CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: This Rough Magic

"Hey, Doc? Where you want the file cabinet?”

“Oh, hell…” Dr. Emily Parson looked up from the tall stack of patient folders she’d been attempting to put into some semblance of order. Standing in the doorway of her new office was a burly workman in blue coveralls, an expectant look on his beefy face and the cabinet in question balanced precariously on a handcart before him.

Puffing a sigh, Emily raked a hand through her short auburn bangs and tried to remain calm. These interruptions had been going on all morning. The electrician still had to finish rewiring the office, half her books had yet to be delivered, and when she’d asked about a DSL connection, the head nurse looked at her as if she were a new patient, rather than the new chief of staff. Now to top it off, she was expected to supervise the furniture movers. At this rate, she’d never be ready for her first rounds.

“Gee, I don’t know,” she said, gritting her teeth, “how about in that one open space next to all those boxes marked ‘FILES’?”

Luckily, the workman seemed immune to irony.

“Sure thing, Doc,” he grunted, shoving the tall cabinet off the dolly and into the corner. He turned to her and in a rough, but reassuring voice said, “Don’t you worry, now. The maintenance crew should be out of here by noon, for certain. Well, four o'clock at the latest. We only got held up this week due to the flooding; that pretty near jillpoked the works.”

“Flooding?” Christ, just how decrepit was this place?

“Ayep, in the basement where the old hydro rooms are? Happens every fall when the weather turns. Old buildings, old plumbing, that’s the way of it. Something I dread every year this time. That old basement gives me the willies, it does, and for me that’s saying a lot. Last time I went down there, I swear I-"

“Yes,” she interrupted firmly. “Well, thank you, Mister...?”

The large man wiped a meaty paw on the front of his coverall and extended it to her. “Bill,” he said, smiling widely. “Just call me Bill.”

Emily gingerly took his proffered hand, but the man’s grasp was surprisingly gentle.

“And welcome to St. Barn’s, Doctor Parson,” Bill continued with a wink. “I hope you’ll like it here.”

Something about the man compelled her to return his smile, and for the first time since her arrival, she didn’t feel quite so overwhelmed.

“Thank you, Bill,” she said with genuine warmth this time. “I’m sure I will.”

“I’ll be back with the rest of your stuff in a jiffy.” Whistling off-key, the man banged the dolly back out of her office and shambled down the hall.

Emily checked her watch and estimated the number of files she still needed to go over. This was crazy! It was hardly eight in the morning and she was already an hour behind. She’d been content in Boston – okay, not happy, but content. Okay, not happy or content, but at least her entire life hadn’t been turned upside down. It had all come about so quickly, starting with that telephone call from her old friend and former classmate, Mitch Saxon.

“It’s perfect for you, Em,” he’d urged. “I’m telling you, you’ve been in the big city too long. You’re jaded; admit it! This is the chance you’ve been waiting for. You could really make a difference. Make a name for yourself.”

“I like that,” she’d retorted. “Doogie Howser telling me what I need.”

Mitch had groaned at the old nickname. “How long are you going to hold my tender years against me? Can I help it if I’m young, handsome and brilliant? At least talk to the steering committee. I’d apply for the position myself, but I’ve got…well, it’s not a good time for me to be taking on additional responsibilities. Come on, stretch those long legs of yours and take a trip north. Check it out. I’ll buy you a lobster dinner. There’s a patient there I just admitted; I’d like to discuss him with you, an unusual MPD. And besides that, I’d love to be able to gaze into your beautiful hazel eyes and pick your even more beautiful brain about some of the stuff I’ve been dealing with down here; not just the patient, but…some other things as well.”

He’d finally convinced her to let him recommend her for the position. A quick round of interviews had followed and then just last week there’d been the call from the board of trustees begging her to take the job. They’d wanted her to start immediately, which meant she'd have to split her time between here and Boston for the next month until she could transition her old patients to other colleagues.

Her first view of St. Barnabas Hospital had been a daunting one. With its blood red bricks, looming gothic turrets and high arched windows, it looked like something straight out of Poe or Lovecraft; she’d half expected to see the main building surrounded by a tarn ‘dank and drear’. She’d shaken off her initial misgivings, however, once she’d met the staff and seen how well the patients were treated.

The opportunity for advancement had been irresistible and the timing was right. She’d been in a rut back in Boston; she knew that. She’d had no personal ties keeping her there any longer, not since she’d divorced Jeremy, the conniving bastard. No family, no lovers certainly, for much longer than she cared to remember. At forty-three years of age, it was high time she accepted a new challenge.

