The Twelfth Enchantment: A Novel (27 page)

“Where do you go?” His pronouncement had now caught her by surprise, and she did not know how or if it would affect her intentions.

“I await my orders. All I can tell you, really. These things are best kept secret.”

Lucy did not reply, and Mr. Morrison took a sip of his chocolate.

Lucy watched him, making certain he swallowed. She thought about what she was doing. This spell would make him love her, and that love would last until she broke the spell or until something happened to stagger him free of the spell’s influence. She would be manipulating another human being, which was a terrible thing to do. But this was Mr. Morrison, and so she told herself that if she could make him an unwitting agent in her service, it was the least he owed her. Accordingly she said quietly, “Thus you are bound to me, Jonas Morrison.”

Mr. Morrison set down his own cup and put his hand to his temple. “My God, Lucy. Did you just now—?” He looked away, out the window, then back to her. “I beg your pardon. I don’t recall what I was saying.”

“You spoke of your orders,” said Lucy, as she watched his face for some sign that the spell had taken effect.

“Yes, I must go soon,” he said, “and I do not want to. You must know that I do not want to leave you. Do I shock you? I am sorry, I cannot help it. You cannot doubt that I am in love with you. I know that I used you falsely in the past, and you are right not to trust me. Only you must trust me this time. You must.”

Lucy swallowed hard, suddenly aware of all the ambient noises that surrounded her—the other conversations, the rolling of carriages upon the street, the ticking of the clock, the birds, the cries of vendors, and the thundering of her own heart. She hated Jonas Morrison, but to toy with him this way was monstrous. She humiliated him and herself, and the consequences of her actions would likely prove disastrous. She understood that, but even as the waves of regret washed over her, she also knew she had no choice. She needed to know what he knew, and everything else would wait until her niece was safe. That is what mattered. Emily was missing, and her sister cared for a horrible creature, and no one anywhere knew or was prepared to do anything about it. No one but Lucy, and she would do what she must. She would crush and humiliate and deceive a thousand Jonas Morrisons if she had to.

Lucy rose to her feet. “Do not say such things,” she managed. When she had imagined casting this spell upon him, she had not considered how she would respond to such a declaration.

“I know you resent what happened between us, but I am ready to make amends, to show you my true self. I ask only that you allow me the opportunity to prove myself.”

Lucy turned to him, steeling herself for the bitterness of the words she must speak. “If you love me, you will trust me, and if you trust me, you will tell me what you know. I must understand what is happening, Mr. Morrison. I must understand everything. If you love me, you will not leave me in the darkness of ignorance.”

Mr. Morrison considered what she said, and seemed to measure her words for their reason. Then he reached forward and gently took her hand, wrapping her fingers in his as though she were made of something brittle, and he feared to break her. They both sat down again.

“I can deny you nothing that is in my power to grant,” he said. “There are dark matters of great importance of which I cannot speak, which I have sworn to withhold from all but other initiates, but what is within my power to tell you, I will.”

His touch disgusted her. No matter how she might regret manipulating him, she could not help but despise him for what he had done to her.
Nevertheless, she did not pull away. “What are you doing here, Mr. Morrison? Why have you come to Nottingham?”

He leaned forward, as if to lessen the distance between them. “I was to keep my eye upon the man you were to marry, Mr. Olson.”

“But why?”

He took a deep breath. “There are forces in motion. Dangerous forces. Chief among these are what people are apt to call fairies or elves. Do not laugh, for this is serious.”

Lucy thought about Mary’s words, as well as the changeling creature she had held in her own arms. “I assure you, I am past laughing.”

Mr. Morrison appeared surprised by her reaction. “You know of them already?”

“They are the spirits of the dead, returned and given flesh. They are revenants.”

“You are unusually well informed,” said Mr. Morrison. “Quite impressive. Almost no one outside our circle knows it. There are some historians of our folklore who have commented upon the fact that what we call fairy barrows are often burial mounds of the ancients, but that is the closest I have ever seen to things becoming common knowledge.”

