Spirit Guide, page 1
Spirit Guide
Madame Chalamet Ghost Mysteries 3
Byrd Nash
License Notes
Copyright © 2023 Byrd Nash
www.byrdnash.com
Editing by Emma’s Edit
Cover Art by Rook and Castle Press
Published by Rook and Castle Press
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 978-1-954811-13-3
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.
Byrd Nash
THIS BOOK WAS PRODUCED BY A HUMAN, NOT AI.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Books by Byrd Nash
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
What to Read Next
Gray Lady Sneak Peek
Author Notes
Cast of Characters
Books by Byrd Nash
Books by Byrd Nash
Madame Chalamet Ghost Mysteries
Ghost Talker #1
Delicious Death #2
Spirit Guide #3
Gray Lady #4
Haunted Grave #5
Ghastly Mistake #6
Contemporary, Magical Realism
A Spell of Rowans
College Fae Series
Never Date a Siren #1
A Study in Spirits #2
Bane of Hounds #3
Romantic Fairytales
Dance of Hearts (Cinderella retelling)
Price of a Rose (Beauty and the Beast retelling)
Fairytale Fantasy
The Wicked Wolves of Windsor and other Fairytales
“-when you have eliminated the impossible,
whatever remains, however improbable,
must be the truth?”
The Sign of Four, Sherlock Holmes
Dedications
To the one who loves ghosts.
Chapter One
For someone who said she was never wrong, Twyla Andricksson made mistakes rather often. For example, instead of summoning the spirit of a suicidal servant, she materialized a ghost of a completely different sort.
“Twyla, please send him back. Immediately.”
“I’m trying, Madame Chalamet. I’m really trying!” the girl wailed.
“I took her by the throat and throttled her until her eyes burst,” said the ghost gleefully. The creature stood behind Jacques Moreau’s chair, leering at us all, his eyes gleaming manically.
Mysir Vonn’s nefarious doings had been sensational at the time, forcing the city into a panic. After a manhunt, he’d been shot by a guardia when the spree killer was found crouching over the body of one of his victims. Since then, Vonn had reached mythic status as a bogeyman to scare women into not traveling out at night or down dark streets.
Out of patience, I snapped, “Would-you-please-shut-up, Mysir Vonn? No one is interested in hearing about your nasty crimes.”
The ghost ignored me. “She displayed her breasts shamefully, wantonly. I was forced to punish her.”
The room was dark; the only light was from the candle at the center of the table, which illuminated the face of the mother of the dead servant girl. She was beet red from angry embarrassment. “I want you to know my girl was a sweet innocent! There were no breasts being displayed, mysir!”
“Madame Chapelle, this ghost has nothing to do with your daughter. Give Mys Andricksson a moment, and she will get it all straightened out.”
As a child I had wished for a pony, only for those naïve hopes to be dashed. My optimism suffered again now. Apprenticed unasked to me by Parnell Lafayette of the Morpheus Society, Twyla Andricksson continued trying in vain to dismiss our vile interloper.
She was seated on my left, and Madame Chapelle to my right. Since Jacques was in town, he had come along. He held the hands of Twyla and Madame Chapelle, and from across the table he wiggled his eyebrows at me, clearly amused at how things were going.
“Did you try the dismiss sequence, Mys Andricksson?” The mental exercise for disengaging from a malevolent spirit was one of the core pieces we studied in our training. It was basic, but effective. The girl should know it.
“Yes,” the girl said, but under my stern eye she wilted. “I mean no. Truth is, I don’t remember much about it. So much comes to me naturally that studying wasn’t really necessary. I just skipped to the interesting bits. I could try summoning a demon to dispatch him?”
“No!”
The horrible entity continued. “I used my knife—”
Not being the medium who had summoned him, there was only one quick way for me to end this. I stood up, dropping my hands to break the circle. When I turned up the gaslamp, the room became bright again, vanquishing shadows. Without the circle of intention to power it, the ghost faded away from the earthly plan, its essence retreating to the Beyond.
“Mys Andricksson, please clean up Madame Chapelle’s dining table.” To our hostess, I said, “I’m so sorry things didn’t work out in talking with your daughter tonight. Sometimes the spirits can be difficult.”
“Oh, I imagine so.” The housewife eyed Twyla askance as the girl accidentally knocked over the brass candlestick we had used, dropping melted wax on her tablecloth. I suppressed a sigh of tired frustration. This girl! “But that other fella? He ain’t coming back, is he?”
“No. I’ll make sure of that by installing protections before we leave. But if he does, let me know right away and I’ll return to take care of him.”
“Alright, but what about my girl? I wanted to know she was alright.”
“If you can give me something of hers on loan, I will see if I can find her myself when things are quieter.”
