Confession of a Medium: Chapter Two

The Case Files of Sheridan Bell #2

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

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Renna's carriage came to a halt outside of a brown-brick mansion, guests in their finest evening wear loitering on its front steps and light pouring out its open doors and windows. Renna waved to someone as she climbed from the carriage, and Henry, following behind her, eyed the mansions on either side of Senator Brahm's. By his estimation, they were at the very northern edge of Tamarley, in one of the gated old-money communities that made its home there.

Through the front door was a clean foyer full of lively people and livelier chatter. Unlike Henry, who felt clammy and exposed under the glittering-bright chandelier, Renna glowed beneath it, entering the senator's estate as if she owned it.

"Mrs. Hale!" greeted a large man with a jolly smile and a ruddy complexion. Given the meandering, weaving route he took to reach them, Henry suspected that the latter was due more to a strong drink than any natural predisposition. When he reached them, he said, "I'm pleased you made it."

"You didn't think I'd miss little Miranda's coming of age, did you?" Renna teased. "Senator Brahm, this is my friend Henry Bell. Henry is a celebrated private detective here in Tamarley. Henry, this is Senator James Brahm."

"A detective?" the senator asked, raising his bushy eyebrows. He directed the word at Henry, and with it came the smell of whiskey. "Don't tell me she's recruited you to pick apart my medium."

"You know Renna well, I see," Henry replied.

"Oh, yes. We'd been friendly acquaintances for years, but I was the first to welcome her to the Bitter Widow and Widower's Club, and an unbreakable bond was forged," Senator Brahm said, earning a wry smile from Renna. "I suggested she meet with a medium months ago, just to get some closure from old Perry, but she made it quite clear where she stands on the matter. I hope you won't cause too much trouble for me, Mrs. Hale."

"You can't hold a public mediumship demonstration and not expect a bit of criticism, Brahm. That's the whole point of these things, isn't it? To test and challenge the medium's alleged powers?" Renna asked. "It's all part of the game."

"Just so," Brahm agreed. "Celine says any good sitting needs a balance of energies. As many believers attend, there should also be skeptics. Just don't go too far, is all I'm asking. Ms. Celine Scott isn't like other mediums, human or sídhe. She doesn't have powers, and she freely admits as much herself. This is science—technology she developed that pierces the veil and allows her to communicate with the Otherworld. Even you won't be able to deny cold, hard facts, Mrs. Hale. Nor you, Detective."

When Senator Brahm left to greet the other guests, Renna turned to Henry and said, "I see those cogs turning in your brain already. Well, what do you make of that?"

"If this Ms. Scott is a fake, she's doing herself a disservice approaching it from the science angle. Science is consistent, measurable, replicable. Lies are not," Henry sniffed.

"Didn't I say this would be a good puzzle? You should listen to me more," Renna said. "I'm always right."

Henry would argue that point, but Renna was already sweeping down the hall, wordlessly expecting him to follow. And he did, catching up with her at the same time as a group of strangers in brightly-colored gowns. The contrast of Renna in her black taffeta, effortlessly elegant, made them look to Henry like peacocks.

"Renna, dear!" greeted one. "I had no idea you'd be here tonight! It's so good to see you again, after all this time."

"Are you here to see the medium? Do you think she'll be able to communicate with Mr. Hale?" another asked.

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss. I was shocked when I heard the news, just shocked. How have you been bearing it?" said a third.

"Sometimes I don't know," Renna said, answering the last first with a great, mournful sigh. Her sidelong look at Henry was the only warning he got before she linked her arm with his, pulling him closer than proper. "My dear friend Henry has been a great help through it all. I just don't know where I'd be without him."

Henry's cheeks felt suddenly warm, and the surprised, assessing looks Renna's friends gave him only made it worse.

"Ah!" Renna continued, breaking the uneasy silence. "I think I just saw an old friend of Perry's slip into the ballroom. Excuse us."

She pulled Henry down another lofty, brightly lit hall and away from the stunned group. "You're asking for a scandal," Henry observed, "And I can't help but think it's intentional."

Without the party guests, the manor would be colorless, all beige damask walls, white trim, and the same dark wood used in all the furniture. When they passed a large painting, so bright it almost appeared out of place, Henry slowed to study it with interest. It depicted a younger Senator Brahm, a dark-haired girl with his same bright smile, and a finely-dressed woman with a graceful bearing.

