Confession of a Medium: Chapter One

The Case Files of Sheridan Bell #2

Welcome back to The Case Files of Sheridan Bell, a fantasy-mystery webseries about an up-and-coming private detective in the city of Tamarley.

Detective Sheridan Bell limped up to 326 Morham Court, a small brick affair that was separated from the street by a narrow garden. As he climbed the front steps on sore feet, he observed by the newly-even hedges that the landlady had been by to maintain it. And as he went to unlock the front door, he observed that his hands were shaking.

"Foolish," he muttered to himself.

He’d done little more than insert the key into the lock when the door flew open on its own, wrenching the entire bundle of keys from his hand.

A woman stood in his doorway, looking imperiously down at him. She was lovely, with sharp features and brown eyes that gleamed almost red in the golden afternoon light, but the first thing Detective Bell noticed about her was the mourning gown she wore. It wasn’t the plain, unadorned gown of first mourning; instead, it made of crisp black taffeta and accented with golden braidwork.

“Henry!” the woman said, blocking his way into the building with her arm. “I thought you were going to make me wait all night. What on earth happened to your jacket? Don’t tell me you went out like that.”

Henry tugged self-consciously at his sleeve, feeling exposed standing on the step in just his shirt and waistcoat. He backed down a step to better see the woman. “Renna,” he greeted, “Did we have an appointment?”

“Of course. You received the suit I sent you last week, didn’t you?” Renna asked. Her smile had a sly cast, a smug tilt—but then, her smiles always did. Urenna Amaike was the only daughter of Henry’s downstairs neighbors; he’d practically grown up with her. And because he knew her so well, that smile struck fear into his heart.

“I did, but I suspect you already knew that,” Henry said. The suit in question had been hand-delivered to him the week before by Renna’s mother Ines, but even if Ines hadn’t told him, he would’ve known the gift-giver by the sheer quality of the suit. If he had to guess, it probably cost the same several months' rent. Pocket change, to the woman before him. He should’ve known there was a more sinister purpose behind the gift. “An invitation would have sufficed.”

Renna laughed. She had the kind of laugh that engaged her whole body: a head thrown back, a shake of the shoulders, and a wide, confident stance. “No, I don’t think so. An invitation can be refused, and if you were given the choice between attending a party and holing up with one of your little research projects, I know what you’d choose every time,” she said.

Henry’s stomach dropped at the word party. “I’m really not in the mood, Renna. I’ve had a long day.”

“I can see that. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Renna said. She chuckled at some private joke with herself, then stepped aside. "Whatever happened, being around people will be good for you, don't you think? And speaking of ghosts, this particular party has a puzzle I think you’ll quite enjoy. Intrigued you, have I? Go get dressed; we should have left an hour ago.”

Henry thought of dark alleys and shifting shadows and decided there may be something to Renna’s theory about not being alone. Besides, Renna was an unstoppable force, and he was no immovable object. “I won’t let you keep me out late. I’ve just got off a difficult case and haven’t been getting much sleep,” he warned as he stepped past her, feeling her answering huff of laughter brush his cheek.

Up in his messy flat, he stripped quickly out of his suit and recovered Renna’s from his closet. Clearly bespoke, it worried him how well it fit; he couldn’t recall ever giving Renna his measurements. He smoothed his long dark hair back with pomade, gave himself a brief glance-over in the mirror, then hesitated and added a single spritz of cologne before heading back downstairs. The foyer was empty by that point, so he knocked at the Amaikes’ cracked door and let himself inside.

“Henry, come in!” Joseph called warmly. He sat in his favorite armchair, Renna leaning against the back of it. So near each other, the resemblance between them was obvious: they had the same intense stares, the same warm brown skin, the same heart-shaped face. But Renna had her mother’s smile, sly and knowing, as well as her curly brown hair.

Ines herself joined them, then, stepping out of the kitchen with an apron tied around her waist and a spot of flour on her cheek. “Well, don’t you look handsome! I told you it would fit, didn’t I, tesorita?”

“You were right as always, mama,” Renna conceded. Henry shifted, uncomfortable under all three Amaikes’ attention.

“Have you had anything to eat yet tonight, Hen?” Ines asked.

“No, no,” Renna interrupted, pushing away from the chair. “Mama, if I let you get started, we’ll be here for hours. There’ll be food at the party, don’t worry. Senator Brahm won’t let us starve.”

Henry tipped his head to one side, filing the name away for later.

“Have fun, you two,” Joseph said while Renna leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Keep out of trouble, Urenna.”

“And what of Henry?”