After her experience with us tonight, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d said no. But her desperation was great. “She had a locket. Mind you, I’ll be wanting it back.”
“Of course.”
When she left the room to get it, Jacques stood up and stretched before retrieving his hat and cane where they were resting on the couch. “That was entertaining.”
Lean and tan, almost sun-burned, his red-gold hair bright as a polished penny, Jacques was in Alenbonné due to military leave. When he had stopped by the Crown hotel this afternoon, I had suggested he come with us, thinking that a bit of male energy might do the séance good. That had been a mistake, for it seemed his presence made my apprentice even more nervous.
“Entertaining, but not enlightening. A mother still doesn’t have comfort.” The last was said as a chastisement to my apprentice. Parnell Lafayette was probably laughing over the fact that he had saddled me with such a dimwit. I could not refuse the indenture, as it was required by the Society that we mentor other junior members, and I had already gone several years without participating as a guide. I was overdue and would need to endure it.
Jacques did not take Twyla’s failure very seriously, which further irritated me. “She’ll do better next time in calling the right spook.”
“Fine for you to say, but you don’t have to beg Madame Chapelle for forgiveness.”
“Let the girl do that. Old women will forgive youth anything.” He kissed my cheek in farewell. “Look, I’ve got to run.”
“Cards or a woman?”
He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his bronze face. “If you must know, dinner at the club with a few of the boys coming in from Zulskaya. They're only here tonight before they take ship in the morning, heading to Perino to replace my lot.”
“Before you rush away, would you call me and Mys Andricksson a quick-cab? I don’t want to roam up and down the street at night in this neighborhood looking for one.”
“Certainly.”
Madame Chapelle returned, her hands gripping a long chain that dangled between her chapped fingers. It was a cheap brass locket. “Her dearest possession. From her father.”
“Let me write you a receipt for it.”
Unlike someone from a higher station, she did not waffle about not needing a receipt or that she trusted me. She was of the working class, a laundry woman I imagined, who always asked for proof that bills had been paid.
From my bag, I took pencil and paper and wrote hastily on it, giving a brief description, my signature and the date. “Here, madame. Now if you will let me, I shall put some protections at your doors and windows.”
Jacques gave her a bow, his tricorn hat tucked under his arm. “Duty calls, madame, but thank you for letting me enjoy your delightful home for the evening.” Madame Chapelle showed him to the door, which was in the hall right outside her parlor.
It took a little longer for Twyla to finish cleaning up the candle wax and brazier used to burn the herbs well-suited to a séance. As she repacked my bag, I went with Madame Chapelle around her small home, the bottom flat of a three-storey building, and set protections at her door and windows to put her mind at ease.
After all of it was done, and more reassurances given, we bade our client goodbye. Gripping Twyla under her elbow, I propelled her out the door and into a waiting carriage at the curb of Madame Chapelle’s boarding house.
“Do I have homework for you, Mys Never-Studied-A-Day-In-Your-Life!” I snapped. I was so blinded by my anger at Twyla’s unprofessionalism that it took a moment to realize that we had entered a coach, not a cab, and that it was already occupied.
From the recesses of the carriage, Mysir de Archambeau said, “I see Anne-Marie was correct about where we might find you.”
I gave a start of surprise, for I had not seen the Duke de Archambeau since the Winter Revels. That surprise was followed by irritation; the man had a habit of disappearing and popping up like a rabbit in a conjuring act. It seemed we had entered the duke’s own coach, but the one without his coat of arms, and thus anonymous. Next to him sat a man I did not know.
“Your Grace, whatever are you doing here?” I asked, settling in the seat next to Twyla, opposite the two men.
He rapped the hilt of his cane on the roof, and the carriage started off. “Baron Losendahl, meet Madame Elinor Chalamet, Ghost Talker. The girl with the mouth hanging open is her apprentice, Mys Twyla Andricksson.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the blond giant gruffly.
With his eyes gleaming, the duke said, “Why don’t you tell us why we are here? Why we have sought you out, Madame Chalamet?”
Analytically, I examined Baron Losendahl. From his appearance, I discerned several things. He was a newcomer to the city and was a native to Zulskaya, that mountainous, snowy country to the northeast of my own Sarnesse. The baron was as broad as a barn, his shoulders a thick beam, his head and neck making one solid bullet shape. His nose had been broken once in the past, and he wore thick mutton chops.
“Did you leave your mountains to come to consult me? No. That alone would not entice a man of your station and wealth. You would have sent for me to come to you. That’s what the rich do. It is another who brings you here to our fair city. A wife? No, daughter— yes, a daughter who is in trouble in Alenbonné, and you requested your old friend, the Duke de Archambeau, to recommend someone to help you in this sensitive matter.”
