Skylar Pitch (grisgris_) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-06-11 09:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | sterling darcy, zipporah bakst |
Who: Sterling & Zipporah
What: An Exorcism
When: June 8, 1888 (backdated)
Where: Darcy Funeral Home
Rating: High (Exorcism; talk of death)
Status: Complete
Zipporah and Ach showed up to Darcy’s Funeral Home eight days after her grandmother’s death and burial, Ach weighted down by an armload of supplies, and Zipporah dressed for battle.
Oh, it’s not the sort of armor visible to the naked eye, but she’s written hennah prayers of protection and safety over nearly every inch of her (except her wrists, hands, neck, and face), and is wearing her typical hamsa and red knotted string, along with a hunk of crystal on a chain that used to belong to her grandmother that creates a rather impressive shielding charm. Her Auntie Miriam had to help with writing on her back and shoulders, but she can feel the protective spells wrapping around her like a blanket, complete and thorough, and knows her Auntie took care.
She wasn’t quite sure what sort of spirit she’d be facing -- a wandering soul that used to belong to a person who might need help finding their way, or something more sinister -- a twisted thing, feeding on the souls of the dead, or the energy of the living come to mourn -- and for all she knew, there was more than one spirit at work.
Mister Darcy had done good work with her grandmother’s body -- he’d followed her lead, let her watch over the body, and arranged for burial with an understanding and respect for her traditions that she hadn’t thought possible from a goy; there was a debt to be paid, and today, she’d make good.
She knocked on the door, precisely, business-like, and stood waiting for either the thin Mister Darcy or his nice female assistant, Anita to answer.
The last week and a half or so had seemed to fly on by. Sterling was glad to be done with it, it wasn’t because he didn't like Zipporah or Ach, but because of all of the things involved. He'd found it best to just let her take the helm and stay out of her way. Which was exactly what he'd done.
Sterling was also not very adept at being around, or really talking to, young women. There was something about Zipporah that he found charming and so putting distance between them seemed easier somehow.
Today was the day that they'd agreed upon for payment, that promise of exorcising his house. Part of him expected her not to show up, to leave him without any sort of conclusion. But the other, more rational part told him to stop worrying.
Anita swept the door open. Her face was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. With a silent wave of her hand she beckoned the young woman inside.
The residence was dark. Things were scattered about here and there. A stack of teacups stood erect on the kitchen table. Books were hovering around in the den in a slow circle as if the spirit was protesting.
Zipporah sucked in a breath as she walked over the threshold. She wondered whether it’d known she was coming back -- whether it’d heard her deal with Mister Darcy and understood. She was also infinitely glad she’d brought her tefillin just in case -- a precaution -- there was that sulfuric copper tang thick in the air, and she was going to need every possible ounce of strength and protection.
She looked over at Anita sympathetically, clasping the woman’s hand in hers, and murmuring a prayer from Deuteronomy. “Be strong and of good courage; have no fear, for the Eternal One, your God, is the One who goes with you, never failing you or forsaking you..” She gave the older woman’s hand a squeeze and patted it with hers. “I am here,” she said, in English this time. “Don’t be afraid.” She paused. “It may be worse before it is better. Do you have a place for to go? Or will you and Mister Darcy be staying here?”
She looked around briefly, half-expecting to see the tall, thin man, but he wasn’t in sight.
Anita listened, her eyes blinked blankly as Zipporah began to pray in Hebrew. When it was finished and that small squeeze came, the woman released a breath. “Thank you,” she said as she released the air from her lungs.
When asked if she had a place to go, Anita nodded. But her eyes widened as she considered Sterling Darcy - this was his home and he wouldn't leave it willingly.
“I can go. Mister Darcy…” she cast a glance at the back door, the one that lead to the prep area. She studied the door for a moment, considering it, and then returned her gaze to the younger woman. “I'll go get my things.”
Zipporah nodded, glad Anita wouldn’t be in danger (or in her way), and made her way over to the back door and knocked on it, noting the books rotating slowly in the den with a raised eyebrow as she did. You, she thought to herself, I’ll deal with you in a little while.
“Mister Darcy, I am here,” she said, in a clear, definitive voice through the door. “I am for to be getting started, soon, and I would like to know where you plan on being during, so I can make the room safe, so you are not hurt. At least for the next few hours.”
She couldn’t guarantee how long it’d take, but they’d cross that bridge once they got there.
Working, as always, Sterling was finishing up on the preparations for a young man whom had been in an unfortunate accident with a horse. The knock stirred Sterling from his task, and his shoulders straightened a touch.
He set down his instrument, pulled the sheet over the young man quickly and set aside any chemicals. Taking a moment to wash, Sterling rinsed the blood from his hands, dried them and turned to the door.
