Part 23

          As much as I'd like to talk with them... this is not a moment I can intrude on.  For the millionth time with this family, I wish there were something I could do.  Sighing heavily, I sit back on the tiled pathway, and lean back on my hands.  It's so beautiful and peaceful here, it's not fair that it should have seen such sorrow.
          "Can I help you, miss?"
          I jump half a mile, whipping my head around toward the unexpected voice.  It's a young man - not Jacob, sadly - tall and slim, maybe eighteen or twenty years old, with strikingly bright blue eyes.  Surprisingly long light brown hair, and an awfully gorgeous face.  (What is it around this place, that everyone's so attractive? ...alright, genetics mostly, and then discriminating when hiring staff, but still.  In the middle of nowhere?)  He looks a little familiar, but I can't place him...
          "Uh. No, I'm uh..."
          He laughs, brushing his hair back from his face, and reaching down with one hand to help me up.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.  Were you here about the cook's position?  I'm afraid it was filled last week."
          "I... I'm sorry to hear that."  I'm a grubby mess from all my weeding earlier, obviously I'm not going to be taken for company of the master and mistress of the house!  (I'm a little amazed Jacob ever let me indoors on my other visits, to be honest.)  "It's such a beautiful place," I add, looking around as if for the first time - which it is, for this little section of the garden, at least.  "I'd love to be able to spend more time here."
          "Aye, it's quite a hidden jewel out here.  No-one around had heard of these folks a few years ago, but the minute I set foot on the grounds - which were already pretty well along even before the Missus moved in - well, I knew that even if the work was hard, the place would more than make up for it."
          "You're not the gardener, are you?"
          "Lord, no!  I don't think they'd have given that post to someone as young as me!  Old George takes care of the grounds, though I lend a hand when he needs a younger, stronger back to move something.  I'm in charge of the horses - and a beautiful lot they are, the master had already picked out a fine first pair before I got here.  White as snow, they are, though I'll admit it's beastly some days to keep them that way.  But here I'm going on, and I haven't introduced myself.  Joseph Standworth, at your service, miss."  He bows from the waist, and, alright, I'm a little smitten.  While I'd go crazy wearing some of the dresses I've seen Celestine and Cora in, I have to admit, there are some traditions and manners I wish lasted into my own day.
          "Kimberly Bennett," I reply.  And it occurs to me that I should curtsy, but I haven't tried since I first read Little Women at age eight, and anyway it would look ridiculous with me not being in a skirt.  So I make a clumsy little ducking bow, but Joseph doesn't seem to mind.  Joseph!  Horses!  It must have been him in that newspaper clipping I saw in the stable - though the image was so vague, I'm surprised I'm catching any resemblance now.
          "Well, I'm sure it wouldn't be anything like my place to invite you to stay - but I could give you a sort of meandering escort off the grounds, so's you could see a bit of the gardens while you're here."
"Oh, that would be lovely, thank you!  ...I apologize for looking such a fright, I'd stumbled on something just before you came up."
          "There's plenty of hidden little turns and odd corners around this place, I don't wonder that you'd get a bit lost trying to come in the back entrance and find your way to the house.  Though, I'll admit, I'm not sure you're dressed to quite what they'd expect for a young lady, even as a cook."  I can tell he's trying to say this as tactfully as he can, the poor kid.
          "...well, I wasn't really here about the position.  I was..." I'm racking my brain trying to think of a time a woman might conceivably maybe have been in pants in this time. "...on a ride through the woods, and saw the fence, then just had to see what was on the other side of it.  It's so unusual looking, and I didn't know anyone lived 'way out here.  And then, well, how could I help looking around in such an Eden?"
          He laughs and nods - we're walking back toward the creek, heading for the red bridge I think.  Though I'm not entirely sure, I'm seeing all kinds of smaller paths that have completely vanished in my time.  "Can't say that I blame you.  But you're not from town, are you?  I haven't been over there much this past year or so, but my folks keep me up to date on new arrivals when I visit."
          "No, I'm from Milltown, my family moved in just a month or so ago."
          "Bit of a long ride on your own, isn't it?"
          Oh my God, I haven't invented stories this fast... probably ever? Um.  "Not really.  I grew up further west, and there wasn't anyone around for absolutely miles, so my sister and I grew up taking pretty long rides on our own."  Substitute bikes for horses, and I'm not really lying.  Much.  Which makes it much easier to sound convincing.  But I need to get him off the subject of me, I'm not going to waste my short time here by lying to people.  "I've been in to Mapleton once or twice with my parents, but we're still pretty far outside of it here, aren't we?"
          "The Master and Missus really don't have much to do with the townfolk, no more than they can help.  When they're out for a drive, it's always out into the hills, I don't think they've ever had me take them into town.  They'll have visitors once in awhile, but not often, and it's always someone from far out of town.  All the way from New York City last month, even someone from Paris, oh, probably about a year ago now."
          "Such a long way!  They must have been family, to be willing to travel that far?"
          "Well, the Missus has had a bit of family out once or twice, though they're from somewhere else in the state, I can't recall the town.  But I've never heard a thing about the Master's folks, he keeps pretty well to himself.  Oh he's a kind and generous man, and a great artist, too.  But for all the learned things he can talk about at length, I've never heard a word about his family or more than a hint of his past, nor have any of the rest of the staff.  Which I guess isn't a surprise, I wouldn't expect them to sit down with one of us over a drink!  Maybe it's just that they're so new to town, most families here have known each other for generations."
          "You know, I don't think I've even heard, what's the name of the family that lives here?"
          "Mason," he replies.  "Though it's just the Master and Missus so far - but they're young yet, I'm sure there will be a whole little brood---" he stops mid-sentance, remembering the scene he must've caught a glimpse of just as I did.  "---well, someday, I'm sure there will be children around the place."
          "...I heard someone crying not far from me, but I didn't want to intrude.  It was Mrs. Mason then?  I think I've heard her name before, now that you've mentioned it."
          He nods, biting his lip.  "She's such a slim and delicate thing, it makes us all worry for her health.  One of hers was stillborn, the other came too early.  Such a kind and gentle woman, it's not right that she should have to suffer like that."
          "No, I can't even imagine how much that must hurt, poor thing."
          He lifts his head, looking behind us, and I suspect he's looking to see if Meres has returned yet, as he'd promised Celestine.  "Master tries so hard to please her, but there's just nothing a man can do in that case.  Not that he takes any comfort in that, he's as distraught as she is whenever she's the least unhappy."
          I refrain from snorting.  I remember hearing that kings often assumed the fault with their offspring or lack thereof was the woman's fault, guess that's an attitude that was a little more common than I'd have thought.  But then, the actual pregnancy and birth is all on the woman, so I can't entirely blame them for thinking so.
          We have, in fact, reached the red bridge, and it really is striking.  The geometric pattern on the tiles that run along the sides of the clear stream below are vibrant and bright.  There are flowers blooming all along the banks here, many spilling over to kiss the water's surface.  White irises and flowering grasses, and... well, an awful lot of things, most of which I can't identify at this distance.  And that's not--- oh it is, it's such a tiny little baby weeping willow tree at the bend!  My head swims a little - it's such a clear reminder of how many years lie between this time and my own.
          Joseph puts a steadying hand on my arm - we'd just taken a step onto the bridge, and I must've stumbled.  "Careful now - though I suppose if you fell in, it'd clear the mud from you," he adds with a sly grin.
          I laugh.  "True!  I should really pay closer attention when I'm walking, I'm so clumsy some days..."
          "But I hadn't asked you - which way did you come in?  I don't want you to get lost again, trying to get back to your horse."
          I start to scramble for an answer, what would be plausible, I don't even know where, or if, there are gates other than the main one.