“Madame! How do you know this?” said the baron in astonishment.
The duke leaned back, smiling, as I explained.
“Your accent tells me you are from Zulskaya, though your cravat pin has the emblem of a well-known Alenbonné sporting club for le beau idéal who enjoy boxing and fencing. I have seen such an insignia at the duke’s private residence, a cup engraved with a win of over twelve years ago. Hence the long friendship. Also indicative that you are not the type of man who would entrust your secrets to just any casual acquaintance.
“It is a sport you continue to enjoy, for the skin of your knuckles is reddened from bare-knuckle fighting, probably as recently as last night. But your face remains unbruised, so it was a match and not a street fight. Probably an exercise to work out some great frustration.”
The baron looked at Archambeau, who only remained silent in his corner. He turned back to me and confided, “You are correct, madame. But what about my recent arrival? How did you come by that?”
“You took off your hat during our introductions. That showed not only manners but also the inside of the band, which has the name of the maker— a decent shop for men’s general attire located in Needle District, but not the best. It specializes in the ready-made, so this was bought when you arrived here. It is too small for your head, as I can tell by the mark across your forehead. A head your size would need a custom-made chapeau.”
Archambeau’s smile had become a smirk as I continued.
“Meanwhile, your tailored and expensive coat is made of kalukoo wool, which is native to the mountains of Zulskaya. It is not often seen in Sarnesse because of the high import tax, yet the garment fits your shoulders like a glove. The wear marks at the cuff and lapels show you have owned it for at least two seasons.”
“No! I do not believe this. Someone has told you about my daughter and her plight. How else would you know?”
“If it were a matter of government, the duke would not need me. If it was a public matter, you would consult Inspector Marcellus Barbier, who is a very fine guardia detective known to the duke. No, His Grace brings you here instead of waiting for me to return to the Crown, as it is an urgent matter or one that requires discretion. Hence a family matter.”
“That’s cracking!” cried my protégé, clasping her hands together in excitement. “Why don’t you teach me how to do that?”
“Because it requires you to use logic and deductive reasoning, Twyla. Something you seem to lack!”
The baron tried to find a flaw in my logic. “My quest could have been for a son, not a daughter.”
“It could have been. But a son you would wait to return, tail between his legs, begging for forgiveness after a debauchery. A daughter? She requires immediate rescue.”
“I told you she was good,” murmured the duke from his corner, giving me a little clap of appreciation with hands in dove-gray gloves. “Now, will you take the case?”
“Of course.”
“Even if it is against your own kind?” growled the baron.
“I help all. Without prejudice,” I replied calmly to his outburst.
Glancing sideways at my apprentice, the duke expounded upon the baron’s remark. “It involves the Morpheus Society.”
“Well, of course I’m still a member in good standing, but I have served my years as a journeyman and my time is now my own.”
“But what of your loyalty?” demanded the baron.
“My loyalty is to my client, as long as you are not asking me to do anything illegal or unethical. Now, Mys Andricksson is an apprentice, and she is still bound closely to the Society’s rules. Let us not speak of this further until we return her to her accommodations.”
“Madame!” cried Twyla. “But I want to know.”
“And children want to know what they will get for their birthday present, my girl. That doesn’t mean their parents relent.” I had already been embarrassed by Twyla in front of a washerwoman; I didn’t wish to repeat another gaffe in front of nobility, and certainly not in front of Archambeau who would probably never let me live it down.
“Where do we take the girl?”
After I’d told the duke her address, he called up to his driver, and as we changed direction, my apprentice crossed her arms, fuming.
Ignoring her, I asked Archambeau, “How is your mother, and Lady Fontaine? Doing well, I hope.”
The duke gave his small smile. “Valentina and Mother are off to the south beaches. It’s watercolor season.”
“By chance, did Lady Baudelaire go with them?”
At the mention of the woman who had commanded a Ghost Hunt in his house at the first dinner party I had attended there, the duke’s eyes grew sardonic.
“She did. She and her husband like to play the casinos, which open on the first day of spring. So my house is my own for a few weeks. We saw Jacques Moreau hail you a cab, but told the driver we would give you a ride instead.”
“Yes, I invited him to the séance. Did Anne-Marie not tell you?”
“No, she did not. Only the address and that you were working.”
The carriage stopped and, without further ado, I bade Twyla goodnight. “When I see you tomorrow, I want you to be able to do the dismiss sequence for a spirit backward and forward. And no reading up on demons, young lady.”
With the dark glance that all mothers of teenagers know so well, the girl left the carriage, the hard corner of her valise hitting my knee. It was probably on purpose, but with Twyla’s awkwardness it could have been simply an accident. Hard to tell.