A moment was taking to pull on his coat and then he opened the door to the back area. Sterling peered down at Zipporah, “Yes, I planned on staying here.” He didn't have any place else to go and he wasn't leaving the house if he could help it.
“I don't plan on being in your way.”
Zipporah nodded, frowning a little, looking up at him. “I apologize for disturbing your work,” she said, shortly. “If you are to be staying, I might put up a mezuzah, a charm, on the door here, and perhaps the door to your room, for in case things get…” she waved her arm a little. “Worse than they are. And for... “ she nodded over his shoulder. “For that poor soul. For to keep from the spirits.”
There was only one entrance to the back room -- and while she would’ve liked to have done a more thorough cleansing to be absolutely sure, she didn’t want to take up too much of the mortician’s time, and was reasonably certain she wouldn’t trap anything in there with the gangly mortician, as the room was clear of the sulfur smell and wasn’t otherwise showing signs of a spectral presence. “It has been quiet in here, yes?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and peeking over his shoulder.
Whatever she needed to do, Sterling wasn't going to stop her. He didn't know the first thing about getting rid of spirits and though what she did could've gotten her into a world of trouble had Sterling been anyone else, he was grateful to her.
A nod came. “Alright.” He needed a few hours to finish his work, death didn't have office hours and it didn't wait for anyone to finish their tasks. He could place the body on ice while she tended to his problem but he'd rather finish if he could.
Sterling shook his head at her, “Nothing abnormal in here. As quiet as it can be.”
His eyes crept over her shoulder to peer in the direction of the den, “I believe all of the activity is in the den and the kitchen, you'll find what you're looking for there.”
She nodded, and at a tip of her head, Ach walked over, weighted down by various bags. She rooted around in one before fishing out a mezuzah, a small hammer, and steel nails, and after some quick eyeballing and a murmured prayer, affixed it to the door frame with a sure hand.
“Be safe, Mister Darcy,” she said, looking up at him soberly. “May God walk with you.”
It took her some time to get properly situated -- after affixing the second mezuzah to the room she supposed was Mister Darcy’s (and trying her best to not peek inside for too long), she and Ach moved the furniture in the den to the walls and rolled up the rugs, clearing a large empty space in the middle of the room where she could set up a wide circle of chalked marks, surrounded by a barrier of salt (she was not taking any chances) that encircled both her and Ach, and set out her weapons -- a multi-wick candle, a goblet of red wine, a lamp of fragrant oil, a packet of herbs, a bag of ashes, tools of various metals (and one of flint -- she doubted highly she was dealing with Se’irim, but one could never be sure), and as a final step, wrapped her tefillin around her head and left arm, murmuring prayer.
Zipporah was a woman of deep faith and resolution -- and while she knew there were many in her community who’d consider her a sorceress, profane and sacrilegious because she was a woman, she had been raised by the women in her family to know better -- she knew down to the soles of her hennaed feet that she walked with God, and God walked with her, and that when she used her power of faith to protect and heal, that was in the service of God. So what if only male scholars usually wrapped their arms. She knew it provided her protection, that it made her feel strong, and surrounded by guardian angels, and that was what mattered. Ach sat behind her, his large bulk folded docilely into a cross-legged pose, his broad, warm back pressed against hers comfortingly.
The next step was to sort out the kind of spirit she was dealing with -- she suspected a Mazikin, but what sort was it? A restless and sinister human soul seeking destruction for purposes of attention? Or something that was never human to begin with?
She tried being polite at first, singing prayers to lead a wayward soul to the graveyard, offering Kaddish, asking whether it needed a mitzvah, or was seeking revenge, but its answer each time was a definitive no -- the books flapping their pages and swooping, the room stinking of malevolence.
She sighed. “Fine,” she muttered, resting her hands on her knees, “be gone with you.”
As soon as she started reciting Psalm 91, the room began to groan and shudder around her, the books flinging themselves at the barrier she’d erected, battering against the invisible wall like a flock of birds swooping on prey, but the barrier held, and Zipporah’s voice did not falter despite the rustling and banging. She could hear a crash from the kitchen -- the stack of teacups tumbling down, if she had to warrant a guess -- as some shards of ceramic soon joined the books circling around her, flashing and glinting with sharp edges. When she finished the Psalm, she started again from the beginning, lighting the candle with a spark from the flint, weaving a pattern with her hands to reinforce the Psalm and give it power.
Again. And again. And again. It was a powerful spirit (or spirits -- at this point, she wasn’t sure), and pulling it out of where it had embedded in the house was like drawing poison from a deep, stinking wound, and it had grown bold and powerful after so many souls to feed on for God knows how long. But she was patient, and she was strong, and she would prevail.
Sterling left Zipporah to do as she would, trusting her with the task ahead. He could do nothing to offer support -honestly he wouldn't have known where even to begin such a thing - and merely let her be.
