A Summoning of Souls. Leanna Renee Hieber

under the archway of the foyer and into the nave, but Mara disappeared into a side chapel.

      Eve glanced up at the stained-glass windows of the main sanctuary. The windows changed since last Eve had seen them; the structure altered itself in mysterious ways. She had recalled the windows featuring angels, but now human forms shone from them in all manner of dress, region, tradition, and time period. Was the light beyond their leaded images indeed darkening?

      “My apologies,” Lily said to Eve, following her gaze toward the windows. “My Sisters are uncomfortable for a living soul to come and go from here, and for the company outside. The growing storm. The threat that Prenze represents. Cruel hearts like his, forged by troubles I can’t claim to know, seem to find purpose in disturbing the hard-fought peace of other souls. His hatred of spirits is most particular and personal. This places you in a precarious situation.”

      “You can’t think me the enemy?” Eve asked in a pained gasp. She’d done so much for the spirit world all her life, taken it into her mind, listened to all its whispers when ghosts threatened to split her mind in two. She’d forsaken a higher education due to their pressure to keep them first, so she opened the Ghost Precinct and remained self-taught, she’d devoted her life—

      Lily Strand put both hands on Eve’s shoulders as if she could hear this runaway train of frustration.

      “Of course not. I know you to be our biggest ally. It’s what’s around you. If Prenze is manipulating you here, it’s likely to see if he can wedge in after you. If he were to get in…” Lily shuddered. “I worried enough about little Ingrid’s body and the undertaker. But that disrespect was nothing compared to Prenze’s abject hatred of spirits. I leave it to you and your gifted friends to stop him outside. I’ll do what’s necessary here on the inside. Though I will say, we need every living being who treasures spirits to lend us their love for the amount of protection needed.”

      Lily gestured to the nearest Sanctuary window. “These are the images of our helpers, gifted living folks who are attuned to the veil. Her Holiness, our foundress, asked Sanctuary’s Living Light to reach out to those who can help us weather storms.”

      The nearest window struck Eve to the core; the leaded glass portrayed a woman in contemporary dress of light blue, but the rest of her was entirely without pigment. Hair and skin white as snow, her ice-blue eyes sparkled and her smile was kind. Radiant white light artfully shone from behind her in leaded strokes as if her whole body was lit. A stunning, ethereal vision. While Eve didn’t recognize the woman, she desperately wanted to know her. One of Gran’s earliest Spiritualist lessons had been to declare that powerful women were keeping ghostly balances steady all around the world; she and Eve were but two actors on a grand, mysterious stage.

      “She’s our best living asset, that one,” Lily said, following Eve’s gaze to the stained-glass portrait. “You’re not the only gifted conduit to the dead, Eve.” She gave a teasing smile. “And we need all of you here, at the end of an era, to be sure we’re all not torn apart, to lend your lights. But as for you, go on; you’ve been here long enough. You’ll have worried whoever came after you this time.”

      The deaconess returned Eve to the front door. Glancing out a beveled glass lancet window, she exclaimed, “Ah! It’s the mortal whose faithful heart created this portal! Go on!”

      Eve turned back to the nave to see several Sisters heaving great shutters over the Gothic arched windows, closing over loving, saintly looking faces from all around the world, battening down before a storm.

      “It’s getting worse, my friend,” Lily said sadly. Thunder rolled in the distance. “Take care out there as we take care in here.”

      It was as if the whole spirit world shouted it at her in a thousand accusatory murmurs: “Don’t let anything in!” Eve clapped her hands over her ears for the furor of it.

      The deaconess heaved open the great wooden door, and as the light beyond blinded Eve and she raised her arms against it, the woman placed both hands on Eve’s shoulders and pushed her forward into the brilliant void.

      Eve fell again, that dizzying lurch and queasy pain distinct to this out-of-body experience, praying she’d come to again in one piece. She’d had quite enough of going unconscious and waking up without remembering the journey. For someone who loved to be in as much control as a paranormal life allowed, this was a fresh hell and terrifying new habit.

      When she opened her eyes, would he be waiting for her? Albert Prenze? Had he been the one to drive her here, or was it her own unconscious, powerful desire to drink in the divine mysteries of Sanctuary mortals were not supposed to understand?

      A shadowy figure suddenly obscured all ethereal light. She knew that form. It had been at her window. A torment. The astral projection of Albert Prenze’s energy had been appearing to her of late, uninvited and unwelcome.

      “I renounce thee!” Eve shouted to the enemy at the gates.

      She snapped her energy out from her like a whip, and the figure vanished.

      Eve’s knees struck a soft bed of leaves, pine needles, and moss.

      “Hello, dear,” came a familiar, kind voice from behind.

      Eve, bent and kneeling, whirled her head around to see a tall, striking, and elegant woman of nearly seventy.

      Regal and fierce, Evelyn Northe-Stewart stood before her: powerful psychic, paranormal counselor, medium, philanthropist, visionary, and most of all, Eve’s best friend, ally, and grandmother. Wearing a magnificent House of Worth day dress with doubled green skirts and a royal-blue jacket with gold embroidery, her waves of white hair were swept up beneath a satin hat with flourishes, feathers, and tulle. Seeing the woman for whom she was named was like dawn breaking after a long, dark night.

      “Gran!” Eve tried to run to her beloved mentor, but her body didn’t cooperate. She fell on a bed of leaves. When one entered Sanctuary, it was the soul that went through while the body remained lifeless behind. The reconnection was dizzying. Eve empathized with Frankenstein’s monster, waking up to an unwieldy body awkwardly made.

      Rushing up, Gran brought Eve to her feet. The distinct lines of her face were distinguished and thoughtful rather than old or worn. A widening expression accentuated the deepest lines, those around her smile. “I know, my dear, that the detective came for you last time, despite all spirits’ warnings not to. I know I can hardly make up for his handsomeness”—Gran added with a laugh—“or your attraction to him—”

      Eve’s face went red as she tried to stay stable on her feet. “I am—I have no such—”

      “You’re a gifted psychic but a terrible liar, Eve Whitby, and I raised you to be exactly so. I do see through everything.”

      Eve’s twisting stomach had nothing to do with the fall from Sanctuary and everything to do with how much she cared for Jacob Horowitz, dashing detective and unexpected suitor. She had to change the subject lest he become her entire undoing. “Gran, how did you find me?”

      “You’re not about to leave my house unannounced and under mesmeric influence without my following. I was furious with myself the last time you tore out here on your own.” She tapped her temple. “Ever since then, I’ve been fine-tuning our connection.”

      Eve grimaced. “That…shouldn’t be your responsibility, I don’t want to be a charity—”

      Gran clucked her tongue. “My dearest namesake, you’re being targeted by a villain and if I don’t intervene, your poor mother… She’ll never forgive either of us. Now come away from here.” She fussed with Eve’s coat, closing it more securely before guiding her out of the clearing.

      “Now, when you were returning to yourself,” Gran continued, “I know you weren’t issuing a renunciation to me, my dear, so who did you see beyond? Did Prenze loom at you again?”

      “I thought so,” Eve murmured, brushing detritus from her skirts. “He vanished after I renounced.”

      At the edge of the wood