Illusions of Fate

by Kiersten White

  I clench my jaw, hating him, wishing I could do anything but accept whatever terms he offers. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing that is not already mine. Return the book you stole. It holds the exact process I need for your Eleanor. Once it is safely in my hands, I will perform the magic necessary to save her life.”

  “I don’t believe you. You know how to reverse the spell.”

  “Do I? Will you really risk Eleanor’s life? You could ask your dear Lord Ackerly to find the spell, but it’s such a large volume and she has so very few hours left. Ah, here we are.” He stops in the park, shielded by trees but with a view of the door to Finn’s home. “Do hurry. I can almost hear her desperate coughing from here.”

  He releases my hand, and I stumble forward on leaden feet.

  I cannot give back the book without losing the only insurance I have against another attack, but I cannot allow Eleanor to suffer and even die for my sake. I burst through the door, screaming for Finn. He’ll know what to do. He’ll fix Eleanor, turn Lord Downpike’s evil plan on its head.

  There is no answer, so I run through the hall to the library. A note is tacked to the door.

  Urgent summons from the queen. Stay in the house until I return. Please.

  Yours,

  Finn

  Twenty-seven

  I DON’T KNOW WHICH I DREAD MORE—THAT Sir Bird will be in bird form when I enter the library, or that he won’t, and I will never get to say good-bye. I push open the door to find him perched on the edge of a chair, completely back to his normal black, arranging a pile of shiny coins and buttons.

  “I—” My voice catches. Sir Bird looks at me, extending and retracting his wings nervously. “I have to give you back to him. Lord Downpike. If I don’t, Eleanor will die. Do you understand?”

  Sir Bird is very still and then slowly bobs his head once.

  “I already owe you my own life. And if you don’t want to do this, I won’t make you. I’ll open the door and you can fly away and I’ll try to find some other way to save Eleanor.”

  He hops with a flap of his wings and lands on my shoulder and then nudges my cheek with his beak. He’s giving me permission, and it breaks my heart.

  “Will he hurt you?”

  Sir Bird shakes his whole body from crown to tail, puffing up his feathers, then caws in his most dismissive tone.

  “You are the finest, bravest creature on the whole planet.” I take a deep breath, and then have a thought. It’s a gamble at best, probably pointless, and at worst will bring down more pain and trouble on all of us. I’m already allowing Sir Bird to be sacrificed. Eleanor is dying. Can I risk it?

  Is it even possible?

  “If I were to write a few pages, could I put them in the book? Could you make them a part of yourself?”

  He lets out an uncertain squawking sound and then hops to the table. I kiss his feathered head and stroke the length of his back. “Thank you,” I whisper, then he turns into a book.

  Sabotage, sabotage. If, like Finn, Lord Downpike has to renew spells every time he uses them, then maybe I have a chance to mess with his abilities. Opening, I search frantically for anything I recognize. I cannot risk damaging a spell that might be the one Eleanor needs. If it’s even in this book. Finding pages we’d looked at earlier, I rip them out as carefully as I can, hoping Sir Bird cannot feel it. I line them up with a blank sheet of parchment and transcribe the sequences nearly identically, mimicking the pen strokes as best I can. But I make subtle changes, substitute the wrong elements, the wrong words. Fire for water, confusion for clarity, darkness for light. I alter the parts of the equations I can understand. If I had more time, if I’d been able to plan . . . But this is the best I can do.

  Then I tuck the papers back into the crease and hold my breath. A series of black sparks dance along the spine, and when I pull lightly on the pages, they stay affixed.

  Lord Downpike wins this round, and I only hope that he has nothing further planned right now. I pick up the book to take it out to the nightmare man, but it trembles and then pops back into Sir Bird’s form.

  “You should stay a book. It seems safer for you.”

  Sir Bird pecks my hand.

  “All right! Your way is best. I won’t argue.”

  I walk down the hall with a heavy heart, already mourning the loss of Sir Bird. Something inside me is shaking loose, rattling around and making it hard to breathe. I push aside my own fear for what will happen when I hand the book to Lord Downpike. I’ll have no more insurance against physical harm.

  It does not bear thinking about. There are no other options. I will not sacrifice Eleanor for myself.

  Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I wipe under my eyes. Lord Downpike will not see me a tearful, fearful mess. Sir Bird nips my ear softly, and I nod. “I’m glad of your company, dear friend.”

  I open the door. Twilight has cloaked the park in shadow, but I can see Lord Downpike standing at the edge of the trees. Before I can cross the threshold of the house, Sir Bird takes off from my shoulder with a loud series of caws. “Oh!” I reach out for him, then drop my hands, resolved. He took the offered escape. I’m not sorry. At least one of us has freedom.

  So be it. I will throw myself at whatever semblance of mercy a man like Lord Downpike has. I lift my foot to step onto the porch, when I look up and see Sir Bird land in front of Lord Downpike. Downpike reaches down, takes Sir Bird around the neck, and twists his head with a quick, snapping motion.

  “No!” I scream, but it’s too late. In his hands is nothing but a book. I slump against the door frame, hands over my mouth, silently shaking my head as though I can undo what he’s done.

  “Not coming out to play?” he calls, tucking the book under his arm and strolling closer. “Clever, sending the poor birdie out so you could stay safe in Lord Ackerly’s home. I am impressed.”

  That was why Sir Bird changed. So I wouldn’t have to leave the protection of the house. I owe him my life again, and he . . . oh, Sir Bird.

  “Are you crying for my unfaithful familiar? Women are such strange creatures. I suppose you kept up your end of the deal, though I had hoped to take a stroll, maybe have tea together.”

  I narrow my eyes, Lord Downpike blurred by the tears there. “Fix Eleanor. Now.”

  “As you like. What was that countercurse . . .” He flips through the book then snaps it shut. My stomach tightens. If he noticed I altered spells, I’ve lost any hope of gaining an advantage and Sir Bird’s sacrifice is wasted. “That’s right. I left it in a sugar bowl in her silver tea service. Make sure she takes a cup with two scoops and she’ll be fine.”

  “You didn’t need the book,” I whisper.

  “I did need the book. But not to fix Eleanor. Would you like a ride in my motor to her home?” He smiles, and again I see a hint of what is underneath his strange face that doesn’t move quite like it should as he talks.

  “She would not.” Finn stands behind Lord Downpike, his cane gripped tightly.

  Lord Downpike doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “His now,” he whispers. “Bought and paid for. You aren’t nearly as interesting as I’d hoped, little rabbit. Until we meet again.” He nods, tipping his hat at me, then walks past Finn without so much as acknowledging him.

  Finn rushes up the steps and pulls me back inside, closing the door. “I should have known it was a trick to get me away from the house. When I got to the palace and they had no record of sending for me, I . . . but you didn’t leave. He couldn’t take you, not across the threshold.”

  “Sir Bird.” I break into sobs. Finn takes me into his arms and I let him, resting my face on his shoulder, his hands rubbing gentle circles on my back.

  “Why did you give him the book?”

  “Eleanor. Eleanor! We have to get to her. He cursed her, she’s dying. She needs two scoops of sugar from the silver tea service.”

  “It’s not safe for you, not now that we have nothing physical to threaten him with. Stay here. I’ll take car
e of her and be back as soon as possible.”

  I nod into his shoulder, wanting him to stay and hold me. Then I pull away and wrap my arms around myself. “Go.”

  He opens the door and runs out. I watch him disappear into the trees as he cuts straight through on the most direct route to Sir Rupert’s house. In the tops of the trees, a dozen yellow eyes stare at me from soulless black faces.

  Twenty-eight

  I WALK ACROSS THE SMOOTH BLACK SAND OF Melei’s northernmost beach, a day’s journey from my village. The breeze off the ocean whips my hair to the side, and I have to keep pulling it away from my eyes. A slight chill cuts through the humid summer air. I ought to be perfectly content but something is off.

  I look around for Mama but she isn’t with me. I’m never at this beach alone. We come for summer holiday, Mama and I and Nani and even sometimes Henry and his family. But as far as I can see, there’s no one here.

  The wind cuts colder, and I rub my hands over my bare arms. The filmy skirts of the red dress are trailing out away from me on the wind, reminding me of the scarlet ribbon spelling out LOVERS on the card I drew from Finn.