Part 22

But he's distracted anyway - dropping to one knee, he swings the camera up to his eye with the grace of a motion made a thousand times.  Waits, motionless, for a moment, then I hear the shutter snap, and he's standing back up with an apologetic smile.
          "Sorry.  Butterfly landed perfectly on that blue flower there."
          "Flax.  It means 'I feel your kindness', or, alternately, 'fate'."
          He looks at me a little puzzled.  "Flowers have meanings?"
          "Apparently it was a thing in Victorian times.  I read somewhere that Meres - the one who built the house and planted the gardens - was pretty into arranging the flowers so that their meanings would all work together nicely.  Like... well, take this with a grain of salt, because each book I find gives different meanings, and I'm not exactly a pro at flower identification yet.  But right there, you've got flax, bachelor's button, sage, with a lilac bush behind.  Which is..."  I fish around in my bag and pull out the pages of my handwritten flower-meaning list.  "I feel your kindness - or fate... hope in love... esteem... first emotion of love."
          "So this is the 'I've got a crush on you corner'?"  He grins as he asks this, and I force myself not to blush at this.
          "Guess so!  Or, it could be symbolizing the early part of Meres and Celestine's relationship.  I wonder... I hadn't thought about it before, but I wonder if walking the paths in the right order progressively tells a story or something?  Or, would have, I'm sure most of the flowers have died or been crowded out over the years."
          "You think there'd be enough left to reconstruct it though?  I've seen a handful of photos of the garden - obviously not covering any inch of it or anything, but I wonder if going off of those, and what's still here, and maybe filling in the gaps with things whose meaning makes sense?"
          "You know, I bet that would work!  But I suspect Jeremy Mason doesn't care enough about the place to have it done..."
          "He the one who owns it now?"
          "Yeah.  All the way out in Nevada, I don't think any of the family's been back here in generations, if at all after the fire."
          "Huh..."
          We lapse into silence, and it would start to feel awkward, except that we're both so taken with the place, its history and its beauty, even now that its glory days are long-gone.  He takes a few more photos, and I jot a note in my sketchbook about the path idea.  He seems to spot something interesting on the opposite side of the fountain.
          "Nice meeting you - there are some shots around the foundation I want to take while the light's still right.  I'll see you at the historical society meeting, right?"
          "I suppooooose," I sigh with exaggerated acquiesence, then laugh.  "If you have pictures of my Masons, you bet I'll be there."

          I look down at my sketchbook again, but watch out of the corner of my eye as he walks away.  Nice enough guy.  (My sister's voice insisting I get a boyfriend echoes in my head - but I got pretty good at ignoring her as needed when we were still kids.)  And I bet he does have new shots of the Masons, why else wouldn't he tell me  straight out, just insist I come to the meaning?  (Nope.  Still ignoring Alison.)
          I lean down to gather up my pile of weeds - I've started making a little compost pile of them in an out-of-the-way spot where nothing's really growing toward one edge of the garden.  But as I look down, I spot a small red flower peeking out from behind a burdock leaf.  I can pull out one more stupid burdock plant.  As I do so, I realize there's are a few small bushes of the little red flowers, and covering the ground beneath the burdock (somewhat choking the red flowers) is a spreading patch of blue-violet vinca.  I kneel down to pull some of the vinca away - I know it's pretty tenacious stuff, half my grandma's yard was always covered in it.  I'm sure this was originally a much smaller plant.  Looking under the spreading shrubs nearby, I realize it's covering a pretty huge area now, so ripping out some of it here won't make much difference.
          If I remember right, Vinca is also called periwinkle, which I know was on one of my lists, I wonder what the meaning was?  When I've got a good foot cleared out around the red flower, I sit down on the path, brush off my hands as best I can, and pull out my copy of the flower-meaning list (which is getting pretty rumpled anyway, I should really just type it up and print new copies as needed).  Periwinkle... "sweet memories".  Aww.  Other sources listed blue periwinkle as "early friendship", and white periwinkle as "pleasures of memory".  That's sweet.  I wonder what the red flower is?
          Without much hope, I pull out the small wildflower guidebook that I've tried to keep in my bag.  It hasn't helped much, but it's the only flower book I have that's small enough to carry around without driving me crazy.  And sometimes there are wildflowes that are grown intentionally, or are in the same genus or species, close enough in appearance that I can figure out what I'm looking at.  Luckily for flower-newbie me, the book is organized by color, so I start flipping through the red pages.  Ha!  And there it is!  Adonis annua, pheasant's eye.  According to the map in the book, it's not usually found in the wild here, though it is in Kentucky and Tennessee, which aren't far off climate-wise.  And that means it's more likely its ancestor-plant was put in by Meres and Celestine.
          The name pheasant's eye rings a bell, and sure enough, it's on my list too: "sorrowful memories".
          Sweet memories and sorrowful memories, in the same place?  The vinca could have just invaded this spot unintentionally, of course, and I'm sure if things re-seeded themselves they'd have come up in different places.  But I wonder...

