Chapter 7 - Unsolved Problems & Unmarked Graves

“Marjorie!” Johann exclaimed. “Perhaps she could coax the secrets from the grimoire. It is possible that she would have inherited it!”

Table of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17

Recap: In the previous chapter, we found Johann the professional wizard lamenting something rash that he did as a youth. Because of this rash thing, the family grimoire refused to yield the spells that he required, in order to protect his family from the Elf in his back-yard.

In the midst of his pity-party, the house was visited by the spirits of Mr. and Mrs. Orville Shelley. Slipping through the wall rather than knocking at the door, they’d come to inquire whether Johann was the new gravedigger—and to alert him about a most alarming situation taking place in his yard.

What should Johann and Nina expect to see outside? And is there a way to set everything to rights, when the book will be of no help?

Author’s Note: If you are enjoying this story, I humbly ask that you share the chapters so that more people can read it and offer feedback! Thank you, dear reader, for your time!

---

“This way, please,” said Nina, motioning for the Shelleys to follow her to door.

It was most like Nina to play the perfect hostess, as if their guests were living and of flesh-and-bone, rather than ghosts wrenched from their eternal rest.

With polite words of thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Shelley exited through the front door, rather than melting through the wall the way they had come in. This, perhaps, had been Nina’s intent; Johann could not be bothered by such matters of etiquette.

He hurried after them, bracing himself.

Johann shivered in the night air, noting that it was far too cold for mid-October. This was the cold of a moonless December at midnight, when days were shorter and flora and fauna alike slept.

He reached for Nina’s hand; their fingers locked. Her touch gave him comfort as they stood before the disaster their ghostly guests had described.

Though Johann attempted to face the problem with courage, his knees threatened to buckle. It was unlike anything he could have imagined. Wailing figures, translucent and restless, sauntered about the cemetery in various modes of dress and distress.

Johann understood that their presence was making the graveyard colder. The chill seeped through his skin, down to his bones. Nina tightened her grip on his arm, the only sign of fear she had displayed thus far. He pulled her nearer, but his mind could not form a coherent thought.

One of the Franciscans walked past them, brandishing a battered Bible. His pale face was gaunt with despair. “Purgatory!” cried the man, raising his hands to the heavens, a plea to the God that he’d spent his life serving. “It must be Purgatory, it must…”

Not far from the distraught monk, a pair of lovers held one another in bewildered bliss. 

“…your father,” the young man was saying, while his lady sobbed into his arms. “He locked me out and threatened me with debtor’s prison, and I could not see you. And then the plague, the damned plague…”

“Yes, the plague,” she sobbed, “it took me, too!”

A man sat nearby on the grass, huddled in rags, as if he had torn his clothing before breathing his last. “I took all the laudanum,” said the poor creature to himself, “stole the whole bottle…why? Why didn’t it work?”

“A plague victim, I reckon,” Mrs. Shelley said, as Johann listened with sympathy to the grieving spirit. “Rather than being shunned, many preferred to end their own suffering.”

“Yes,” Johann breathed sadly, “and he’d have been buried in an unmarked grave. I’m surprised he’s in the church graveyard, rather than at a crossroads someplace far off.” Pausing, he added, “I’ve a feeling that we will meet many other souls whose remains were disposed of that way.”

He turned to his wife. Nina looked at him with sympathetic eyes—sympathetic and almost unafraid. 

Almost.

“Nina,” he said, when at last he could convince his tongue to move, “if you have any advice, I—I’m afraid that I do not know the first thing about calming a mob of panicked spirits.”

“The first thing you ought to do is arrange for our home to be protected,” she said in a beat. “We have two children, and both of them are frightened already. Until we can explain to them what has taken place, we do not want any of these spirits creeping into their bedrooms.”

“If you would like some assistance, Mrs. Shelley and I will ensure that none of these ghosts make it past your door—or walls,” said Mr. Shelley. “While most of them appear too distracted, it should not be difficult to block one if they do decide to explore.”

