I contemplated the two figures in front of me. To my right, the curtain stirred, rearranging itself until its top was visible. A flow of air passed over my skin, right to left, then swirled, catching and lifting the sheer fabric until it wavered between me and Maritza. “She wants a dress, Mari. Now.” I raised both arms and sent the curtain up and over the salt circle.
The fabric folded in half lengthwise. Maritza’s two needles went to work at her command, basting the outline of a simple dress with a scooped neck and long sleeves. “She needs a pocket,” I added, unsure how the witch would manage to create one.
“Is your knife still in your pants?” she asked, and when I nodded, she paused her needles and rifled through where I’d dropped my clothes on the floor.
Luckily, I kept my blade sharpened. It sliced through the curtain with ease, netting Mari two squares. Resuming the work with her needles, two pockets appeared on the front of the dress.
“That’s good. She’s ready to go, as soon as you cut away the excess fabric.”
Maritza again picked up my knife, stood, and finished her sister’s ghost’s request. She stepped away and asked, “What’s next?”
“First she exits my body, then we find Heriberto. Put these in one of the pockets.” I handed over the two remaining paper figures and resumed my seat. Once I could no longer feel Moira’s presence, I snuffed out the candles in reverse order and stepped over the circle of salt.
Chapter 11
Bas gathered my sister’s sewing things into the little basket. The silvery markings stacked up the sides of his arms and legs glowed faintly.
I wanted to ask how he’d gotten the tattoos, and how he kept them hidden, but my curiosity would have to wait. There was a larger mystery facing us. Or, facing the doorway. The ghostly, floating dress had paused at the entrance to the room.
“She needs our help crossing over even the most mundane threshold,” Bas said. “If you will lead the way, I’ll assist.”
“Should I bring anything?” I asked. Bas had stopped at the coat rack near the door and was eyeing yet another cape. He shook it out, draped it over his shoulders, and buttoned it at his throat.
“Your needles and thread—just in case—and my knife, please.” He picked up Momo’s sewing basket and took hold of the dress’s arm.
I led our odd trio, nodding as we passed each of the niches with their altars and their gods, and pressed my thumb to the family quarters’ keypad. We passed through the great room, where much of the night’s drama had already played out. Bas and the makeshift dress followed me to the interior stairwell that led down into the section of the house built into the rock.
“Malvyn likely put Heriberto here,” I said. “It’s close enough he and James can get to him in a hurry.” The room I had in mind was at the end of the hall, past the indoor gym.
At the bottom of the stairs, the light from cut-out metal wall sconces created shadows of tree branches on the ceiling. A narrow, carpeted hallway led in one direction. As I reached for the door handle to the single guest room, a white sleeve floated between my ribs and my extended arm. I turned my head, hoping for a more complete vision of my sister, but there was nothing, no transparent fingers emerging from the sleeve, no dream-like facial features hovering above the neckline.
Bas came closer. “Open the door.”
I pressed down and pushed. Low light illuminated the windowless room. Heriberto was face-up on a bed with a metal frame. Sheepskin-lined leather restraints circled his wrists and ankles. His covers were mostly on. A shudder passed through the sheer dress as it positioned itself at the foot of the bed.
My instinct was to hover by my sister’s side. Bas drew me to him and guided me to the doorway. “We can observe from here,” he said. “Unless they ask us to go.”
“Why would they not want us here?” I asked. “I want to speak with my sister, and I know Malvyn will too, plus our parents—”
“Mari. They are husband and wife, bound by the Demesne even beyond death.”
As if to underscore Bas’s words, the dress spilled forward then collapsed onto Berto’s chest, its sleeves covering his bare arms.
“I’m going to undo the restraints on his wrists.” Bas stepped toward the bed and unbuckled the cuffs. One shoulder of the dress lifted, then settled.
I followed the urge to tend to Berto and moved to the head of the bed. Placing my hands over his ears, I filled my lungs and exhaled slowly, directing my breath down the center line of his torso. This method of soul reading told me his was far more settled within his body than it had been when I assisted with the Resuscitation. A few hours ago, the remnants of Berto’s depleted soul were close to wafting away like pollen in a breeze.
“He’s not going to die tonight,” I said. “In fact, I think he might be willing to stay, now that Moira is here.” I moved away from my brother-in-law and his ghostly companion. “Can you tell if Moira would do that for him? Will she stay?”
Bas shook his head. “She’s so far gone, so dispersed. It’s hard for me to say.”
“But something’s happening. Look.” I pointed to the dress. The top half peeled away from Berto enough a sleeve could reach the pocket with the two dolls. One at a time, the paper cut-outs floated out and up. The sheet and blanket covering Berto’s chest moved toward his hips, exposing his skin.
The paper dolls landed, stacked one atop the other, over Berto’s heart. The dress rose higher until the ends of the two sleeves rested on the palm-sized figures. Smoke began to curl out and up from the edges. The paper disappeared, leaving a faint tattoo on