          Nope. They were planted here together on purpose. I rub my eyes, trying to hurry them clearing back up (though I'm pretty sure the blurring is the changes in light waves hitting them from the outside, not something internal).  My pile of weeds is gone, the overgrown shrubs and things are gone.  I focus intently on the spot in front of me - then realize, happily, my bag had still been on my lap from taking out the flower-meaning lists.  I grab my camera and take a few shots of the area immediately around me, to use as reference when I'm back in my own time.  Definitely no goldenrod that's supposed to be here!
          And then I hear a woman's voice, and it's very near.  She's speaking softly, and... and crying.  Looking around, I realize there's a gravel path that's not there in my time, that loops around just on the other side of the area I'd been clearing away.  The pheasant's eye, which was set pretty far back from the path on my side in my time, is closer to this other path, with the vinca running as an edging along the path.  Peering through the leaves of a shrub, I can just make out a figure on that other path, kneeling with skirts spread out wide around her.  I can't tell yet if it's Cora or Celestine - Cora's hair color was similar to Celestine's when she was young, and her face is both bent low and partly obscured by the plants between us.  She's tenderly weeding the patch of garden, which surprises me, wouldn't that have been the job of one of the servants?  I start to suspect it's Celestine - for all her bragging about the gardens, I can't picture Cora out here on her knees with her hands in the dirt.  Watering the flowers with her tears...
          I don't want to intrude on her like this.  I stay where I am, largely hidden behind the shrubs, though I suspect she's not aware of much around her anyway.  Her pale fingers lightly caress one of the pheasant's eye flowers, and I see enough of her face to recognize Celestine... and to see that her lovely features are twisted in deep grief.  Not the frustration of a fight with a loved one, or something going wrong, or in pain, but that deep, gut-wrenching, life-altering dispairing sorrow.
          And I remember what happened the last time I saw her, and the pit of my stomach falls.  What has this poor woman done to deserve any of this...
          But as I watch her, I realize she's younger than she was last time, so it's some other pain that she's suffering now.  I try to catch the occasional words she's muttering, but her voice is low, so it's some time before I can make any out.
          "My dear little... couldn't you..."
          Dear little?  But Meres and Celestine didn't have any children, did they?  Evelyn never mentioned any, and Azal said they hadn't had any.  I kneel down on the pathway, shifting a little - I can't see her any more, but I'm a little closer now, and try to pick out the stray words between the sobs.
          "...my little girl... and little Michael... we would have given you so much love, couldn't you have stayed here with us?  Just for a little while?"
          Oh.  Oh no.  "All of these years together, and still he has not given you a child?"  They were so in love, I guess it wouldn't have been for lack of trying... Oh poor Celestine, and Meres too.  They must have lost them in infancy, or miscarriage (if they didn't even have a name for the girl).
          Sweet memories and sorrowful memories.  I don't know how long I sit there, silent myself, as I listen to Celestine's heart breaking.  But after awhile, I hear footsteps, and hear Meres call her name gently.
          "My darling, are you still out here?  Do, come inside, the sun is so harsh at this time of day."  His voice is so soft and loving, I can almost see the words wrapping around her as an embrace.
          She chokes back a sob, and I can hear her sniffling.  "I'm... I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't..."
          "Hush, my dear one, it's all right."
          "It's just... it would have been her birthday today, if..."
          "I haven't forgotten.  How could I?"
          With the voices at normal speaking volume now, I lean a little to one side again, trying to catch a few glimpses through the leaves.  He's helping her to stand - and as she does, she collapses against his chest, and he encircles her in his arms, stroking her hair soothingly.  "There, now, child, it's..."  He trails off, unable to tell her it's all right, when it's clearly not.  He frowns, his eyes filling with frustration and sadness, as if he feels this is his fault.  Is that something they could have known back then?  It's not like they could get a fertility test done.  The only way you'd know is if... if one had had kids, or not had kids, with someone else.  Has he..?  Or has she?  No, I can't imagine---
          "Now, do, come indoors and rest yourself.  When I have you settled in to my satisfaction, I'll... I'll come finish this section of the garden myself."
          "Oh!  Meres, would you?  I know it's silly of me, but..."
          "Nothing that is done in love is silly, my darling."  He kisses the top of her head tenderly, then starts walking her back toward the house.

Part 21

          The jinn (or djinn, or genies) turn out to be a pretty interesting concept, actually.  According to the Qu'ran and Islamic tradition, you've got men who are physical with free will, jinn who are spiritual with free will, and angels who are spiritual without free will.  After being created, Allah ordered his other creations to bow to Adam, since mankind was supposed to rule over the others.  One of the jinn, Iblis, refused to do so, got kicked out of Paradise, and earned the name Shaytan.  Aside from that, it sounds like the jinn are pretty equivalent to the servant-spirits that turn up in old stories of magic, able to travel at high speeds, imitate people, interact with the physical world by moving things around, that kind of thing.  Not by any means all-knowing though, and definitely fallible.  They're also connected with Solomon's magic abilities, in the Qu'ran and in the Book of Solomon.  Which is apparently one of a million apocryphal books of the Bible that were left out at one point or another.
          I spent a childhood in Sunday School, but it never occured to me that there were other things that were considered Scripture at one point but not any more.  Turns out that's the main focus of the "Bible secrets!" book I'd picked up.  I'm taking this one with a grain of salt, but I'd only meant to use it as a jumping-off point anyway, in case one avenue or another sounded interesting.  The Book of Solomon I'm definitely curious about - the Bible paints him as such a wise and knowledgable man, but other traditions add magician/wizard to his titles.  Was the magic a later addition on their part, or a later subtraction on mainstream Christianity's part?  It's sounding like there's a decent bit of magic in some of the variant Jewish traditions that I'd had no idea about - wonder if that went for early versions of Christianity, too?  The way I was taught it, nothing had changed since Jesus spoke the words, but... I guess it makes sense that it has, given how differently the U.S. Constitution has been interpreted, and that hasn't been around anywhere near as long as the Bible!
          There's another book, the Book of Enoch, that sounds interesting too - it involves a group called the Watchers, who, I think, were the angels that slept with human women in that bit of Genesis right before the Flood.  But the story's a little different in Enoch, the giants that showed up pre-Flood were the offspring of those women and angels.  They ate up all the food and used up the land's resources, and apparently fought a lot, and because of all this evil in the world, God sent the Flood to wipe them out.  This served double-duty, also being a punishment for the fallen Watchers, since they weren't supposed to go having sex and teaching mankind about magic and makeup (really!).
          I haven't even finished with the arbitrary books I picked up, and here I've found all kinds of possibilities for other things Meres and Azal could be.  (Though they seem a little smarter than the jinn are usually portrayed as being.)  Laughing, I set the books aside and jam my palms against my eyes, rubbing them as I shake my head.  All of this assuming that things other than humans exist in this world, that I've been seeing them, that I've been bopping around through time like a kid on a pogo stick.
          I throw my sketchbook back into my bag and grab a water bottle out of the fridge.  I remember the plastic bag still on my kitchen floor, and pull out the small metal hand-rake I picked up at the hardware store the other day.  I'm going to go do some weeding in the Mason's gardens, and ground myself in the physical world for awhile.

