A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [20]
She ran to her room and opened a jewelry box, plucking out a beautiful pearl rosary that had been a gift from the convent where she was raised. Before their recent battle, Michael had blessed these beads with the additional power of his gift. They were resonant with peace and love, and when Percy squeezed them in her hand, her heart was fortified, her own gift at the ready.
“Come now, Vicar, Headmistress . . . Let there be light.”
Chapter Six
Michael was alone in the foyer of Athens Academy. He whirled. “Rebecca?”
“She’ll be all right. You’re on separate journeys. Parallel, but separate. Billy, the boy from the chandelier, has asked me to help.”
Michael looked down to behold the small voice’s owner. The ghost of a little girl reached up and tried to take his hand, but her own passed through. She stared for a moment, then up at him. “Hello, Father.”
Michael blinked, processing this new development. “I can hear you.”
“For now,” she said.
“This is what was foretold to me?” he clarified.
She nodded.
Michael recognized the girl. He’d just seen her at Charlie’s bedside, at the orphanage, whispering and murmuring about him. Little Mary, he recalled. She’d been in the orphanage all her life, quite ill for most of it. He’d always regretted that he wasn’t there when she died. He’d been out saving another little girl from malevolent spectral possession. Would that doctors had such skills to cast out influenza.
Little Mary, in her drab orphanage dress, smiled. “It’s all right, Father, you always blame yourself. It isn’t your fault when we die. I knew you were with me, in spirit.” She grinned at her little joke.
Michael reached out to touch her cheek but met only cold mist. The girl was right: he did always feel responsible, wishing there was some part of the Grand Work that extended to healing sick children. He’d assuaged his need by offering Jane the key to the orphanage, and every now and then she’d worked a few healing wonders inconspicuous enough to avoid arousing suspicion. It also kept the children believing in angels, which he felt was an invaluable service to the church. He believed in angels, though he couldn’t recall ever meeting one. He didn’t figure Percy counted, being flesh and blood and all.
“Come,” the little girl said. “We must have you take a look at things.”
There was a crushing darkness as all light was expunged from the chapel. There was a fierce wind and strange noises, whispering, so much whispering. But then everything went silent, slowly brightened, and Rebecca again found herself in the dim afternoon haze of the chapel.
But Michael was gone.
“Michael?” she gasped, whirling to find herself alone with a ghost. A young woman floated before her, in slightly dated fashion and ringlet curls about her lovely, hollowed face.
“Hello, Headmistress,” the haunt said with an eager expression.
Rebecca blinked. They weren’t supposed to hear spirits! Only Percy had been able to do that. Was she going mad?
The ghost anticipated her. “You’ve spent your life in service to this world and the next. Your entire group has earned a good rest, though I daresay none of you are prepared to enjoy it. Now it’s our turn. Your powers have retired. Now we have power over you.”
Rebecca’s blood ran cold. “Where’s Michael?”
“Safe.”
“But where have you taken him?” Rebecca insisted. “If you—”
The ghost held up a hand. “Only the good of our kind have power over you at present, so do not fear. But you’ve separate journeys this night, ere you again stand side by side. And, be careful of the bent of your heart, for shadows are close at hand.”
Rebecca shuddered, unsure what the woman meant.
The spirit smiled. “Your safety shall be monitored.