  Why am I in the red dress? I don’t want to be in this dress, I hate this dress. I threw it away. I turn around to hurry back the way I came, but the beach stretches on infinitely. I look down and see Sir Bird’s lifeless body on the sand. “No,” I whisper, but when I reach to pick him up he disappears.

  A nameless fear surrounds me, chokes me, and I turn to run back when I notice something ahead of me. I walk toward it, my terror growing, but I must go that direction. There are no other options.

  On the beach is a table, rich dark wood, laid with a familiar tea service.

  I try to run the other way but the table is behind me now, and this time Lord Downpike sits at it, wearing a suit and top hat, black feathered wings tucked behind him. “Do sit down,” he says, giving me his sharp smile.

  I sit across from him.

  This isn’t real, it can’t be real, but I can taste the salt air and feel the stomach-turning terror as I smell the tea.

  “It’s not real,” I whisper.

  “Of course not.” He says it with a condescending laugh and the wind dies, leaving us in a vacuum on the soundless, motionless dead beach. The smell of the tea is overwhelming and I put my hand to my nose to try and block it.

  “Oh,” I cry out. My hand is a mess of broken, splintered bones and ghastly bruises. “No. No, Finn fixed it.”

  Lord Downpike pours the tea, stirring in scoop after scoop of sugar. “But you still remember the pain. He couldn’t take that away, could he? He couldn’t make you forget what you’ve already been through. Put your hand on the table.”

  I stare at my hand, fingers splayed out, unmoving on the tabletop. “Wake up, Jessamin. Wake up, wake up.”

  “Not until I say so. Tell me, are you enjoying your time with your dashing Alben lord? Is he taking good care of you? You make a lovely pet.”

  My brain screams at my hand to move, but it doesn’t. It should hurt, the state it’s in. “I can’t feel my fingers.”

  “I can change that. What is Finn doing? Has he shown you any magic? Told you about his mother?” Lord Downpike picks up a hammer, idly waving it from side to side as though testing the balance.

  I seal my lips shut. I will not engage this dream. I will not. I’m fine, I’m asleep, I know I am, I know I am.

  Lord Downpike sighs. “Very well, then. Your mind already knows exactly what this will feel like. I don’t have to do a thing.” He brings the hammer down on my hand, and I scream.

  “Jessamin!” Finn says. He’s not on the beach. Where is he? I’m screaming, screaming, my hand—the pain is too much, I cannot—“Jessamin, wake up.”

  I sit up, gasping, my hair tangled around my face. “My hand!” I clutch it to my chest, stare at it in the dim candlelight. Nothing but the black glove, the cold tingling sensation overlaying the sharp, bright aftertaste of pain still lingering.

  “That’s the third time tonight.” Eleanor leans against my doorway in her white nightdress. Her hair is in a long braid down her shoulder, and she looks exhausted.

  “I’m . . . I’m so sorry. I was . . .” I cannot tell them, cannot get the words out. I know my hand is fine, I know it, but the pain! I close my eyes, unable to get rid of the smell of tea lodged in my sinuses.

  “It’s perfectly understandable,” Finn says, rising from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed next to me. “You’ve been through so much.” He doesn’t sound tired like Eleanor. He sounds weighted down, sad.

  “I am beginning to regret agreeing to stay here with the two of you.” Eleanor walks into the room and sits in a chair beside my bed with a heavy sigh. “I thought I’d be watching your rooms closely at night for far more lurid and interesting goings-on than screaming night terrors.”

  “I don’t know what’s come over me.” I shift, embarrassed, kicking my feet free from where they’re tangled in the sheets. Finn has taken us both in, now that we know Eleanor isn’t safe and we no longer have possession of Lord Downpike’s book.

  Oh, Sir Bird, I am sorry.

  I thought—heavy with grief for Sir Bird—that I would sleep heavily. Instead, my mind is plagued with horrors.

  “Give it some time.” Finn pats my hand. “Everyone has nightmares.”

  “They’ve never bothered me like this. They feel so real, so out of my control.”

  Eleanor frowns thoughtfully, then runs out of the room and comes back in, carrying her snuffbox.

  “Isn’t it an odd time for that?” Finn asks.

