A Shadow Bright and Burning

by Jessica Cluess

  “I know where Genoa is.” Magnus liked to speak for his friends, which didn’t surprise me. Cellini bowed with a flourish.

  “I speak veddy good-ah Een-glish,” he said in a dreadful accent. “But my Italian is terrible,” he added in a perfectly normal voice, which made me laugh. He winked at me.

  I met the chess-playing fellows by the window as well. The small, pale one was Clarence Lambe; the large one, Isaac Wolff. They seemed pleasant and polite, but immediately returned to their game. Not the most social of creatures.

  “Where’s George?” Agrippa said, glancing about the room. “I was expecting a full welcome.”

  Of course, Lord Blackwood. My heart sped up as I looked back at the door, waiting for his entrance. I smoothed and fluffed my skirt.

  “He went out,” Cellini said. “His Lordship said he had important matters to attend to.” Cellini pursed his mouth and stuck his nose in the air. Magnus and Dee laughed.

  Agrippa frowned. “I asked everyone to be home this evening.”

  “Oh, it’s all right,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. I would meet him eventually, after all. And being an earl, he probably did have important matters.

  “Well,” Agrippa said, “it can wait until tomorrow. You look as if you could do with some rest, Miss Howel.” He eased up from the sofa.

  “Good night,” I said, curtsying to the gentlemen. They bowed in return, Dee laughing a little. I suppose this was as strange to them as it was to me.

  Agrippa and I climbed the stairs to the third floor and made a right down a long hallway. Agrippa gestured to a door at the end. “This is the Rose Room. I trust you’ll be comfortable.” He smiled, but his eyes kept nervously flickering toward the door. “I shall have a maid come up and assist you. Good night.” He bowed and left me to enter the room on my own.

  Agrippa had struck me as an old bachelor, so I was surprised to find a room with pale pink walls and a dusky rose bedspread. A mirrored vanity sat to one side of the room, laden with glass bottles of scents and oils, a silver-backed brush, and an ivory comb. A china pitcher and bowl with delicate floral patterns waited on a table, along with a cut-glass vase of roses. The fire in the white marble hearth blazed. Having a fire laid only for me was such a luxury that I nearly began to cry. At Brimthorn, I’d gone to bed shivering more often than not.

  “Beg pardon, miss.” I turned to find a maid in a cap and apron. She opened the wardrobe and laid out a white cotton nightgown. I sat on the bed, not knowing what to do. How did one go about having a maid? Was I supposed to talk to her, or was that not allowed? I smiled at her, shy, and was grateful when she smiled back.

  Moments later, I lay beneath the pink silk coverlet and basked in the quiet of the room. Only a few nights before, I’d been in the attic, sharing a bed with Jane Lawrence. The teachers and children all slept together in one long dormitory, and there was never any peace, with everyone’s wheezing and snoring. The silence here was almost disconcerting. But I’d never been this comfortable before in my life, and it had been such a long day. I closed my eyes, and sleep carried me away.

  —

  THE NEXT DAY, I WOKE FIRMLY tangled in blankets. My neck was stiff, and I groaned as I sat up. My hair hung in my face. How long had I been asleep? Someone pushed the bed’s drapes aside. It was the maid from the previous night.

  “Good afternoon, then, miss!” she said, smiling. I blinked stupidly at her. “Almost evening, really. Nice to see you awake. Not that you can’t have a lie-in, but Master did want you up soon. An hour more and I’d have had to shake you myself. Wouldn’t have liked to, of course. After the journey you’ve had, I think you should be allowed to sleep until next year.” She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, a girl with a heart-shaped face and strawberry-blond hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I croaked, rubbing my eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Lilly. I’m to be your maid till Master sees fit to hire a lady’s maid.” She never stopped beaming. “You’re from Yorkshire, they say. Is it pleasant there? Seems dangerous nowadays, but I always wanted to go. ’Course, can’t just up and leave on holiday when you’re in service, can you? And not when there’s a war on, at any rate. Maybe one day it’ll end, though I can’t see how. Still, suppose it’s not for me to wonder. Master says I’m to have you cleaned and ready by half past seven. My, but you’re dark. Not that it’s bad—I think dark women look mysterious—but Miss Gwen’s colors may not suit you, but we can try nonetheless.”

