“She is not confessing. They do not know anything,” the other creature said. He looked disgusted.
“They must!” The man holding Niyek gave her a shake and the light poured from his mouth to hers brighter, brighter. . . . Meti cried for mercy for her, for them both, and then wept as Niyek went limp. The skin around her lips bubbled and burst, and the flesh on her face grew shiny before it melted like wax.
A third figure burst through the door then, alight with that same unnatural brilliance.
I clutched my stomach and let go of the curtain, lurching toward the spiky bushes behind the house. Niyek’s exposed skull lingered in my mind, a curse now, a curse I had brought down on myself for seeking their help.
“Did you hear that?”
The men inside must have noticed my rustling in the bushes. I shouldered the pack and dragged bleeding feet across the ground, running as fast as I could. They would find me. They would find the book, and I, too, would be nothing but a puddle of melted flesh, a fate I dreaded but perhaps deserved.
My punishment the next morning was to spend hours mucking out the horse stalls. Mrs. Haylam sent me out to the barn first thing in the morning without a crust of bread or a sip of tea. She must have known it would take longer to clean up after the horses if I was weak with hunger.
It was a mild sentence, due in no small part, I was sure, to Mary. Leave it to her to beg for understanding on my behalf. I had not argued when Mrs. Haylam handed down the verdict in the kitchen, since even I had no idea if I deserved to be punished for the previous night’s terror. There had been warnings about leaving the house at night, and though I had found Mary, I had also immediately failed to protect her. I couldn’t help but wonder if part of my current misery had come about because of Finch’s heroism.
My day was to get no better, and in fact, mucking the stables might be considered the high point. After I finished, I was expected to wait on Amelia Canny while she chose trimmings and bunting for the wedding, a task I would not wish on my cruelest enemy. I had no interest in her or her betrothed—each hour I spent away from the cellar was another hour wasted. While I dealt with horse dung, the clock ran down on my time to translate the journal.
Two hours after I had begun, the task was finished, and I wiped off my soiled boots and let my rucked-up skirts down. I needed a bath, badly, and something to eat. Cleaner now, the stables smelled strongly of horse and hay, with the sweeter note of grass and clover. The day was a gloomy one, the late-spring sun retreating behind a heavy swell of clouds. Still, that did not make it much cooler, and I felt damp all over with sweat.
At the very least I could justify a bath before meeting with Amelia—she would only complain about her serving girl reeking of horse.
I heard a soft tread on the boards above me, as if someone had just climbed into the hayloft. That had been my haunt for most of the autumn as I adjusted to my job at Coldthistle House, but I had no idea that others were also using it as a hideaway. Quietly, I circled around the horse stalls to the hay-strewn floor of the barn, finding the ladder to the loft was lowered. Someone was indeed above, and it sounded like he was crying.
There was no voice of warning this time, at least, but still, I had learned my lesson about bolting after the sound of sobs. It was broad daylight, however, and Bartholomew dozed outside. I could hear his grumbly snores, and satisfied myself by swearing he would wake and alert if any massive wolf creatures came dashing into the yard.
I put one foot on the hayloft ladder and waited. “Hello up there? Are you well?”
“It’s only me.”
Chijioke called back, a note of pain in his voice. I climbed up slowly, giving him the chance to shoo me off. But I reached the top and hoisted myself into the loft without him saying another word, and I found him pacing the low-ceilinged attic, a sheen of tears still sparkling on his cheeks.
“I could use the company,” he said with a sigh. He stopped near one of the low triangular windows and leaned against the beams. “I’ve no idea what I did wrong, Louisa. Or if . . . Sod it, why must this all be so confoundedly complicated?”
“What is?” I asked gently.
He touched his forehead to the broad beam above the window and his shoulders heaved, but he did not cry. “Mary . . . I know not what I did to vex her.”
“I only saw her last night in the woods,” I said. “What happened? God, I can understand if she’s cross with me after all I did, but you had nothing to do with it!”
