The Ill-Fated Fortunes of a Steampunk Madam VII: Incorporeal

Mrs. Leonard found her own death very strange. It was not at all how she imagined it, nor was it as she had feared. She had not lain sick in a hospital for months, or years, deteroriating in some painful condition. Nor was she alone in some elder care center ignored by her family and unappreciated by the staff.

Incorporal and omnipresent, she was still able to reflect on both what was happening and what had already happened. She watched Fiona, so sweet and friendly and talented, as she examined the corpse that had once been alight with Mrs. Leonard's vivacious energy. Watched, too, as the person who she had always known as Caster came running in, the glowing glass of his palmtel pressed against his cheek. He was speaking to the authorities, summoning them to the scene.

Sweet Fiona's sadness radiated off of her and mingled with Mrs. Leonard's presence. The spirit could feel it, haunting her, even as she could feel the others who haunted the house along with her. She had never known, never realized, never seen in life the depth of Fiona's attachment to her work, and to the people who she strived to help. She had never appreciated how shallow and demanding and petty Sweet Fiona's clients were. How she herself had been.

In the parlor, Mrs. Leonard observed as Sweet Fiona was settled into a comfortable chair. Called Caster thrust a warm snifter of brandy into Sweet Fiona's hand and urged her to drink. In the rafters, several crows had returned and were preening in their aggitation. Oliver kept his post near to Sweet Fiona, but there was one grizzled old crow who called to Mrs. Leonard, with an insistent and alluring draw that was impossible to ignore.

"Aw! Aw-caw-cacaw!" said Mrs. Leonard, fluttering and rustling her salt-and-pepper feathers. "Aw! Aw! Aw!"