A Shadow Bright and Burning (23 page)

When Magnus started for Cellini, I put my hand on his arm to hold him back. Cellini noticed, and his fury grew. “Look at that! Ordering men about. The trouble is English sorcerers don't study their Bible. Paul's first Epistle to Timothy: ‘Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man.' In Rome, women aren't even allowed inside an obsidian room.” He looked to Agrippa and Magnus. “She's not one of us. She'll destroy everyone if you let her, and it's only lucky I won't be here to see it!” Magnus grabbed Cellini and lifted him off the ground by his collar. Agrippa stepped in at once to separate them.

She's not one of us.
Cellini and I had always gotten along, or so I'd thought. We played charades on the same team together, laughed over breakfast. How could I not have seen this anger? Had I really done something to deserve it?

Or had I simply been proud? I remembered his anger when I'd flicked that little bit of fire at him, laughed at him. Perhaps arrogance in a woman was unbearable. I tried to find some apology in his eyes. There was only fury.

“Give me your stave,” Agrippa said.

As if it were torture, Cellini undid his hip sheath and handed it over. Part of me hurt for him. But the colder, angrier part won out.

“I will be commended,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. “You can do nothing about that.”

“Someone will,” he muttered.

I had to wonder, as they escorted Cellini off and I wiped my eyes, if someone else
would
attack. Even with my progress, I knew he was right. In a woman, pride was unforgivable.

“
T
AKE THREE DROPS OF THIS IN
a glass of water,” Fenswick grumped, handing me a vial of bubbling golden liquid that changed to pink when I turned it upside down. He flapped his ears as I helped him off the bed. “Anything else troubling you?”

“I still have nightmares.” The R'hlem dreams hadn't come to me as much since I'd gained control of my powers, but they did return.

“Well, keep chewing willow bark.” He waddled to the door, when a housemaid entered with a tray for me. She wrinkled her nose at Fenswick and walked straight into him, bowling him over. He got to his feet, dusting himself off.

“Be more careful,” he snapped. She set down the tray and swatted at him with a napkin.

“Disgusting little thing. Shoo,” she said, driving a hissing Fenswick from the room. I sat up.

“Don't you dare treat him like that,” I cried.

The maid scowled. Why was tonight Lilly's evening off? “Beg your pardon, miss, but it don't hurt him none. They don't feel things as we do.”

“He's a person,” I said.

“No, he ain't, miss, if you'll pardon me.” She sniffed. “He's a beast.”

Once, I might have agreed with her. Now, as she handed me my tray, all I could hear were Cellini's hissed words:
She's not one of us.

A
FTER LESSONS THE NEXT DAY,
I
took to the library to read about hobgoblins. We didn't have many volumes, but I found one passage in
A Compendium of Faerie
(Laurence Puchner, 1798) that said:
A Mandrake Root or moldy Onion can be most instrumental in welcoming a subject of the Dark Fae Queen into a home.

Agrippa's kitchen didn't contain a single mandrake root. However, I found an old onion with green bits sprouting on it. This would have to do. I took myself to Fenswick's corner of the house. He lived inside a chest of drawers in an empty servant's room.

I found him relaxed in the bottommost drawer, his ears tucked behind him as he attempted a doze. “What is it?” he said. “Can't you let me rest?” He rubbed his eyes with two of his four paws.

“I wanted to give you this.” I handed over the onion. He took it like he'd never seen one before in his life. “I thought it might make you feel more at home?”

For a moment, his expression didn't change. This had been a grave mistake. Then his ears parted to the side. His black eyes glistened. He hugged the onion to his chest, sniffled, and said, “I've been in this house six months, and no one's…welcomed me yet.”

I'd no idea how a sprouty onion made one feel wanted, but there were many things I didn't understand. “I'm glad to have been the first.”

“Why do you care?” His ears perked up.

“I suppose I know what it's like to not quite belong.”

“You're a lady sorcerer.”

“With the marks to prove it.” Touching a finger to a purplish bruise on my cheek, I made to leave.

“Er, wait. The willow bark doesn't help with your bad dreams, does it?” Fenswick's ears slid down his back.

“Not much.”

Later that night, I found a packet in a velvet pouch outside my door. It smelled of herbs and rose hips. A note, in a chubby, childish hand, read:
For nightmares. Place under pillow.

From that night forward, I didn't see R'hlem. He wasn't missed.

My new boys' clothes were a terrible fit. I had to roll the sleeves three times and tie a rope around my waist to hoist up the trousers, but racing across London rooftops was a job unsuitable for frocks. I lay on my belly and crawled forward. Hargrove pointed to the roof opposite us.

“Let's see if you can place it…there,” he said, indicating the chimney stack. Careful to avoid tumbling, I pointed Porridge at my heart, twisted the stave while muttering a few key nonsense words, and then flung my arm toward the other rooftop. It worked. A vision of myself, a complete copy of my current trousered state, gazed back at me from the chimney's base.

