The White Lady Read online

Avery battled for reason amid the escalating tension. “What if Helen refuses to consider your options?”

  Ignus pursed his lips, then parted them. “I haven’t worked out all the details.”

  Angst knotted her middle and she dropped her hands from his arms. “You haven’t worked out any.”

  “We don’t even know what era she’s from,” Stan repeated. “Kind of the thing, bro.”

  “Not entirely necessary,” he argued. “Helen knows where she’s from. As long as her image is in this house, I can still connect with her. Shortly before her death, preferably, to allow me the opportunity to save or redirect her.”

  “Or bring her here.” Stan shook his head as if he couldn’t believe they were having this discussion. “Any idea what she died of?”

  Fresh apprehension twisted Avery’s gut. “Wasn’t there a mega flu outbreak at the end of World War One?”

  “Yeah.” Stan pressed his fingers to his brow, shaded beneath the brim. “Spanish influenza, the pandemic of nineteen hundred eighteen and nineteen. It killed millions worldwide. You don’t want to reintroduce that strain.”

  Ignus brushed aside their qualms. “We won’t. Vaccines and medicines exist now they didn’t have then.” He shot a sideways glance at his two companions. “You’re both up to date with shots, right?”

  “Yes, thanks. Good of you to inquire.” Frost edged Stan’s tone.

  In addition to the usual host of diseases to guard against, including every flu shot known to man, they’d had vaccines for cholera, typhoid, yellow fever, polio, typhus, tuberculosis, and were taking the malaria preventative. These were to protect them from historic illnesses still prevalent in third world countries. Their arms were sore and needle-marked.

  Stan’s doctor thought he was hiking the mosquito infested Amazon rainforest, a bucket list thing he’d made-up. Her physician concluded she was a major hypochondriac given the number of immunizations she’d requested, including one for the plague. Her mom suggested therapy. Part of the price they paid for keeping company with Ignus. He’d even been immunized against smallpox, a dreaded ailment from the past, but they hadn’t yet. The medical community drew the line at administering a currently nonexistent vaccine.

  ‘Next time we’re in the nineteen fifties or sixties, we’ll pop into a clinic and get you inoculated,’ their mighty leader had said breezily, quite a different Ignus than the one with his sneakers planted on the floor in a boxer stance.

  He lifted his chin. “Either we convince Helen to go to the light, or help her accept the fact that this dude isn’t ever gonna be there for her.”

  “I tell myself that daily,” Avery muttered.

  ‘Let it go,’ Stan mouthed, insight in his blue gaze.

  ‘Let him go, you mean,’ she mouthed, in turn.

  A slight shifting of his shoulders, and he inclined his head. They’d been besties since preschool. Communication was second nature.

  Ignus glanced distractedly at them. “What are you two nodding and shrugging about?”

  “Nothing.” The single word pretty much summed up her non-relationship with him.

  Still, she stayed. And Stan hadn’t headed for the door. Ignus might need their help if he screwed things up. In this case, it was more a matter of when.

  Steeling herself, she asked, “What do you want to do?”

  A slow smile spread over his face.

  They were in for it. She felt it in every sinew of her being. Bad mojo. Warning. And she just wanted to kiss him.

  Someone should smack her. Seriously. She was disturbed.

  Meeting Stan’s perceptive gaze, she gave him a ‘What can I do?’ look. “If you’re staying for me, run now.”

  He squared his shoulders. “I’m staying for all of us.”

  “Good man.” Ignus clapped him on the back. “Bathroom stop, coffee break, and then it’s off to costume central.”

  He and his mother were hardcore collectors. Clothes filled trunks in the attic. Suits and gowns in dry-cleaning or zipped plastic bags hung from hangers on stands. Gentlemen and ladies’ hats were kept dust free in boxes on shelves.

  Need a petticoat, muff, gloves, scarf, boots, shoes, or silk shawl? Cashmere wrap? They had it, and more. They’d even organized the collection into various eras.

  Fashion pertinent to any period between modern-day and eighteen fifty, the year the Burke house was built, could be found in the attic. Ignus never ventured to the future because the Victorian home with its elaborate gingerbread trim didn’t go there and he remained within its boundaries. Normally, they had a solid destination in mind before donning wardrobe and embarking via his unique brand of magic.

