Pages and Premonitions, page 4
When their group reached the portrait hall upstairs, Lucy nudged Shelby's arm. "That must be her," she whispered, nodding toward an oil painting of a teenage girl with delicate features and intelligent dark eyes.
Shelby studied the image titled "Prudence" and felt inexplicably sad gazing at the long-ago young woman in her formal gown, standing with a solemn expression. An ornate gold frame highlighted the life she might have known as an adult if she hadn’t been accused of witchcraft.
The tour guide cleared his throat, recapturing the group's attention. "And here we have the Harris's only daughter, Prudence. Though not confirmed, many believe her tormented spirit roams these halls looking for her parents."
As the guide continued to describe the supposed supernatural occurrences witnesses had reported over the years, Shelby noticed the candles in the wall sconces sputtering in an odd way.
A faint haze seemed to drift through the hallway, accompanied by the whisper of something that sounded almost like weeping.
Shelby shivered, her skin prickling.
"Do you feel that, Lucy?" she murmured. "It's so cold in here."
Her friend gave her a puzzled look. "Feel what? It’s nice and warm. Maybe you’ll warm up soon. We were out in the cold for nearly two hours."
Shelby listened as the guide related a chilling tale of a psychic who had fled the house screaming after making contact with a spirit in the seance room. She frowned, rubbing her hands along the arms of her winter jacket. She realized the inside temperature wasn't actually cold, yet she couldn't shake off the feeling of icy air surrounding her. The sad whispers sounded louder, echoes of grief carried on some otherworldly current only Shelby seemed to sense.
Glancing back at Prudence's portrait, she thought she saw the painted lips move ever so slightly. She blinked hard. You're imagining things, she scolded herself. But the heavy atmosphere of sadness still lingered.
The tour guide went on describing the Harris family. After their daughter was accused of witchcraft, she was sent away to Virginia in secret to escape persecution as a witch. The young woman never arrived at her destination and no one knows what happened to her. Penelope and William Harris left Salem and moved to Hamlet, where they settled on this new estate. Originally, the mansion’s property consisted of more than twenty acres of land. William opened a merchant store in Hamlet, which was only a mile away from their estate. Penelope and William were bereft when they learned their daughter had never made it to Virginia. They never had more children. Penelope became reclusive and no longer wanted to entertain. Penelope wandered the woods pining for Prudence, wondering if her daughter was dead or alive, and invited psychics to the mansion to try to contact the young woman. Once a joyful man, William lost interest in the things he used to love and became quiet, spending many hours alone in his study.”
When their tour moved on, Shelby fell back from the group to walk alone for a few minutes. If some ghostly presence was trying to manifest, she didn't want to distract the other visitors. Shelby kept her gaze fixed straight ahead as more odd noises filtered around her, lights flickered, and a woman’s soft cry filled the air. For a second, she smelled the odor of smoke.
Outside once again, she breathed deep gulps of the frosty air, grateful to leave the oppressive sensations in the mansion behind. She paused, debating whether to confide her uneasiness to Lucy or let it go. She was still deciding what to do when her friend turned to her with bright eyes.
"Wasn't that fun?" Lucy bubbled with enthusiasm. "Such amazing holiday decorations, and I almost believe those ghost stories now."
Shelby forced a smile. "Definitely a cool atmosphere," she agreed, not wanting to ruin Lucy's lighthearted mood. “It was fun, but the noises, cries, and flickering lights kind of bothered me.”
Lucy looked surprised. “I didn’t hear any cries. I didn’t notice lights flickering, either.”
“I smelled smoke for a few seconds, too.”
“Maybe since you hit your head and started developing skills, you’re more attuned to sights and sounds,” Lucy suggested.
“Could be.”
They crunched along the tree-lined lane leading back to the gates, with Lucy happily chattering the whole way. Shelby made occasional responses, but her thoughts preoccupied her. Had the spirit of Prudence Harris been trying to connect with her? And if so, what did she want with her?
