Adamant Spirits, page 114
"There were lots of theories about them, of course. Only a small part of archaeology is digging, while the rest is coming up with theories to explain what you've found. Some said the babies had been illegitimate, or unwanted. Others said they'd died young and were buried where their angelic spirits would protect the house, sort of like Catholics believed the remains of kids killed at the time of Jesus's birth were somehow holy relics, and could protect churches. That's still a thing today, too – can't have a church without some pieces of a saint inside it. Strange superstition.
"Some academics said the slain enemies were supposed to protect the house, too. Seems perverse, if you ask me. Killing someone for attacking your home, then burying them at the front door so they could rise up and defend your home against the next set of invaders. As if having an army of zombie skeletons would be a good thing…imagine the smell! I can't imagine corpses would be particularly good protectors. But there's no accounting for religious beliefs, and human sacrifice has been a thing for pretty much as far back as we can tell. Doesn't matter the religion."
Catena felt slightly ill. She set her coffee cup down and pushed it away. "I wish I hadn't asked."
Maria reached over and patted her hand. "Digging them up wasn't so bad. It wasn't until afterward, when the forensic reports came back, that we found out how they'd died. Horribly, in most cases. No, if you want to know which bodies were the most disgusting to dig up, it was the ones who'd been mummified. All sorts of natural processes could mummify a body, and instead of a skeleton, suddenly you're face to face with a dead guy who still has a face…"
Maria always had been a fan of horror movies.
After several more stories about bog bodies and mummies, even Maria's enthusiasm began to wane. She wanted to be out in the field again, discovering things, not trapped in a hospital bed with incomplete memories. She'd complained about it to Catena often enough, and she could see her winding up for another rant.
"Sorry, love, visiting hours end in five minutes," a nurse said.
Catena shot to her feet, pushed the pack of remaining Tim Tams toward Maria, and said her goodbyes.
It wasn't until she reached the car park that she allowed her shoulders to slump in defeat. Maria hadn't known anything about the shoes, or any previous residents, if indeed anyone had lived there.
She'd have to do things the hard way.
Thirty-Six
Spurred on by Maria's horror stories about foundation sacrifices, Catena switched on her laptop as soon as she got home. Normally, she'd go straight to the peer-reviewed journal databases to answer an archaeological mystery, but something made her choose to search the wider internet instead. After all, how many archaeological investigations took place in ceilings?
More than she'd expected, that was for sure. Maria's tales were just the tip of the iceberg.
Bodies buried in houses, tales of cats and…there were even global databases of found objects like Anemone's shoes. Databases managed by reputable institutions, not just crazy conspiracy theorists or other hobbyists.
The practice was witchcraft, pure and simple. Except hardly pure and far from simple.
And the pictures...she'd have to watch all the Alien movies to get these images out of her head.
Shoes and cats and people and gloves and the nauseating practice of witch bottles…it was all there, in graphic detail.
Putting shoes in a house was supposed to be a substitute for the shoes' owner, either to elicit protection for the shoes' owner, or protection from the shoes' former owner after their death. When the item belonged to a child, sometimes it was supposed to bring fertility, or reduce infant mortality within the household.
And if a child's shoes were hidden in the house…what else was there? This building had half a dozen fireplaces – there could be more than just a pair of shoes concealed within them. There could even be bodies…
God, what if there were bodies buried in her house?
But one theme ran through all of the articles, no matter who wrote them: protection.
The one thing Tor kept talking about. How it was his purpose.
What if his body was hidden somewhere within the walls? And the Tor she'd talked to, who walked through walls and flew through the air, was the result of a foundation sacrifice?
Catena switched off the laptop and buried her head in her hands.
Thirty-Seven
Tor slotted the last sliver of stone into the mortar and smoothed it so it sat flush against the blocks on either side. There. The job was done. Catena's house would stand for a century more, if he was any judge, and he knew he was.
Unlike her neighbour, the house held no danger for her.
He really should tell her the good news.
He found her seated at a desk, behind a small screen not dissimilar to the one they watched their movies on. Instead of the device Catena had called a remote control, this screen had a board with different buttons on it flat on the desk before her, labelled with the letters of the alphabet. She occasionally touched these, but seemed to prefer waving her fingers in front of the screen. The screen, to his amazement, recognised the movements and the picture changed accordingly.
Damn, but she could read fast. The words travelled from the bottom of the page to the top as her finger directed them upward, her frown growing deeper with every line.
Then her mouth opened wide in horror, and she stabbed a finger at the screen. The words vanished, replaced by a picture of a cat. She stared at it for a long moment, shuddered, then sent it back into the aether, too.
The screen slowly faded to black, but she still stared at it, as though she could see something he could not. Perhaps. Scholars saw things far more deeply than a simple stonemason like him. Stuff he couldn't even begin to understand.
Still, he did understand that whatever she had seen, it had made her far from happy, and he longed to cheer her up. Dare he step out of the wall and offer her a few words of comfort? He wouldn't kiss her again, but a word or two could not hurt.
"God, Tor, tell me you're not here. Stuck in the walls, or beneath the floor. I just can't bear the thought."