  Avery envisioned the many choices before them. “What period shall we dress for?”

  Ignus furrowed the bridge between his eyes. “The end of World War One, or a little before. Choose clothes with classic lines to allow some wiggle room. We’ll do the same with suits. We want to appear well-to-do but not crazy rich. Respectable.”

  “Better keep a hat on Stan then. His punk hair won’t fit any era farther back than the hippies,” she pointed out.

  “Hmmm.” Ignus eyed his comrade. “Gentlemen remove their hats in the presence of a lady, so he can’t always wear one. Stan, how would you feel about going black?”

  He arched sandy colored brows. “With this complexion? I’ll end up looking like Dracula.”

  “It’s gonna take a strong color to cover neon red. I’ve got some hair dye in the bathroom you could try,” Ignus argued.

  “OK.” He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “That’s my morning mapped out for me. I better beg off pizza delivery for the rest of the day. Say I broke my arm or something.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Ignus brightened as he did before a quest, his mood even more heightened today. “Everyone report to your stations. We’ll meet back here at twelve hundred hours.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.” She humored him. Heck, she might as well.

  He grinned, hazel eyes charged with gold warming her. The smile he gave her made it all worthwhile. Then he engulfed her in an impulsive hug. “You’re a good sport, Avery.”

  She sighed. Not what a girl longed to hear with him so near, and yet so far. How clueless could he be?

  Sympathy in his gaze, Stan beckoned to her. “Come on OBOPOFOM,” meaning, ‘old buddy, old pal, old friend of mine’ one of his random acronyms. “You can help me do my hair.”

  She smiled wryly. “And you can do mine.”

  “With feathers and a tiara,” he quipped.

  “We’ve got both in the house,” Ignus said. “But that’s a little over the top.”

  Stan rolled his eyes. “You think?”

  A faint grin enhanced the wizard’s allure. “Just a tad.” Even in bewitched mode, he hadn’t lost all humor.

  Arm-in-arm, the three of them strode out the wide double doors beneath a useless beribboned ball of mistletoe. When they returned to the parlor, it’d be for their departure. God only knew how that would work out.

  Doubt gnawed at her. Ignus was in la-la land, and she didn’t mean the movie. Did Stan share her foreboding? She tilted her head toward him and he rolled his eyes at her. Yeah. He did.

  Chapter Two

  Cold morning light poured through the dormer attic windows, revealing the hoard of goodies collected in trunks, boxes, on shelves, and hanging from racks. As usual, Avery admired the treasure trove. “This could be the warehouse for a costume museum, or outfits for a substantial theater. But inventory for a time traveling wizard is far cooler. Literally.” She shivered in her fleece jacket and mittens in the drafty unheated room.

  “Uh huh.” Ignus’ mother, Louise Burke, was wrapped in an antique fur stole pinned in front with a large gold broach. Under this, she wore a white silk blouse and red cashmere sweater. A green skirt of the finest wool fell mid-calf and met her heeled leather boots. Bracelets clinking together, she parted the plastic covered dresses on a rack. “Early twentieth century, you say?”

&n
bsp; Avery inhaled the lavender sachets tucked here and there to ward off insects. “World War One, as near as Ignus can figure. He says to be flexible.”

  “We shall do our best, but I wish he’d be more specific.”

  “As do I, Mrs. Burke.”

  “Louise, please,” she reminded her.

  “Of course.” It sounded unnatural.

  The glamorous, willowy woman was a walking encyclopedia of fashion history. She swelled the inventory by frequenting secondhand stores, antique shops, and estate sales, and ferrying her finds home in a vintage luxury car. She never accompanied Ignus on his quests, though. Perhaps the thought of being improperly attired if he inadvertently transported them to the wrong era was unbearable to such a perfectionist. But Avery sensed her disinclination stemmed from something more.

  Whatever the reason, the knowledgeable woman’s help was most welcome. As often as Mrs. Burke was out shopping, especially with Christmas nearing, it was a stroke of luck her returning home early today. No one was better equipped to choose an outfit and style hair than this vintage fashionista.