Renna slowed as well. While Henry studied the wall, she studied the crowd. "People will come up with silly ideas about us, yes, but they would have gossiped about me either way. If not this, it would have been, 'Poor Mrs. Hale, she only came tonight because she was desperate to see Perry again.' Or 'Silly Mrs. Hale, she must think a medium can reunite her with Mr. Hale.' I don't want their pity, Henry. I admit I did use you a bit, and I'm very sorry for it. Do you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive," he said, turning to her. What did it matter if these people gossiped about him? Knowing the ways of the rich, Renna's mysterious date would be old news by next week. She was the one who had to live among them; if this was how she wished to do so, he'd comply. Renna smiled, then glanced furtively around before standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. The small, familiar gesture made Henry smile back.

Together, they passed under another brick archway, the cheerful piano Henry had been hearing since the foyer growing suddenly louder. They found themselves in a modest ballroom beneath two crystal chandeliers, these even grander and more intricate than the one out in the foyer. Most of the party seemed to be gathered here, though the oblong room was bisected by a wall of curtains strung up on something like a clothesline.

"They're set up for the demonstration behind there, I'd wager," Renna said, craning her neck as if she'd be able to see past the heavy black fabric.

"Renna," Henry began, a suspicion forming, "Do you really believe this medium is a fake?"

When Renna laughed, it was shallow. While a good imitation, it didn't engage her body the way her laughs usually did. "Of course I do."

"Do you hope that she isn't?"

Renna clicked her tongue. "Don't ask me questions like that, Henry. Oh, look! There's little Miranda Brahm. Pretty thing, isn't she?" She pointed to the other end of the room, where a group of youths danced near the grand piano. Among them was the girl from the hallway portrait, her smile as bright as before, despite the rest of her being a decade older.

"What happened to Mrs. Brahm?" Henry asked.

"There you go, blunt as ever. Don't let James hear you ask such things; he's still broken up over it," Renna whispered. "She died five years ago in a boating accident, as I recall. All of this came after—the mediums, the seances, the talk of the Otherworld. No matter what he says about this being Miranda's idea, he's desperate to speak with her again." Quieter, she added, "The old fool."

The room was filling filled slowly as stragglers made their way in. By the piano, the dancing group grew as more couples took to the floor, making the rest of the guests squish closer to clear a space for them. "I'm fortunate you're still in second mourning, or else you'd be dragging me over there as well," Henry murmured.

Renna laughed, and Henry was relieved to hear it had returned to its regular cadence, bold and bright and loud enough to make people look their way. "You needn't sound so horrified. I've been dancing for as long as I've been walking; if it's looking silly you're afraid of, I would have led you well."

Henry scratched his nose. "I don't have a fine enough control over my body for dancing, regardless of how skilled my partner is."

"Nonsense," Renna said. "Perry and I won a few competitions, you know."

"I didn't," Henry said, surprised.

For a moment, Renna's smile dimmed, but then she shook herself and was back to her bright self. "Do you mind if I leave you alone for a moment, Hen? I really did see an old business partner of Perry's, and this is an excellent chance to rekindle the partnership."

"Not at all."

Once Renna was gone, Henry flagged down one of the wandering servers for a flute of champagne and gravitated to the nearest wall, where he could watch Renna from a distance. She spoke with two of sharply-dressed men: both armed, if the disruptions in the lines of their suits were any indication. One had cuts across his knuckles that spoke of a brawl, and not for the first time, Henry wondered what business Perry was in—what business Renna had inherited from him.

He surveyed the crowd, surprised by the number of sídhe in it. This was strange for several reasons: first, that traveling here from the sídhe city was a pain. There were only three Customs points along the river, and you had to follow the ferry schedule to use them. Second, for as long as humans and sídhe had been in contact, the sídhe had been clear: no magic can reach the dead, not to speak them or to raise them. If this many sídhe had come here tonight, Henry suspected it was as fellow skeptics.

A group of them stood not far from Henry. He glanced at them, and then away, but quickly looked again when he recognized broad shoulders and long, silver-white hair. He pushed off the wall and tried to approach, but the shifting crowd kept getting between them, pulling him back again like the receding tide. He stood on the tips of his toes and tried to see over the crowd, but then someone's shoulder caught his and he spilled champagne all down his suit.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" a vocie said.

