unable to produce any manifestations save those that come directly from the spirit world."
As Mircea spoke, her sister opened a sideboard, and from a drawer pulled out what appeared to be a quantity of long silken scarves, in a variety of unusually dark, muted colors; the candlelight reflected off them like the glow in a dark glass of wine, and the scarves floated sinuously as Sabinia carried them to her sister, reminding Eden of nothing less than small, dark, malevolent ghosts. She handed one of the scarves to Mircea, who held it up at chin level.
"This will ensure that no voice will be heard tonight, save that of your beloved Ida." With that, she placed the material into her open mouth, between her teeth, and pulled it into place; the scarf was long enough to go around her head a second time, and after wrapping it across her face again, she knotted it at the back of her head.
While Eden watched the performance, Sabinia had come to stand beside her chair; the tall woman reached beneath the right arm of Eden's chair, and surprised the young detective when she produced a small, thick leather belt that was fastened to the bottom of the chair arm. Before Eden had a chance to object, the strap was drawn up over the chair arm, and Eden's right hand was locked in place as Sabinia buckled the leather around her wrist.
Eden squirmed uncomfortably. Her apprehension about the evening was growing by the minute; she was beginning to be very uneasy about placing herself in the hands of these women and their minions, and there was something she couldn't place--some ineffable feeling of dread--that was overtaking her.
And none of her fears were allayed as her left wrist was also fastened down to the arm of the chair; experimental wiggling of her fingers confirmed that her hands would remain in place until such time as her hostess decided to release them.
"And now, Miss Blakeley, if you will…?" Sabinia Heron had produced a long coil of some kind of light-colored cord, and handed it out to Alice. "You shall have the opportunity to see to it that my sister is completely unable to produce any effects on her own."
Alice gave an uncertain glance at Eden, who scowled momentarily--what in Hades does she expect from me, trussed up in this chair??--but then gave back a nod in response.
"We've come this far. Let's see it through."
Mircea Heron turned her back to Alice, offering her hands for binding. Uncertainly, the young woman began to loop cord around the crossed wrists. The medium hunched, then relaxed her shoulders, as though settling into a familiar pattern.
Which it probably is, Eden reflected. Any woman who is bound on a regular basis, as she must be, is likely practiced at escapes. Well, at least it seems unlikely that Alice will be tying any trick knots that would allow for quick release.
Once Alice had finished tying the medium's wrists, she looked to Sabinia for guidance.
"Go ahead and restrain her arms, too," the woman suggested. "I can assure you that Mircea will gladly endure a bit of discomfort if it will help to persuade a client of her bona fides." The gagged Mircea nodded her agreement.
Alice gingerly looped more of the supple cord around Mircea's upper arms, tugging lightly at first, until the medium flexed her back and pushed her arms even closer together, encouraging the bonds to be drawn yet tighter. Alice complied, tying the woman's upper arms together, elbows nearly touching, and from under the gag came a gasp, and a low murmur of what might have been satisfaction.
The baffled Alice turned to Sabinia, who nodded as though at a promising pupil.
"That's fine. Now if you'll help Mircea into the cabinet."
Alice put a hand on one of Mircea's bound arms, and the medium stepped up into the cabinet, turning and regarding her audience now with eyes that, to Eden, had an oddly dreamy quality. The bound detective was beginning to wonder how on earth she was to separate the woman's natural showmanship from any genuinely supernatural phenomenon that might be produced here tonight. And the overpowering sense of anxiety that continued to suffuse her mind wasn't helping.
At Sabinia's direction, Alice was now affixing Mircea in place on the chair. She ran cord around the woman's pinioned left arm, then back through the rail of the chair back. The end came around and made a similar circle around the right arm, so that Mircea's arms were now separately tied to each other, and to the heavy wooden chair. The medium squirmed a bit to fit her bound wrists between her back and the chair, and Sabinia had Alice anchor them to the chair, as well.
The woman's lap was next, tied down to the chair seat, followed by more cord encircling each leg, then pulling it back against one of the legs of the chair, tied at calf and ankle.
From her vantage, it seemed to Eden that Mircea's bonds weren't quite as secure as the straps at her own wrists… or the thick leather belt that Sabinia now brought around from the back of the chair and buckled, fastening her up against the back of the chair.
"Eden…" Alice's voice betrayed her concern, and Eden had a hunch that the same eerie feeling of dread that had descended on her was affecting her friend, too. She did her best to return a look that said "stiff upper lip!", but which did nothing to relieve her own unease, heightened as Sabinia's voice came from behind her.
"And now for your gag, Miss Carstairs: no voice but dear Ida's must speak to Miss Blakeley."
"But my hands are bound," Eden protested. "How can I gag myself--urrkk!"
Her question was cut off as she felt a huge knot of silk jammed between her teeth, and yanked sharply back, letting the thick fabric wad fill her mouth near to choking. Sabinia had evidently balled up one of the scarves in her hand, and was now using another of them to secure the first one in place. The ends of the scarf were pulled tightly around Eden's head, and knotted twice, one atop the other, causing her head to begin aching.
Eden's eyes were beginning to water behind her spectacles, and her stomach roiled with what was fast becoming deep fear. She watched as Sabinia stood by the door to the spirit cabinet, As she did so, Mircea Heron regarded her small audience over her gag, with an expression that suggested she was already in the throes of something unearthly.
Sabinia turned to address Alice, who was looking less reassured, and more anxious, by the minute.
"As you see," she purred. "Both Mircea and your secretary are bound and gagged, so there can be no interference. My sister will now summon the spirit of your beloved Ida, and neither she or Miss Jones will interfere with your interaction with her." And with that, she closed the door to the cabinet.
Sabinia stepped out of Eden's line of sight, and evidently extinguished some of the candles; the pungent odor of their smoking wicks was making her positively queasy, and she bit down on her gag to suppress the nausea. The light in the room was now barely enough to see by; she could make out Alice sitting perched on the edge of her chair, biting her lip. In the darkness, Eden fancied that she heard a sound… a tapping? The tapping was joined now by an eerie, distant wailing; it seemed that neither sound could possibly be coming from the bound and gagged woman locked away in the cabinet. The hairs on the back of Eden's neck began to prickle… when the cabinet seemed almost to raise itself from the floor and land with a thump, the sounds began to intensify, and, from behind her, Sabinia blew out the last candle, leaving the room in darkness… save for a dim, greenish light that was beginning to emerge around the edges of the cabinet. And it was more than leather straps that now kept Eden frozen in place.