He worked tirelessly though it was evident by the dark circles that skirted the flesh beneath his blue eyes that he'd not been sleeping well, if at all. Adept, his fingers worked. He sutured and cleaned and prepared.
It wasn't until the crashing noises came that Sterling found himself curious. His education on such matters was nil and so the sounds drew him from the protected room and into the corridor. His brain had told him to take whatever it was she'd placed upon the door, and so he held it within a palm.
He paused in the shadow of the frame to the den and peered anxious around the lip of the jamb to watch the scene unfold.
The sight was truly odd -- Zipporah and Ach sitting back to back in the middle of a circle drawn on the floor, with books flapping and crashing against some invisible barrier as the young woman’s voice rose and fell -- a mix between a song and a chant -- her arm wrapped with straps of black leather gesticulating definitively as she did so. A glinting shard of ceramic zoomed in from the kitchen, close enough to scratch Sterling’s arm, and at the slight beading of blood, the energy in the room shifted -- some of the books veering wildly towards him, the candle flame flaring high.
Zipporah’s eyes snapped open, looking over at him, taking every ounce of concentration she had to not forget her place, to continue her chant, while trying her best to implore him to go.
The sight of a shard of ceramic flying at him was startling - those teacups had belonged to his late mother, a set that she had held onto that had been passed from one generation to the next - Sterling was incapable of functioning due to a slight case of forgetting how to move. It wasn't until that slash across the arm had come that his brain was jolted into its normal function.
He blinked, hissing through his teeth as the skin stung from the tear. The palm of the opposite hand came and cupped over the wound to shield it from further attack.
Books flew at him and Sterling managed to dodge one, while another smacked him square in the chest. He gasped, the force knocking the air clean out of him.
Sterling caught Zipporah’s gaze and didn't need to be told twice to get moving. It was the same look his mother had given him when he'd been annoying her for lack of anything better to do. A nod of acknowledgement and Sterling’s long legs carried him as fast as they could toward his quarters.
Zipporah repeated her Psalm over and over again, the prayer building and layering and growing with power after each repetition, and the spirit fought it every step of the way -- every inch of ground gained was a challenge, and when her voice cracked during a key phrase after a few hours of recitation, she very nearly wept with frustration at the setback.
She managed to hang on, though -- to weaken the spirit and distract it so that it wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of dawn, and, standing, she cried out the words of banishing, tossing ash and consecrated iron filings into the air, her legs trembling from exhaustion and her voice low and careful.
The books and ceramic shards fell to the floor with a sudden crashing thump, and she sighed, picking up the goblet and draining it of all but the final few drops and using those drops of wine to put out the candle, murmuring softly. She said the Birkat Habayit seven times, swaying a little on her feet, but knowing that if she sat, it’d be near to impossible to stand again, and once that was finished and her tefillin unwrapped, she looked carefully at the circle of chalk and salt before stepping out of it, gripping Ach’s arm fiercely.
She still needed to set up the mezuzah on all the entrances to the house, to keep the space cleansed and free of evil, and the lamp she’d brought needed to be burned continuously and tended to by Mister Darcy and Anita for the next week or so, but the hard work was done.
Sunlight broke through the windows like a beacon and covered the house in a blanket of warm light. The furniture, the floors, that circle of chalk…
Sterling hadn't slept. He hadn't wanted to think of what was taking place in his den but he had and it wasn't the idea of the ghost keeping him awake, it was the young woman downstairs tending to the issue. He figured she'd be exhausted, probably starving.
At dawn, unable to take it anymore, Sterling made his way down the stairs and to the den. The crash had made his legs move a touch quicker but he'd reached the area of interest with little issue. It seemed that the plan had worked.
His regard for the ghost was little. Stepping over a book and a few shards of his mother’s teacups, Sterling approached Zipporah though his pace had slowed. Concern met him. She looked worn.
“Can I make you breakfast?” He inquired. It was the least he could do.
When Mister Darcy came into view, Zipporah was sure she looked a sight -- and the room was covered with detritus. She was worried for a heartbeat that, unused to her process, he’d be angry with her for making a mess, but instead, he looked her straight in the eye and offered her breakfast.
It was such an unexpected statement that Zipporah stared at him for a breath, before breaking into a laugh that was a little more of a wheeze, her voice low and crackling. “Yes,” she said, shifting her grip from Ach’s arm to the mortician’s for balance, patting it, and leaning a little of her weight on the man’s lanky frame, looking up at him. “Yes. No pork,” she added, raising a finger. “I apologize for…” she gestured around the room.
He hadn't been expecting the laugh, it shattered the silence in the room like a rock through a pane of glass but once he'd regained his composure Sterling couldn't help but smile. It was a nice sound.
As her arm wound around his, Sterling waited patiently. When he felt as though she was steady, Sterling nodded and moved slowly toward the kitchen. The floor was also a mess, but that would come later.