“I have uncommon sources,” she said. Unable to any longer endure it, she removed her hand from his light touch. She was gentle, however. Lucy knew that a jarring experience or emotional confusion could destroy the effect of her spell. She would have to tread lightly.

Mr. Morrison looked at his hand, as if unable to comprehend what had happened, and then straightened himself. “Yes, I have no doubt. They have been among us as long as anyone can recall, bound to these isles. They are part of who we are, part of what it means to be British. For many years they have walked among us, scattered through many powerful families in the land. There have always been those who sought to join their number, who dream of power and immortality, and little imagine the cost. And too there are those who seek to constrain their power and influence, such as my order does now.”

“What do these creatures want?” asked Lucy.

He shrugged. “Sometimes nothing more than to exist as they please.
They play their games among themselves and, at times, they toy with us. Sometimes their schemes are trivial, and other times they seek to manipulate our lives in ways we cannot tolerate. They are strange and vile, Lucy, and to encounter one is to be altered by its strangeness.”

“Our mortality makes us what we are,” said Lucy, echoing Mary’s words.

He nodded. “How could I help but love a woman as wise as you? Yes, that is the thing. Even the ones newly returned are so altered as to be different creatures than the beings they were in life. They are inscrutable and arbitrary and terrifying.”

“Mr. Morrison, why is any of this important? You say that these beings have long walked among us. Why is your order acting against them now?”

“The world is changing, Lucy. Everywhere we see the rise of new machines, new methods of making and building and transporting. The world is about to enter an era in which man and machine will hold dominion over nature. In this, the revenants have allied with us. They have been providing us with intelligence against the Luddites.”

“Do you mean to say that you stand with these monsters?” Lucy was horrified. She knew that Mr. Morrison and his Rosicrucians believed that Britain must not fall behind the rest of the world as mills replaced men in the production of goods, but to align with creatures that Mary described as pure evil—that seemed too much.

“Not quite so much standing with them as finding ourselves upon common ground.”

Mr. Morrison’s hand had been creeping back toward hers as he gathered the courage to hold it, but Lucy snatched hers away. Now that she knew what he stood for, she could feel far less guilty about having placed this spell upon him.

“Have you seen these mills?” she asked him. “Do you know what they are, what it is to work in one? Do you understand what it is you defend?”

“I have seen them,” he said, and indeed he looked shaken. “They are terrible. I know that, Lucy, and your outrage does you credit, but Britain
cannot stand alone, defenseless in the past while other nations march forward. We will be backwards and defenseless.”

“That is a poor excuse,” said Lucy.

“We have no choice. If these Luddites are unchecked, their uprising will lead to rebellion. Do you want to have happen here what has happened in France? We must move forward in peace or fall backwards in violence. What course would you advise?”

“A third way,” said Lucy, who spoke without thinking, but as the words escaped her mouth, she knew it was what she believed. There had to be a third way, some kind of compromise position that steered the nation between the Luddites and the revenants.
That
was what Lucy endorsed. And, much to her own surprise, she found that she cared about it. It meant something to her. Finding her niece was the most pressing issue upon her mind, but this—this compromise was important too. She could not have said why, she could not have said how her opinion on the fate of the nation could be of consequence, but she felt sure that it was.

“What is that third way? I pray you tell me, for if you can think of it, I shall urge my superior to pursue it.”

Lucy smiled. “I don’t know. Yet. Give me a little time.” She placed her hand back on the table. The idea that he would again touch her, would even think of touching her, was sickening, but Lucy had set these events in motion, and she would have to let them unfold. “What has Mr. Olson to do with all this?”

“We are not entirely certain. The truth is, the revenants give us half-truths and partial intelligence. They attempt to aid us against the Luddites, but also to manipulate us for their own ends, perhaps even ends that have nothing to do with this cause. We believed that Olson was to play some role in the rise of these mills, but since his frames were destroyed, it may no longer be so. In any event, I am upon a new mission now.”