It was startling to see myself outside a mirror. My copy's mouth hung wide open, like mine. I lost my balance and slipped toward the roof's edge. Hargrove pulled me back by the collar of my coat, and the vision opposite us disappeared.

“Don't be a bloody fool, girl. No need to go tipping your balance over a good reflection. Now I want to see you fly. Due south, aim for the edge of the ward. By the docks, where we had that pork pie last time.” With that, Hargrove swept his cloak around his body and floated into the sky. I'd be damned if he beat me. The last time I lost a race, I had to buy him a bottle of gin and massage his temples.

Summoning the wind, I took off across the rooftops and above the labyrinthine alleyways of London. How marvelous it was, to have a bird's-eye view of the evening goings-on and lamp-lightings. I was glad to be able to stay this long. Agrippa had gone to Surrey overnight on business for the Order, and no one else felt the need to check on my whereabouts. I arrived at the meeting place and dropped gracefully to the ground.

I heard a rush of wind and turned to welcome Hargrove down from the sky, but it wasn't his face that greeted me. It was 
hers.

She fell to the earth, lacking the company of her terrifying friends. The shadow rider dismounted from her monstrous black stag, and even before she unrolled her smoke hood, I knew she would be the one with sewn-up eyes. She was no dream or illusion this time. The girl unsheathed her dagger and swung toward the screaming crowd. Men dropped their wares and ran; women scuttled inside their houses and slammed the doors. I prepared to open fire when she whirled away from the people. Sniffing the air, she turned to face me.

“Not dressed properly,” she muttered to herself. Tilting her head, she sniffed again, deeply. “But the same smell. And a stave.” Her face scrunched up, a momentary flash of pain. “Little lady sorcerer.”

“What are you doing here?” I readied myself for an attack. The rider threw her head back and laughed.

“Follow your scent. The bloody king wants to know how you fight.” R'hlem. She swung her dagger in the air twice, testing. “He wants to see if you'll die.” Leaping, she brought her blade in an arc toward me. I struck her with a gust of wind and rolled to the ground. I stood with my back against the ward as she drew herself up and hissed. This time, I fell aside as she attacked, and her dagger dug into the pale yellow outline of the barrier itself. The place of impact glowed bright green for an instant, then began to fade. She turned for me, nostrils flaring. “Good, good. Not afraid. He likes those with courage.”

“What does he want?” I said.

She struck again, and I met her with my warded blade. She was good, but Magnus's training had helped. We crossed swords a few times, and then I leaned back and kicked her in the stomach. You could accomplish so much in trousers and boots! Men didn't know how lucky they were.

Before she could regain control, I blasted her with a tunnel of wind and twirled a spell that sent the earth up around her like a hand, to catch and drag her down. She was chest-deep next to the ward when Hargrove alighted beside me.

“I've never seen that before,” he said, eyeing the trapped rider.

“A blend of the two styles,” I muttered as the girl shrieked and thrust her hands upward. It was as if she
became
smoke and bled through the earth to free herself.

Hargrove and I unleashed a volley of magic. I called down the wind to dissipate the still-smoke Familiar, and he shrank her demonic steed to the size of a small dog. She re-formed into her solid state and fell to the earth with a piercing screech. The rider stared stupidly at her dwarfed mount, which bleated like an angry lamb. Grabbing the stag under her arm, she held up a hand in a signal of surrender.

“Leave.” I pointed Porridge with more confidence than I felt. “Or I'll fire.”

Hissing, she reached out and touched the ward. “Soon,” she croaked, giving a small, hideous giggle as she slid her fingertips down the glowing surface.

The stag ballooned back to its normal size, and she climbed atop it. They galloped into the sky and vanished before we could attack again.

“We should go,” I whispered, tipping my cap over my eyes.

“Indeed. After a hard day of protecting the city, I should think we'd earned a meat pie.” Hargrove didn't seem as carefree as his words implied. We looked to where the Familiar had sliced the ward. When I put my fingers to it, I found the smallest cut in the surface.

“Well,” he said as we landed on a rooftop to catch our breath, “now you see the challenges of defeating one of the Shadow's pets. They always were the trickiest to destroy. The best Familiars to kill, of course, are Molochoron's slugs. You remember that fat, slimy fellow last week in Hoxton? The one we exploded?”

“What's happening to the ward?” I whispered. “It feels like rubber on the inside, and fragile glass without.”

“The ward usually wears down the closer we get to the solstice,” Hargrove said, cracking his back and wincing. “It's at its strongest around Christmas.”

“Why?”

“Some believe the Ancients are tied to the pagan calendar, so Midsummer Eve is a particularly wonderful time for them. I think there's truth to it. Of course, the sorcerers used this concept to attack the witches.” He sounded bitter.

“Did you know any witches?”

“Before the burnings, you mean? Yes, one or two.” He snorted and spit off the roof. “A bunch of ladies with flowers and rye in their hair, farming and making potions to help with a toothache. Truly the most fearsome magical practitioners of all.”

“If they're so innocent, why were they outlawed?”