  “Oh, hush. You aren’t the only one here with magic, and if there is one thing I am good at . . .” She pulls out a pinch, and I barely have time to close my eyes before she blows it right in my face.

  She cackles. “If there is one thing I am good at, dear friends, it is detecting the presence of magic. I can always find it.”

  I open my eyes. Particles of dust glow, swirling in a slow pattern around my head. Eleanor takes me by my shoulder and pulls my head forward. “They’re originating from back here.” She touches a spot on the back of my skull. “Anything happen there?”

  “No, I—yes! My ribbon, and some hairs. Lord Downpike has them. I’d forgotten all about it.”

  Finn stands, eyes blazing with fury in the dim light. “How dare he.” He storms from the bedroom. Eleanor climbs into bed next to me, scooting me to the side and putting her cold feet on mine. It’s a great comfort to have her next to me, sealing me off from the remnants of the dream and anchoring me here.

  Finn comes back and I finally notice he’s wearing a thin, white nightshirt with breeches hastily pulled on underneath. I can see his collarbones.

  What is it with me and that boy’s collarbones? I blush and then smile to myself. At least this is a better thing to dwell on than the fact that Lord Downpike apparently has unlimited access to my dreams.

  Finn clears the nightstand next to the bed, setting down one of his heavy, handwritten books already open to a page. He has several other things—a burning candle, a pair of delicate scissors, and some powdered substance.

  I examine the book, trying to decipher both the method and end result of the spell. Near as I can tell, he needs a clipping of my hair—the conduit, already being used by Lord Downpike—powdered poppy seeds, the gateway to sleep, and wax to be used to seal off Lord Downpike’s pathway.

  I tap my finger thoughtfully as Finn asks permission with a look, and I nod for him to cut a small strand of my hair. He takes it back to the dresser.

  “I think we could change it,” I say.

  “Beg pardon?” Finn looks up from where he’s copying down the necessary symbols.

  “Isn’t there a spell to turn something back onto the attacker? Using a mirror? Couldn’t we substitute a mirror for the wax, so instead of sealing my dreams from him, we turn it around and allow me to be in control when he tries to enter?”

  Finn frowns. “Why would we do that?”
r />   “Is it possible?”

  “I suppose it would be, in theory. But why risk it when I’m certain we can block him?”

  “He has more of my hair. Strands he took from the comb. What’s to stop him from repeating the spell?”

  “If he does, we block it. Again. As many times as we need to.”

  “That’s not enough. I already have to hide from him during my waking hours. I don’t want to go to sleep at night worrying that he’ll find his way in again.”

  “But what good will it do you to be able to control things, if he can still enter your sleeping mind?”

  I smile grimly. “I intend to make it a place he’ll want to stay very far away from.”

  Eleanor giggles beside me. “You are mad.”

  Finn’s frown deepens. “I don’t think we should risk it. Theoretically, it would work, but I’m far more comfortable using a spell I know.”

  I stand, leaving the warm comfort of my sheets, and go to my bathroom to retrieve a small, gilt mirror. I set it down next to Finn’s materials and look him full in the eyes. “I agreed to stay here because it was safest for everyone. But you must let me respond to threats in the way I see best.”

  There’s a moment, a hardening behind his eyes, where I think he will disagree with me, force me to go with his plan. And he could. I’m in his home, under his protection. Lord Downpike’s words whisper mockingly: Is he taking good care of you?

  And then, to my surprise, Finn nods. “But I insist on staying the night with you so that if anything goes wrong, I can wake you immediately.”

  I beam, flush with victory, and then suddenly cold with second thoughts. Perhaps this was a battle best left unwon. As I watch Finn preparing the spell, I nearly stop him several times. But no. I will not run and hide any more than I must.

  When all is said and done, the process is anticlimactic. He writes the symbols on the mirror, drops the powder onto it, and then sets it by my bed.

  Eleanor sits up with a start. “Spirits below, I fell asleep. Magic is so dull. Now, if you two think I will sit in a chair and chaperone, you’re quite wrong. I’ll leave your door open and mine as well, but I am far too tired for gossip, so please do nothing interesting.” She kisses my cheek and then stumbles out of the room, still half asleep.