“What is that?”

“There is a book,” he said. “An alchemical book that supposedly contains the secret of both making and unmaking revenants, of enslaving and banishing magical creatures. It contains much more besides: the secret
to warding against magic, and to breaking the wards of others. It tells of things not imagined, and yet so simple, it is hard to believe they could be unknown. But most of all, it contains the secret of bringing the dead back to life—or, perhaps more accurately, to giving them a new kind of life. It is, in short, the most terrible book in the world. The only known copy of the book has been torn apart, and its pages scattered. My superior has charged me with finding these pages. I don’t know precisely why, but the book is likely something we can use to bargain with these revenants.”

Lucy tried to look only vaguely interested, but her hands began to shake. She could use the
Mutus Liber
to cast off the monster that had taken the place of her niece. She had to find the missing pages, and she had to do so before Mr. Morrison did—a man who enjoyed the resources of a secret international organization.

She took a deep breath to clear her mind. “Do you know where to find this book?”

“It has been broken up into many pieces,” he said, “but I believe I have recently discovered where to look for at least part of it, and I must leave soon.”

There was no help for it now, and so she spoke words she would never have believed she could utter. “Will you take me with you?”

Finally he found the courage to take her hand. Mr. Morrison smiled at her, and his eyes moistened. “I should like nothing better than to have you with me, but it is far too dangerous.”

Lucy swallowed, preparing her to say the words she had to say. “If you love me, you will take me with you.”

He looked down at the table for a long time. Finally, he met her eyes. “My search for the book will take me far away, to many different places, and I cannot harm your reputation by asking you to go with me unmarried. And I cannot now marry you. I should like nothing better, Lucy, but until this matter is resolved, my superior would not give me permission.”

No one is asking you to marry me, thought Lucy bitterly, and yet, she could not help but consider this offer as though it were serious, as
though it were brought on by something other than her magic and her will. Mr. Morrison was a gentleman, he had money and certainly influence of some kind. He was charming and clever and handsome. Ought she not to set aside her past antipathy and encourage this line of conversation?

“However,” he said, snapping her out of her thoughts, “before I travel, I must look for some of the missing pages close to hand. It will be dangerous, but you are a woman of some skill, so if you do precisely what I say, I will venture to bring you with me.”

It was better than nothing. It was a start. “Where do we go?”

He made a face of disgust. “To a vile place, Lucy. One as full of demons and ghosts as anywhere on earth. We go to an estate whose every stone is permeated with evil and dissipation. It is the ruined home of a corrupted baron who is more devil than man. The place I speak of is called Newstead Abbey.”

T
HEY WOULD GO AT NIGHT, MR. MORRISON SAID, AS THE SERVANTS
of Newstead would not remain the night in the absence of their master. Slipping in at night increased their chances of finding the book and remaining undiscovered. Lucy knew she would need to bring whatever talismans and protections she could muster against fairies and other dark things. Newstead, as she already knew, was supposed to be haunted by several ghosts. The entire neighborhood spoke of Byron’s deceased dog, whom Mr. Morrison said was called Boatswain, and according to local gossip there were earthly creatures to fear as well. Byron was known to keep a menagerie of wild animals upon the grounds, including a bear, a wolf, and, perhaps less menacing, a tortoise. Lucy was determined to prepare for all of these, and for dangers yet unimagined.

Yet, if danger could be avoided, why should they risk breaking open the abbey? “Can we not ask the master of Newstead to give you or sell you what you seek?” Lucy asked.

“The master of Newstead, as you style him, will not behave like a gentleman. If he knows we desire the pages, he will withhold them for as much money as he can demand.”

“And why not pay him then? Surely your order has resources.”

“We do,” said Mr. Morrison, “and I believe if we could depend upon him to conduct himself according to the dictates of reason, we would buy the pages, but this man is half mad, a capricious and dangerous fiend who will ally himself against his nation for the simple pleasure of rebellion. We dare not risk letting him know that we are aware of the pages and desire them.”