  I’d never known a girl to talk so much. “Thank you,” I said as Lilly opened the wardrobe and pulled out several beautiful dresses, laying them on the bed beside me. “Are you certain Miss Gwen won’t be irritated with my taking her gowns? Or her room, for that matter?”

  Lilly startled. “Miss Gwen was the Master’s daughter. She’s been gone these last four years.”

  “Oh.” My hand flew to my mouth in embarrassment. Poor Agrippa. “I’m so sorry. How did she die?”

  “Scarlet fever. I never knew her, as I came to work here afterward, but all the servants loved her.”

  “I hate to think of Master Agrippa disturbing this room for me.” I got out of the bed, feeling almost guilty for sleeping there.

  “No, it was no trouble. This room’s turned down regular as clockwork. Just as when she was alive.” Lilly shook her head. “Anyway, I’ve hot water and lavender soap for your wash. Afterward, we’ll dress you for the gentlemen.”

  “What gentlemen?”

  “Oh, it’s quite an occasion. The Imperator’s coming, you know, along with another from the Order. Master says they’re to evaluate you.” Lilly smiled and helped me prepare my toilette. She’d brought up tea and sandwiches, but I felt too nervous to eat.

  The Imperator was the bloody prime minister of English magic. What if I failed their test? What if I truly were no sorcerer? And if I disappointed them…what exactly would become of me?

  Lilly helped me into a sky-blue dress, sat me before the vanity mirror, and arranged my hair. “Sorry if it’s awful, miss. Haven’t had much time for learning hair.” She pinned it up, but left two loose curling sections by my cheeks. With a final flourish, she sprayed a citrus eau de cologne and clapped her hands. “Oh, miss. Maybe the dress is no great color for you, but you do look lovely.”

  The girl in the mirror couldn’t be me. At Brimthorn, I’d dressed in a shapeless gray uniform that aged me by at least ten years, but I’d never given great thought to my appearance. Now my shoulders were bare, and the sleeves belled out at my elbows so that my hands seemed small and dainty in the folds of cloth.

  “Lilly, you’re a miracle worker,” I breathed, admiring the fit of the dress. The maid blushed. I pulled my shoulders back and nodded at my reflection. “I think it’s time.” Stomach lurching, I left the room and went down the stairs, praying I didn’t trip over my skirt. Once on the second floor, I paused and clutched the banister. I was utterly lost. There were ten doors, all closed. Which way was the bloody parlor? I looked up and down the hall. Perhaps I should just start wandering until I found someone.

  To my left, I heard voices. One of the doors was open a crack. Relieved, I went to it and was about to knock when I heard my name. I stopped and peered inside. The room seemed to be a small study with a desk and several bookshelves taking up much of the space. Two gentlemen were discussing me before the fireplace.

  One of them was Agrippa. With his back to me, he said, “I’ve no business ordering you about, George, especially as you’re nearly commended. But when I ask you to receive someone, you will be home to do so. Is that understood?”

  The fellow who stood before Agrippa was a handsome sort, with a triangular face and black hair. Agrippa had called him George. Heavens, this was Lord Blackwood at last. He was so young.

  Colegrind and the teachers had spoken of Lord Blackwood with such reverence. My whole childhood, I’d been reminded how blessed I was to live under an earl’s protection. And here I was, about to meet him. I gripped the doo
rknob, trying to steady my nerves, and was about to go in when Blackwood said, “All due respect, sir, there’s no need to wait eagerly on a simple country girl. She will keep.” He sounded bored as he rested one elbow on the mantelpiece.

  I bit my tongue.

  “I never thought you a rude fellow,” Agrippa said in a huff. “While you live here, you will be respectful of her position.”

  With a shrug, Blackwood continued, “I’m sure she is intelligent and charming, just as you wrote to us. But I don’t know what you think to do with her.”

  “Train her for commendation, obviously,” Agrippa said. He sounded angry.

  Blackwood shook his head. His expression was cold. “We’ll do our best, but with her background, I doubt she’ll be capable.”

  My face felt flaming hot. I had to dig my fingers into the palms of my hands, lest the fire come upon me suddenly.

  Agrippa said, “You had better keep these thoughts to yourself when you meet the young lady.”