Not only did she not want his sympathy, she wanted him gone. His heart broke for her.
Silently, he stepped back and fled to the roof instead. Tor spread his wings and flew off into the night, heedless of the rain streaming down his face in a poor imitation of Catena's tears.
Thirty-Eight
Catena barely slept that night, jerking awake a thousand times from nightmares of skeleton or zombie armies bursting out of the walls, but she had to work on Monday morning, so she dragged herself to the work kitchen for an extra coffee before the library opened.
Callie was in there with a glass teapot, brewing up something that smelled like it belonged in a perfume bottle, not a teacup. "You been up late reading again? Was he hot?"
Catena just shook her head. She couldn't stop staring at the teapot. A witch's brew, that's what it looked like. Then her sluggish mind caught up with her eyes. "What do you know about foundation sacrifices, and hiding shoes in ceilings?"
Callie grinned. "Are you planning on taking up dark magic? I think I have some medieval spellbooks on those things. Not for the faint-hearted, though – there are some pretty stomach-churning ingredients in those. Even the spells that don't involve corpses."
"Could you…could you take a look for me, and let me know what you find out?" Catena asked.
"That medieval magic was pretty fucked up? I can tell you that right now. Anyone who thinks killing someone to strengthen their walls instead of just building a better fucking wall has some serious issues. Makes Shakespeare look like Disney."
Catena already knew that. "No, it's just that my neighbour found a pair of baby shoes in her ceiling, and if someone who believes in that stuff put them there, there's no knowing what else might be hidden in the house. It's more than a hundred years old, and…Callie, what if the original builder was a serial killer, only no one knew because the bodies are in the walls?"
"Someone would have noticed people going missing."
"Not always."
Callie sighed, then poured herself a cup of tea. "All right, I'll take a look through some of my witchcraft texts and see what I can find. Anything else? As long as it's not the Moth Man, I have time for a bit of research in the inter semester break."
Catena hesitated. What harm could it do? "Gargoyles. Anything you can find about them."
"Okay. I've never heard of anyone having a gargoyle problem before. Rats, yes. Cockroaches, definitely. But gargoyles? I know they're ugly, but so's wallpaper, and people still buy that."
"Not all gargoyles are ugly," Catena blurted out, without thinking.
Callie considered for a moment. "Okay, maybe some of the Disney ones are kind of cute, and there was that musclebound one who was pretty hot for a cartoon, but I think the whole point of gargoyles is to scare away threats. Pretty won't work for that."
Catena made herself nod. Better than telling Callie the truth about Tor. She'd be carted off to the nuthouse before she could blink.
"Just checking…you want this info for research purposes only, because you're an archaeologist and you live in a historical site? You're not trying to summon something from the nether hells to protect your house from zombies, right? Because none of that stuff is possible. Trust me, I know. I have a library full of Latin texts with instructions on how to do those things, and not a single history text that actually says someone succeeded. I mean, witch burnings would've been a whole different beast if the witches had summoned demons to protect them, if you get my drift."
For the first time since she'd left Maria's nursing home, Catena managed a smile. "Nope. I'm all about banishing demons, not summoning them."
"Good. Now, tempus fugit…don't you have a library to open?"
Catena glanced at the clock. "Shit."
Callie's gentle laughter followed her all the way across the courtyard.
Thirty-Nine
Anemone's lights were on when Catena got home, so instead of heading for her own front door, she crossed the landing and knocked on Anemone's.
She answered it with a glass of wine in her hand. "What can I do for you?"
"I thought you might like to know what I've found out about your shoes," Catena said.
"Oh! That was fast. Come in. We're just finishing up dinner." Anemone opened the door wide, gesturing for Catena to enter.
Catena hung back. "I didn't know you had company. I can come back later, or another day, if you like."
Anemone blinked, then laughed softly. "Oh, no, it's just me and the cat. Come in and see."
Catena relented and followed her inside. In the kitchen, she found a near-empty bowl on the bench, beside a slow cooker that emitted the most amazing aroma.
"Oh, what is that?" she asked.
"A Hungarian style goulash. It takes about two days to cook, so I do a huge batch and freeze it in, or I'd be eating it for every meal for a week. Here, I'll get you some." Anemone pulled a clean bowl out of the cupboard and began spooning the stew into it. When it was brimming, she held it out to Catena. "It goes really well with a slice or two of heavy bread. I picked up that sourdough fresh from the bakery this morning."
"Oh, I couldn't…" Catena began.
"Sure you can. There's heaps. It's the least I can do, if you've found the owner of my mystery shoes."
"Yeah, that might not be as easy as I thought…"
Between bites – God it was good – Catena told Anemone what she'd found out so far.
Anemone just sat there nodding and sipping her wine.
When Catena was done, Anemone asked, "So you think a witch put them there?"
Catena almost choked.
"Let me get you some wine," Anemone said. "I used a whole bottle in the goulash, so I had to open a second bottle to drink."
Catena had to admit the shiraz suited the stew perfectly.