          "...all those people, all those lives, where are they now? With loves, and hates, and passions just like mine; They were born and then they lived and then they died..."  I stop half-singing along with the song, pausing the music for a minute as I flop backwards to sit on the colorful tile walkway, wiping the back of my arm across my forehead.  "There!  That's much better."  I've been working my way out from the central fountain, clearing out the obvious weeds and dead stuff as best I can.  There are still plenty of plants in the space that I can't decide if they're supposed to be there or not, but burdock and tickweed and goldenrod, I can pretty safely remove.  Although, goldenrod does mean "encouragement", so I'm keeping an eye on the plants surrounding it, in case it was intentional in spots.  (I couldn't believe it when I noticed burdock on one of my lists too - "importunity," which means persistently demanding.  Given how irritating its silly little burrs are, I guess I can see that.  But what an irritating thing to have show up in your bouquet!)
          "It is!  How long have you been working on this place?"
          I jump half a freaking mile - I didn't notice any blurring, but maybe I was too focused on what I was doing?  No, looking around me, I see the pile of weeds beside me on the path, I'm still in my own time.  Then who on earth is talking to me?  Turning around as I remove my headphones, I see a guy with a camera slung over his shoulder.  Right around my age, give or take a bit.  Grey college t-shirt and khaki shorts.  Blond hair that's a little in need of a trim.  Curious brown eyes behind glasses.
          "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you!"
          "That's alright, I can be so oblivious when my headphones are on."
          "You been working on the gardens here long?"
          I laugh a bit at this.  "Well, yes and no.  I've been in and out all summer, doing a project on the family that used to live here, the mansion and the gardens.  But I didn't start trying to weed until recently, it's pretty daunting."
          "I'll say... But this section's looking a lot better already.  I've been by a few times this summer to get some photos, and--- actually, you're not Kimberly, are you?"
          "I am..."  I say this as enough of a question that he understands I'm also asking "why do you ask and how do you know?"
          "I'm Brandon - I've been doing the reprints of the old glass plates for the historical society, who have told me a million times that I should meet you."
          I laugh, brushing off my hands on my jeans.  "They've been telling me the same about you!"  I start to stand up - but, sure enough, my feet have completely fallen asleep, and so I stagger and lurch off to the side, sitting back down again.
          "You okay??"  He darts forward, offering a hand, but I wave it away with a wry smile.
          "I'm alright.  Feet fell asleep.  Guess I'd been working on this section longer than I thought.  I'll be good in a minute."
          "If you need a hand, just let me know," he offers with a grin, then shifts the camera on his shoulder a little.  "You going to their meeting next week?"
          "I should be - you're bringing new pictures?"
          "I am!  Well, you know, old pictures, but, new to everyone else.  I can't believe what good shape all those plates were in after so many years, it's been such a priviledge to get to work with them."
          "You did the prints for the art gallery too, right?  Those looked absolutely stunning."
          "Thanks!  You a photographer at all?"
          "Only casually.  I took a class one semester, so I know just enough about developing and printing to know that I don't want to do it anymore!  I still take digital shots like a spazz, mostly as references to use for drawings later though."
          "That's right, they told me you were doing drawings.  Any plans to do a show or something?"
          "Nothing concrete, it's been in the back of my mind, but I've never really tried doing something like that on my own, just submitted to a few group shows in college."
          "It's a lot easier than you'd think - well, in a small town like this anyway, I'm sure big galleries are another story, but I've never been that brave.  Anyway, Mary would probably set the whole thing up for you if you gave her the slightest hint you wanted to, that woman is a whirlwind."
          "She totally is."  The pins and needles have abated to the point where I can stand, so I get to my feet, and vainly attempt to brush the dirt and grime off my hands, arms, and pants.  I don't even want to think about how I must look right now, a sweaty dirty mess from hours spent in the weeds and soil.  I kick the pile of weeds into a slightly neater pile, then straighten up and look at the garden beds ringed around the fountain.  "...I guess I've made a little progress, but it's nothing toward what this place used to look like."
          "It was really incredible, wasn't it?"
          I jump a little - then remember, duh, he's been printing all of the old photos, of course he knows what it looked like when the Masons were here.  "Are there any more photos of the Masons, or the estate, in the new pictures?"
          "You'll just have to come to the meeting and find out!"
          "Oh come on."
          "Nope.  Not telling."  He's grinning, his eyes sparkling behind the glasses.  I'll admit, he's a pretty cute guy.  Obviously nothing like the striking magnetism of Meres, but I'm finding that a relief right about now.  Nice, normal, everyday kind of attractive.
          "...I'd be more annoyed about this, but it occurs to me that you might not have any idea even if there were, I've probably done a little more research on them than you have.  And by a little, I mean I've been obsessed for months."
          "Understandably though, it's a great ghost story.  And such a beautiful place, it's been wonderful for my own photos, I'm sure it's been great inspiration for your drawings, too.  Are you showing it as it is now, the whole beauty-in-decay thing, or trying to capture it as it was in its glory days?"
          "Mostly as it was, but a little bit of both.  A little bit of everything, really, there have been so many interesting images that have turned up for me."  ...I need to watch it.  I'm feeling way too comfortable in the presence of a fellow artist, and I'm going to wind up saying something that I can't explain by way of normal human experiences.

