Such Wicked Intent by Kenneth Oppel

over the side of the bed and faced Elizabeth. “Tell me what you saw!”
    “No!” commanded Henry. “Say nothing, either of you!” From my desk he took quills and paper and handed them to us. “Remember our plan. Write down what happened, in as much detail as you can. Events, dialogue. Then I’ll read them.”
    I exhaled. “Yes, of course. I was forgetting.”
    As I scribbled out my account, I kept glancing over at Elizabeth, wondering if she’d truly had the same experiences as me—right up to the moment before we’d left the spirit world. I wrote and wrote and heard the church bells toll the half hour. As I neared the end of my account, I hesitated and decided to leave out the passionate embrace Elizabeth and I had shared. If it had all merely been a dream, I’d only embarrass myself, and if it were true, I would mortify Elizabeth. Surely she’d omit it. I looked up and saw her watching me. We’d finished at the same time, and we silently handed our sheets to Henry.
    Waiting as he read both our accounts was excruciating. Elizabeth’s fingertips traced the lace embroidery of her hem. I folded my maimed hand within my whole one, wishing I could hide it away forever, wishing I could obliterate the throbbingpain that dogged me. We avoided each other’s gaze, and then, when we’d run out of nooks and crannies to focus on, our eyes finally met.
    Your tongue touched mine , I thought, staring at her. And then I had to look away, for my cheeks burned, and the memory of our intimacy was like a blaring presence in the room.
    Henry was now making low sounds in his throat as he looked between our accounts.
    “For heaven’s sake!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “You must be done reading our dreams by now.”
    Henry looked over, pale in the candlelight. “It seems,” he said, “you’ve had virtually the same dream.”
    I leapt to my feet, exultant. “No dream! The exact same experience !”
    “Only the very endings differ slightly,” said Henry, scratching at his hair. “Elizabeth, you say that just before you exited, Victor seemed… confused?”
    I looked at her in surprise, then amusement.
    “Just before we returned, yes,” she murmured. “Rambling a bit, possibly delusional.”
    Henry turned to me. “Victor, you have no recollection of this?”
    I looked at Elizabeth, a smile dormant on my lips. “It’s possible. Things can get a bit hazy after the spirit clock rings. The house tends to shift. But what we experienced was real, every bit of it. Do you believe now?”
    “Of course. And you must believe that there’s a world beyond ours.”
    “Certainly.”
    “And that it’s filled with spirits and angels and devils, and could only be governed by an all-powerful God.”
    “Ah. Let’s just say I believe it’s a world filled with wonders, and one I plan to visit many more times.”
    “Is that wise?” Henry asked.
    Elizabeth said nothing for a moment, then, “I won’t go again.”
    Aghast, I stared at her. “What do you mean? You saw him.”
    She put her face in her hands. “But I don’t know if it was more solace or torment. He could barely look at us. I couldn’t even touch him. He’s gone from us, Victor. In time he’ll be gathered and taken to his final home.”
    “I mean to bring him back,” I said quietly.
    Silence boiled through the room like a thundercloud.
    Elizabeth was shaking her head. “We can’t bring him back, Victor.”
    “I don’t accept that. And you shouldn’t either. Two days ago you didn’t believe a door could be opened to the spirit world. We’ve opened it. We’ve passed through. Why can’t Konrad pass out?”
    She was trembling. To my surprise Henry lifted a blanket from my bed and draped it over her shoulders, kneeling beside her. “You’re exhausted by all this.”
    “Don’t play nursemaid, Henry,” I said impatiently. “She’s as strong as me, and you don’t see me traumatized.”
    At this Elizabeth stood, threw off her blanket, and glared at me. “I