Nearing the estate's exit, Shelby hesitated and glanced back. For a fleeting instant, she thought she glimpsed a pale figure framed in an upper window, staring after her. With a shiver, Shelby hurried to catch up to Lucy.
"Everything okay?" Her friend gave her a curious look. "You seem kind of spooked. It was just a fun holiday haunted house tour. I think you’re just feeling sensitive after everything that’s happened. It’s understandable."
"I know, I'm fine." Shelby pushed away the unease still nagging at her. "I just got lost in thought, but you're right. It was really great."
The two friends strolled back into town. Shelby attempted to engage more in Lucy's lively review of every entertaining detail of their evening. By the time they bid each other goodnight, Shelby's mood had lightened.
When she entered her apartment, the cat was sleeping on the sofa. She lifted her head. “Tell me all about it tomorrow. I’m too tired to listen to you now.”
Shelby chuckled. “Why do you sleep so much?”
“I’m a cat,” Harper reminded her.
Climbing under her covers an hour later, Shelby couldn't stop thinking about all she had sensed at the Harris Estate. Something floated in the air there, something sad, needful, and somehow tied to Hamlet's haunted past. She considered waking Harper to talk things over with her, but she knew the cat wouldn’t pay attention in her sleepy state. In a few days, there would be another lesson with Fiona, and Shelby wanted to share her disquieting mansion tour experience with her to see what guidance the wise woman might offer about sensing lost souls.
But that was a mystery for another day. When Shelby clicked off the lamp, the bedroom filled with shadow and Harper snuggled closer. The young woman let the familiar creaks and groans of the old building soothe her as she drifted off to sleep.
5
Shelby woke with a startled gasp and a pounding heart. Flickering images from her dream faded, but a sense of urgency stayed with her. There was something about a fire...
She shook her head, trying to clear the troubling impressions from her mind, but when she met Harper's watchful gaze from the foot of the bed, Shelby hesitated.
"Did you pick up on anything strange during the night?" the young woman asked.
The cat blinked. “It wasn't a dream. A room in the old Harris mansion burned last night,” she said.
"What?" Shelby sat bolt upright. "The Harris Estate was on fire? Was it destroyed?"
“No, it wasn’t.” Harper flicked her tail. “There was a small blaze in one of the parlors. Luckily, it was spotted and extinguished almost right away, but there was damage to the room.”
Shelby sank back against her pillows, stunned. She recalled the acrid, smoky scent in the grand house during last night's holiday tour. When she experienced it, she thought it was her imagination, but now...
"Could I have been sensing the fire before it even started?" she mused aloud. Premonitions were one of the psychic abilities Fiona said might manifest.
Harper looked at Shelby with a steady gaze. “You perceived a tragedy before it occurred. Your powers are continuing to unfold.”
Shelby rubbed her forehead. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No one was hurt by the fire. As I said, there was some minor damage to the one room.”
With a sigh, Shelby climbed out of bed and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. She had more questions than answers these days. Her deepening connection to Hamlet's supernatural undercurrents felt equal parts frightening and frustrating.
After breakfast, Shelby opened her laptop and soon found a brief article about the fire at the Harris Estate. It had occurred around 11:00 pm just two hours after her and Lucy's evening tour. There were no details about damage or suspected cause, however.
Shelby’s forehead crinkled in thought as she got ready to go downstairs to the bookshop. She considered calling Lucy to share her unsettling hunch about the fire but decided against it. Best to keep this new wrinkle to herself for a little while. She’d prefer to talk to Lucy face-to-face.
At Spellbound Books, Shelby busied herself with the usual opening tasks, pushing worries from her mind. When Rachel breezed in later that morning, Shelby welcomed the distraction of hearing about her blossoming romance with the coffee shop cutie.
"Chad is just the sweetest," Rachel gushed as she unpacked a new shipment of young adult novels. "He brought me the most amazing hazelnut latte this morning, and we talked for like an hour."
