A Shadow Bright and Burning (10 page)

I wanted to be one of them, didn't I? “All right. Shall I call you Magnus?”

“Perfection. What do you say, Blackwood? Is she Howel the sorcerer?”

“Miss Howel is a lady. One must always address ladies with proper respect.” Blackwood nodded to me, the image of politeness, but I understood. He would not acknowledge me as his equal. He did not consider me a sorcerer.

I
N THE
R
OW, THE PEOPLE PRESSED
so close I wondered if we mightn't all congeal together into a quivering slab. We passed the little girls in black dresses holding trays of totems, each trying to outshout the others. I stopped before one of them, a tiny blond creature with a clean face but the dirtiest hands I'd ever seen. She offered a figure with tentacles erupting from its center.

“Please you, miss, here's Korozoth, great Shadow and Fog, for protectin'. Save yourself and your family. Tuppence only, miss.” With a start, I recognized her from the street the day before, when she had been “crushed” by our carriage.

She gasped, remembering me as well. “There you are, miss. He told me you'd be by.”

“What? Who?” The hair along my neck prickled.

“The magician Jenkins Hargrove. Says you have to come with me to meet him, miss. He'd love to talk to you, would Mr. Hargrove.”

“How did he know where I'd be?”

“He told you to come.” She said it as though I were very silly for not understanding. “While you were sleeping.”

Yesterday, Jenkins Hargrove had spoken to me in a dream. I shook my head slowly. “That's impossible.”

“Nothing's impossible with Mr. Hargrove. Come on, then,” she said, grabbing my hand. “We'll go together.”

“I can't,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder. “There are two others with me.”

Magnus caught up with us. The girl pretended we hadn't been having a serious conversation.

“Buy a totem for tuppence, sir,” she said to Magnus. “Ward your home and fam'ly.” Magnus handed the child two shiny pennies, which she snatched away and hid within her clothes.

“What's your name?” he asked.

“Charley,” the girl said, a bit wary.

“Don't be afraid, Charley.” Magnus crouched to see eye to eye with her. “We're sorcerers.” He made the totem in his palm rise and wobble on a current of air. Charley clapped with delight. Magnus's ease with her was rather sweet. I knelt beside them.

“I was just telling Charley that we came to see what life is like for her.”

“Life is very good, sir,” the child said.

“Where do you live?” Magnus asked.

“With the magician, Mr. Jenkins Hargrove. We sell totems for him, and he gives us a place to sleep at night,” Charley said. Blackwood pushed through the crowd and came up to us. When Charley saw him, she jumped. “Oh, m'lord. Didn't think to see you again till next week.” She curtsied to him. I looked up in surprise.

Blackwood stayed perfectly still, as if a sudden movement would set off a trap. What was all this?

“How do you know little Charley?” I asked, standing.

“My family performs charity work.” He took care not to look at me.

“I thought you weren't so keen on charity.” I raised my eyebrow.

“I never said that,” he muttered.

“He comes to see us every Friday.” Charley beamed.

“Pretty regular charity to hand over to some old conjurer,” Magnus said, studying Blackwood as if memorizing his uncomfortable expression.

“Jenkins Hargrove is the greatest magician of the age.” Charley held tight to her little wooden tray.

“What say we pay a visit to the greatest magician of the age right now?” Magnus said. I flinched. I didn't want to meet this man with Magnus and Blackwood in tow. “Take us home to meet your master, Charley, and you'll have a bright new guinea.”

Blackwood looked up and down the avenue for some method of escape. My stomach cramped.

“Perhaps another day,” I said to Magnus.

“Er, maybe not today, sir,” Charley muttered, though she looked tempted.

“What if I make it two guineas?” He took the gleaming coins from his pocket and showed them to the girl. That did the trick.

“Follow me.” Charley spun about and ran.

“I think it's getting late,” I said to Magnus, trying to hide my desperation.

“You want to rob a poor little girl?” he asked with mock innocence, and walked after her, wearing a mischievous grin. Blackwood appeared to have frozen in place.

“Do you want to leave?” I said.

“No. Let's get this over with.” He led us after the others.

