“Yes,” Elizabeth says a bit stiffly, “I can imagine it must be terribly lonely for you. So you two are the only ones here?”
Konrad hesitates a moment. “I don’t know. Sometimes I hear sounds, deep in the house. Like someone slumbering fitfully.”
“Well, I’d like to meet this Analiese,” Elizabeth says. “Maybe she can explain why you’re here.”
“She already has. She says everyone who dies in the house comes to the house for a time.”
“I simply don’t understand it,” says Elizabeth. “Your soul ought to have gone straight to heaven-or at least purgatory.”
“Unless this house is purgatory,” Konrad replies.
“Isn’t it obvious,” I say with an impatient laugh, “that everything is different from what you’ve been taught by the Church?”
“No, it isn’t,” says Elizabeth.
Konrad sighs. “Things are very strange here.” He turns to the windows and the impenetrable fog beyond. “I feel so trapped.”
My eyes remain fixed on the fog, watching its slow, mesmerizing swirl.
I begin walking toward it. “You should open a window,” I say.
“No, don’t!” he shouts, and his urgency stops me in my tracks.
I laugh. “How can it hurt to open a window?”
“One of the first things Analiese told me was never to open the windows or doors.”
“Why ever not?” Elizabeth wants to know.
“Because, miss, there’s an evil spirit outside who wants to enter.”
I whirl round to see a young woman, no older than me, standing in the doorway, one hand shielding her face from our glare.
“Are you Analiese?” I ask.
“I am, sir. And you must be Mr. Konrad’s brother. He told me you’d been, and I could scarce believe it-the living visiting the world of the dead.”
She is beautiful, I see immediately, with long plaited hair so blond it is almost white, and eyes of a most arresting blue. Her porcelain skin bears a bewitching beauty spot on one cheek. She wears a simple black dress-her best, no doubt-that, though modest, cannot conceal her very pleasing figure.
“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.
