The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (16 page)

It wasn’t just the burnout. Far from it. If anything, that was his least concern. While there hadn’t been any sign of reporters, yet, that didn’t mean this would stay contained. No. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking that was a possibility. Too many people had seen this, something so wondrous, so astounding…it was going to spread. It had to. Who could ever keep quiet after having seen what happened here today?

Their years of hiding were over.

He shivered. He tried to keep his mind on the present, but he was so exhausted it was impossible not to find himself drifting. Drifting ahead to the realities of a future now staring blackly at him, very real dangers that would surround his sister like wolves in the night. Drifting back to that night, the clear sky, the cool air on his face, his nightshirt brushing his bare legs.

“I don’t see the point,” Fernand muttered. “Can’t they see the girl needs to be at home with her family?”

Chris said nothing. He stared out into the darkness, trying to clear his thoughts. Now. The present, think about the present. There was enough terror in the future. There was enough pain in the past. He couldn’t handle either.

“How did she do it?” Fernand asked. “They said on the mirror there were
two
cloudlings and she was forever away. How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. Even I never knew she was capable of something like that,” Chris murmured.

When they looked down at the girl between them, they saw her eyes were closed and she was breathing slow and even. Her face was pillowed up against Chris’s arm and the blanket was wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Despite all of it, despite everything crashing down around them, a small, sad smile touched Chris’s lips. Rosemary’s face was serene. Peaceful. Tightness closed around his heart as he reached out to brush stray curls from her cool cheek. Her breath misted on the back of his hand.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done,” Fernand said, as if hearing his thoughts. “Everything’s changed, now, Chris.”

He closed his eyes. “I know.”

hris woke slumped in a chair.

For a moment, he wondered where he was and why his neck was sore and why he was still wearing his eyeglasses. He blinked slowly in the early morning sunlight, trying to piece it all together. He looked around, and saw he was in Rosemary’s room, all done up in blue. She slept beside him, her smooth face a picture of peace and rest.

It all flooded back.

White Clover, the observation wheel, the air snapping with the energy of the rogue cloudlings. And Rosemary. Her clear, strong voice singing them down, saving his life and that of five other people.

Gods.

That had actually happened.

He looked down at his sister in dazed wonder. He’d always known even at her young age, her abilities were beyond what most ‘binders could achieve in a lifetime. The simple fact of her wizardry, her innate knowledge of the arcane spirit language, was proof enough. Her casual unbinding and rebinding of elementals, her easy affinity with them, her understanding of complex technologies that were beyond even the most experienced ‘binders…yes. He’d known she was remarkable,
exceptional
. He’d spent the last six years doing everything he could to hide it.

But he’d never imagined she was capable of what he’d seen yesterday. And he’d never expected it would save his life.

He jumped near out of his skin when the silence was shattered by Rosemary’s cuckoo clock bursting into excited chirps, though she didn’t stir. He counted the chimes while he watched her face. Was she in pain? Would she recover from this? Or had she pushed herself too close to the edge to come back? Would she―

―with a shock of panic, he counted the chimes again.

He was going to be late.

He was loath to leave Rosemary, but after his tardiness on Healfday, he doubted Olivia Faraday would excuse another lapse. He needed to be at the office on time, or there would be hells to pay. He sprang from the chair, which rocked on its legs, and rushed to his own room.

His reflection was not an inspiring sight, but he didn’t have the luxury of time to fix it. With a groan and a muttered curse, he threw on whatever he could find and dismayed at his mismatched clothes, the tousled mess of his hair, and the filmy spots on his specs. No time to fix any of it. He grabbed a bowler and hurried down the stairs.

He was out of breath when he reached the bottom, and he was relieved to see Miss Albany already sitting in the parlour, her back straight as ever, with a cup of tea cradled daintily in her hands. To his surprise, Fernand was also there, and they were locked in conversation so deep they didn’t even glance up at his hurried entrance.

“I need to go,” he said by way of introduction. They both turned towards him with a start. Miss Albany’s cup clattered in its saucer. “I’m going to be late.”

Fernand exchanged a look with the governess. “You’re going in today?” he asked. He didn’t have to actually vocalize his disapproval. It was there in his mouth, his voice, the furrow between his brows.

Chris’s lips twisted. “I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

“I’m very sorry to hear what happened,” Miss Albany said. She slid her tea onto the table and her hand shook. “It all must have been…very frightening.”