  Taking the opportunity provided, I knocked and entered the room. Lord Blackwood casually looked me up and down. Judging everything he saw, no doubt.

  Agrippa made the smallest, softest noise and glanced away. I winced, remembering that I was wearing his dead child’s dress. Oh God. Still, it wasn’t as though I could take it off—not now.

  “Good evening,” I said. My voice didn’t waver. Excellent.

  “You must be Miss Howel.” Blackwood sounded disinterested.

  The bloody cheek of it all. I forced a smile onto my face. “And you must be Lord Blackwood. A pleasure.” I curtsied, very prettily, if I may say so. “How nice to finally meet my benefactor. I grew up at the Brimthorn School for Girls, you know. On Sorrow-Fell lands.”

  “Yes, I know where the school is.” He looked at me. His eyes were green and tilted up at the corners, almost like a cat’s.

  “I only mention it because I can’t remember ever seeing you before. So many Brimthorn girls always wanted a glimpse of our benefactor. To think I had to come all the way to London to find you.” My voice was bright, my smile easy. I wasn’t going to let him see me rattled.

  Blackwood sniffed. “I’m sorry to have been absent. Sadly, only the most pressing matters can command my attention in wartime.”

  A spark glinted in my hand. I managed to quash it, but Blackwood noticed.

  Agrippa extended his arm to me. “Shall we go to the parlor?” he said. We walked out at a leisurely pace, Blackwood behind us. I clenched my jaw. The Earl of Sorrow-Fell was nothing like I’d hoped he would be.

  —

  I DOUBT SHE’LL BE CAPABLE, BLACKWOOD had said. As though it were already decided. My frayed nerves felt stretched to the breaking point when we entered the parlor to find the rest of the boys waiting. The hair on my neck prickled as I watched them appreciate my newly glamorous appearance. Cellini raised an eyebrow. Dee nudged Magnus, grinning.

  Agrippa guided me over to the sofa to meet the two gentlemen from the Order.

  One of them stood and introduced himself as Augustus Palehook, master warder of the city. “Aren’t you a pretty sight, my dear,” he said, bending over my hand. “Such loveliness is a relief to tired old eyes.” His voice was soft but not gentle. He turned to Agrippa. “And Cornelius. Always a pleasure. What a suit,” he said, eyes flickering over Agrippa’s coat. “Mmm, what a cravat. Is this Egyptian blue? You are always clever in your dress.”

  “As are you, of course,” Agrippa said, bowing. On the surface, Palehook didn’t appear the intimidating sort. No one would cower before a thin fellow with receding red hair in battle. But the way Agrippa seemed uneasy around him, the way Palehook smiled as if he had garnered a point in some private game, indicated he wasn’t a man to be trifled with.

  My head buzzed as Agrippa then turned and presented me to Horace Whitechurch, the Imperator himself. He did not rise, did not reach to kiss my hand. I’m not sure what I’d expected from the head of English magic. Some giant, perhaps, with the power of nature coursing through his veins. Instead I found an elderly man with wet black eyes. I curtsied to him. He didn’t smile.

  “Shall we begin?” he said.

  Impressing him was of the utmost importance. Palehook grasped my hand. His touch was soft and dry. “Are you ready, my dear?”

  “Yes,” I said, though it was a lie.

  “Come, then.” He led me to a circle of seven stones arranged on the rug before the hearth. The stones were smooth and black, and each bore a different symbol: a dagger, a circle with a cross on top, a triangle, a curl of flame, an eye, a rectangle, and a five-pointed star. How strange to see these odd items lying on an Oriental rug before a fireplace in a proper London home. Palehook gestured to the circle. “Step inside.”

  My heartbeat quickening, I did as he asked.

  Agrippa knelt before the two sorcerers. “Masters, I offer Henrietta Howel for evaluation, to receive instruction in our most learned arts and to take up arms against the enemies of the Order and the kingdom.” Whitechurch gestured for him to rise.

  They placed a bowl of water to my left and a plain brown rock to my right. Before me, they put one white feather. A candle was lit behind me. Once these preparations were done, they drew together and watched.

  “Clear your mind,” Agrippa said. “Make yourself a vessel for the magic.”