  After leaving Stan to the competent assistance of Mr. Silvestre, the resident butler, Avery hastened to the third floor with her expert attendant. Ignus furthered his own preparations, whatever they were, in his room. He had a wide range of clothes in a carved wardrobe big enough to house Narnia.

  Worry shadowed his mother’s made-up eyes, the same color as his. Her gloved hand frequently returned to the carefully arranged reddish-brown hair curling at her shoulders. Even though each strand was sprayed in place, she patted it, and fiddled with her pearl earrings. Nervous gestures, but she hadn’t voiced any opposition to her son’s schemes. Yet. A fatalistic ‘what will be, will be’ seemed to sum up her motto.

  Wafting expensive floral perfume, she waved at a section of costumes, each protected with plastic. “Ladies’ fashion from nineteen fourteen to nineteen twenty was heavily influenced by the Great War and the women’s suffragette movement. Think Downtown Abbey Season Two,” she said, referring to the hit British drama.

  A hit with her, anyway. Avery had watched the show with the zealot to be companionable and glean useful info. The series encompassed several eras of the Burke house and there were comparisons. Her own mother curled up in front of The Bachelor.

  “An entertaining and educational series,” Mrs. Burke continued. “And you can’t have too much knowledge in your line of work.”

  “Odd work. The assistant to a time-traveling wizard. Kind of like Doctor Who’s companion, but different.”

  “Very. You aren’t venturing into space, or the future. You won’t even leave this house, just travel backward in it. Oh, look. Just the thing.” Mrs. Burke lifted a dark blue, almost black, two-piece dress from the rack and held it out for her to see. “It’s called a walking costume and dates from about nineteen sixteen. The skirted jacket has the attractive gathering at the waist I like. The braid and tassel cord closures down the front give it a slightly military look, while being feminine, especially with these lace cuffs.”

  She smoothed the shiny fabric. “The flared skirt allows freedom of movement and should reach slightly above your ankles. I may need to tack up the hem. Not that you’re short but the original wearer of this outfit was taller than five foot two,” she amended tactfully. “You will need a one piece foundation garment to go underneath.”

  The thought didn’t thrill Avery. “Some kind of corset?”

  “Yes, and stockings. You must fit the era to your toes.” She cast an expert eye over the outfit. “The material is taffeta and chiffon with a white silk lining. Sophisticated, yet serviceable. We’ll pair this with black pumps sporting a buckle, and a long wool coat, perhaps a deep wine for added color, and warm gloves. This ensemble has a matching broad-brimmed hat with a ribbon around the band and tasteful bow in front.” She pointed at a nearby shelf. “There. Grab that hat box.”

  Avery dutifully retrieved the box and clutched it in her mittened hands.

  Mrs. Burke patted the outfit approvingly. “Yes, this will do nicely. A classic of its day. Not too dressy, yet elegant, and the darker tones will help you blend into a room of people. Don’t want to stand out too much in a new situation, do you?”

  “No. I don’t. Thank you. This looks like it could fit in with more than one era.”

  The aficionado smiled a tad patronizingly. “If one isn’t too particular, dear.”

  “I’m not terribly picky. I have no idea who we might meet with, though.” One lovely face taunted her from a gold frame, the image burned on her mind.

  A crease furrowed her companion’s smooth forehead. “I admit this troubles me.”

  She bit back, ‘No, duh.’

  Unaccustomed intensity filled Mrs. Burke eyes. “It’s the white lady, isn’t it? She’s why Ignus is going back.”

  A shudder shook Avery. “I fear he’s fallen in love with her,” she whispered, the admission a painful one. Still, the truth could not be ignored.

  His mother shook her immaculately coiffed head. “No. He’s just obsessed.”

  Was there a great deal of difference? Obsession was a form of love, albeit an unhealthy one.

  “His father was the same,” the pensive woman added.

  “What?” She jerked at this unexpected revelation. “Is the white lady connected to Mr. Burke’s disappearance?”

  His forsaken wife moistened her glossy rose-tinged lips with the tip of her tongue. “Yes. My husband, Jude, was determined to contact that woman.” She made it sound like an illicit affair.