Shelby smiled, warmed by the dreamy look on Rachel's face. "It's official then. You're totally smitten."
Rachel blushed but looked pleased by her new flame. With Harper napping nearby in a patch of sunlight, the two chatted about books and life while they worked. Shelby felt herself relax, lost in the comforting rhythm of work tasks and laughter with her friend.
Later, while straightening a display shelf, Shelby overheard two women discussing the Harris Estate. She moved closer, straining to catch their conversation.
"What terrible timing, right before their big Christmas season," one woman remarked.
Her companion shook her head. "At least the damage was minor. They don’t have to close. They can stay open. I did hear they found remains in the rubble - some poor soul who perished in the fire."
Shelby's breath caught, and she busied herself with arranging the book display again before the women could notice her obvious eavesdropping. So her premonition had signified more than a dangerous blaze. Someone had died in the flames. But why did Harper tell me the fire didn’t hurt anyone?
The shop's cozy warmth suddenly felt chilling. Shelby rubbed her arms, wishing she had answers about the strange forces that seemed to have plagued the Harris Estate. Were darker presences capitalizing on the tragedy of Prudence Harris? And what did they want from the living? She shook her head and berated herself for letting her thoughts run wild.
The door opened and a tall, good-looking man in a leather jacket stepped inside and glanced around before approaching the counter. "Afternoon. Are you Shelby Price?"
At her wary nod, he pulled a badge from his pocket. "Detective Travis Whitely. I'd like to ask you and a member of your staff a few questions about the Harris Estate fire, if you have a moment."
Shelby stared. Her mouth was as dry as sand. Why did the police want to speak with her about the blaze? Her unease must have shown on her face because the detective hurried to add, "These are just routine inquiries. Several tour groups passed through there yesterday evening. I believe you and your employee Rachel Strand were at the estate last night.”
Rachel looked confused but hurried over. “I was there early in the evening with a friend. We took some pictures outside, got a hot chocolate and a pretzel, and then left. We didn’t go on the tour.”
Shelby took a deep breath and gestured for Detective Whitely to follow her to the employee break room in the back, away from curious customers. She caught Harper's watchful gaze tracking them before the cat leapt down from her perch with ease to trail behind.
Seated at the small table with mugs of coffee, Shelby, feeling tense, waited for the detective to explain his purpose. He flipped open a notebook, his expression serious beneath his tousled dark hair.
"Let's start with your contact information." Once provided, he continued, looking at Shelby. "You went on a holiday tour at the estate last night, correct?"
When Shelby nodded, he asked, "Did you notice anything unusual or out of place during your walk through the mansion?"
Shelby hesitated. Should she mention the frigid pockets of air, echoes of sadness, and the sense of a lurking presence she had attributed to Prudence's ghost? She opted to just shake her head.
Detective Whitely turned his piercing gaze on her. "And nothing struck you as strange or worrisome, Ms. Price?"
Shelby met his eyes for a half-second before dropping her focus to the steaming mug cradled in her hands. "The house has a tragic history. I guess I felt some ... atmosphere in there, but nothing concrete. Just lights flickering and things like that. I’m sure it was part of the tour."
She held her breath as the detective studied her, and after an endless couple of moments, he nodded, and then turned to Rachel.
“Did you notice anything unusual while you walked around the grounds?”
“Nothing. Everything was great,” Rachel explained. “People seemed happy.”
The detective stood. "I appreciate you taking the time. Here’s my contact information if you think of anything that could be relevant."
Shelby walked him to the front door in a daze, head spinning. Why was his focus so intent on her? Could he sense she was holding something back? Thankfully, Rachel had no inkling of Shelby's hidden talents. She just looked a little put out to have her date-gushing interrupted.
"What was that about?" Rachel asked once Detective Whitely had departed. "He didn't really say why he wanted to talk to us."