“Oh,” said Nina breathlessly, “would you do that for us, truly?”

Mrs. Shelley nodded. “We had a family, and we understand how important it is for our children to feel safe in their home. Go—Orville and I will take charge of our fellow deceased.”

Johann nodded in silent gratitude, battling the urge to weep. With the Shelleys’ offer, one matter had been taken care of—but he still had the greater problem to face.

What could be responsible for this? he wondered…and then it struck him.

The Elf.

Thinking of the wicked creature who’d ransacked his home sent a wave of rage through Johann; it was strong enough to shock him into movement. 

“This is the Elf’s doing,” he told Nina, turning away from the spirits and marching back to the house. “He’s done something to disturb the dead from their eternal rest.”

Nina opened her mouth, but words seemed to fail her. Clever Nina, the woman who always had a solution, stared in bewilderment at the scene surrounding them.

At last she looked up helplessly, and the fear in her eyes was like a dagger to his pride.

How had things spilled so far from his control that their yard was now infested?

Johann was gripped by a terrible frenzy. “Come,” he told his wife.

He took her arm and guided her, gently but firmly, back to the house. Once they were both in their sanctuary, he slammed the door shut and bolted to the table on which rested the grimoire.

Touching it with trembling hands, he whispered incantations he’d never thought that he would have to use. He spoke in the language of magic, for which there was no translation. However, he knew his magic would do nothing. The grimoire was not his, and it did not matter how long he pounded at its door; it would not open for him.

My family, was all that he could think, my family…my wife and children…how have I failed them so terribly?

Johann’s ears buzzed. Several moments had passed before he realized that his wife was speaking, voicing words of comfort that he could scarcely make out.

Tears slid down his face and onto the brittle pages of the book. He could not get a thought together, nor could he coax the book to offer advice. If only he had reinforced the protective charms in the spring, like he normally did! He had been so distracted in his greenhouse, crouched over cauldrons, making potions to amuse the townsfolk…

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself say to his wife in between sobs, “s—sorry that I was so careless—I thought—I thought we would have a peaceful life here, and it was my duty to set the barriers every year at S—Spring Solstice, but this year it slipped m—my mind…”

Nina wrapped her arms around him, pulling his trembling body close. He didn’t need to look up; he sensed from her posture that she, also, was crying. 

“You do so much,” she whispered into his ear, “so much, my dear. Who would’ve thought that damned creature would make it all the way here? Do not weep. Come to bed and rest. Take the grimoire with you, and—”

“The grimoire!” Johann barked, all of a sudden morphing into Bamoy the wizard. In an act of desperate rage, he grabbed the useless tome and flung it off of the table. “A lot of good the grimoire will do for me, Nina. We both know it is not mine. A foolish lad I was, making off with my sister’s birthright. 

“I wrote my name in the spot where Astrid ought to have written hers. The book does not reveal things to me because it knows I’m not meant to have it. It will remain a tome of nonsensical scribbles until it is in the hands of its owner.”

“Then contact her!” Nina insisted, as if she had not just learned for the first time that the family grimoire was useless. He knew that she would have much to say about it later, but for the moment, she offered advice rather than scolding. “Astrid must still be in New York! Remember, we received a letter from her two years ago, and then a wedding invitation. How on earth she learned where we were living, I do not know, but all the same—”

“Astrid!” Johann cried. “She is on the other side of the ocean. She might not receive my letter for months or years. What am I to do until then? The book will not listen to me, but I need it. I need…” 

The thought struck him then, absurd and yet so logical that he covered his eyes, almost in embarrassment.

“Marjorie,” he whispered. “Perhaps Marjorie can coax the book to reveal its secrets. It is possible that she’ll one day inherit it. Astrid married a very old man; we do not know if he lived long. There is a chance that they had no children…” Looking up at Nina, he finished in a whisper, “The grimoire passes to the eldest child. I was not the eldest; I should not have taken it. But if Astrid had no children, Marjorie would be next in line. It’s a shot in the dark; I can think of nothing better.”