Charley guided us onto quieter, more cramped avenues. On the way, we passed wreckage of burned houses and hovels, scorched buildings with broken windows and smoke-blackened walls. The smell of damp and rot permeated the air.

“Korozoth mostly attacks at night,” Charley said, happily playing tour guide. “Lot of people lost their homes.”

On the corner opposite us, a bare-knuckle boxing match was in full swing. Two shirtless fellows circled each other, punching and jabbing as the smell of sweat and blood and ale filled the air. Drunken men jeered and shouted as they watched.

“They're animals,” Blackwood said, shielding me from view.

“They're desperate,” I said sadly. “They feel cheap, so that's how they behave.”

To our left, women in pancake makeup and rouge slid shawls from their shoulders to reveal pushed-up breasts and bare arms. They smiled at Magnus and Blackwood, who looked away.

Charley took us down an alleyway, past two dirty and ragged men begging with tin cups. I gave them each a coin. As we rounded the corner, I gasped.

An Unclean man huddled against the brick wall, gazing blankly at the world ahead. There was no question that he'd been touched. His right arm had ballooned to a grotesque degree, the flesh white and pale green and patched with rot. The entire right side of the man's head had swollen to three times its normal size, so that he had to lean it against the wall in an effort not to tip over. A few wisps of hair dotted his scalp. Shiny, clear fluid dribbled out of his eyes, so foul-smelling as to make one sick. It was clear which Ancient was responsible. Molochoron, a great festering ball of mold and filth, had touched this man—touched but not killed him. I knelt before him, a handkerchief to my nose.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked. The man didn't respond. His breathing sounded raspy and soft.

“He can't hear you,” Charley said. “He's dead to the world.” I took the last coin I had and pressed it into his hand. Magnus gently urged me to follow the group.

We moved along a flight of rickety wooden stairs that led up the side of a brick building. There was a door at the top, which bore the painted words:

JENKINS HARGROVE

MAGICIAN AND CONJURER, TAROT AND CHARMS

NO LOVE POTIONS

Charley knocked. A little boy with a dirty face opened the door, and inside we found five other children working in a corner. A stove kept the room quite warm. The children were carving pieces of dark wood to make more totems. “This is my home,” Charley said.

Besides the mattress and the stove, the only other furnishings were a wooden table and four chairs. The table was covered with glass bottles and tin cups. Though outside it was a bright afternoon, grime caked the windows so completely that we remained shuttered in twilight. The walls were exposed brick and chunks of broken plaster. Walking around the bare space, I noticed a patchwork curtain separating a corner of the hovel into its own private area.

Charley hugged two of the children and introduced them to Magnus as her sister and brother. They pecked her with questions. Had she brought them anything to eat? Did she sell any totems?

“Where are your parents?” I said.

“Dead and gone, miss,” Charley replied. Magnus gave her two guineas. The children rejoiced, and I felt ill.

“And your master?” There was a banging noise. The man from my dream stepped out from the curtained private area. He bowed to us and hobbled over to the table, moving like an arthritic crab, all sideways-stepping and gnarled limbs. Easing into a seat before us, he spread a deck of cards on the table.

“Come in, dear lady and gents, an' 'ave a look upon your future. We are but 'umble folk, dear miss, an' think—” Here Hargrove stopped and looked at us, his eyebrow raised. He recognized me. “Miss. How pleasant to make your acquaintance.” For one terrifying moment, I thought he'd mention the dream. “And your companions. How charming.” He nodded to the boys. Blackwood nodded back.

The magician changed upon the instant. He stretched and popped his joints into place, so that his legs straightened and his head settled right on his shoulders. “A thousand pardons, dear gentlefolk. I mistook you for easy marks that might be swayed by pity to donate a few coppers. How may I assist you?”

“We wanted to join His Lordship on a charity visit,” I said, glancing at Blackwood. “I know it's not his usual day of the week.”

Hargrove took a glass bottle of something from his collection on the table, poured a little liquid into a tin cup, and handed it down to Charley. The smell was frightful.

“Drink your gin, that's a good girl.” She took it with glee.

“You know, I'm not sure that's appropriate for a growing child,” I said, watching her guzzle it.