Chijioke shook his head and ran a hand over his black hair, resting his knuckles against his nape. “This morning after breakfast I went to see her. I gave her the fish carving, aye? And she . . . Oh, Louisa, she said she didn’t want it, and that she was too tired to see me just then.”
Now he sounded on the verge of more tears, and I rushed over to him, putting just my fingertips on his arm. He leaned ever forward, as if curling up into a ball, wiping at his face as silent tears coursed down his cheeks.
“I had no idea you two were so close,” I said. “I suppose I don’t know a lot of things. But perhaps you should simply believe her, mm? If she is too tired, then . . . Well, she died. One can hardly blame her for wanting a rest. I’m sure she will come around when more time has passed.”
He shook his head fervently, pushing away from the window and turning to face me. His brows furrowed and he stared at the space over my left shoulder, as if too shy to meet my eyes. “No. . . . No. I looked in her eyes as she said it, as she gave me back the gift. There was nothing there. Nothing. Like . . . like she couldn’t even see me.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” I said, feeling pressure build in my chest. This was my fault. They had been finding some kind of joy in each other, and then I had come along and selfishly stolen it away by agreeing to a bargain I did not fully understand. Now she was back, but quite obviously changed. “Do you want me to speak with her? Let me help, please; if there is anything I can do, I’ll do it.”
Chijioke took in a great, spluttering breath and then let it out, at last nodding his head and looking away toward the window. “If you did speak to her, don’t tell her I asked you to. It would help to know . . . If it’s all past hope, then I’d like to know.”
“I’m certain it isn’t,” I told him, and he walked with me back toward the ladder. His tears had slowed. “You did not see the beast that attacked us, Chijioke, I’m hardly in my right mind after it, and it was intent on hurting Mary. She must be in shock.”
“Aye,” he said, helping me down the ladder. “I had thought to comfort her.”
“We all face fear so differently, she may be trying to spare you. You lost her once, and almost lost her again last night.”
“Indeed, lass, I heard you fired a gun at the mad creature that came after ye. Very brave.”
“Hardly brave, just desperate,” I replied with a shrug. “It was Finch who frightened the fell thing away.”
Chijioke gave a snort of derision at that and followed me nimbly down the ladder. Together we walked toward the open barn doors, where the cloud-dampened sunlight poured in. Poppy’s hound was waiting for us, snuffling in the hay curiously with his big brown ears flopped over his eyes. He looked up at us and sat, giving a quiet boof.
“Mrs. Haylam must be looking for us,” I sighed. “I’m to meet with Amelia, but not before a bath.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he teased. “If you wait a moment, I can distract Haylam so you can slip by. I’ll make up some— What the devil?”
Chijioke trailed off, taking one step out of the barn and into the yard. I had heard the footsteps and panting, too—little Poppy ran across the yard toward us, braids bouncing, hands still dusted with flour from the kitchens. She nearly collided with the dog as she skidded to a stop, looking between us with huge eyes.
“Slow down there,” Chijioke said, patting her back. “What’s all this haste about?”
“You both must . . . You both must come now.” She gulped for air, then flung her hand back towa
rd the house. “Amelia is dead,” she whispered. “Dead.”
“An accident?” Chijioke asked. “How?”
“No accident; it must be murder.” Poppy shook her head. “You must both come inside and quick.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was more than grim to find that Poppy had not exaggerated. Miss Amelia Canny was in fact dead, lying on her back in her bed, hands curled up on her chest as if she were an insect, her skin an oddish gray color. I had never seen anything quite like it. It was as if every drop of moisture had been squeezed from her body, or sucked out through her mouth somehow. That same mouth was open permanently in terror and her eyes were shut, though thick liquid oozed out of the creases.
As I looked at her, my guts twisted sharply, that ghostly woman’s voice filling my head again, emerging as if it were my own thoughts and not that of an unseen, unwanted interloper.
This will be you, it said. Run.
“Her eyeballs exploded,” Poppy whispered. I couldn’t tell if she was horrified or impressed. “I don’t think we’ve cleaned up something like this before.”