“No pork,” Sterling repeated. He set Zipporah down at the table, releasing her back into the care of her brother. “You don't have to apologize. Thank you for helping me take care of it.”
Then he was off to make breakfast. Sterling made short work of the task, preparing her coffee and a plate of food that included eggs and bread with a bit of fruit.
Zipporah kept her eyes on the young mortician moving around the mess of a kitchen assuredly in his shirt sleeves, his hair still rumpled from bed, the long line of him graceful as he bent over the stove and twisted to chop something or another.
“I can make sure it doesn’t come back,” she said, her voice still low and rough. “It won’t take much. I’ll put the strips at your front and back door -- you can paint over if you don’t want them to…” she bit her lip, her brain muzzy. “To draw the eye,” she finally came up with. “And there’s a lamp to keep lit. Seven days. There should be enough oil. But it should be safe for you and the Miss Anita now.”
She hummed in appreciation as he set down a cup of coffee, wrapping her hands around it. “This is very good,” she said, taking a sip. “You are… for a bachelor, I didn’t think you would be so…” she smiled a little, a small tease in the corner of her mouth. “So comfortable in a kitchen,” she ended.
His shoulders relaxed as she mentioned banishing the spirit for good. It was bad for business, he needed it gone and anything she could provide to ensure it stayed away...well, it'd be worth it. If the strips were too obvious, he'd paint them like she'd suggested. If not, he wouldn't bother.
“After you eat and rest. It can wait,” Sterling assured her. She wasn't going to be doing much without proper nourishment and decent rest. The lamp part he could do. Anita would probably tend to it considering his strange hours but he'd make sure it got done either way.
Taking a cup of coffee for himself, Sterling sat himself down across from the young woman at the table and nodded at her. He was a bachelor, and mostly by choice. Not many women found his profession profitable or desirable so finding a woman that was interested was a challenge. And trying to explain a haunted house?
Well, formerly haunted.
Sipping from the cup, careful not to slurp the hot liquid, Sterling consumed the bit he'd taken and set the cup down. “My mother insisted my brother and I learn to cook. She said that one never knew when a situation would arise that would necessitate a skill like cooking.” Bad weather, entertaining...not that he did much of that.
“I don't do it often.” Anita insisted on making him eat (because most of the time he forgot to feed himself, too caught up in his work) and he didn't entertain guests for personal reasons. Any wakes held at the Funeral Parlor were for their families and food was often brought or provided for by outside arrangements.
“She was right,” Zipporah replied after swallowing a mouthful of egg. He hadn’t mentioned a brother before, and she looked over at him, her face a little softer before she tipped her chin and smiled a bit. “After all, one does not expect the need for to be having a meal after an exorcism, and here we are.”
She took a bite of toast, looking at him closely before shrugging. “I’ll leave you my address. You come by in a week to drop off the lamp, and my Auntie and me can make you dinner.” She shrugged again. “Or I can send Ach by to pick it up, either way,” she added, giving him a bit of an out in case he found the notion a little too forward, a little too alien.
If there was one thing Anne Darcy was, it was wise. She knew the struggles of the life of the woman married to a mortician, and the way her own boys would fair against society. It took a strong, patient woman to run a household like theirs and Sterling had never found interest in any of the ladies nowadays. None of them seemed to quite fit the bill for the lifestyle this demanded.
Sterling shrugged a playful, yet patient shoulder in reply and then listened to the next part about the lamp.
“I'll bring it by,” Sterling replied. He wouldn't bother Zipporah or Ach, they'd been kind enough to him already. It was the least he could do.
“When you're finished with your breakfast, there are vacant rooms upstairs that are furnished if you'd like a bit of rest.” She knew which door was his already, he suspected that any of the other empty rooms would be more than suitable.
She nodded, feeling the grit behind her eyelids and her muscles aching, and knowing she’d make for a sight if Ach had to sling her over his shoulder like a sack of flour to make sure she made the journey home. “Thank you,” she replied. “I shall. For a little. I won’t be too long. I know you have… you have your work, and cleaning up to do besides.”
She couldn’t help a pleased smirk at his acceptance of her invitation. “Dinner, then,” she replied, her voice still low and crackling. “And Mister Darcy, you ought to keep wearing the necklace. For safety. You can never be too careful.”
Another sip of his coffee, a careful and calculated gesture and Sterling studied her from over the rim of the mug. He swallowed the liquid, set the warm vessel down and leaned backward some in his chair.
Work. Work was a good distraction from whatever went on outside. It was an escape from the world and he enjoyed the solitude.
“I'll keep it on for my safety,” he assured her. For now, there were many things to do. The house was a mess and if they were going to continue to provide services for the lost then a cleaning session was overdue.
“If you'll excuse me,” Sterling breathed politely. He gathered his cup, moved from the table and was gone into the next room like a shadow.