"No, that was entirely my fault," Henry said on reflex, pulling out a plain, worn handkerchief and dabbing at the spill. He looked up to find a human woman standing before him, her red curls pulled into an unruly bun and freckles speckled along her rosy cheeks.

"A collision takes two," she said in an accent, thick and throaty. It was from one of the northern territories—Benfir, if Henry wasn't mistaken.

"I suppose that's true," Henry said, eyeing the woman curiously. She was several years younger than him, her dress plainer than the others he'd seen that evening. But for that flaw, the shape of it suited her, its off-shoulder neckline accentuating her long neck and creamy skin. But what Henry really took note of was her hands: she had the hands of a scientist, chemical burns on one and silver nitrate stains on the other.

She watched Henry with the same keen, analytical interest he'd turned on her, but her gaze caught on something over his shoulder and she frowned. "Excuse me," she murmured, disappearing back into the crowd before Henry could even ask her name. When he looked over his shoulder, wondering what had troubled her, he only found Renna approaching.

"Don't drink too much, Hen. I need your eyes sharp for the—ah! I see I needn't warn you. There's more champagne on your suit than in your mouth," she said, laughing.

Henry frowned and resumed scrubbing at his jacket. "That's not funny," he said.

"Here, you can have my handkerchief, if that drab old thing doesn't do the trick."

Behind her, the curtains dividing the room drew slowly open, and Senator Brahm, standing before them, tapped his fork against his glass. "If I could have everyone's attention," he called, his booming voice rising easily above the crowd, especially as the piano hushed to a whisper. "Ms. Scott's demonstration will begin shortly. We'll turn the lights down when it does, so I suggest you all find your seats before then."

Behind him were rows of chairs, all pointed toward a stage at the far end of the ballroom. On it stood a wooden lamp without a shade, and behind the lamp sat a table covered with a white cloth. There were all sorts of angles and lumps beneath it, and guests pointed as they sat down, whispering and theorizing. Renna wasted no time dragging Henry over to join them, and they settled in the second row, off to the side.

A chandelier hung directly above the stage. While Renna chatted with their neighbor, a sídhe woman with catlike eyes, Henry appreciated the sparkling crystal. But he noticed something strange, as he did: a coarse texture layered over the chandelier, like he was viewing it through a lens. He sat forward, trying to make it out, but the lights chose that moment to dim. The chandelier faded darker and darker until Henry could barely make out its shape.

When Senator Brahm and Miranda stepped onto the stage, his attention was diverted. The whispers around him grew, nearly overtaking the somber piano that still played softly behind them. Despite the earlier air of skepticism, the crowd exchanged looks and craned their necks trying to find the famous medium in the seats.

"Thank you for coming to celebrate Miranda's nineteenth year of life," Senator Brahm said. "Like her father, Miranda holds an interest in the world beyond this one. It was by her request that Ms. Celine Scott came to visit—they say anyone who sits with Ms. Scott leaves her seances touched by the Otherworld."

"For the skeptics in the crowd," Senator Brahm continued—and here, Henry noticed him glance their way—"I ask that you listen with an open mind. For everyone else, do not let the naysayers sway you. Ms. Scott will deliver messages as the spirits direct, but you must remember that the spirits are not bound by time as the living must be. A message that means nothing to you now may yet mean more in the future."

"Everyone, please welcome Celine Scott to the stage," Miranda said, beaming and clapping with the crowd as a woman in the front row stood. Senator Brahm crossed to the stairs above as Ms. Scott did below, offering her a hand as she climbed. Henry was so fixed on watching their hands linger that he recognized Ms. Scott not by her face, but by the silver nitrate staining her fingers.

It was the woman who'd run into him earlier.

"Thank you for the welcome," Ms. Scott said in her curled accent, her cheeks flushed even pinker than before. Still watching her hands, Henry noticed that they shook. "It's my intention tonight to demonstrate that life continues after death, and that with the aid of modern technology, I am able to act as a mouthpiece between this world and the next."