She cleared her throat. "I don't know about a witch, but it looks like the shoes were probably put there as part of some fertility or protection ritual. Whether they actually do anything is anyone's guess, and I suppose it depends on what you believe."
Anemone looked thoughtful. "So I should put them back, then?"
"If you believe in that sort of thing, I guess it can't hurt. If they weren't doing anything, then it shouldn't really matter."
"There are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Anemone murmured. "From what you've said, it seems they're supposed to be hidden near the hearth, not up in the roof. I might put them back into one of the fireplaces instead, up the chimney. Seeing as they weren't doing any good where they were."
"Well, no…" Catena wasn't really sure what to say. She hadn't expected Anemone to be so superstitious, but then she hadn't expected gargoyles to exist, either, and she hadn't imagined Tor.
"Is there anything else I should do? You mentioned protective marks…"
When had Catena become an expert in arcane rituals? "Well, in the other buildings where shoes and things were found, there was always more than one, in different places. And marks carved or burned into walls and doorways and hearthstones. As if the people who believed in such things thought the more protection they had, the better, right?"
"Well, I know it was certainly the case with the prison. The main buildings are pretty much pristine, with very little graffiti on the walls except where the prisoners got permission to do artwork, in the last days before it was closed. There's not a single convict mark from construction on the main cell block, or the gatehouse. But the walls are a different story. Especially the north wall, which blew over in a storm the year after it was built."
Catena gaped. "A storm blew the limestone wall over? Seriously? Those walls have to be thicker than the walls of this place, and about as high. To think a gust of wind could just tip that over…wow. Just…wow. It must have made an almighty bang. You'd have heard it for miles."
"Well, they rebuilt it right away, seeing as it was a prison wall, and it's probably stronger now than it ever was then. Of course, nothing lasts forever. It's overdue for repairs, crumbling all over the place. If you ever come across anyone who has experience with Victorian era limestone walls, can you get me his number? It seems the leak that brought down my ceiling was in the walls, not the roof, so I'd want to hire him first, but they want someone like that at work, too. The prison's applied for a grant to cover the costs, but there's no way they'll be able to spend the money if they can't find someone capable of doing the work."
"Well, I do know someone who did some repair work on my walls recently…" Catena bit her lip. "I'll see if he's available." How she'd explain Tor to Anemone, she didn't know, but if she didn't actually see him doing the repairs, it might be all right. Well, for her house, at least. When it came to the prison walls…she'd have to talk it over with Tor.
Anemone's eyes lit up. "If you can find me a stonemason with the right skills, I'll make you dinner for a whole month, I'd be so grateful."
"No need for that." Though she wouldn't turn the offer down. Especially if she ended up living off the pittance of a PhD scholarship next year. "I don't even know if he'll be able to help."
"I'll cook him dinner, too!"
Catena had to laugh at that. "I'll ask him. Anyway, I should go. Leave you and your cat to enjoy each other's company…"
As if sensing her presence was required, the cat crossed the kitchen and began chowing down on something that smelled distinctly fishy.
Anemone rose. "Thank you. If you hear anything else, from your tradie or about the shoes, please let me know. Heaven knows I could do with some good luck, after the year I've had." Tears glistened in her eyes, but they didn't fall.
Sympathy swelled in Catena's chest. Tor should have been here, protecting Anemone. She'd lost her husband and had the ceiling fall in…she definitely deserved a protector more than Catena. But from the little she'd learned about gargoyles, it didn't seem to work that way. Oh well, she'd ask him about that, too.
"Good night."
Catena headed home, but she hadn't even reached her own front door before she'd decided to spend more time talking to the lonely widow. The first thing she'd ask for was the recipe for that stew.
Forty
"Tor? Are you here?" Catena called softly.
Of course he was. He'd been aware of her presence the moment she'd stuck her key in the front door, though he'd kept his distance when she visited her neighbour, just as she'd asked him to on her first visit, the night of the storm.
This was different, though. This was a summons. She needed him, and he could only obey.
"Of course, Miss Kelly. As ever, I am at your service." He stepped out of the wall and bowed low. A little clumsily, he had to admit, but he'd been a convict, not a courtier. Even if she didn't actually know that, she had to know he wasn't as high class as her.
She shook her head slowly. "A girl could get used to this. You're spoiling me, Tor, and I'm not sure it's a good thing."
Tor thought on her words for a long moment, before he said, "If I protect you, and do as you wish, I don't see how it can be a bad thing."
"Definitely spoiling me. And I'm about to ask you to do it again. I'm fast growing addicted to having you around."
Also not a bad thing, Tor thought but didn't say. If he had a choice between being dismissed back into the darkness or protecting Catena for the rest of her natural life, he'd choose her every time, and twice on Sundays.
She closed her eyes, as if her thoughts pained her. "I couldn't sleep last night, worried about what Anemone found in her ceiling next door, and I'm scared tonight will be even worse, now I know even more about the practice. Can you…take a look around the house, in the ceiling cavity and between the walls, maybe even under the floorboards, and tell me if you find anything that shouldn't be there? Like…shoes, or a dead body or…anything else unpleasant I should know about."
