“Well, it seems Brenda has decided to join us,” Maxine said matter-of-factly. “Welcome, Bren—”
The other portrait fell off the wall, and then the wind inside the room suddenly whipped up in what was becoming a familiar scene to Callie. She held on to Fiona’s and Cherry’s hands as the spectral storm rose. The gale churned and thrashed them as they sat in their protective circle, gripping each other’s hands tightly.
The room was suddenly frigidly cold, and their breaths came out in white bursts as the candles jolted and leapt and finally guttered into nothing. Darkness closed in on them, coming from within the room and from the wintry outside on this, the longest night of the year.
Callie felt the wet spray on her face and the small, angry pelting of phantasmic cranberry cocktail, and she heard the quiet whine from Bruce Banner.
“Hold on,” Maxine said, her voice deep and calm and powerful as Brenda’s wrath battered them. “Hold on!”
They held on for what seemed like forever.
And then at last the volley of wind and hail slowed, then eased away. Callie could hear her companions panting a little as quiet descended. Bruce Banner whined again, just once, then subsided into silence.
“That was quite an entrance, Brenda,” Maxine said. “Even I don’t make entrances like that! Now, don’t get all riled up again, Brenda. We aren’t here to bother you—we just want to help put you to rest.”
If Callie hadn’t known it was Maxine Took doing the talking, she would never have believed it…the voice was more smooth and reasonable than before. Maybe Maxine was possessed by this Jean Fickler’s spirit.
“Iva here wants to get married on your balcony on New Year’s Eve,” Maxine went on. Her eyes were wide in her dark face. “She is asking your permission to do so, and we request your cooperation for the evening. Will you give it?”
It felt like an earthquake.
The room shook and the entire tower seemed to sway. The stacks of chairs against the wall rattled, and Bruce Banner began to whine piteously.
“What is wrong?” demanded Maxine. “Why are you so angry, Brenda?”
The walls shook more violently and Callie was actually afraid Tremaine Tower might come down. She squeezed Fiona’s hand tightly and looked at the others around the circle. None of them had their eyes closed—in fact, the whites of everyone’s eyes were somehow reflected in the darkness.
“Brenda Tremaine, I call upon you to cease your bitching and complaining and leave this place!” cried Maxine. “Or at least, cease your bitching and complaining so we can have a wedding here!”
Brenda didn’t respond immediately, but Callie felt the shaking and vibrating ease a little. And then a little more. And then more.
And finally, it was quiet again. The only sound was the very low whining from Bruce, and a very normal wintery wind buffeting theoutsideof the building.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Orbra, speaking for the first time.
Thunk-thunkity-thunk!
“Jean?” said Juanita.
Thunk-thunk!
“Jean must have done something to calm her down,” Cherry muttered.
“Took her long enough,” crabbed Maxine, back to true form. “Someone light the damned candles again, will you? Can’t see a blasted thing.”
“I wonder if she’s really gone,” said Iva as Cherry lit the candles. One by one, the flames began to sway and bounce normally on their wicks. That alone told Callie that things were back to normal.
“There’s no real way to know…” Fiona’s voice trailed off. “Oh. Maybe there is.”
She pointed wordlessly to the wall where Brenda’s portrait used to hang.
Scrawled on it in rickety, barely legible red lettering was:
FAR WELL
WARE RAIL
Nine