Part 20

          When I leave that day, it's with a necklace with a small pendant of black stone - jet - which she helped me carve a six-sided star into the face of.  "Though most people only know it as a Jewish symbol, it's also the basic outline of the Seal of Solomon," she explains as she watches me chalk out the outline onto the stone.  "Despite the name, it predates Judaic traditions, and has been used in a number of different cultures for magic and protection.  I find it's a good fall-back when you're not sure the direction of the trouble you're dealing with.  The same goes for jet, it's a strong protection against negative spirits and psychic invasions generally."
          She demonstrates using the small hammer and chisel on another stone, but has me do the work on my own pendant.  "Charms and talismans work best when they're made by the person they're intended for, there's more of you in it if you're the one who created it, so its power is tied more closely to you."  That idea actually makes a lot of sense to me - and while I don't know how much I believe in stones and symbols (and even if I did, if they'd be any good against someone, something, as strong as these two), I know it certainly can't hurt.  The process of creating a physical object is one that always strengthens my own spirit in any case, so I'm glad she suggested it.
          "I feel guilty that I don't have more to offer you, in protection or advice!" she confesses as I climb back onto my bike, after refusing to take any payment for the appointment or the necklace.  "I plan to do some more research, now that you've got me so curious, and I promise I'll contact you if I find anything that I think might be useful for you."

          It's not until I get home, the new pendant around my neck, that I open my bag... and find a flurry of torn paper.  I can't be positive - I haven't taped them all back together yet - but it looks like it's every page with Azal's name on it.

          Later that week, I haul myself down to the library - my books are due anyway, and I want to see if I can scrounge up anything new that might be helpful to me.  Doing research on the internet is obviously way easier, but there's nothing to curate the crazy out.  And it seems like every page about anything spiritual or paranormal is either totally skeptical, or what one of my professors liked to call "wooo-wooo", making little feathery motions with his fingers.  A little too far removed from our own plane of existance to be of much help.  And probably crazy.
          I'm disappointed to not see Mary behind the desk, but she's been subtley training me in the ways of the library.  I didn't even notice she was doing it, until one day she caught me scanning for a certain Dewey number, and cackled at me.  "There is no escape, my young apprentice.  Soon, you shall become one of us!"
          "Nooo! You'll never turn me to the dark side."
          "Card catalogs are a gateway drug.  Soon you'll actually understand what all those numbers mean."
          "Uh-huh.  You know, my math teachers all said that too, right before they flunked me."
          I take a stroll through the paranormal section again, but as usual, don't see much that looks helpful.  I do pick up a small book on crystals and charms, just for fun.  I decide to wander over to the religion section, thinking about Sylvia's mentions of angels, demons, and other things.  I vaguely remember something about djinn in Islam, I feel like they're another one in that category of spiritual beings, but I'm not sure where they fit in.  I pick up a book that looks like it gives a brief overview of a good number of different religions, then a paperback that claims, in an authoritative font, to cover "all the things the Church DIDN'T want included in the Bible!"  While it seems to take a more, uh, whimsical approach to facts, I figure it might at least give me some more specific directions to look into later.
          I'm aimlessly scanning the titles in another aisle, when my attention is drawn by two male voices in a nearby row, who aren't quite talking in the low whispers most people do here.
          "Now, what on earth were y'all conversatin' about last week?  Jim told me Mary nearly took your head off the other day."
          "Oh, it wasn't anything, you know how easily she gets riled up."
          "Al.  Now really.  You know she's the friendliest gal in town.  What did you do to upset that sweet woman?"
          "I've been nothing but charming and considerate, you know that!  I only asked her why she was letting out some of the non-circulating books to circulate, was all."
          "And that's any of your business?"
          "Well!  It is - you know I've been a pretty big donor to this library for decades now, and I was on the board for most of those years."
          "Alex, now calm down.  I'm sure she's not doing it willy-nilly.  There are always reasonable exceptions to any rule, you know that."
          "I don't see how any flighty little college girl is any more trustworthy than I am," he grumbles.  "The book I wanted was a little more valuable maybe, but I don't see why I couldn't just have borrowed it out for the evening.  It's not like I was going to skip town with it or anything."
          "Which one was it you were after, anyway?"
          "Well.  It doesn't matter now, does it?  Heck, why do you think I couldn't meet you here yesterday?  I had to wait for a day where Mary wouldn't be working, I really think she might throw me out.  Or at least watch me like a hawk the entire time I was here - and not in a flattering kind of way."
          "She'll settle down in a day or two, you know things blow over quickly with her.  Just take it easy and keep out of her way for awhile, then ease back into it.  You want me to see if I can get the book for you?"
          "No, I guess I'll just see if I can find the information somewhere else.  There's just so little on those folks in the records, that I hadn't had much luck."
          "Which folks, now?"
          "Now why are you being so nosy about it?  It's just a private bit of research I'm doing for my own satisfaction.  I don't know why everyone has to keep butting in and asking me so many questions about it."
          "Well, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to rile you.  Just being polite and askin'."
          "Being polite would be keeping your nose out of other folks' business!"
          "Gentlemen?  I'm sorry, but would you mind taking your discussion outdoors?  I have other patrons who requested it be a little quieter in here."
          "Even when she's not here, she sets her minions on me!  What'd I tell you.  No, no, that's all right, I'm done here anyway.  You can just tell Mary-- well, no, I'll tell her myself.  I'll see you later, Rich, I've got some work to do someplace else."
          I lift my eyes when I hear footsteps approaching the end of the aisle, and just catch sight of a cranky looking older man stalking off toward the exit.  He's wearing a dress jacket, despite the summer warmth, and looks rather like a businessman of some sort.  I don't get a good look at him as he strides quickly, but I'd guess in his 50s, and both looks and sounds like a generally cantakerous fellow.  I wonder what on earth all that was about?  ...I have a sinking suspicion the "flighty little college girl" who was loaned a non-circulating book might well be me and that first book Mary lent me with the flower meanings in it.  (Despite not being in college anymore, I'm close enough in age that half the town assumes I am.)  I really hope I haven't gotten Mary into any trouble - though I suspect this guy is the sort that enjoys inventing problems whenever he can.  Which isn't something that ever made sense to me, but then, my time-travel would probably make even less sense to him.
          I start toward the counter to check out my books, but then hear someone call my name.  Turning around, I see Susan standing beside the big community bulletin board, pulling down a few old notices.  She waves me over, and I shift the books in my arm to rest more comfortably against my hip.
          "That Alex Miller, he's such a troublemaker.  You know how some people just enjoy making everyone around them miserable?  Well, that's him.  He didn't come bother you, did he?"
          "No - I overheard some of what he was saying, but that was all."
          "Well, good.  Don't you take anything he said to heart, Mary's perfectly within her rights as head librarian to lend out whatever she sees fit to whomever she sees fit.  Alex always did think he was head honcho anytime he gave a few bucks to a cause - even as a kid, do you know, he bought a cookie from me at a church bake sale and then stood there for twenty minutes, telling me how I should have packaged the cookies and what a proper price would be and had I even thought about what my overhead costs were?"
          We both laugh at this, but then I ask, more seriously: "But you're sure I didn't get Mary into trouble?  Is there anything I can do to..?"
          "To appease the angry god Miller? No. But don't worry about it, it'll blow over.  Chances are, Mary knew he was just out to cause trouble with whatever the book was he'd wanted, and that's why she didn't let him get at it.  But here, he's gotten me so riled up at him that I almost forgot what I'd wanted to tell you.  We're having a special historical society meeting next week that I think you should come to - Brandon's bringing in the rest of his prints from the Reese collection of glass plates that he's been working on, and I know some of your Masons had photos done by Derick Reese."
          "Oh!  Oh that would be fantastic, I'd love to be there!"
          I scrawl down the date and time in my sketchbook (sighing a little as I flip past the pages that have been taped back together after Azal's last appearance - luckily, none of the pages Evelyn had written on were damaged), and pray my work schedule doesn't conflict too badly.  Though if it does, I'm sure someone or another owes me the favor of swapping shifts.  Even if there aren't any more of the Masons, Derick Reese's photos are beautiful, I really wasn't able to spend half the time with the ones at the gallery that I'd wanted to.
          What if it happens again, when I'm in a room full of people?  So far, I've either been basically alone or with a psychic... I wonder if that's partly what triggered them showing up, was being in a room with a medium, someone who's already more closely connected with the spiritual realm?  But what are they, anyway, if they're not ghosts?
          "...you alright, Kimber?"
          "Yeah!  No, I'm fine, sorry, my mind just wandered for a minute."
          "Now, you're too young for that sort of thing!  Go check out your books and get yourself some lunch, young lady.  The coffee shop next door has their amazing Italian wedding soup on the menu today."