He saw the color drain from Nina’s face at the suggestion of their daughter being pulled into the matter. However, she did not quarrel with him, for which he was grateful. Enough of his life had begun to unravel; Marjorie was eager to help, so eager that she had taken the grimoire herself—the book had called her!—surely it would be more reactive to her voice than his own!

“I promise,” Johann said, scrambling to take his wife’s hands, “I promise that our daughter will be safe. I will not let anything harm her. But we owe it to ourselves, as well as to the dead who are wandering in our yard, to try. 

“Nina—Nina,” he said, when a tear slid down her cheek, “I will give my life before anything happens to her, but her lessons must begin. Margo is determined, fearless, and curious. So long as I remain by her side, nothing can go amiss.”

Nina nodded, though her tired body rattled. It was the sob of a mother who had realized that her child was no longer a child.

How beautiful she was, even while feeling this grief most profound. 

“I trust you,” she whispered, “and I know that nobody could give her a better magical education. Keep an eye on her, Johann. I insist that you keep me informed about her progress. Don’t you dare try anything risky without first telling me.”

He nodded, relief soaking through his body for the first time since their day had begun—with that blasted basket and the devil trapped inside of it. Oh, that he could turn back time! He would have tossed the basket into the fire—Fae loathed fire—

“You will know everything, my darling,” he promised. “You have always known everything, from the moment that we married. You were never afraid to call my ideas stupid.”

Well, he thought, hoping that she could not read his thoughts, you have always known almost everything. He hadn’t told her that the grimoire wouldn’t serve him, but she knew now.

Johann expected for his wife to be angry about the information he’d concealed from her. He was puzzled to hear a shaky laugh escape her, instead.

Interpreting it as a precursor to forgiveness, Johann pressed her hand to his lips, and they sat in exhausted silence for several moments until she spoke again, her voice thick as she sorted through her emotions.

“All the same, write to Astrid. Do not spring full responsibility over the grimoire on Marjorie yet. Ask if she wants to try working with it; make sure she’s informed of the dangers involved. If not, then wait! Wait until she has adjusted to her role as your pupil.” Nina reached for the grimoire, which had landed on the ground at her feet. “Tell Astrid what is happening and ask for help. Send it to her address in New York. It’s possible that she’s still living in what I assume to be a big house with too many rooms to clean.”

In spite of it all, Johann chuckled at Nina’s last comment.

Swallowing, he said, “Yes. I’ll write to Astrid and confess that I stole her birthright, because I was a cocky young man who thought himself very clever.” Shaking his head, he added in scarcely more than a whisper: “I was not much different from how Adam is now. Isn’t it curious how certain things are passed down?”

Nina smiled, placing the grimoire on the table. “Let’s try to get some sleep. Will you toss more wood in the bedroom hearths, while I find blankets for the children?”

“Yes, dear,” said Johann, happy to be helpful in a manner that was perfectly ordinary and mostly non-magical.

She continued: “I believe that Mr. Shelley is capable of keeping the spirits under control, but we still feel the change that they have made in the air. I’m sure that Margo and Adam have noticed the cold, even if they cannot explain it.”

Johann considered her words, and though they were reasonable, they did not ease the hollow sensation in his soul. What a mess he had unleashed. 

Slowly, he stood. He took the grimoire and closed it, securing it with the buckle. Tucking it under his arm, he helped Nina to her feet with his free hand. She reached for the oil lamp and held it ahead of them as they made their way upstairs, their breaths taking the form of vapor in the otherworldly chill.

Johann tried not to think about how he would explain to his children what had happened. He tried not to think, but even as he stoked the hearth in the sleeping Marjorie’s room, incoherent words of panic whirled through his mind.

I will write to Astrid, he thought, looking at his daughter’s face, so sweet and vulnerable in sleep. But, in the meanwhile, I’ll teach Marjorie.

If the grimoire called Marjorie, perhaps it is hers.