“Keep her out of trouble, Henry,” Joseph amended.

Renna threw back her head and laughed again. “You know he can’t promise that,” she said, crossing to give her mother a goodbye kiss as well, “But if I we do get into trouble, I promise that Henry will be able to get us out of it.”

“Don’t make me your accomplice,” Henry sniffed.

“It’s too late for that,” Renna replied, grabbing his arm and dragging him out the door. He managed a quick wave goodbye, and then they were out of the flat, out of the building, and climbing into Renna’s private carriage, now parked squarely in front of the house. Seeing Henry’s surprise at the sight, she explained, “I had the driver wait down the street and only come ‘round after you arrived. I thought that if you’d seen my formal carriage waiting, you would’ve put that and the suit together and fled.”

Renna rapped on the roof of the four-wheeler, and then they were off, rattling through the streets of Tamarley.

“I’d have done no such thing,” Henry said, barely even convincing himself. It was true that he’d always hated parties. Trying to distract himself from the anxiety knotting in his stomach, he ran his hands over the velvet cushions and asked, “How have you been?”

Renna groaned and dropped her head back against the wall. “How I’ve grown to hate that question! It’s fine from you, Henry, of course; you don’t ask it with that sneering, sugary sympathy used by the rest of my acquaintance, like they think just hearing the question will make me break down and weep. I suspect they're just jealous I had a wealthy husband who went and died on me.”

Henry eyed Renna—her mourning dress and guarded smile—and thought of how long it had been since he’d seen her. He couldn’t help but suspect that was intentional, on her part. It wouldn't be the first time someone had shut him out because he saw too much. “If you'd been well, you would have just said so," he pointed out.

"Oh, very well. I've been better, but I've also been worse." Renna sighed. "Thornapple Hall has been very quiet, these last few months. When the weather turns, I'm going to open it up and invite my parents to stay. Maybe do some renovating so it's less painful to walk through. You're welcome to join, take a break from solving cases for a short while. You look tired."

Now it was Henry’s turn to guard his smile. “Like I said, I’ve had a long day.”

“Was it the case?”

“No, it was only—well. I've been weaving back and forth between the cities for it, but something strange happened when I tried to cross back today." He shook his head and decided to change the subject. "I'm sure it was fine. May I ask now where we’re going?”

“You could have asked from the very start; it’s not my fault that you didn’t. Today is a good friend’s daughter’s nineteenth birthday, and he’s holding a grand soiree. All the well-to-dos of both Tamarleys will be in attendance, including Perry’s old chums, and they’d all notice if I skipped out. Naturally, I had to bring someone to suffer through it all with me,” Renna said. Quieter, with an air so casual it could only be affected, she added, “I’d hate to deal with them alone.”

Seeing Henry’s dismay, she laughed. “You look as if you might jump out of the carriage! If you do, I’ll just have the driver turn ‘round and retrieve you. Really, why is it that you can confront murderers and thieves without blinking but look so frightened at the thought of a room full of rich people trying to converse with you?”

“Of the two options, one is deeply preferable to the other,” Henry said. “Don’t you have anyone else you could have invited? I’m sure Ines would have happily accompanied you.”

Renna wrinkled her nose. “You want me to invite my mother to my first society event without Perry? I don’t need to look weaker than I already do. What I need is to arrive with a pretty young thing on my arm so people stop consoling me about my husband’s passing.”

“I’m older than you.”

“But you are pretty, Hen.”

“How long has it been?” Henry asked.

“What, since Perry died? Not ten months.”

Henry nodded. He’d been surprised to see Renna in taffeta; first mourning was meant to last a year and a day following a close loved one’s death. Second mourning, which allowed for a slightly more embellished wardrobe, began only after. Renna was rushing herself through the mourning process, and she must have known it was going to raise eyebrows. “Are you certain? You’d be well within your rights not to attend.”

“In Perry’s line of work, there’s no room for sentimentality, and I need to prove I’m up to the task. I’ve been running his business since the funeral, anyway, and if that couldn’t wait a year and a day, I don’t see why I should have to,” Renna said. “Besides, Perry would’ve laughed at me if I’d waited the full period. He wouldn’t want to be mourned for so long.”

Henry couldn’t necessarily disagree. Peregrine Hale and Urenna Amaike had always been an odd couple with nonconventional values, known to each other but a mystery to the rest of the world.

“As for that puzzle I mentioned, I was serious about that. As it turns out, Senator Brahm’s daughter has taken a keen interest in the afterlife. The Brahms have a famous medium staying with them, I'm told, and she’ll be making her debut in Tamarley with a public demonstration tonight.”