Part 19

          I laugh as well, in relief as much as jest.
          "...but there are some things I'm curious about.  Anna told you that she didn't think one of them was the usual sort of spirit?"
          I nod.  "She did.  And I don't know if... I'm pretty confident that Meres and Azal aren't actually brothers, but there's definitely something in common between them.  So it could be them both."  Their eyes, that intensity, that commanding presence...
          "Mmm, yes.  I don't think you need worry about the ghosts - Evelyn, and any others - around you, I've caught a few glimpses of them as we've been sitting here, and they're harmless enough.  Curious, but no more.  But those that aren't ghosts... those can be more difficult, and unpredictable."
          "Wait.  Not ghosts?  Then what..."
          "That's what I'm not yet certain of, but it's why Anna sent you to me.  I can't promise I can sort it out, but I have worked with other spirits in the past."
          "Other spirits... like demons?"  I shiver, curling my hands closer around the mug of tea that suddenly seems too small and fragile a warmth.
          "Some of those I've come into contact with would be called that, yes.  But don't worry yourself yet - there are angels too, and a hundred gradations between the two extremes, as well as many types of each.  As diverse as mankind is, so too is the realm of the spirits."
          I'm not entirely sure how much of this I believe - but then, I wouldn't have believed my own story a few short months ago, so I'm willing to at least follow along with her train of suggestion, even if I end up discarding it as crazy later on.
          She sighs heavily, setting down her mug, and rubbing her temples for a moment.  "It can be very difficult to identify the type of spirit - sometimes, it's simple, just a matter of judging their response to very simple things.  But other times - and I suspect your case is one of them - the spirits are extremely intelligent, and can mask their presence, lie, fool the person trying to connect with them.  It would be easiest for me if one or the other of them were present now, but since it's not something you can control... hm."
          I'm still trying to absorb her other suggestions.  Angels? Demons? Something else? Is that really what Meres and Azal are?  "...you have no idea what secrets my 'family' holds."  I run a hand through my hair, trying to clear my head a little.
          And then I feel another hand brush lightly against mine - so lightly, hardly more than a breeze, but much cooler than the air around me.  I look up, and see Sylvia's eyes suddenly locked on mine.  "You know he's here?"  She nods, then closes her eyes, her lips starting to move though I can't make out any words.
          I feel the breeze soft against my cheek, and have to fight my imagination, trying to focus only on what I'm actually experiencing and not what I'm imagining.  There's not really a weight on the couch cushion beside me, making me lean to one side a little, is there?  I try to breathe normally - should I focus on him, and try to strengthen his presence here?  Or will that make him nervous and leave?
          "Meres... what is it you want from me?  Or that Azal wants?  What can I do..."  A strand of hair flutters gently against my cheek, as if someone has whispered beside me, but I can hear nothing.  "Please, if there's anything... you know I'd help, Evelyn and Calvin and Avery, your Celestine..."
          And at her name, there's a noticable breeze through the room, and I hear Sylvia's sharp intake of breath.  "Whatever you just said," she hisses, "really struck a chord."
          "His wife, Celestine, who died young..."
          "Yes.  He loved her, so deeply."
          "And when she died, I think..."
          "He felt there was nothing left in this world for him."
          "And he'd put so much into his life with her - built the mansion, put so much love and care into every detail..."
          "And it was all for her, so when she left, he couldn't bear to stay, and yet..."
          "And yet he couldn't quite leave it, either.  Even when the house burned down..."
          I feel flushed all the sudden, and Sylvia makes a quick gesture with her hands.  "Careful, Kimber - that's a dangerous subject with him."
          I nod, biting my lip, focusing on the faint movements of air through the room.  "I know.  I was there that night, for parts of it, though I don't know the whole story yet."
          "He doesn't want to tell you."
          "...I didn't think it would be that easy.  Is there anything you think he does want to tell me?"
          "Yes, but... it's too abstract to be clear."
          Story of my life.
          "He seems to be a little protective of you, though.  It feels like he's on guard against something, keeping a barrier here."
          "Azal, I'd guess."
          "Yes, I think so.  Another who is his equal, and yet... is troubled, is broken, somehow.  Can't always be reasoned with, does foolish things, frustrating...  But he feels sorry for him.  And for himself, and for others, because..."  She trails off, but I see her lips still moving, though I don't think in normal English words.
          Then a vase thumps onto the carpeted floor as the house trembles.
          Her eyes and mine fly open as we look to each other in panic.
          "Get down," she commands, ducking low and moving quickly over to a doorframe.  I follow her, my bag falling off my lap and spilling onto the floor beside our discarded mugs.  The room-shaking was only momentary, thankfully, but there's still a heaviness in the air, like the charge in the atmosphere before a thunderstorm.
          I hear Sylvia gasp beside me, and look over to see her hands pressing into her temples, her eyes tightly closed, her lips moving in another silent chant.  Then: "No.  He wants you to stop looking.  To leave it all be.  Everything was burned and is gone.  There's nothing left to find, it's all gone.  Leave his children alone.  They have no power to threaten you.  They can tell you nothing of him.   Tutto è andato.  It is gone, you should not try to find what is not there."
          "Azal..." I murmur, my voice catching in my throat.  "Azal, I only want to help - to help your children, to..."  To what?  To shield them from the harm he himself caused, or allowed to happen under his own roof?  To give them the love that he never did?
          "No.  They are his children, and they have nothing to do with you.  You shouldn't return there.  He burned it all so nothing would be found.  He wants nothing more to do with that place, with these people, with that... failed experiment?  It is nothing to him, it is nothing now, and you have no place in it."
          My heart breaks at hearing this - but I refuse to accept his demand.  Not that I'll refute him aloud, but---
          The house trembles again.  Not enough to do any damage, but as if a huge storm rages outside, though the placid morning summer sun still shines.
          "Meres?  Meres, you know I intend no harm..."
          And suddenly, they're both gone.  I think my ears pop a little, in the sudden change of atmosphere.  Everything is silent and still and light again.
          Sylvia and I sit motionless for a long moment, absorbing what just happened, catching our breath.  Then I grin wryly.  "Well, you did say it would be easier if they showed up..."