We certainly hadn’t. I felt more and more sure that I needed to find a way to protect Poppy, Chijioke, Mary, and Lee, especially if there was some kind of murderer on the loose. Just because they were touched by magic, it did not mean my friends were invulnerable. I closed my eyes, trying not to imagine myself dead and desiccated in my own bed. We stood in a semicircle around the bed with Chijioke in the middle. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Och, this was not supposed to happen,” he muttered. “They were to marry first.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why does it matter? She was going to die here eventually, yes?”
Poppy leaned around Chijioke and stuck out her lip at me. “Did you do it?”
“Me!?” I laughed with exasperation. “Of course not, I was in the barn mucking out the stalls and then with Chijioke. I couldn’t have done it.”
“It wasn’t any of us,” he cut in flatly. “Unless you have some secrets I don’t know about, Poppy. This doesn’t exactly look like your work.”
She tiptoed closer and leaned over the body. I shuddered, my stomach growing weak at the sight of Amelia. I had not liked her, certainly, but the look of a dead body was still nausea inducing. That, and it was hard to believe that a girl so young could deserve this end. She looked like a husk of a body, shriveled and frail.
Gradually, it dawned on me that this meant we were all in danger. If nobody on the staff had done this to Amelia, then who had? What would stop them from coming for us?
“We should tell Mrs. Haylam and search the house,” I said, turning away from the gruesome sight. “There must be an intruder or—”
“Or it’s one of those bloody Adjudicators,” Chijioke bit out. “Odds are this is their idea of a joke.”
“Come now,” I scolded, pointing to the bed. “You really think Finch could do something like this? He risked his life to help Mary and me last night. I know you don’t like him, but—”
“Sparrow is very mean,” Poppy said. “She could do it.”
“Exactly.” Chijioke began to pace, then went to Amelia’s writing desk and began rummaging through it. We had closed and locked the door behind us on the way in. “You don’t know them, Louisa. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“Ha. Fine. If you know them so well, could they do that?” I asked, still pointing at Amelia. “Are they known to fly about sucking the life out of people?”
Chijioke paused with one of Amelia’s letters in his hand. He tilted his head to the side, eyeing me over his shoulder. “I . . . Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Perfect!” I threw up my hands and stormed past him. It was time to alert the rest of the house.
“I’ve never seen a Judgment, but they can and do kill, Louisa, that much I know.” He slapped down the letter and followed. “Poppy? Stay here. Don’t let anyone through.”
“All right,” she said lightly, sitting down next to Amelia’s corpse and swinging her legs.
We locked the door behind us and left. Fortunately, the corridor outside her chambers was empty. The men had gone down to the spring for a soak, allowing us a narrow window to decide on a plan. Two Residents drifted down the stairs toward us, then turned and hovered outside Amelia’s door as if on guard.
“I need to ask you a question and I don’t want you to judge me for it,” I said softly, giving the Residents a wary glance. “Is it . . . possible that Lee could have done this?”
I felt guilty even considering it, and while I still worried about Lee, part of that worry extended to what this house and its dark secrets had done to him. What the book had made him become. Maybe finding a way to release him from the book’s power was as much about protecting all of us as it was about protecting Lee from himself.
Chijioke chewed the inside of his cheek and went swiftly down the stairs with me. I was at least happy to find that he wasn’t offended by my suggestion. Before Lee’s death and resurrection, he had been a gentle young man, but it was clear that coming back had changed him. I didn’t relish the idea that he was randomly killing guests, of course, but it seemed foolish not to at least entertain the idea.
“That’s a question for Mrs. Haylam,” he replied as we reached the foyer. “You best prepare yourself for her fury. This will not be a pleasant afternoon.”
“It’s just so strange,” I said with a sigh. “Finch and Sparrow were told to keep out of our business. Would they really do something so . . . so inciting?”
“I’d ask Mrs. Haylam that, too, lass.”