  “Ignus says he wants to help her,” Avery shared hesitantly, reluctant to betray his trust.

  Mrs. Burke had the demeanor of one who knew. Her expression left no doubt. “You three shall need help in escaping her.”

  An unsettling thought, and what she feared.

  “I don’t know exactly what happened with Jude,” his unhappy spouse continued. “Only that Helen cast a seductive spell over him, and he never returned to us. I suspect Ignus is going in pursuit, not only of this enchantress, but of his father.”

  “Dear God.” Avery reached out to the pole supporting more clothes to steady herself. “You have no idea where he is?”

  Her companion’s greenish-brown eyes grew distant. She seemed to see a long way off, only in this case, she searched the past. “He was attired for the same era as you, so must have reached a similar conclusion to Ignus. Whether Jude remains wherever he is of his own will, or against it, I cannot say. The subject has been too painful to speak of.”

  She fixed her gaze on Avery. “I will tell you this. Whoever she may be, the white lady is dangerous. Do not underestimate the infamous Helen for an instant.”

  Goosebumps flushed over every inch of her. “What would you have us do?”

  “Not go. Remain here. And we shall summon an exorcist and banish her spirit from this house. But Ignus will not hear me, I know. Her influence over him is too great.”

  “I also failed to make him listen, as did Stan.”

  A sense of fatality hung over Mrs. Burke, as if she’d seen this day coming for a long time. She nodded slowly. “As I expected. I assume I cannot persuade you to turn back either?”

  “No. Though dread fills me. Stan is also determined.”

  “Your commitment to my son does you credit. I would not sacrifice you for him. But I fear we need your help.” Tears glistened, and she dabbed the corners of her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief so as not to smear her mascara. “He is clever and has a way of landing on his feet. Even so, he has much to learn, and no father to teach him. Look after my boy. You may yet save him. You and Stan together.”

  “I will try. We both will.” She swallowed hard. “I wish I had magic of my own.”

  A smile touched Mrs. Burke’s tearful gaze. “You possess the most important kind.” She glanced away, blinking hard, and dropped her voice. “Have you ever smelled black magic?”

  “No.”

  “It is a most foul scent. I de
tected its stench once, seven years ago, on the night Jude disappeared.”

  Avery sucked in her breath. “So Ignus was thirteen when he lost his dad?”

  Sadness cloaked his mother. “Yes. Terrible age for a boy to lose his father. I would have destroyed that hated painting then and there. But how could I? Helen holds the key to everything.”

  “I see.”

  “No. But you are beginning to. You have glimpsed the tip of an enormous iceberg floating in a fathomless sea.” She let this somber imagery sink in.

  Overwhelming. Avery needed a word with Stan. Reasoning with Ignus was pointless.

  His mother shook her head as if to clear it of distressing memories. “Come along. You may change in my room, and we’ll do your hair. Such a becoming shade of auburn. Pinned up on your head will be best, I think. I have extra foundation garments, slips, shoes, and stockings for you in my closet. Everything you will need for the attire.”

  “How? I’m not the same size as you?”

  “I’m prepared.”

  As she suspected. Mrs. Burke saw this coming. Thoughts whirling, she followed her across the attic. Ignus had only hinted at the enormous secret his mother had revealed. Like a humongous jigsaw puzzle, the pieces were falling into place. An infinite number yet remained to be discovered. She prayed for the wisdom to succeed against formidable odds that hardly bore thinking about. They’d definitely need Stan’s keen wits.

  The insightful woman shot a glance over her shoulder. “If your arrival arouses suspicion, go with the religious angle. Tell anyone who asks that you three are missionaries recently returned from Africa, or some such story.”

  “Why?”

  “No one expects missionaries to be up to date on the latest fashion, or anything else. Nor are they considered a threat to anyone except the most zealous followers of another faith. You were raised Protestant, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. Anglican. So was Stan. We learned enough in Sunday school to carry us through, and still occasionally attend church. What a good idea.”

  “Exactly. This is how you must think, Avery, if you are to survive and get the three of you back to your proper time again. Maybe the four of you,” she added a little shakily.