  My heart beat faster. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “You do nothing. In a circle of the seven stones, the elements will recognize a true sorcerer.” This was a baptism, a rite of passage every sorcerer boy went through when he was six months old. They all fell silent, and the ceremony began.

  Nothing happened.

  A full minute ticked by as they stared at me. Whitechurch coughed. Palehook narrowed his eyes. Even Agrippa began to twitch, oh so subtly.

  The boys frowned, whispered to one another. Magnus at least smiled at me. Blackwood, of course, wasn’t watching. He stared into the fireplace.

  They would cast me out in another minute. I could picture Agrippa wincing, ringing for a carriage to take me back to Yorkshire.

  My hands began to prickle with heat. An image jumped into my mind, unbidden: the water, rising in a ball. Agrippa had told me to leave my mind blank, but I focused on that image, clung to it. An instant later, the room gasped as one. I glimpsed the water out of the corner of my eye. It hovered in the air, a perfect, round orb. I lost my concentration, and it splashed back into the bowl.

  Everyone murmured in excitement. This was what they wanted. I looked at the feather and imagined it lifting up, up into the air on a current of wind….

  My skirt rustled as a breeze swept through the room. The feather danced on the current. The boys applauded, even whooped with joy. My stomach turned. I knew that I wasn’t doing this the way they’d wanted me to. My hands grew even hotter.

  I imagined the rock beside me leaping up and down three times. It did just that. The boys stomped their feet. Agrippa laughed. Whitechurch even raised the corners of his mouth in a thin smile. Only Palehook did not rejoice. He watched me through lidded eyes, as though he was trying to decide on something.

  I knew they wanted something from the candle, but the fire under my skin demanded its own way. For the first time since I’d discovered my ability, I could use it without fear. I exploded into flame, a wash of warmth over my whole body. Everyone gasped. It felt glorious, but it was dangerous. Quickly, I tightened my control and the fire disappeared. The carpet was a bit singed, though. Magnus ran over and smothered the dying flames with his coat, laughing.

  “You know how to put on a show, Miss Howel,” he said with a wink when I helped him to his feet. The boys cheered for me. I’d done it, somehow.

  “I should like to see one more thing,” Palehook said, standing. Everyone fell silent. “Mr. Magnus, I should like to see her with a stave. A simple maneuver, of course. Merely have her split the rock in half.” Palehook reached into his pocket and pulled out a needle.

  Before I could ask, Magnus took the needl
e and pricked his finger, so that a drop of blood welled on the tip. He reached for my face. “What are you doing?” I said, backing away.

  “You haven’t a stave of your own yet,” Magnus said, his voice soothing. “It’s all right.” I stilled and let him put his blood on my lips, though I flushed with the strangeness of it. He touched my forehead, tracing a few lines on my skin.

  Magnus handed me his stave. It was almost two feet long, with odd images decorating it. It wasn’t as heavy as I’d thought it would be. I twirled it about a few times, entranced. Cradling it to my chest, I inspected the line of stars that someone had carved with great delicacy.

  Taking up the plain brown rock, Magnus held it toward me and said, “Swing the stave in one fast arc, as though you’re chopping wood. It should split the rock down the center.”

  I’d never swung an ax before, and at first I felt like I was trying to smack him with the stave and not doing an especially good job. I focused. I wouldn’t fail when I was so close. When I next brought the stave up to swing, I pictured the rock shattering in my frustration.

  Magnus covered his eyes as the stone exploded into dusty fragments. There were gasps throughout the room, but a smattering of applause as well.

  “It worked. Well, in a way,” Magnus said, laughing while he dusted his hands. “You must have a great deal of power.” He gave me a handkerchief to wipe off his blood. “Congratulations, Miss Howel.”

  “Congratulations indeed,” Agrippa said, coming forward. His eyes seemed to glow. “I believe you have the makings of a true sorcerer.”

  The boys rushed in on me, gripping my hand and shaking my arm as if they’d wrench it free. Magnus caught me about the waist and whirled me in a circle.

  “Julian! Put that young lady down,” Agrippa said, laughing.

  Blackwood was the only one who didn’t join the merriment. He watched me from the fireplace, his great green eyes narrowed. I turned from him, cool as could be. Let him glare.

  The Imperator stood and stepped forward. The room quieted.