We did not find the housekeeper in the kitchens, but as we left and turned toward the dining room we heard her come in behind us. She must have read the urgency on our faces, for at once she stopped wiping her hands on her apron and squinted, then marched right up to us.
“Something strange has happened.”
“Amelia is dead.”
Chijioke and I blurted it out simultaneously, then both fell immediately silent. I had no idea what to expect from the old woman, but for an eternal moment she glared hard at Chijioke. She inhaled deeply through her nose and then pressed her hands together.
“Where is she?” Mrs. Haylam finally asked. I was not foolish enough to mistake her calm tone of voice for anything but the deepest disappointment. Her entire body was rigid, like a hound that’s scented a rabbit.
“In her chambers,” Chijioke said. I let him explain the rest, too. “Poppy found her, but it’s none of us that did it. I don’t know what could have done it. She’s all dried up and wrinkly, and her eyeballs, well, they popped.”
Her good eye glittered at that.
“And the men?”
“Still taking the waters,” he said.
She nodded for what felt like an entire minute, and then she took Chijioke by the forearm, pulling him closer. “You will go to town and raise Giles St. Giles. Louisa, you will help me forge a letter. Miss Amelia has cold feet and fled the house, we do not know where she has gone. That will keep the men busy looking while we clean up this mess.”
“But why? You’re going to kill them anyway.” I couldn’t help myself, and the words just came tumbling out stupidly. Mrs. Haylam reeled back as if I had slapped her. “Why not just have done now and get it over with?”
“That is not how we do things in this house,” she hissed, baring her teeth. “Now do as I say, you idiot girl.”
Chijioke shot me a warning look and then hurried away. I decided it would be best to heed that warning, and followed Mrs. Haylam as she swept through the foyer and up the stairs. The front door closed in our wake, and Chijioke was gone, off to rig up the cart and ride to Derridon. While we climbed the stairs, I fretted with my apron, feeling naked without the spoon around my neck.
“It pains me to ask this,” I said carefully. “But does Lee have powers now? Powers we haven’t seen him use before?”
Mrs. Haylam did not wave me off or chide me; she weighed the questio
n, head swaying back and forth as we reached the first-level landing. “The gift of shadow can be unexpected,” she told me. “Unnaturally long life is assured; greater strength is a common boon, too. I have never heard of one imbued with shadow turning healthy beings to husks.”
“But it’s not impossible,” I pressed.
“He will be questioned, girl,” Mrs. Haylam said irritably. We climbed another staircase and another, then found ourselves outside Amelia’s locked door. The housekeeper fished her huge key ring out and found the proper one. “And I will be having a long talk with our Upworlder guests, too.”
The Residents hovering outside the door came closer as if drawn by her mere presence.
“Go,” she told them calmly. “Alert me when the men are returned.”
The shadow creatures billowed away, off to find windows and vantages. They paid me no attention as they went, but the hall felt warmer in their absence. I watched her fit the key in and give a shove with her shoulder. At once, the smell of death wafted out to meet us and I winced.
“Chijioke said it could be something called a Judgment,” I said, hesitating to go in and be met with more and worse odors.
It did not seem to bother Mrs. Haylam, who locked us in and marched right up to the bed.
“Long has it been since I beheld a Judged body,” she said, leaning over Amelia. She inspected her so closely that it made me feel ill. I couldn’t imagine putting my face that close to a corpse willingly. “The Adjudicator seeks a confession and the soul will give it no matter what. All guilt is revealed. I do not know if death arises from the extraction or from the Adjudicator’s will to annihilate.”
“That sounds awful,” I whispered. Again, I could not imagine Finch doing such a thing. Chijioke could warn me a hundred more times about him, and still I would only be able to judge Finch on his actions toward me. By those standards, he had been nothing but kind.
“Do not be fooled by pretty words and shiny halos,” Mrs. Haylam murmured, peeling one of Amelia’s eyes open. I turned away. “They are the shepherd’s violent hand of justice, seekers and executors of truth. Amelia Canny’s crimes would more than justify her doom in their estimation.”
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