A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [37]
Michael’s face darkened. “What do you mean, she’s ‘inside’?”
“Inside the Whisper-world. The Liminal, to be exact. It’s dangerous, but that’s where a soul best gets changed. Would you like to go? Do you need to go? Or might we move on to the next phase of this ridiculous and beautiful production?”
Michael shook his head, and his fists clenched. “The Whisper-world? We’re not meant to go in there. That was the whole point of the war of the spirits—that we couldn’t go in, that Alexi couldn’t run in after Percy, that we’ll go mad if we go in. What do you mean you’ve taken her in? I’ll go in after her and get her out!” He prepared to run inside the gaping portal.
Jane made a motion and the portal snapped closed behind her. “Why, Vicar Carroll, such spirit,” she said.
Michael eyed her with desperation. “You know I’d do anything for Rebecca. Always would have.”
“Except say that you love her,” Jane accused.
“I did! Much too late, but I did! Can’t that count for something? Where is she? Promise me she’s not in danger.”
“Michael, my dear, if anyone was suited for the mental rigours of the Whisper-world, it’s our headmistress. You, dear heart, would be destroyed by the sadness of that place. You’d be unable to break free; it would cripple and scar you forever. Let this moment be. Let her be. Focus on yourself.”
“When can I see her?”
“Momentarily. I promise.”
The tension in Michael’s shoulders eased, and his fists un-curled. Jane would never leave Rebecca without recourse. He stared at the greyscale spirit, noting how only colour and transparency differentiated her from when she lived.
“Oh, goodness, what is it now?” she said, smiling as his eyes welled with tears. She’d always loved his sentimentalism but teased him for it.
“It’s so very good to see you,” he explained. “I think the idea of the Grand Work made us take for granted how much we care for one another. Are you well? Are you at peace? It’s so frightfully good to see you, but I didn’t mean to rouse you as we prayed at your—”
Jane drew her cold fingers across his eyes, and the draft dried Michael’s eyes. “I happily chose to linger on, to help make this right. And there’s only one thing I’ve left to do. Tell me, Vicar, are you ready to start again? It’s my favourite trick, this.”
She didn’t wait for a response when she snapped her fingers. In a blink, Michael was suddenly fourteen years old again, standing on a street corner and staring. He’d been summoned from his home as if by a great bell, knocked to the ground by a great wind, and his heart exploded with new sensations. His eyes were full of ghosts. It was the first day of the Grand Work, and he was living it.
Living it, indeed. He was no longer watching himself, as he’d done in Athens; he was in this memory. He stared down at his hands and flexed them, felt the vigour of youth pounding in his veins. His consciousness was fully aware, though these events happened years long past. With a little giggle he ran full tilt until he reached the crest of Westminster Bridge. If time and memory were both flexible, perhaps there were ways of making things right.
She was waiting, young and spindly-legged, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Strands of her brown hair were caressed by the wind, and she glanced around nervously, clutching her skirts and shifting from foot to foot. She’d been the first to arrive, the first of them anxiously awaiting destiny.
“Hello. I’m Rebecca,” she said. She opened her mouth to say something else but stopped, staring intently at him. Something on his face had stilled her.
Michael took a step forward. He reached for her hand, and she gave it willingly.
“Hello, Rebecca, I’m Michael,” he heard his young voice say. But his old heart shaped new words, released the thunderbolt of knowledge he felt but had once feared to utter. “And I will always love you.”
The young Rebecca gasped. She blushed furiously and smiled a welcoming smile.
History