“Why should that interest me? Entertaining a fraud who preys on the grief-stricken is hardly my idea of a game.”

Renna laughed. “Not entertaining, dissecting. This medium claims to be able to communicate with the dead—not through sídhe magic, but through human technology. I’ve no doubt it’s a scam, but whether I can tell where the trick comes in is another matter, and I’d be very cross not to get to the bottom of it tonight. That’s where you come in.”

Henry smiled and shook his head. “Perhaps I’ll let you figure it out on your own.”

“You had better not! I’m a grieving widow; you mustn’t let her make me her prey.”

“You'd make her regret it if she tried, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Renna said with a sharp smile, “I would.”

When the conversation lulled, Henry laid his head back against the cushions and watched Tamarley pass in the darkening world beyond the carriage. After a tiring day spent in the other Tamarley, it was comforting to be home. This city was loud and disorderly, from the rattle of hooves on cobblestone to the shouts of voices in the streets, but it was grounding in its familiarity. Instead of magic and verdure, the world outside boasted of human innovation, from electric lamps casting orbs of white light on pock-marked streets to the phone booths and new electrical boxes stationed at every corner.  

Henry meant to close his eyes for only a moment, but next thing he knew, he was standing in a different version of Tamarley. In the other Tamarley. This city, too, was familiar to him, but it was familiar in the way of dreams—somehow both perfect and wrong, with a mind of its own. He was trying to find his way home, but whenever he neared his destination, the city played its tricks and spun him away again.

His path brought him to the mouth of an alley, something in its looming shadows making his stomach lurch. The sight was like a photograph twice exposed, two distinct images layered over each other. This was fitting, as Tamarley itself was two distinct cities: the city of humans and the city of sídhe. Was he seeing them both now, he wondered, or were those figures in the shadows—as insubstantial as the mist churning at his feet—something else entirely?

He stepped into the alley, because after years of crossing back and forth between the two cities, he knew that the only way home was through.

Mist clung to his ankles and fog to his breath, and after only five steps, he suspected something was wrong. After ten, he knew it. The busy, bustling street of his Tamarley beyond this alley wasn’t getting any closer, no matter how far he walked. He paused to consider his options: turn back, or press onward? The former might be easier, but instinct told him not to turn his eyes from the street, not to lose sight of the world beyond this alley for even a moment.

In his periphery, faces peered at him from the shadows, pale and hollow-cheeked, mouths open on silent screams. Fighting the urge to look back at them, Henry quickened his pace. He fumbled for the folding knife he kept in his coat pocket, breathing a sigh of relief when his hand closed around the cool metal. It was a small assurance, but it assured him, nonetheless.

Suddenly, something large and black crossed his path in a flurry of feathers, and Henry flinched. For just a moment, he let his eyes shut. It was like his silent watchers had been waiting for this: all at once, they screamed and keened, discordant and mournful. Henry almost fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the sheer force of it, but that mass of black feathers was circling back toward him. He slashed at it when it came close, his knife sinking into flesh, and broke into a run at the first opportunity.

When hands grabbed at his coat, the faces around him peeling out of shadows, he simply shrugged out of it and left it behind. The mouth of the alley was only feet away, but they brushed at his arms and grabbed for his ankles, and he wasn’t sure if he would make it.

He put on a final burst of speed, and then—

“Henry!”

Henry woke with a jolt, disoriented and nauseated. He shoved away the hand reaching for him, only to realize that it belonged not to a long-limbed phantom, but to Renna, who watched him with shock.

“Are you alright, Hen?” she asked.

Henry sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and passing a hand across his face. His heart beat frantically in his chest, as frantically as it had beat in the alley that afternoon. “Apologies,” he murmured. “I was just having a nightmare.”

He would have marked it off as only that—a nightmare—if not for the black bile-stained knife in his pocket.

“You don’t say,” Renna teased, but it lacked its usual heart. “Do you want me to have the driver take you home?”

Henry blinked at her, surprised at the offer. He made an effort to pull himself into the present, away from that alley and the fear that had gripped him within it. "I'll be fine," he said, and he realized that he meant it. The prospect of being in a room full of people, under bright lights and far from the paths between the worlds, was sounding more and more pleasant.

Renna brightened. “That’s good, because it seems we’ve arrived. Let’s go see about this medium, shall we?”

What do we think: was it the wailing of the bean sídhe?

Welcome back to the Case Files of Sheridan Bell! I'm so excited to get into this one; I've got some great twists prepared for you all. As always, please feel free to

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