          Sylvia's still not quite sure what they are - but she's "95% confident they're not demons," so that's something at least.  (I really didn't think they were.  Azal is cruel, yes, but not completely inhuman or anything.)  "It feels as though they're still a part of this world, though, not entirely spirit, though it's only the spirit that was in the room.  As though they're projecting from elsewhere, but whether it's another place, or another time, I can't tell.  But there's a physicality for the spirit to go back to."
          I frown, my brows furrowing.  "So... they're human, with extra psychic ability?  And maybe a hundred and fifty years old?"
          "Mmm. Like I said, I'm not sure if they're in our time or not.  But with powers like that, it's possible they...oh, I don't know, can leave their bodies in some kind of suspension, so the years don't affect them at full-strength.  I haven't encountered that before, but it should be plausible."
          Right.  Because plausible is an adjective I'm using a lot lately.  "But, physical, so, human?"
          "Not necessarily.  As I said, there are a lot of in-between states possible.  Just as some ghosts can make sound, or interact with objects, while others can become fully visible for varying lengths of time.  Everything in our world is on a sliding scale, really, and it's the same for the spiritual realm."
          "...so, apart from accidentally saying anything that pisses him off, any thoughts on how to protect myself from Azal?"
          We've picked up the last of the various fallen objects around the room, and she sighs as she takes another look around the room to make sure she hasn't missed anything.  "Honestly, it seems like Meres is your best defense, though I'm not sure that helps much.  Still, I had the feeling that there's enough of a connection between them that one will know when the other's near you - so even if Azal shows up first, I think Meres won't be far behind.  Other than that... They're not quite like anything I've encountered before, I'll have to do some research and see if there are any wards or charms or anything that might help you.  Staying away from the grounds of the old house would probably be best - but I get the feeling that would be a pointless suggestion to make to you."  She says this last with an understanding smile, and I grin wryly in return.
          "Yeah, no, it's not something I can leave alone yet."
          "I wouldn't be able to either."

Part 18

          There's just too much for me to process right now.  And even when I try to... I'll confess to being a little sidetracked by the memory of Meres' arm around me, the scent of trumpet flowers, the intensity of his gaze.  (Because obviously, I don't have enough hopeless crushes on rock stars in my life, I need to go adding a married man who was older than me a hundred years ago.)
          So I'm a little extra-grateful that I'm meeting with Sylvia today.  Still nervous, of course, I'm not sure what to expect, and not even sure what I need her to help me with... well, apart from the fact that Azal's ghost occasionally stalks me in the present, and might get nasty if Meres doesn't show up too.  Alright.  So I guess that's a good reason to go check in with another psychic.
          Sylvia's place is on the outskirts of the opposite side of town from my apartment - but I want to enjoy these gorgeous summer days while I still can, so hop on my bike and start out an hour before the appointment.  It's a perfect morning for a ride, the sun shining pale gold as it burns off the last of the morning mists.  Though no matter what time of day I'm going through town, I always feel like it's the prettiest time of day - the way the light falls on the rust-colored brick and ivory pillars on the old homes and town buildings, the giant leafy boughs of old trees hanging over every street, the relaxed charm of the Victorian-era fountains (which, I realize now, were likely there in the Masons' time too) near the white gazebos in the town square.  Much of Main Street still has the original storefronts in good repair, though the cramped (and un-air conditioned) apartments on the upper floors are more likely to be occupied by college students than shopowners now.
          I take my time through town, not wanting to arrive too early for my appointment - but even so, I wind up looping around an extra block or two as I approach Sylvia's place.  Unfortunately, this gives me time to get nervous again, but I steel myself and pull into her driveway about five minutes early.  It's a small house on a street full of ones that look pretty similar to it, probably all built in the 1950s or 1960s.  Though it's not horribly cookie-cutter at least, there's a range of colors and the house layouts are a bit varied, and they've been homes long enough that the yards have had time to grow up and be designed by a generation or two of owners.  It's a very pretty, very quiet little street.  Sylvia's house doesn't stand out from the rest at all, it's mostly beige, with one of the front walls done in brick.  There are some low-maintenance gardens and shrubs in the front yard, lining the front of the house and around a maple tree, with a bird feeder near one of the windows.  So I'm put a little more at ease, it's just a normal house, it'll contain a normal person, who will be easy to talk to - I've come here to talk, it's not like she hasn't dealt with situations like mine before.  (Or has she?  I have no idea what's "normal" in the psychic community.  Which is exactly why I'm here.)
          I've had one earbud in while riding, so I can listen to my music while still hearing the sounds around me for safety.  A laid-back playlist for quiet mornings, lots of instrumentals and things.  I don't recognize this song at first, so tune in to the words - which make me stop my bike on the side of the road as I rewind to hear them again: "...And the walls will fall affirming nothing.  So what's it all about?
Call on a bright star, or play your hand as intellect.  Wounds always speak too loud.
Get along for a while, citizen, you will see how the innocent are bound to the damned.  What is, just is, I know, so we're trapped by answers. Love haunts to the end..."  Innocent bound to the damned.  Yeah, that sounds about right, in about five different directions.  I shiver a little - I refuse to think too hard about the eerie aptness of the things in my music collection.
          But I'm totally stalling.  I realize I've circled around past Sylvia's house twice now, and my thoughts are wandering.  Shaking my head at my own ridiculousness, I pull into her driveway, parking my bike in an out-of-the-way corner before heading up to ring the doorbell.