She’d been feeling out of sorts ever since that last session with Sarah – no, she corrected herself - with Diana Carandini. The things that poor girl had finally revealed – Emily felt such a fool. She’d been treating her for three years and hadn’t even scratched the surface of her problems. Amazing how childhood trauma could twist one’s recollections of a parent’s cruelty into something…otherworldly in order to rationalize it.

If only I could have helped her break through all that; to see her father for what he truly was and not what her fantasies obviously made him up to be.

Nevertheless, it was time to put that behind her. There were people here she could help. Standing, she reached around the back of her chair for her white lab coat and slipped it on, then crossed over to the closet. Opening it, she checked her makeup in the mirror and carefully readjusted her favorite Italian silk scarf. Picking up the files she’d examined, she looked over the roster of patients she was to see and gave a satisfied nod. At the top of the list was the name she remembered from her conversation with Mitch. With a slightly imperious lift of her chin, she stepped briskly out of her office and down the hall.

“All right, Mr. Edmund Green,” she muttered under her breath. “Let us begin with you and…yours.”


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Wilton Carandini closed the door to his room and took a moment to relish the solitude. Things certainly had started hopping around here, and not all of it was to his liking. Too many unknown elements. Frowning with distaste at the tepid mug of tea he’d carried up from the kitchen, he tipped the contents into the large aspidistra by the bureau and set the cup down. He’d gotten what he’d wanted from trusty Grant, at least. Such a treasure, that man. Such a repository of family secrets. Such a waste of a loyalty and devotion that was so rare in servants these days.

In the moment they’d connected, Carandini had not only been able to confirm what he’d witnessed between Jean and Megan, he saw that the butler was deeply involved with the amazing little Annie and grievously concerned about her. Why, Grant! Carandini mused. Who would have guessed? That explained so much. And where was that bewitching little maid these days, he wondered. Since their brief sojourn together into town, she’d made herself quite scarce, almost as if she’d been avoiding his presence. He’d been so busy lately he’d not been able to give her the attention she most definitely deserved. He needed to do something to tempt her. Leave some…bait, perhaps, to lure her back to him. He felt a smile creep onto his face. Annie intrigued him, indeed. And some games were just too interesting to resist.

But that was just the problem. There were so many games and mysteries here, so many threads and so tightly woven. Determining which of those threads to cut, however, and which to simply loosen or fray, now that was where true artistry came in. Crossing over to the mantle, he poured himself a glass of the Quinta do Noval ‘67 he’d lifted from the wine cellar and relaxed into the high backed leather armchair that faced the fire. Perhaps he was just too close to it all; that was a hazard he remembered well, living here at Halstead. One had a tendency to be swept up in events, rather than be the one to orchestrate them. He needed to assess his strategy and prioritize.

He had the book, he had the amulet, and Alexandra was safely hidden away for the time being, even though Johnny was proving to be surprisingly squeamish about that. Amazing, really, the cheek of him – no compunction whatsoever about donning a black robe, plundering a whore six ways from Sunday on an altar to Satan and then obliterating her memory, but require a simple, necessary precaution for their continued safety and suddenly the man had a crisis of conscience.

Therefore, handling John would be his first task. Confronting whoever, or whatever had taken Jean away to save him from exposure would be his next step. Then, the sturdy Dr. Saxon was proving to be more of a problem than they’d anticipated; he would bear watching. That loathsome actor Creighton needed to be dealt with as well; even John’s purposely inept counsel wouldn’t keep him behind bars forever. Perhaps some…evidence…would need to be found.

As for the family members themselves, they were all so engrossed in their own squabbles, lusts and miseries that not one of them had a clue as to what his real purpose was in being here.

Keep things stirred up, yes, but in the direction and tempo that he decreed.

He required the aid of someone he could trust, now that Edmund had been whisked away and John was proving recalcitrant. Luckily, he knew just the person for the job. Reaching inside his shirt, he pulled out the jeweled amulet he now wore around his neck. Holding it lightly, Carandini projected a thought and an image, then spoke a single word and waited, savoring his glass of port. A few moments later, there was a soft knock on his door. It opened to reveal Andrea; she was wearing a sheer black silk nightgown and little else.

“Ah, thank you for coming,” said Carandini, setting down his glass and rising to greet her. “You look as fresh as ever. Hmm, rather a daring costume, though, wouldn’t you say? Not quite apropos for the character?”

“I hate this form,” his visitor said sulkily as she entered the room and closed the door behind her. “I hate having to manufacture her thoughts and emotions. Andrea is so…dull.”

“Nevertheless,” replied Carandini, “it is imperative you maintain the illusion that she is still alive. John needs to believe that I resurrected her, and the rest of my plans would be thrown into chaos if it were discovered that Jean actually did kill her.“

“I liked the other form better, the one you had me take for darling Edmund’s benefit. I loved playing with him.” Her features melted into a greenish cast, and suddenly she was the beautiful succubus that had tortured his former assistant.