“Well, I try to keep her in ale, but it's an expensive habit.” He laid out three cards. They showed a woman with a wand, a man with a sword, and a grinning skeleton that capered down a road. This was unlike any game I had ever played. “I'm the magician Jenkins Hargrove, purveyor of the finest arcane artifacts and occult odds and ends. I read tarot, tell your fortune, traffic with spirits, and raise the dead, but only on a full or new moon, and never on church holidays.” He looked up, his dark eyes dancing. “You're sorcerers, come down from your lofty perch to gawk at the little people. How refreshing.” He turned the cards facedown, and when he flipped them up again their pictures were different. They showed a boy and girl kissing, seven coins falling through the air, and a man with a cloak and a pointed hat making a toy soldier dance. Hargrove narrowed his eyes at me. “I've never seen a female sorcerer before,” he said.

“I'm not commended yet.”

“Mmm. Magic is a dangerous business, girl, especially for one so young and lovely as yourself.” He snapped his fingers, and a gold coin dropped out of thin air and into his hand. He bit it in two, spit one half onto the table, and waved his hand over the piece. It transformed into a bright golden beetle that opened its shell and beat its thin wings. I leaned in, stunned by the display.

“Real magic,” Hargrove said, waving his hand again and returning the beetle to half a gold piece, “is about pushing the limits of what can and cannot be imagined. But I expect you're all still content with starting fires and making it rain.” He swept the cards back into the pack and slid it into his purple-orange-red coat.

“At least our magic is perfectly natural,” I muttered, stung by his rudeness.

“I won't have the Order insulted,” Blackwood said. Magnus put on his glove and poked at the gold piece, mystified.

“Of course not,” Hargrove said, steepling his fingers. His nails were uncommonly long. “We mustn't insult our faithful friend Lord Blackwood, must we, children?” Charley hugged the magician, making it clear where her loyalties lay. He grinned, his mouth full of surprisingly white teeth, and stroked her hair. “My Lord Blackwood, can you accept my apology?”

“Of course I forgive you,” Blackwood said, in a tone that indicated he wanted to get out of here and would say anything to make that happen.

“The Blackwood family is generous with its charity. Did you know that?” Hargrove said to me and Magnus. “Yes, I've been on the receiving end of their charity many times in my life.” It didn't sound as nice as the words implied.

“We are always happy to help in any way we can,” Blackwood said, staring at the door like it was the closed gate of paradise. I'd never imagined he could look so unsettled. Honestly, I found it a little enjoyable.

“And you are so helpful, my lord. Especially seeing as I can only make so much money by way of charms and totems. Your Order, my young friends, is not generous with what it will allow magicians to do.”

“Why would the Order have any say in your affairs?” I said. Granted, I could understand why sorcerers would want to keep magicians under control.

“We must blame the accursed Howard Mickelmas, my dear girl. He's the one who thought it such fun to rip a hole in time and space, to summon those evil Ancients from some far, distant world. He's to blame, along with that witch, that Mary Willoughby. They ruined it for the rest of us.” He sighed. “Did you know that magicians flourished back in the Golden Age, when good Queen Elizabeth was alive? We were the most learned, the most ambitious. We were the future.” He took the half piece of gold off the table, gripped it tightly in his fist, and presented the piece whole and intact. When I touched it, it turned into a brown cockroach and leaped at me.

I cried out, and Hargrove stamped on the bug, squashing it into the floorboards. “That, my dear girl, is exactly what happened to my kind. We were stamped by the Order's boot. But never fear, for a roach is impressively difficult to eradicate.” He removed his foot, and the unhurt insect dipped its antennae and scampered away. The children tried to catch it. “The Order only flattened us, didn't kill us. Sorcerers are nothing if not compassionate.”

The feeling in the room had turned bad. Even Magnus looked uncomfortable.

“Perhaps we should go,” I said.

“Without your fortune told, my dear?” Hargrove took out his cards again and shuffled them. “Care to learn your future? Care to know the identity of your admirers?” He looked at Blackwood and Magnus. “Or do you have the names already?” He leaned back in his chair and rested his boots on the table.