          Obviously, there was nothing to fret about - while Sylvia is nothing at all like Anna, she's almost easier to talk to, very down-to-earth, like having a chat with your family doctor about the symptoms you're experiencing.  Anna had already told her the basic outlines of my story, though I add in the details of new developments, and flesh out a few further conjectures.
          "No, I agree, it's nothing to do with you having taken the letter, I'm certain of that.  But as to what they want, I can't say I'm any more certain than you are.  The obvious issue in need of resolution is the dying child, Calvin, was it?  But given how much you've jumped around in the timeline, I don't see how they could expect you to do anything about it.  Same goes for the rape situation.  Hmm."
          She leans back in her chair, taking a long sip of the mug of hot tea she cradles in her hands.  She'd offered me one as well, and the morning ride was just chilly enough that I gratefully accepted.  It's a lavender earl grey, and while the strong floral scent threw me at first, it's a nice sophisticated flavor combination.  (If I recall correctly, lavender actually means 'distrust', but I refuse to buy that one.  It's such a fresh and lovely old-fashioned thing, there's no way it should have such a poor connotation.)
          The house doesn't feel all that different from my parents' house - which makes sense, I think Sylvia is about their age.  We're seated in a living room done in neutral tones with warm accents, her in a plush recliner, me on the couch beside a large window looking out onto the tree-lined street.  No sign of any cats yet, which is just as well, I've made enough pets freak out already this summer.
          "I don't... I mean it's not like I mind slipping back in time there - to be honest, I love visiting them, and really do want to learn more about them and all.  And the place is just gorgeous."
          "...and the falling two stories down?" she askes with a teasing grin.
          I laugh.  "Well, alright, not exactly my favorite part."  I shift a little on the couch as I'm reminded of my bruises.  There are some frighteningly large black-and-blue patches on me at the moment.
          "But you're worried about their presence in the present - Anna seemed concerned about it as well."
          I nod.  "Azal, really.  Evelyn - I'm assuming she's one - I think is just curious.  And while Meres is powerful, I haven't seen anything that would make me fear harm from him, unless I'd done something really wrong in his eyes.  But not only is Azal cruel, but there was... it was like a kid throwing a temper tantrum at Anna's, only with a lot more power."
          "Many spirits are unaware of their own strength when their intentions are properly focused.  Most of the time, they meander in and out without much real conscious thought, just the vague sense that there's something left undone.  But in this case, there's clearly something more specific going on."
          "...do you think I have a chance of finding out what it is?  I mean, the time-slips have been so random and disjointed."
          "You're certain you're not causing them in any way?"
          "I've been thinking it over since Meres asked me about it, and I can't think of a thing that's been consistent, other than myself, my bag, and being on their property."
          "Is that the same bag with you now?  There isn't anything in there that would be linked to them, is there?"
          "Ha!  Well, there is now, but there wasn't the first few times."  I spill its contents into my lap: water bottle, camera, sketchbook, pencil, pen, chapstick, wallet, keys.  "My camera and sketchbook are filled with things now - pictures I took, sketches and notes."  I flip open the sketchbook to the pages Evelyn wrote on, and pass it over to Sylvia with a smile.  "This is from the day Evelyn and I were hiding from Azal in the tower."
          She takes the book a little reverently, nodding in approval as her eyes scan the pages.  (Whether she actually believes the words were written in another time, or thinks I did it myself either in careful forgery or in an automatic-writing trance, I've no idea, but let's assume she believes me.)

          We discuss a few other details of the experiences, toss around a few more ideas, but nothing seems to quite fit.  I'm happy to have someone to talk to about all of this - the drawings are a great outlet, but it's lovely to be able to actually hear their names spoken in the open air - but I'm starting to wonder again why I've come.  What solution do I think she can give me, when I still don't even know what the problem actually is?
          "...is there anything you can think of that would help me, I don't know, calm Azal down if he shows up like that again?"
          "Well.  Normally, I'd recommend doing a sage smudging, making sure there are no objects bound in negative energies, that sort of thing, but if they appeared in other places where you were the only constant factor, that's not going to work.  And no, I won't suggest you wear garlic around your neck!" she adds with a laugh.

note - flowers and things

Summer:
Almond tree - hope
Rose - generally beauty, but tons of sweet and beautiful meanings, depending on the color and variety
Fall:
Trumpet flower - separation
Daphne mezereon - I desire to please
Cypress - mourning
Dittany - birth
Clematis - artifice
Nightshade - bitter truth
Colchium - my best days fled
Winter:
Snowdrop - consolation
Love Lies Bleeding—Hopeless, not heartless/amaranth - immortality

...I do have notes on some for spring, though I got caught up in other things and didn't add them in.  In case I do later:

Everlasting pea - wilt go with me?

Rosemary - your presence revives me

Peach blossom - my heart is thine

Pear tree - affection

So, yeah, that took some time to get out!  I'd had a general idea of the paintings, but uh... spent an awful lot of time looking at flowers and meanings, and putting thought into basically everything. At least it's not horribly awful to read, I don't think, for a first draft lol.

On endless loop for almost this whole section: "Hrafntinna", Sigur Rós.  Suited perfectly. <3