Out of Body

“Off,” Marley panted, rolling to her side and grabbing anxious Winnie against her at the same time. “I’m all right, Win. Relax.”

It wasn’t all a dream—or nightmare, but an echo of something Marley had already experienced. It brought back the day when that woman she’d never seen before really had given her the red house. What had been different was what she had heard said this time.

And the house was on her workbench to prove everything.

Marley kicked her feet and legs free of the sheets and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed. A cotton nightie stuck to her clammy skin.

She had been on Dumain Street, walking back from delivering a package for Uncle Pascal and wishing her two sisters would call from London. Dawdling along, she heard someone call her name.

A shop bell had jangled and she’d noticed the tall woman beckoning her toward an alley. Unafraid, Marley had allowed herself to be led.

Since that puzzling day, Marley had returned to Dumain Street several times to search for the shop. There was no alley, archway or toy shop to be found. And there was certainly no elegant, barefoot woman dressed for ballet practice and calling herself Belle.

Marley gritted her teeth and got up to open her goody cupboard. Like traveling, intense dreams and nightmares made her hungry.

In Marley’s sleep just a little earlier, that woman had told her to stop the killing.

Did it mean she should go back through the tunnel now, and quickly?

At least she had to get to the workroom and find out if the portal was open.

Snacking would have to wait. Marley fished out a manageably sized chew for Winnie before slamming the cupboard door. Winnie’s favorite big plastic bone would be a liability when Marley was trying to move quietly. She pushed her feet into flip-flops, grabbed up her robe and pulled it on while she hurried from the flat, scooping up her keys as she went. Winnie gamboled along behind, her snorting made louder by the rawhide between her teeth.

Marley wasn’t sure of the time, but the sky had lightened past early dawn and she could see minuscule droplets of moisture whirling in the beam from an outside wall lamp. This would be another hot and humid day. The beat of music from a radio, or a band in a loft somewhere, pulsed under her skin.

Sykes would dance down the steps, but he was more sure-footed than Marley. More than once she had slipped on the painted metal treads when they were damp. She was satisfied with letting the music take an edge off the fear that propelled her.

When she reached the courtyard, she raised her chin to see what lights showed in the upper-floor flats. Nothing above the shop, where Uncle Pascal lived, and nothing in Willow’s place, or in Sykes’s, to the right of her own. Not that Sykes was known for using lights much.

None of the lights in Sykes’s most often empty flat had been visible after Gray left and Marley ran to get home. For all she knew, Sykes had gone elsewhere after he had made himself completely invisible to her.

She hurried on, acknowledging the silent angels as she went. They held a mystery she still hoped would become clear to her. Since she’d been a small child, this courtyard had been her favorite place.

Inside the shop, Marley quickly turned off the alarm system.

All of the Millets’ senses were highly developed, but even in the world of paranormal powers, conventional science had its uses.

Utilizing the ambient glow from highly polished surfaces, she dodged quickly between stock displays on the floor and, clinging to the banister, dashed up the flights of stairs to her workshop.

She unlocked the door, let herself and Winnie inside, and bolted them in.

Stacked high all around, her projects obscured any immediate view of the workbench, but looking in that direction, she could see flickering, like green flame, reflected on the ceiling in that direction.

As always, what she did next was her choice. But she wouldn’t discount Belle’s plea yet, just in case.

Winnie cried behind her.

“Quiet,” Marley hissed. “Not another sound or Uncle Pascal could wake up.” Wake up, come to find her and make it very difficult to continue what she’d started.

She went to stand in front of the bench and stared at the chinoiserie house. Whatever happened, she would not disclose that it had sinister connections.

No wavering tunnel extended from the roof or one of its walls. No urgent whispers begged her to enter. But the leaping glow, a fiery dance of green tongues, turned the ceiling above into a wild reflection. The lightest touch of her left hand on the peeling roof caught at her skin like warm gum.

With each step backward, a funnel, blue, turquoise, whirled to life, pulled bigger and bigger as if it were moldable liquid spun from the very tips of Marley’s fingers.

A bump against her legs caused Marley to glance down. Winnie looked back, her chew still gripped in her teeth. Marley scooped the dog up with her free arm and sat in the old leather chair with her.

Finally the Ushers came, but not to whisper. They babbled, squabbled, their sounds rising and falling, angry and frightened by turns.

They were arguing.

Marley closed her eyes to concentrate and her limbs became heavy. She couldn’t raise her eyelids again.

“We know we should help her to go, but we don’t want to this time. It’s too dangerous.”

She understood what the Ushers were talking about. For the first time they were worried about urging her to travel.

Growing warmer, and even more relaxed, Marley sank back against her chair.

“She mustn’t go. Stop her,” an Usher said.

A collective, indrawn gasp shocked Marley. She sat very still and listened. The sibilant sounds were there, but in a muttering, fearful chorus. She heard, “He’s here,” and looked around, expecting to see someone looming over her.

“It’s dangerous,” one voice, timid but determined said.

Marley closed her eyes and swallowed hard—and she saw a face, a man of indeterminate years, striking to look at with dark blue eyes and dark hair streaked with gray to his collar.

“Who are you?” she asked aloud.

He appeared to study her closely and then he said, in a clear, deep voice, “Yes. Belle chose well. I argued it should be a man, but she laughed at me.” His smile transformed him and his eyes shone. “Trust your companions to guide and guard you. You do this for the family. There is a lot to do, so be strong.”

Marley tried to respond, but he had gone again.

She had felt good in that man’s company. He was familiar, but she wasn’t completely sure why, except that he reminded her of Sykes, at least a little.

“I’m ready,” she said aloud and firmly.

This time separation happened so quickly she felt herself tear from her body, and once free, she floated at the entrance to the funnel.

The irritated mutters softened to encouragement and she felt herself loosen. Into the opening she swam, and every thought faded, but for what she must do. “Stop the killing.” And whatever she did was for the family. She had believed her strange visitor.

Once more, like the aperture of a camera lens, a space opened into another spectrum.

Disorienting sound met her, hammered at her ears, her temples, her whole face. She felt the thump of noises colliding with her body and breaking apart into screams.

Someone cried. A man. The screams were a man’s, too.

What was this place?

Rather than the dirty room she had seen before, a sleeping woman lay, naked and facedown, atop a heap of vivid silk pillows. The pillows cast their own startling light against absolute darkness.

Marley looked around in search of any clue to where she was. There was nothing.

The male cry of anguish sounded again and Marley threw up her hands as if they could shut out the howl. Instead her wrists scraped a cold, spined thing. Red eyes, the black pupils like those of a giant feline, blinked once, then disappeared. All sound retreated and cold calm descended.