A Summoning of Souls. Leanna Renee Hieber

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      Eve’s knees struck a soft bed of leaves, pine needles, and moss.

      “Hello, dear,” came a familiar, kind voice from behind.

      Eve, bent and kneeling, whirled her head around to see a tall, striking, and elegant woman of nearly seventy.

      Regal and fierce, Evelyn Northe-Stewart stood before her: powerful psychic, paranormal counselor, medium, philanthropist, visionary, and most of all, Eve’s best friend, ally, and grandmother. Wearing a magnificent House of Worth day dress with doubled green skirts and a royal-blue jacket with gold embroidery, her waves of white hair were swept up beneath a satin hat with flourishes, feathers, and tulle. Seeing the woman for whom she was named was like dawn breaking after a long, dark night.

      “Gran!” Eve tried to run to her beloved mentor, but her body didn’t cooperate. She fell on a bed of leaves. When one entered Sanctuary, it was the soul that went through while the body remained lifeless behind. The reconnection was dizzying. Eve empathized with Frankenstein’s monster, waking up to an unwieldy body awkwardly made.

      Rushing up, Gran brought Eve to her feet. The distinct lines of her face were distinguished and thoughtful rather than old or worn. A widening expression accentuated the deepest lines, those around her smile. “I know, my dear, that the detective came for you last time, despite all spirits’ warnings not to. I know I can hardly make up for his handsomeness”—Gran added with a laugh—“or your attraction to him—”

      Eve’s face went red as she tried to stay stable on her feet. “I am—I have no such—”

      “You’re a gifted psychic but a terrible liar, Eve Whitby, and I raised you to be exactly so. I do see through everything.”

      Eve’s twisting stomach had nothing to do with the fall from Sanctuary and everything to do with how much she cared for Jacob Horowitz, dashing detective and unexpected suitor. She had to change the subject lest he become her entire undoing. “Gran, how did you find me?”

      “You’re not about to leave my house unannounced and under mesmeric influence without my following. I was furious with myself the last time you tore out here on your own.” She tapped her temple. “Ever since then, I’ve been fine-tuning our connection.”

      Eve grimaced. “That…shouldn’t be your responsibility, I don’t want to be a charity—”

      Gran clucked her tongue. “My dearest namesake, you’re being targeted by a villain and if I don’t intervene, your poor mother… She’ll never forgive either of us. Now come away from here.” She fussed with Eve’s coat, closing it more securely before guiding her out of the clearing.

      “Now, when you were returning to yourself,” Gran continued, “I know you weren’t issuing a renunciation to me, my dear, so who did you see beyond? Did Prenze loom at you again?”

      “I thought so,” Eve murmured, brushing detritus from her skirts. “He vanished after I renounced.”

      At the edge of the wood Gran paused, looking back toward the glade. “That this place proved meaningful after all... I’ve tried my whole life to create and fund sacred spaces. That I made one just out of my intent for a chapel, carving out a link to the spirit world, is an honor. An awe-inspiring legacy.” Gran frowned. “That someone should be trying to tear open what I have hoped to make transcendent, to hurt what should be hope, to intrude between the spirit world and the divine…”

      “The Sisters inside Sanctuary are shoring up all the windows and bolstering their ties to living psychics around the world,” Eve said. “They’re very worried. They don’t want me to accidentally let anything in. I was pushed back out, to you.”

      “We have to do better about shielding,” Gran declared.

      “And warding,” came another distinctive voice from the edge of the wood.

      Eve turned to behold a striking figure. An array of golden silk accentuated the eerie, piercing quality of gold-green eyes. Clara Templeton Bishop was a powerful psychic in her own right, and she intimidated Eve fiercely. In her late forties, Clara was a woman of hard angles, sharp points, and careful boundaries. Her crepe hat and its gossamer veil were crowned with large, gold-painted thistles, as if her fashion served to deter anyone without a delicate, decorous touch from getting too close to spiny edges.

      Hair in braids, a coil was carefully pinned to hang low over one ear to hide a terrible scar Gran had instructed Eve to never notice, which only made her wonder more. Gran and the Bishops were psychic veterans of international wars. Eve wished there was a way she could better honor their service. But like many who served, after a war, they didn’t want to talk about it. Ever.

      Clara was attuned to raw power; her gifts tapped into ley lines, the primal sources of spiritual energy. “The latitude and longitude of Earth’s eldest spiritual energy,” Gran once explained. Manipulating ley lines made Clara’s body react in painful or epileptic extremes. But her sheer presence was as unmistakable and echoing as the ringing of some huge carillon.

      “Mrs. Bishop,” Eve exclaimed, her face again coloring. She wanted to impress the woman but always felt awkward in her consuming presence. “I didn’t know…”

      “When Evelyn ran after you, she instructed her staff to call me.” Clara smiled pleasantly. “I do live just up the hill, you know. I suppose I ought to have a read on the both of you now.” She tapped her temple as Gran had done, the psychic indication of tracking an important soul, like following mental footprints. It was Clara that Eve had gone to in order to find Gran when she was abducted at the beginning of their current case.

      “I’m so sorry to be a bother,” Eve whispered, dropping her gaze to the gravel path.

      “No, it’s good, really,” Clara said brightly. “If I don’t use my powers regularly, then when I do, they cause pain. Just like stretching a muscle, one must make sure their gifts remain flexible, lest I turn brittle and snap to bits.” She turned toward Eve, her voice softening. Her intense presence didn’t negate her kindness. “You force me not to turn away from the world but toward the better parts of it. Being tuned to you is no bother. Everyone’s got a bit of a musical pitch to them if I put my mind to it.” She stepped closer, cocking her head to the side. The tulle of her veil fluttered in the breeze as her silk skirts rustled against leaves on the path’s floor. “You’re very gifted and have a fair handle on your talents, so the note of your spirit is a pleasant one.”

      “Well, thank you,” Eve murmured, cheeks scarlet, not knowing what else to say.

      “What was in this wood with you, on the other hand, was terribly discordant.”

      “Did you see Albert Prenze?” Eve asked. “He’s been dubbed ‘the shadow man’ by the spirit world. A hatred of spirits that began with his mother is now a dark obsession.”

      “I didn’t see a negative, hateful energy, but I felt it,” Clara replied. “I heard it. Once I was able to sense your spirit returning from across the veil, I could hear your renunciation, your banishing of him. You did a nice job shielding. I merely boosted your vehemence with my own energy.”

      “I greatly appreciate your support, Mrs. Bishop. I’m always trying to hone my gifts, but I’ve been stumbling lately. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to keep from being led here as if on strings. I don’t know—”

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