Carandini chuckled. “Perhaps we went a bit too far on that one, but it certainly was entertaining.”

She sidled up against him and stroked his arm. “I can be anything you want, you know. I am your creature after all, now that you possess the amulet. Would you prefer it if I were…”

The thing morphed again, this time into a very lovely, very naked Veronica Drake. “Why won’t you let me please you?” she purred.

Carandini grabbed her wrists, none too gently, and held her at a slight distance. “That is really quite thoughtful of you, dear, but right now is not the-”

There was another knock on the door.

With a stern gesture of warning, he silenced her and pushed her towards the bed. Crossing over to the door, he opened it a crack to find the real Veronica, wearing a demure blue bathrobe and staring up at him with plaintive eyes.

“Oh Wilton,” she said breathlessly. “I’m so glad you’re still up! Forgive me, but I really needed to ask you about something. Is this a bad time?”

“No, ah…of course not, preziosa.” He gave a quick look over his shoulder, smiled, and then turned back to her. ”Please, do come in.”

“I…thought I heard voices?”

“Yes, I was speaking to Sybil.”

“Sybil?” Veronica said, confused.

Carandini stood aside and gestured towards the bed.

“Oh!” Ronnie laughed. “So, that’s Sybil!”

“What can I say?” Carandini replied. “The name seemed to fit. I was trying to coax her off of my pillow.”

There, curled up in a ball was the black cat with the blaze of white on its forehead. She gave Veronica a dismissive glance, yawned widely, then lifted a hind leg and started grooming herself.

“She seems to have…attached herself to me,” Carandini said with an apologetic shrug. Then he smiled, placed his hands on the girl’s shoulders, and drew her in closer. “But it is such a pleasure to see you! I confess, Veronica, I’ve been feeling a trifle neglected by you lately.”

Relishing the slight blush that bloomed on her cheeks, he waved away her stammered apology. “No, no, I understand completely. Jean has at last begun to see the error of his ways and I could not be happier for you! Now, sit down, have a glass of this very expensive port with me and tell me what the burning question is you needed to-”

The chirrup of his cell phone interrupted him.

“Ah, ‘scuzi,” he said, retrieving his phone. “I hate the beastly thing, but I’ve found some concessions to the modern age are necessary.”

Especially when so few conversations in this house are ever truly private.

Checking the caller ID, he felt a jolt of energy go through him. He eagerly flipped open the phone and spoke into it. “Un momento.”

Holding the phone to his chest, he turned back to Veronica and said, “A thousand apologies, cara mia, but I have been waiting a very long time for this call. Urgent business, I’m afraid. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh!” The girl tried to mask her disappointment. “Of course. It…really wasn’t all that important; just some weird dreams I’d been having that I hoped you could help me decipher. It can wait.”

“Ah, dreams! Always intriguing,” he said, smoothly urging her out the door. “I suggest you write them down in as much detail as you can remember, and at the first possible moment, I promise we shall examine them from every possible angle, yes? ”

He paused, then reached out to trace his finger down along her temple and under her chin. He could feel her tremble at his touch.

Good. Very good. For I still have so much planned for you, my lovely Veronica. And I do believe that all of Jean's clumsy attempts at a rapprochement will be for naught.

Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on the girl's forehead. “Buona notte, sweet one. May your sleep tonight be blissfully unencumbered.”

Veronica smiled, slightly dazed, and trotted back down the hall towards her room.

Carandini turned back to the cat on the bed and snapped his fingers. “And as for you…watch her, but do not send her any dreams.”

Sybil scratched her ear and stretched languidly.

“Now, if you please,” he said warningly.

With a disgruntled snort, the cat leapt off the bed and ambled out after Veronica. Closing the door firmly, he raised the cell phone to his ear once more.

“Pronto? Si.”

As he listened, Carandini could feel his pulse quicken.

“Siete sicuri?” he asked in a hushed tone, trying to control his excitement. “Bene. Va bene. No, no, do nothing, non si avvicina. Verrò.”

Snapping the phone shut, he closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“It is time, Diana. I shall come to you. I’ve waited long enough.”

Crossing back to the mantle, he retrieved his glass of port and took a final, appreciative sip, then carefully set the crystal glass back down. Sometimes, he mused, things fell out exactly the way they needed to, when they needed to.

“ ‘I have done nothing but in care of thee’,” he murmured. Staring down into the fire, he saw only her face. “ ‘Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who art ignorant of what thou art…’”



L.A.G.