The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (61 page)

Chris pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot. He felt cold. He felt…drowned. There were too many things scattered around his head, too many things that were too large and too unwieldy to go into their cupboards. “I want to be with my sister,” he said pleadingly. “I need to be there with her, guiding her. Helping her.
Being
with her. Don’t you see that? Don’t you
understand
that? She’s everything to me.”

But Olivia’s vulnerability folded back under the surface. Her hands fisted and her eyes went cold. “The terms aren’t negotiable,” she said, jutting her chin forward.

“If you want me not to think of you as a monster,” Chris snapped, “you won’t act like one.”

Olivia Faraday stood up. Despite her crushed leg, she moved with the grace of an Old Blood Duchess while she reached for her crutches and arranged herself. She looked down her nose at him, and regardless of her size, she seemed a thousand feet tall. “Make your choice, Mister Buckley,” she said simply. “I’m sure you’ll actually find it quite an easy one.” And with that, she hobbled from the room, shutting the door behind her.

Chris pressed his forehead against the wood of the table. He would have screamed his frustration, stood up and tore apart the room, if it would have done any good. He’d never been one for grand gestures of rage, not even with his father, not even the night of the Floating Castle.

He thought back to that night, now. Not the events that had spiralling outwards like an impossible whirlwind after he’d seen the Castle give its first shudder, but to the night before. For once, he didn’t think of his father, but of his mother. He remembered Julia brushing hair back from his forehead, leaning down to kiss him gently. She’d sang to him a little song before she’d left, and told him to remember that no matter how he blustered and raged, his father loved him very much. She’d waved at him from the doorway while Michael had called from the first floor, his powerful voice booming all the way up. Julia Buckley had been his rock, his anchor, his lighthouse in a storm and the very centre of his universe. And somehow, the morning after the Castle fell and she was gone forever, life had managed to continue without her.
He
had managed to continue without her.

How had he done that, he wondered?

But he knew the answer even as he asked the question, just as he’d known what he’d do about Olivia’s proposal from the moment she’d made it.

He’d adapted, of course. Because things either adapted and survived, or they didn’t and blew away on the wind.

livia Faraday spun her parasol as she watched.

Her assistant embraced his little sister fiercely, holding her to him as if somehow, he could stop her from getting on the train and smokestacking away into the distance. She buried her face into his neck, eyes tightly closed, and he threaded his fingers through her dark ringlets, turning his face in towards her. They spoke to one another, probably quite loudly, but the salamanders and cloudlings that made the trains run were
not
the quietest of beasts, and Olivia had made herself keep something resembling a respectful distance, and couldn’t hear a word of it. Unfortunately.

She cocked her head, curiously trying to decide what it would like, loving someone that much. Mister Buckley had made it fairly clear his choice to return to her employ would not have been made if she hadn’t dangled this ultimatum before his eyes, and she couldn’t help but try and bend her ideals to the idea that someone could be important enough to give away. It was like watching a play in a foreign language.

“Last call,” the conductor’s voice boomed across the platform. “Last call for Gilton, Cardinalia, Summergrove, and Northshire! Last call!”

Christopher Buckley straightened. He gave one last, very professional farewell to his governess, who clasped his head and nodded her prim little head as though she were a sparrow indeed before gathering up her charge’s things and taking hold of the girl, steering her towards their boarding platform. Mister Buckley did not, as Olivia might have, turn about and walk away, but rather, he waited, standing there with one hand clasped against his mouth, and he waited, and he waited, and he waited, long past when the girl and her caretaker could no longer be seen, long past when the train chugged off, long past, even, when the platform emptied and the caboose had long been gone.

Olivia, not given to sentimentality, was impatient enough to actually consider turning and leaving on her own, but she chose not to press her fortune with any particularly grand gestures of disdain. In fact, she did nothing, neither moving nor speaking, until Mister Buckley slowly and finally turned himself about and dragged himself over to her.

She could see from his face he was in some distress, but she chose not to say anything, unsure of whether or not anything was appropriate. While her instinct was usually to speak rather than hold her tongue, this…arrangement was delicate, still, and for once, she cared if she offended someone. So she simply dragged on her lace gloves and straightened her feathered hat, and waited, once again, for him to make the first move.

“They’re gone,” he said finally, eyes still staring out where they had last seen the train vanish.

“Yes,” Olivia agreed.

“Rosemary…she…”

Olivia did not sigh or roll her eyes or make a joke, though all of those seemed like the most appealing courses of action. Rather, she smiled gently and laid a hand on Christopher’s shoulder, and wondered how long she’d feel obligated to behave this way, and when she could go back to normal, instead. “She’s going to have a lovely time in the country, I swear it. She’ll just love my mother.” And perhaps Elouise would love her back. There was a first time for everything.

Mister Buckley sighed. He closed his eyes. He was very melancholy in every way, but he did nod, and then they stood there, Olivia’s hand resting awkwardly on his shoulder, for so long she wondered if the exchange had really been worth it after all.

And then he raised his head and met her eyes. “Well,” he said, and smiled. It was a tight smile, a forced smile, a faked smile. But it was a smile. And that was a start. “What do we do now, Miss Faraday?”

“Now,” she said, and looped her arm through his, turning away from the platform. “We wait for more murder.”

When you’ve always been writing and never been published, you come up with all sorts of things you plan to say in your first set of acknowledgements. And then you go to actually write them and find you don’t even know where to start. The strange thing about writing thanks for your first book is that you want to write thanks for everyone who’s put you on the path to it. So I’ve done that.

The person I have to thank most is Elzie, who is the only reason anyone ever took a second look at this book. Without her constant support and love, it wouldn’t exist, and without her heartlessly hilarious criticism, it wouldn’t be any good.

Thanks to my beta readers who helped me immeasurably to get a sense of what I had when it was out of my head and on paper: Elzie, Dots, Mum, Will, and Meg.

All the folks on the business side who helped me get here definitely need mention, too: my amazing, wonderful, perfect agent, Caitlin McDonald, who was the first stranger to believe in this thing; Vicki Keire at Curiosity Quills, who loved it enough to bring me into the family; my talented and helpful editor, Chrystal Schleyer; my production guy and helping hand, Andrew Buckley; and Lisa, Nikki, and everyone else at CQ.

Thanks have to go to all my close friends who have been around every single day to listen to me chatter about the planning process, the writing process, the submission process, and the publishing process: Dots, Willfor, Elzie, Meg, Sara, Mike, Frozen, and Zap.

There’s my family, of course. Thanks to Daddy, who’s been reading to me since I was born. To Mum, who’s read this book cover to cover more than anyone else, including me. To my sister, Erin, who was always the captive audience to my crazy stories and encouraged me since we were babies together, and my brother-in-law, Danny, who’s learned quick to cheer when Kate calls with good news.

And the miscellaneous people: Doctor Dan, who I couldn’t live without, Mrs. Artichuk, who taught me what I was capable of, Margaret Hanson-Clarke, who was my invaluable writing buddy all through my teenage years, the curators of numerous tumblr blogs filled with Edwardian fashion plates, who will never know just what a godsend they’ve been, and my favourite barista at the local Starbucks, who occasionally sneaks me a second refresher when I’ve been sitting at the same table for hours with my laptop.