Shelby shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "Routine stuff, I guess. Cops always want to question everyone after an incident. It would be easy to access information about the people who went to the festival at the estate since we had to buy tickets.”
Rachel seemed to accept Shelby’s explanation, and with a cheerful nod, she returned to unpacking the book shipment. Meanwhile, Shelby spent the rest of the day in a tense fog. Between her psychic hunch before the fire and law enforcement coming to talk to her, she felt certain the fatal fire was about to draw her into something.
At closing time, Shelby said goodnight to Rachel and made her way upstairs, with Harper at her heels. Slumping onto the sofa, she dropped her face in her hands with a groan.
"I don't know what to do, Harper," she confessed. "If my senses can provide clues about threats before they happen, then I feel obligated to act. But how? How could I warn people? They’d think I was a crazy person."
The cat leapt into her lap. “You have a kind heart, but it may be very hard to protect others from darkness. Be patient. Learn about your skills first. Don’t push too hard right now.”
Shelby sighed, stroking Harper's soft fur. "You're right. Worrying won't help. Maybe Fiona will have some advice for me." She hesitated. "I know Lucy believes in my 'talents,' but should I confide in her about this premonition?" Shelby hated keeping secrets from her oldest friend, but would telling Lucy only make her worry?
“Tell her when you see her in person,” Harper advised. “This is a heavy burden made lighter when shared between friends.”
Shelby gave a slow nod, seeing the wisdom in Harper's advice. Her friendship with Lucy gave her strength and made her feel calm.
“Why did you tell me no one was hurt in the fire?” she asked the cat.
“Because no one was,” Harper told her.
A soft knock at the apartment door made Shelby jump. She wasn't expecting anyone that evening. Peering through the peephole, she was surprised to see Detective Whitely standing on the porch. Shelby stepped back, pulse quickening. What reason could he have for returning?
She took a deep breath and opened the door. "Detective. Did you forget something?" She hoped her voice sounded steady.
His expression seemed almost sheepish. "Sorry to bother you at home, Ms. Price. I just ... had a hunch you might have more to share about the Harris Estate. Intuition, I guess. Can we speak in private?"
Shelby hesitated, then gestured him inside. She watched the detective scan his surroundings before turning his laser-sharp focus on her.
Harper sat grooming herself on the back of the sofa, with a calm and ease that Shelby didn’t share.
"Please, have a seat," she offered, and then perched on the edge of the sofa facing him as he settled into an armchair. An odd energy she didn't understand hummed in the air between them.
Detective Whitely seemed to choose his words with care. "Sometimes powerful insights that defy logic come to me during investigations. For example, I can sometimes sense when witnesses omit details on purpose … details that could prove meaningful." His piercing gaze held Shelby's. "I think you might have additional insights about the fire."
Shelby's mouth went dry. How could this practical detective possibly suspect she had any insight? And yet, his solemn expression held no skepticism.
She glanced helplessly at Harper, who stared at her in response. “Tell him. He is a seeker like yourself.”
Swallowing hard and not knowing what the cat meant, Shelby met Detective Whitely's calm gaze. "I believe I ... sensed things at the estate that may be relevant," she began in a halting way. "For a moment, I smelled smoke, but I didn’t see any fire at all. My friend and I left before the fire started."
She tensed, expecting disbelief or condemnation for such a silly claim, but the detective simply nodded.
"I wondered if you might have seen or heard something," he said. "It’s clear to me that you possess a sensitivity I lack. Please, share anything you noticed during the tour that seemed ... out of the ordinary."
Keeping his eyes on the young woman, he took out a notebook.
Shelby took a steadying breath. At first, she was hesitant, but soon her words spilled out in a rush as she described the cold spots, whispers, flickering lights, and smoke-like mist she had experienced. “It all must have to do with the special effects they use in the mansion. When I smelled smoke, I brushed it off as part of the effects.” She paused for a moment. “But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was … intuition?”