“Many believe that magical women are difficult to control,” Hargrove said. “As you are well aware.” The memory of Cellini and the knife returned in vivid color. “While we're talking, have you payment for another evening's lesson?” He snapped his fingers. Groaning, I dug into my pocket and produced two sovereigns. Handing them over, I muttered, “Try to spend it sensibly.”

“This makes ten pounds and four shillings. Almost there. And the rest?”

“Next time.” Agrippa now gave me two pounds a week for spending money, so he unwittingly paid for my lessons. That made approximately five weeks of sneaking off to visit Hargrove when I could. I swung my legs over the roof and looked to the ward, a glowing bubble in the night. “What happens if the barriers don't hold?”

“What do you think? Total pandemonium. Hopefully when that happens, I'll be an ocean away.”

“What? Where are you going?” Surprisingly, the thought of losing him hurt. Hargrove had never been exactly warm, but he knew my secrets. That was something.

“Where you're sending me with that twelve pounds. Or to be more exact, ten pounds and four shillings. The rest of Europe won't take in a refugee from England, but America might.”

“You'll never get out to sea.”

“I know the right person,” Hargrove said.

“Who?” Then I recalled Magnus's mention of smuggler ships that charged money for a clandestine voyage.

“Better if you're not privy to the whereabouts and who-is-its. All I need is the money, which I'm about to have in full.”

“You'll leave me? What of the children?”

“The commendation's in less than two weeks. You won't need me anymore. I didn't say I wouldn't take the children, just that I'd only need one ticket.” Of course, he'd store them inside the magical trunk. “I'm not a total bastard, you know.”

“I thought you wanted to see magicians come back into power.”

His face lost all traces of joviality. “I've sacrificed enough for this bloody cause. Let the young fight, if they've the will.”

“Did you train me to feel like you'd done your share?” I asked quietly.

“Perhaps. I believed there was a debt I needed to acknowledge.”

“To whom?” I scooted back from the roof's edge and stood, dusting my trousers.

“Not to anyone in particular,” he said. “Now I consider it paid, because of you.” He smiled. “You're my last laugh. The sorcerers will honor an upstart magician's daughter as the answer to their precious prophecy.” He spit once again.

“
C
INDERELLA'S WICKED STEPSISTERS HAD TO WALK
behind the wedding party, sulking. The birds, who had seen all the cruelty in their hearts, flew out of the sky and plucked the sisters' eyes from their heads.” I hissed at the children, bundled up for bed, and they gasped. “But Cinderella, who had been good and true, ruled with her prince for many years.” They sighed at this revelation. Charley's little sister clung to my skirt and wouldn't let go. Gently, I took her into my arms and went to sit at the table with Hargrove. He looked pleased and drunk.

“Taste of the spoils?” he said, offering me the bottle. I declined. “Where was I, before you had to change your clothes and tend to these ragamuffins?”

The little girl had already fallen asleep on my lap. I hugged her close. “You were telling me of the magical schism.” Magician history was one topic I'd been interested to learn, and he to share.

“Ah, yes. You'll recall Henry the Eighth, great hairy king, who liked having things his own way. His first wife, Catherine, couldn't give him a son. So he went to his Order of royal sorcerers and said, ‘Find a way to let the queen conceive.' No one knew how, of course, and told him he was being a crazy git. One of them, Ralph Strangewayes, dreaming of fortune and fame, decided to see what he could do.

“For two months, Strangewayes locked himself in his room. He ordered books of all sorts, alchemical, medical, biblical. One day, he summoned the king to his chambers and presented a woman. Some say he fashioned her hair from ribbons, her skin from candlelight, her body from the west wind, and her tongue from three notes of birdsong, but she was the most beautiful and the strangest woman anyone had ever seen. The king fell in love upon the instant. Strangewayes said, ‘Here is the woman who will birth your new sovereign.' ”

“Anne Boleyn?” I said, certain he was playing me for a fool.

“Indeed. So the king divorced Catherine and married this magical creation. For a while, Strangewayes and magicians eclipsed sorcerers in every way. Of course, as history tells us, Boleyn got her head lopped off, and Strangewayes fell out of favor. Ended up in the tower waiting to see if anyone would have him executed. But when Queen Elizabeth came to power, that child of magic and royalty, she commended Strangewayes. Magicians became, for her reign at least, the preferred magical practitioners. Elizabeth was a mule. Did you know that? Born not of human woman, but seeded by human man. Many believe the reason she was the virgin queen was because she had no means to procreate.” He giggled until his dark skin flushed darker still. “You know? Down there? Smooth as the wickless end of a candle.”

I shushed him, nodding at the child asleep on my knee. “I think these are all lies.”

He made a rude noise and drank some more. “You're a good apprentice.”

“Thank you.”

“Granted, you're as much fun as pig slop dressed up for a Friday night, but you can't have everything.” He wheezed with laughter. “Y-you're so sour that if Molochoron swallowed you, the whole mass of him would pucker!” He drummed his feet upon the ground and laughed like he'd die.