That night, Emma once again dreamed of Fairy, but it was an unfamiliar region of Fairy that she found her thoughts drawn to. In her mind’s eye, she beheld a forest of reed-thin trees whose bark was the color of blood and whose leaves were the color of rust. Blue creatures with white eyes walked between the bar-like tree trunks. They seemed like humans, in that they walked on two legs, but their proportions suggested apes to Emma. Their arms were long like broom handles and their legs short like the legs of children. They did not wear clothes. Emma could not say whether or not they were as intelligent as men. They didn’t have to have any sort of buildings. But perhaps they didn’t need to live in houses? Weren’t angels in Heaven supposed to be naked? Naked and without property because they were beyond such earthly concerns? Who told her that? She was sure that she didn’t get the idea all on her own. Did she hear it from a preacher? Or maybe she read it from a reformer’s pamphlet? She wasn’t sure.

She wished John-a-Doors was with her in her dreams. He would know what the blue creatures were called. He would know the name of the wiry forest they inhabited. He would know everything, and then she would know everything from him, and the whole strange tableau before her would make sense.

Emma was glad when morning came and she rose with the sun. Her dreams weren’t horrible. She was not frightened by what she witnessed. But they were strange, and she did not care for the strangeness of Fairy. The strangeness, she realized, hid snares.

She quickly put all thoughts of blue people and red forests out of her mind. There was work to be done today. She was to show the McNeils their daughter Sally, and she was sure this would be an easy session. What happened the other day with Alice was unfortunate, but today was a new day, and the McNeils had once told her that they always wanted their daughter to be educated. They wanted an educated daughter and her ghost was in Merlin’s forest. There was no way the session could go wrong.

Emma followed behind Lucy McNeil as she raced up the hill. She was, as usual, excited about her session. She was a woman that was heavily into Illustrated Phantom Stories. She read every issue and she assumed that her reading gave her a manesologist’s understanding of spirits. She was the kind of woman Emma loved.

Behind Emma followed Roger McNeil. Roger hated Emma. He didn’t believe in her powers, but because Lucy fervently believed in Emma, he kept his criticism of Emma to silent glares and sly comments whose true meaning went unnoticed by his wife--but not by Emma.

Emma paused before the crest of the hill and allowed Roger to pass her. “Looking forward to seeing how my powers have expanded?’ she asked.

“Hm. I suppose it will be interesting to see.” Roger said. “But you know, I’ve seen several stage magicians in my life. They don’t have any of the real power manesologists or thaumaturgists have--and of course what you have, Ms. Quinn--but the illusions they produce are so convincing that I’ve found I have trouble telling fake magic from real magic.”

“Real thaumaturgy.” Emma corrected.”That’s the proper term for these powers.”

“Oh, is it?”

“Yes it is dear!” Lucy called from the top of the hill. “Only yokels call thaumaturgy magic! Now hurry up, you’re holding up Ms. Quinn!”

Roger sighed and shuffled his way up the rest of the hill.

“Don’t mind him.” Lucy whispered to Emma. “He calls it magic on purpose to be frustrating, but I’ve told him time and time again that it’s properly called thaumaturgy!”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Emma whispered back. “Some people are just set in their ways.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Lucy nudged her husband. “Really, Roger? Calling it thaumaturgy? And on today of all days! Ms. Quinn is about to show us Alice in full detail!”

“Good. I was tired of her looking like a nondescript figure in a coat.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “The vagueness of the form is due to imperfections in the physical-Astral border. Honestly Roger, its like you don’t listen to a thing I tell you!”

Roger looked at Emma. “What does she look like?” he asked.

“She is youthful and perfectly healthy. No marks remain from the sickness that took her--”

“I mean specifically. What color is her hair?”

Emma shrugged. “Why, red of course, the same color as your hair. It was red all the previous times.”

“And is her hair still long?”

“Longer, in fact, and somewhat unkempt, likely due to the comfort of her surroundings. When one wants for nothing, one can afford to skip brushing their hair in the morning.”

Roger raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Alice was always very fastidious with her appearance. She never liked having so much as a hair out of place.”

“Ghosts change just as people do.” Sally said. “Really, Roger. You’re acting like such a country bumpkin! Everyone these days knows that ghosts aren’t just like, paintings of people that hang on the wall and ever change.”

“It just seems a very sudden change compared to how she appeared previously.”

“Oh Roger, Ms. Quinn told us that the previous images were muddled by the Astral. These new ones will be much clearer, won’t they, Ms. Quinn?”

Emma nodded proudly. “Clearer than they’ve ever been!”

“Oh, I’m looking forward to seeing how our daughter is after all these years!” Lucy exclaimed. “It feels like I’ve missed out on so much not being able to see her. I know some people say that ghosts aren’t people, or are only fractions of people, but I consider Sally’s ghost to be, if not Sally, then Sally’s sister.”

Lucy looked Emma straight in the eye. “Ms. Quinn, I know I’ve said this to you more than a few times already, but thank you. Sincerely, thank you. I wish I could talk to her again…but it’s still so nice to be able to make food for my little Sally.”

Tears welled in Lucy’s eyes.

Emma squeezed her hands. “Oh, Lucy, there’s no reason to thank me. I am but a humble servant of the Kindly Ones.”

Emma smiled, and not just for Lucy but for herself. Lucy knew enough to help her, but not enough to help herself. She was the perfect mark. This was going to be an easy session, and after yesterday, Emma needed it to be easy.

“It is enough for me that you’re able to give Sally tokens of your affection through my powers.” Emma said. She wanted to hold off on implying that Lucy should give her more until after she had seen her daughter.

“ Roger thanks you as well.” Lucy said. “Isn’t that right, Roger?”

“I thank you for bringing some happiness to my family, Ms. Quinn.” Roger was very careful with his words. Emma couldn’t help but wonder how careful he would be with his words once he saw Broceliande.

Emma took a deep breath as she overlooked the valley and its rocky ruins. Then she spread her arms out wide and began.

“Hear me, spirits!” Emma proclaimed. “Show us the forests of…Broceliande!”

Blue sky gave way to a green canopy. The stone circles joined together to form brown roots that seemed hardier and older than the stones. Sunlight filtered down through tree branches yet the entire valley seemed to brighten.

The suddenness with which the stone-strewn valley was filled with vitality startled Emma, and she was prepared for it. Lucy could not help but gasp.

“Oh!” the old woman cupped her hands to her mouth. “Oh! Ms. Quinn! It’s incredible!”

“It is, isn’t it?’ Emma answered Lucy, but her eyes were fixed on Roger.

The old man just looked, but Emma could tell no small amount of effort went into holding his impassive expression.

“It is impressive, isn’t it, Roger?” Emma asked.

Roger said nothing.

“Is it like any of those stage magicians you’ve seen? Hm? Have you ever seen one do something like this with mirrors?”

“I’m not sure.” Roger said.

Emma chuckled. She supposed it took someone as stubborn as Roger a little time to get over their pride.

Emma dramatically pointed a finger at Sally napping against a tall tree just like the first time she saw her with John-a-Doors. “There. That is your Sally. Do you see her? In the tunic next to the tree trunk?”

“Oh, I do!” Lucy exclaimed as she pointed to the ghost of her daughter. “Oh, is that her! Is that our Sally?”

Emma nodded proudly. “Yes. Lucy McNeil, gaze upon Sally McNeil. Gaze upon your daughter!”

Lucy grabbed Roger’s arm. “Oh look! She’s like a little Robin Hood! A Maid Marion! My, how she’s changed--but that’s our daughter Roger, that’s our girl!”

Roger said nothing.