“Goodness, no. It is a gift,” she replied, with a faraway smile. “It is a place to appease the angrier souls, who might otherwise have turned into poltergeists. Sarah Winchester did us a great service when she built this mansion. A prime example of feminine grace and dignity. She did not have to make amends for those who died by her husband’s creation, but she did. And it gives us an echo of life, though our hearts no longer beat.”
I’d learned a lot about the Winchester Mystery House from Mary Foster. Sarah Winchester had hired a Kolduny to place a spell on the foundation of the house, and that spell held strong to this day. From what I’d gathered, the Kolduny magic in the very bones of this place acted as a vortex—though Mary had used the term “specter funnel”—drawing deceased victims of the rifle into the house if they didn’t pass on, giving them a choice as to whether they wanted sanctuary here or not. A sort of primary intervention to prevent potential poltergeists. A lot of Ps. If they stayed, the spell made the ghosts visible and able to speak to the breathing residents, as a constant reminder of the history of the Winchester name. The main part of the house was open to tourists, but an interdimensional bubble provided the secret hiding place for the ghosts and the Winchesters.
“What wonders did you discover on your latest voyage of the mind? Did it reveal that rogue you mentioned?” Mary broke me out of my thoughts.
“Davin? No.” I’d soared over Antarctica a few times now and found no sign of him. I took that as an indication that Davin was nowhere near done deciphering the map. We were still in the running.
“That is excellent news, is it not?”
I sighed. “I hope so, or Erebus will have his panties in a twist.”
“Mr. Merlin! You should not speak of undergarments in a lady’s presence!” She gaped in horror.
“Sorry. I mean, he’ll have my guts for garters.”
Mary shook her head. “Mr. Merlin, please—you will turn my cheeks quite scarlet!”
I doubt it… I didn’t say so, since I didn’t want to be mean. She was dead, after all. That required a softer touch.
“Erebus is that chaotic fellow you told me about? The one on whose behalf you are doing all of this map business?” Mary recovered from her mortification pretty quickly.
I nodded. “Yep, that’s the one.”
“You speak so very peculiarly, Mr. Merlin, if you do not mind me saying. I confess, I hardly comprehend half of what you say.”
“I wish I could say you’re the only one.” I grinned at her.
“Will you continue in your endeavors, now that you have had a moment to collect yourself?”
I stretched out my arms. “I might go talk to Melody.” I only had two more days to finish this map, but if I didn’t take a breather, my brain would splatter all over these nasty green walls, which would only add to the horror-movie aesthetic.
“Oh no, you should not do that,” Mary replied. “She is busy in the family library, poring over the many tomes within. I believe she seeks a way to relieve you of this exchange you have with Erebus.”
“I wouldn’t call it an exchange.” I sighed.
She chuckled. “This burden upon you, then?”
“Does this mean you spy on everyone?” I squinted at her. “Way to make a guy feel special.”
“Oh my, I did not mean to offend you! You are very special, Mr. Merlin. But you are not so interesting when you are away in that other place, with your eyes glowing. I must entertain myself, so I drift from room to room until I feel compelled to return to you.”
I laughed. “You know, getting bored and flitting off doesn’t make you a particularly good guard.”
“I was always rather scatterbrained. My beloved mama always scolded me for having the concentration of a magpie—the moment I saw something bright and shiny, I would be off.”
“Was the future husband the bright and shiny thing?”
She nodded slowly. “The brightest and shiniest.”
“I’m sorry, Mary.” It became clearer every hour that I had no idea how to behave around dead people. I’d even tested Melody’s patience with an ill-timed joke about the difference between The Sixth Sense and Titanic—one is “I see dead people,” the other is “icy dead people.” She’d tutted and told me to have a little more respect. And she was probably right. But, in my defense, I always made jokes when nervous, and there was nothing more nerve-wracking than spirits coming out of nowhere and making me wish I’d worn my brown pants.
“Call me Miss Foster, if you please,” Mary replied sternly.
“Of course. Miss Foster. Sorry, I keep forgetting.”
She mustered a smile. “You have a face that one cannot help but forgive.”
“And only a mother could love.” I smirked, but she didn’t get that one, either. My comedy prowess was wasted on these folks.
“I thought your mother did not love you? That is what the other spirits whispered when they discovered that Finch Merlin had arrived in this house. I suppose it is better for you, not to have been loved by such a woman, considering the monster she revealed herself to be.”
Wow… let’s just air out all my dirty laundry, shall we?
“You make a great point. Forget I said anything.” I hurried to change the subject.
“Not that it is your fault, of course,” she continued, not getting the hint. “I imagine you are very easy to love.”
“Try telling Ryann that,” I mumbled.
“Pardon?”
I smiled up at her. “Nothing.” I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Ryann since Melody spilled the beans regarding her emotions right in front of me. There’d been love in there, among other things. Or something like love. But I was determined to consider it the real deal, even with Ted Bundy in the picture. Unfortunately, she hadn’t come with us to the Winchester House, choosing to stay behind and help Kenzie out with her mom and sister instead. So, I hadn’t had the chance to delve deeper into the revelation.
“You really are strange.” Mary tilted her head at me. “So, will you stay a while longer and continue drawing? You seem to have made progress. I do not know what any of it means, but it is rather pretty to behold.”
I glanced down at the map. The city of Atlantis, from my memory of the old one, was right in the middle of that ocean—between the big landmass of Antarctica and the smaller island of South Georgia. But I hadn’t gotten to that part yet, to iron out the specifics.
“I suppose I should put in another shift.” I sagged back against the chair, looking for any excuse not to dive back into it. Procrastination at its finest.
“Is Atlantis really there?” Mary drifted closer. “I heard about it in stories, as a child. I never once believed it could be a real place.”
“Yep, the old girl is hiding somewhere on this page. Though you have to go through a gateway to reach it.” Yet another obstacle in our search for the lost city of Atlantis. Erebus had told us about it, and I vaguely remembered writing something about a gateway in the last iteration of this map. But the details were hazy and probably wouldn’t return until I redrew the entire thing.
“When I heard of Atlantis, the legend said it was underwater. Surely, no one could survive such an environment. Are we to believe there are mermaid inhabitants?”