Dangerous Spirits Read Free Page B

physical
sort. He… enjoyed didn’t seem a strong enough word, but it would do. He
enjoyed Vincent’s company. Making him smile and laugh, and groan in ecstasy. And
drifting off in his arms, and waking up the same way.
    He needed to confess. To see Vincent’s disappointment, and
hope…what? That Vincent didn’t regret throwing his lot in with Henry? Didn’t
break off their relationship and carry on with Maillard instead?
    Assuming he wasn’t already, depending on what sort of
“performance” Maillard referred to last night. Ministers wrote long letters to
the newspaper, ranting against the debauchery accompanying séances. Although
hardly the orgies painted by the over-active imaginations of self-appointed
moral guardians, the accusations did hold a kernel of truth. A small group of
adults, sitting in a dark room, tension high as they waited for a ghost to
appear, created a definite atmosphere. The holding of hands, the long black
cloths draped over the séance tables, heightened the possibility of illicit
activity. Spirits drew on sexual energy—as Henry knew first hand, given
what Vincent did to him during a séance at Reyhome Castle.
    They’d made no promises to one another, outside of their
business contract. Perhaps Vincent already grew bored with Henry. Vincent went
to art salons and drank coffee with poets. He already knew half the musicians
in the city, white and colored, and felt at home in the company of his fellow aesthetes
like Christopher Maillard.
    Whereas Henry attended scientific lectures, read every new
journal article on electromagnetism, and preferred to be at home and in bed by
nine o’clock. Could he really be surprised if Vincent took advantage of the
opportunities afforded him?
    Henry suppressed a groan and let himself out. A sitting room
separated the two bedrooms, and many mornings he found Jo sitting there,
studying scientific journals. Her late mother had gifted Jo with a genius for mathematics,
along with tightly curled hair and chestnut skin. This morning, however, the
chamber lay empty.
    The downstairs floor was divided into two parts: the occult
shop out front, and Henry’s workshop in the back. A second building in the yard
just behind the shop offered an alternate place for him to work, when the
chemical smells or sounds might otherwise disrupt séances or disturb any
customers.
    He found Jo in the back room, working on an idea of her own:
a headlamp such as miners used, but with a small arc light in place of a candle.
A yellow scarf kept her hair out of the way, and matched the cheerful hue of
her dress. The apron covering the front of the dress was, as usual, stained
from grease and chemicals, with small holes eaten in the fabric by acid.
    To Henry’s surprise, as she usually shared Vincent’s
sleeping habits, Lizzie was there as well. She wore a long, flowing dress,
corseted tightly about the waist to lend her figure a certain shape nature had
not provided. A wide choker matched the dress, and golden hair hung in soft
ringlets about her face and shoulders.
    “Of course you can borrow my earrings,” she said to Jo.
    “Earrings?” Henry asked. “What on earth do you want earrings
for, Jo? Don’t you already have a pair?”
    Jo and Lizzie exchanged a look. “See?” Jo asked.
    “You didn’t have to convince me,” Lizzie replied. “Your
cousin has no sense of fashion whatsoever. I’d hoped Vincent might prove a good
influence, but I fear it isn’t to be.”
    Henry tugged self-consciously at his coat tails. His
clothing might not be exactly new, but nothing was frayed, and there were
surely more important things for him to spend his money on, anyway. The memory
of Maillard’s stylish cream suit flashed through his mind, but he put it aside
sternly.
    “My wardrobe is fine, thank you,” he said. “Should I go for
coffee and pastries?”
    “Without even telling us how things went at the Psychical
Society?” Lizzie asked, raising a brow.
    Jo all but bounced on her