He’d told her all the usual lies, he recalled. That Rosemary seemed more powerful than she was, that it was only her beautiful voice that made her seem so remarkable. “I…” he floundered. Should he respond to the unspoken question? Should he pretend like nothing had happened? He cleared his throat, which felt as if there was a burr lodged in it. “Miss Albany,” he hedged. “About what—about the conversation we had on your first day here―”

“It’s fine, young master,” Fernand said in a quiet voice. “I’ve already explained the situation to Miss Albany.”

“You have done what you could to protect your sister from harm,” Miss Albany said, inclining her head. “I consider that more than admirable, and I intend to do my best to aid you in whatever may be coming.”

Chris sighed his relief. “Thank you,” he told her. He turned to the door, and then remembered, quite suddenly, what he’d overheard at White Clover before the incident.
No time,
he thought, but he found himself pulled back regardless. He may need whatever he could find to make himself valuable to Olivia. “Fernand,” he said. “I don’t suppose you could do me a favour?”

Fernand gave him a look that made Chris’s heart swell. “I’ll do anything I can for you, my boy.”

“You have connections with the others sumfinders, don’t you?” At the old man’s nod, Chris continued. “Could you possibly get me a list of names? I’m interested in finding out more about creditors.”

Fernand frowned dourly, disapproval clouding his face. “You may think credit will solve your problems, Christopher,” he began in his lecturing tone, “but I promise you it’s not―”

“It’s not for me,” Chris cut in. “It’s for Olivia.” At Fernand puzzled expression, he shook his head again. He was in such a hurry he was forgetting himself. “Miss Faraday. The Deathsniffer. I’m sorry, Fernand, I don’t have time to explain, but if you could possibly get me a list of creditors who work with the Old Blood―”

Fernand’s cloudy expression only deepened. “Don’t go poking around in Old Debts. It’s messy business.”

“It’s not for
me
,” Chris repeated impatiently. He took another look at the clock and groaned aloud. “I’m sorry. I really, truly am, but I need to go
now
. Just think about it, Fernand, please. I’m sorry. I need to go.” He settled his hat onto this head and, seeing it was once again pouring, grabbed his umbrella from the closet. It was going to be a very close shave.

Olivia was in the waiting room when he arrived. Her eyebrows shot up as he shook out his umbrella and shrank under her gaze. With pointed deliberateness, Olivia turned the face of the pocket watch she held towards him. Its hands pointed to twelve and eight on the nose. When she snapped the cover shut and tucked it into her bodice, there was a wry smile on her lips. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we, Mister Buckley?”

He flushed, raising a hand to pull off his bowler and run his fingers through his already unruly hair. He looked a mess and he knew it. The whipping wind howling through the streets had not helped. His hair was a scraggly mess, his cheeks were probably bright red, and his trousers were soaked up to his calves. “I’m on time,” he protested. Barely.

“So you are,” she allowed. She turned away with a jaunty flounce. Today, she was dressed all in orange, a lazy peasant girl’s gown that was loose in the bodice and gathered in the arms, skirts plain but full. She’d threaded her hair with marigolds, bringing out the orange in her dress. The colour seemed to match her state of mind. He could tell from the way her steps bounced and from the teasing in her voice that she was in one of her good moods.
Thank all the Gods.

“There was an accident yesterday,” he felt compelled to explain. “I was at White Clover Farms with my sister and―”

She turned to look at him, eyebrows in her hairline again. “You were
there
?” she demanded. Without waiting for an answer, she rushed across the room to his desk and picked up the paper, turning to face him with it displayed before her. The headline read, in dark bold letters,
TWIN CLOUDLINGS GO ROGUE AT WHITE CLOVER FARMS, CHILD WIZARDLING REBINDS WITH MASTER’S SKILL.
“I don’t suppose you saw this young lady! That sounds
most
impressive.”

So the press had found the story after all. It would be all over Darrington by noon. There was never any real hope this could stay quiet, but Chris’s heart sank regardless. They may not have discovered Rosemary’s identity yet, but they would. He readied the usual lies, clinging to a vain hope that turning one person away could stop the mighty tide sweeping towards him, but there was no point. Olivia would consider an evasion a lie, and she’d find out the truth in the end. She could probably already smell it.

The time for hiding was over.

“Actually,” he said, feeling a wave of bone-deep weariness crash through him, “that was Rosemary.”

For a moment, he suffered from the sincere worry her eyes would roll out of her head. She regarded him with a new sort of appreciation, and all was quiet as they regarded one another anew in the light of this revelation.