Once Senator Brahm and Miranda were off the stage and back in their seats, Ms. Scott pulled the sheet from the table with a flourish and let it flutter to the ground. A strange spread of gadgets sat atop it, and Henry and Renna found themselves leaning forward with the crowd to see.

"Tonight, to aid me in my communications with the Otherworld, I've brought several instruments of my own invention." The medium laid her hand on a metal box with gears and wheels like a telegraph receiver. A candlestick phone sat atop it, connected to the box by a long cord. She explained, "The dead move and speak at frequencies we mortals cannot perceive. This transmitter translates my speech into something they can understand, and the receiver does the same with their responses in reverse."

Next, she crossed over to the lamp. "This will glow when a spirit is present and speaking," she said, then lifted it off the ground. "As you can see, the lamp is not attached to a power source. There are no hidden wires."

The room had fallen silent, even the piano stopped as its pianist watched the demonstration, so they all heard the machine whir to life when Ms. Scott crossed back to the table and flipped a switch. "Perhaps one of the sídhe in the audience would like to cast a protective ward over the crowd? Something to keep out malicious spirits?" she encouraged.

The silence stretched on, but finally, a sídhe in Henry's row raised his hand. His smile was amused, indulgent as he stood and raised his hands to cast a spell, which settled like a shimmering bubble over the audience. At a grateful nod from Ms. Scott, he sat again.

"Thank you," Celine said. Next, she lifted the phone's receiver off its hook and held it to her ear. She didn't dial any numbers and instead simply called, "Spirits, we the living have gathered to bridge the gap between our worlds and speak with you. Spirits, are you with us?"

Silence met the question, the audience barely daring to breathe as they waited for the response. When the light bulb switched suddenly on, several audience members jumped in their seats.

"They're here," Ms. Scott said, her eyes fixed to the glowing bulb, now the only substantial source of light in the ballroom besides the dimmed chandelier. Even the doors had been covered to hide the suffused glow from the hall. When the light bulb switched off again, Henry had to squint against the dark. He watched the shape of Ms. Scott set the phone down and step to the front of the stage.

"Before we continue," she began, "I'd like one of the sídhe in the audience to confirm that no magic was used in anything you've seen thus far. Besides the warding spell, has anyone sensed any magic in this room?"

Everyone looked around, but no one spoke up. Henry, whose eyes were beginning to adjust again, noticed uneasy expressions among the sídhe in the crowd.

"Thank you," Celine continued. "At any point in tonight's proceedings, if you sense magic, please raise your hands. Is that understood?"

Murmurs of agreement answered her. Renna raised her eyebrows at Henry and whispered, "I wasn't expecting that. In fact, I'd expected nothing but cheap illusions."

Henry shook his head. "The technology is real—really doing something, at any rate."

"Now, would someone peek beneath the platform and confirm there's no one, and nothing, down there that might aid me in tonight's proceedings?" Celine asked, crossing to the table and picking up the phone again. "You may leave the skirt flipped so we can see beneath the stage at all times."

In the front row, Miranda eagerly flipped the black fabric of stage skirt up. For a moment, all any of them could see was ominous darkness, but the lightbulb chose that moment to flick on again. Enough of its glow filtered down through the cracks of the stage's wooden planks that they could see it was empty beneath, just as Ms. Scott promised.

"The spirits are eager to speak with us," Celine translated when the light again turned off. "Does anyone in the audience have questions they'd like to pose to the spirits? I sense their presence all around me. There are many. Some of them have loved ones here, in this room."

A women called, "How do we know they're friendly?"

"Spirits," Celine began, lifting the receiver to her lips again. "What is your purpose in coming to us tonight? Do any of you wish us harm, and how can we know what you say is true?"

The light switched on, and the room waited with bated breath for it to go dark again. When it did, Celine said, "They say they are friends, and they cannot lie in this space. They mean us no harm."

Henry watched the audience relax, the relief evident on their faces and in the way they smiled at one another, private and eager. Senator Brahm raised his hand next and asked, somewhat nervously, "What's it like where they are?"

The light switched on immediately, and Celine frowned as she listened. She leaned against the table to brace herself, her expression troubled, and said, "This is highly unusual."

"What did they say?" the senator demanded.

"They said they will show you."

Thank you for reading! What do we think of Celine Scott and her demonstration so far: real or fake?

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