Roy nodded agreement. “What kind of exposure do you have in mind?”
“A double exposure—demonstrate that they are cowards by revealing the ropers, then demonstrate that they are criminals by revealing the stoning deaths.”
“That seems sound,” Wister said. “The public will feel most outraged not by the deaths of others but by the deceit. It is their indignation we must draw upon.”
“And you think…” I put in, seeing Clem’s thought. “You think a Grand Séance might be an apt occasion for such an exposé?”
She nodded. “Yes. A Grand Séance at the Lyceum. A large audience, impossible to silence.”
“It will be dangerous,” Wister observed. “To perform in front of all of them, with their thews in attendance as well.”
“Why not rely upon Erauso?” I asked Clementine. “Where is he?”
Clementine looked down at her lap, and her thoughts were abruptly shrouded. “We cannot rely on Erauso,” she said quietly. “But I’m not concerned about an attack onstage, Wister. If they do that, they will only prove our point.”
Wister nodded, her reluctance visible. “It is risky, but that is true of any plan.”
From there, our plans progressed quickly. Roy utilized his connections in the constabulary to secure a spot in the next séance, Wister prepared the Sor Juana Alliance members at Keel House and elsewhere for an imminent confrontation with Cisneros, and Clem and I began practicing. Our plan required no joint casting, but we did need to practice summoning for the séance, and that in itself involved no small effort. To begin with, I would need to alter my appearance by influencing the audience’s perception.
I practiced in the kitchen, with Gertie and Meg for an audience. There were no textbooks for thews, no courses to guide my first attempts. I reached for their thoughts intuitively and found them, but I didn’t know what to do next. Could I change their thoughts somehow? No, no more than I could change someone’s words by speaking to them. Their thoughts were smooth and whole, visible but not malleable. Gertie was scrubbing potatoes, and Meg was staring at me across the table with disconcerting attentiveness. She giggled.
“Did something happen?” I asked.
“No.” But she sent me a rather florid thought that didn’t assist my concentration.
I sighed and tried again. For most of the afternoon, I had no success. Then Clem joined us, leaning in the doorway to watch the strange pantomime at the table. “Try the way you did from the realm,” she said. “When you would send me caution and encouragement.”
It wasn’t a bad suggestion. I did so, and instead of sending an emotion, I conveyed the image of myself as I wished to be seen. Meg gasped, and her flirtatious thoughts withered. Gertie looked up from the turnovers she was forming. “Ah! You’ve done it, Sam. Very nice bonnet,” she added approvingly. “But you’ve given yourself no curves at all,” she said, frowning. “Live a little, why don’t you?”
I’d fashioned myself in the image of a probable Keel House resident—a plain, middle-aged woman of island origins, with worn hands and bland features. Clem walked around the table to look at me directly. “That’s excellent, Sam,” she said quietly. “Or should I say ‘Samantha’?”
Though accomplishing it had been difficult, I felt no strain or exhaustion, and once the trick was learned, it felt simple, as simple as reaching for someone with sympathy or alarm. Clem was right: a spirit works its power through emotion, and I needed this, rather than the calculating approach of the enchanter, to effect my castings.
In my new guise, I took two letters written by Clem and ventured out into the streets of Salem early Friday evening. It was my first foray beyond the boundary of Keel House, and I could hardly contain my joy at the experience. A fine rain fell—which made no difference to me at all—and I beamed at every personwho passed me on the street, wishing them a good evening. The bright yellow lights in the shops, the splash of the carriage wheels in puddles, the smell of pine tar near the wharf—I found it intoxicating, all of it. When I reached Vera’s house, I admired the tidy front garden on the rather run-down street. She came at once in response to my knock and opened the door cautiously. “Yes?” she asked, looking out at me.
“I’m Samantha. I’ve come from Keel House,” I said. “With a message from Clementine.”
“Oh!” Vera exclaimed, opening the door. “Come in, come in.”
“I’ll only be a moment,” I agreed, stepping into the foyer. “She’s given me these letters: one for you, one for Throckmorton’s thew. She’s learned the location of the case. The details are there.”
“How?” Vera’s eyes opened wide.
I shook my head. “I can’t explain. But Clem asks if you could bring her the case—to Keel House. If you can.”
Vera smiled. “Oh, the professor and I are fast friends now.” She entwined her fingers and winked at me. “I bring him extra dessert, and he gives me good tips. This will be easy.”
Clem: September 21, 1888
Dear Mother,
I’ve returned in one piece. His name is Samuel May, the spirit who has guided me this last month, who is with me now as a thew. It has been worthwhile, Mother, for he has found the case. Vera will bring it to me. First we will expose thecisnes, and then I will come find you. It will be at the next Grand Séance.
I’m glad it will be soon, for my spirit feels heavy, Mother. So very heavy. It has since I went to the realm. Something happened to me there.
As we were returning, we walked along the mooring line. You had told me that the passage would be difficult. I thought it would be like everything else I’ve been told would be difficult. Dead reckoning wasn’t difficult; enchantment itself felt easy, almost natural; even making Erauso with bone was simple. But that has led me, I see now, to a false confidence. For when I was on the mooring line, I suddenly thought:I can’t. I am not able. I am not strong enough.Then I realized something terrible. That all my conviction to do what I do in this world is illusory. My confidence only exists because I believe it exists. It isnot real.
How much that we hold dear is like this? Existing only because we choose to believe in it? Everything. Everything in our world is a mirage,Mother. The knowledge we think we possess, the high regard of others, even the love that we believe binds us. All of it exists only because we believe it exists. And so nothing, nothing, truly exists without that willful deception. I cannot make myself believe something. It’s impossible. I can want to believe, but I can’t force the belief. There is no mooring line here. I have nothing to hang on to.
