Kenneth Oppel - Such Wicked Intent

“What do you mean, ‘an evil spirit’?” Elizabeth asks.

As if in answer the fog outside the windows intensifies and thumps menacingly against the glass, so hard that the panes actually rattle.

I hear Analiese gasp, and see her take a step back.

Once more the fog pounds at the glass like an angry fist, and I realize I am not frightened but strangely expectant, wondering:

What will happen if the glass breaks?

But the glass does not break, and I feel a curious disappointment when the windows stop their shaking and the fog disperses slightly, though nowhere near enough to allow any view.

“It has intent, no question,” says Elizabeth, not fearfully but with the same fascination I myself feel.

“It’s only what I was told, miss,” Analiese says, eyes averted humbly. “When I died and came here, there was only one other person in the house. She was one of the ladies of the house, and she was the one who told me about the devilish spirit and how we mustn’t let it in, lest we be tempted.”

“It’s like some great coiled serpent,” Konrad says uneasily, “hungry and waiting.”

Analiese continues, “And the lady said we must bide our time here, until we are gathered.”

“Gathered?” I say.

“Yes, sir. I saw it happen to her, not long after. A beautiful winged light, even brighter than yours, and musical, entered the house and wrapped itself around her, and she was gone.”

“Angels!” says Elizabeth, looking at me triumphantly.

Analiese smiles happily. “I think so too, miss! And I can only hope that my turn will come before long.”

At that moment two large black butterflies flutter into view, circling high over Elizabeth and me.

“What are they?” I ask Analiese.

“Oh, they’ve always been here I think, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ We’re a very liberal household, and you’re much older than me besides.”

Her eyes are still averted, showing her lovely long eyelashes to great advantage. “It’s habit, I’m afraid, sir, but I’ll try.” She looks up at the butterflies. “I’ve always thought of them as a kind of angelic presence, to keep us company and give us hope for the life to come.”

“I think you must be right,” Elizabeth remarks as one bobs down toward her. “They certainly don’t fear our light and heat.”

When it alights upon her shoulder, she gives a little gasp of delight, and her cheeks flush.

“So beautiful,” she breathes as the butterfly’s black wings radiate with color, and then it flutters away.

Elizabeth’s eyes meet mine briefly, then look away almost secretively. I hold out my hand, and the second butterfly lands upon me, and I feel the same surge of pleasure as the first time.

It lingers upon my finger, brilliantly glowing, and I feel a powerful calm settle over my mind-all its jumbled drawers and cluttered surfaces organized-and with it a great sense of strength and readiness, like a sprinter upon the start line.

“How much time is left us, Victor?” I hear Elizabeth ask.

With my free hand I take the spirit clock from my pocket. The skeletal leg has almost made its full revolution. Elizabeth draws closer to look and gives a sigh of disappointment.

“How does it work?” Konrad asks. “You still haven’t told me how you even got here!”

As Elizabeth explains, I suddenly remember Wilhelm’s handwritten instructions: “With practice the spirit clock can be manipulated.”

I put it to my ear and listen. Tick, tick, tick…

The butterfly is still perched upon my finger as I touch the clock face, above the skeletal bird leg.

Slow.

“What’re you doing with it, Victor?” Elizabeth asks.

And slower still.

I put it to my ear once more and listen intently. Tick… tick… tick…

“I think I’ve done it!” I exclaim.

“Done what?” Elizabeth asks.

“Slowed it down! Remember, the notebook said it could be done. It ticks slower now! I’ve bought us a little more time!”

I see Elizabeth gaze at Konrad with a look of such undisguised love and desire that I feel both awkward and jealous. I cannot watch.

“These butterflies,” I say to Analiese as mine flutters away, “they have a power to them.”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. They show no interest in me.”

“Nor me,” Konrad says.

“What about these noises you’ve heard in the house?” I ask my brother.

“I still hear them from time to time,” he says uneasily.

I turn to Analiese. She has a pretty habit, I notice, of absentmindedly stroking her earlobe, which draws attention to both her lovely throat and hair. “You’ve been here much longer. Do you know anything about this?”

“I’ve never seen anyone else in this house, sir, but I think I’ve heard the same sounds as your brother. Like someone who wants to wake up but can’t.”

“Are you frightened?” Elizabeth asks Konrad.

“No,” he says, and I know he’s lying.

“Then why’s there a rapier by the piano?” Elizabeth demands.

For a moment my twin says nothing. “It gives me peace of mind, foolish as it may be. Moment by moment I don’t know what to expect. Whether I’m to be gathered to heaven-or to hell.”

“No-,” Elizabeth says, shaking her head fervently.

Konrad cuts her off, a look of wildness in his eyes. “There’s a spirit outside the windows that wants to come in, and something inside that wants to wake. I doubt my rapier will make a difference, but if need be, I’ll wield it for all it’s worth.”

“I can’t bear it if you’re in any danger here,” Elizabeth says, aggrieved.

“I’ve not come to any harm here,” Analiese tells Konrad soothingly. “All will be well, sir, you’ll see.”

Konrad looks at her gratefully, and exhales with a nod. “Thank you, Analiese.”

I watch Elizabeth, her eyes moving between them. “It’s too unfair,” she says to my twin, “to have come so far and not be able to touch you.”

“Right now just seeing you and hearing your voice is great comfort,” he replies.

I feel a faint vibration in my pocket and remove the spirit clock to see the little clawed fist tap-tap-tapping against the glass.

“Our time is done now,” I say.

In dismay Elizabeth looks at me. “Get us more time!”

“It’s too late for that now,” I say.

“But I’m not ready to say good-bye!”

“Will you return?” Konrad asks, sounding bereft.

“I promise you,” I tell him. “But now we must go.”

“Where do you go, and how?” Konrad asks in frustration.

“To the place where we left our bodies in the real world. Come,” I say to Elizabeth, and she seems finally to understand my urgency, for her eyes move to the door. “Our bodies need us back.”

“Good-bye,” she says miserably, stretching out her hand toward Konrad. “I shouldn’t have come. It’s a torture to leave you again.”

I head for the door, into the hallway, and look back to make sure Elizabeth is following. Down the hall we hurry with our unnatural speed, no doubt blazing trails of light for Konrad and Analiese, who stand watching us from the doorway.

Entering my bedchamber, I falter, for it looks entirely different. The furniture is all in different places, and the pieces themselves are much grander and older. The walls pulse with different colors and paintings and tapestries.

“Victor,” I hear Elizabeth say, and when I glance at her, she touches the wall as if to steady herself. “What’s going on?”

“It’s the house, remembering itself,” I say in wonder. “Our living presence seems to agitate it.”

I look at the ornate carving of the grand canopied bed and see on the pillowcases the monogram WF.