Enchanting the Beast

One

London, 1861

Where magic has never died...

Lady Philomena Radcliff closed her eyes and called to the spirit of the late Lord Stanhope. She tried to ignore the excited breaths of the ladies within the séance circle, which she could clearly hear over the muted strains of ballroom music coming from behind the closed drawing room door.

"Lord Stanhope," Phil said, with as much theatrical brilliance as a stage performer. She spread her hands flat on the mahogany table. "Your wife wishes to speak with you one last time. Is your spirit still in this house?"

The withdrawing room smelled of candle wax and the clashing perfumes of the assembled ladies: Lady Stanhope, Lady Montreve, and their two daughters. And unfortunately, their daughters' silly young friends, who started to giggle as the silence lengthened.

It appeared that the late Lord Stanhope had chosen not to linger in the physical world.

Which didn't make one whit of difference to Phil. Lady Stanhope had paid her for some peace of mind and she would give it to her regardless. When Phil had been orphaned at a young age, she'd used her magical gift to support herself, quickly discovering that half of her job consisted of her theatrical ability to convince her audience. If the spirit she called made an appearance, she just considered it a bonus.

Her primary concern was to relieve the suffering of those that tragedy had left behind.

She opened her eyes. "We must combine our efforts. Lady Montreve, will you douse the candles? Thank you. Now, clasp your neighbor's hand and concentrate on the late Lord Stanhope. Use your will to call him to us."

Lady Montreve's skirts swished and her hoops crackled as she took her seat again next to Phil. Her gloved hands trembled beneath Philomena's fingers, matching the rhythm of Lady Stanhope's grip on Phil's other hand. She gave both of the ladies a reassuring squeeze.

The ballroom orchestra finished its tune, and despite the multitude of guests in the other room, a quiet descended on the mansion. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the wind made a soft keening noise outside the glass windows. Phil lowered her voice to a husky whisper. "Keep concentrating, ladies. I can feel your will rising, calling out to Lord-"

The drawing room door burst open and the shadow of a large man loomed on the threshold. The circle of hands broke. Lady Stanhope gasped, Lady Montreve stifled a scream, and the other girls collapsed into a fit of giggles.