by Gemma Holden
Raiden unfolded it and gently smoothed out the creases. This cutting was dated almost twelve years ago. The faded print told how a fire had broken out in a young woman’s bedroom. The door had been locked from inside the room. The Duke of Exeter had been passing at the time, but he had been unable to save her. The woman’s name was Lady Helena Feralis - her mother.
Raiden looked from one cutting to the other. The circumstances were too similar to be a coincidence. She had been five years old when her mother died. She was asleep in the nursery at the time, but she had been woken by her mother’s screams. They were told afterwards the door had been locked from inside the room, but the key was still in the door, so why hadn’t she escaped?
The newspapers assumed it had been a tragic accident, but Raiden knew differently. Someone else had been in the room with her mother that night. Her mother hadn’t come to kiss her goodnight, so she had crept down to her bedroom. She had heard voices; her mother’s and someone else’s. Her mother had been pleading with someone. Marielle had found her and taken her back to bed. Later, the screaming had started.
Raiden traced the words of the article with her finger. She had never heard of James Matherson before. He was no one of significance. He didn’t appear to have any magic or money. But it appeared whoever was responsible for her mother’s death, might also be responsible for his death. If she could find out who had killed James Matherson, she might finally find out who had killed her mother and why.
She had always assumed it was a coincidence the Duke of Exeter was passing. As a fire witch, he could have sensed the fire and come to help. Now it occurred to her as a fire witch, he could also have been responsible for starting the fire in the first place. The two deaths were virtually similar and in both cases the Duke was involved.
But why would Blaize’s father want to kill her mother?
She gathered up the newspaper cuttings and placed them back in the book. There was nothing she could do about it. If she had come into her family’s magic she could have summoned back her mother’s ghost and asked her who had been in the room with her that night. But she hadn’t and it was beginning to look like she never would.
Conscious of Miss Grimble’s warning at dinner, she blew out the candle and went to check her window was shut tight. Her bedroom was on the highest floor, but there were demons like Spring Heeled Jack who could leap this high. The street below was empty except for a young man. Raiden rested her elbows on the windowsill. He wore no hat or gloves. His hair was a brilliant white. Perhaps he was an ice witch like Glacia. As if sensing her staring, he raised his head. He seemed to be looking directly at her window. She moved back and drew the curtains. She must be imagining it. She lifted a corner and looked through the gap; he was still staring at her window. She let the curtain fall back into place. Perhaps he had seen her watching him.
She climbed into bed and pulled the covers up around her and tucked her cold feet against the brimstone. There was nothing she could do about her mother’s death. If she had magic she could have done something, but she didn’t and she needed to accept she might not ever have any. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with her; maybe this was how she was meant to be. Most of the population had no magic. Maybe it wasn’t that she was flawed or defective, just that she wasn’t special. She was ordinary, just like nearly everyone else. She wished her grandmother could see it that way and still love her anyway.
Chapter Three
The sound of feet pounding down the corridor and muffled voices woke her. Raiden opened her eyes; her ghosts usually made no sound as they moved about. Her gaze focused on the faded wallpaper and frayed curtains, not the heavy, green silk drapes of her bedroom. She groaned and pulled the covers over her head. She was back at school.
She lay there listening to the murmur of voices in the room below and the sound of water moving through the pipes. She had forgotten how much noise the living made. She liked hearing the noise, instead of the silence she usually woke up to. It meant she wasn’t alone anymore.
Light flooded into the room as the curtains were pulled open. Raiden lifted up the covers to see Marielle moving around the room. She took out Raiden’s fencing clothes from the wardrobe and laid them at the bottom of the bed. The ghost smiled at her, before she disappeared through the wall.
Raiden threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed. She stumbled to the bathroom and nearly collided with Heather who was just coming out. She quickly washed her face and carried out the necessities. Back in her room, she dressed in her fencing clothes which consisted of a tennis skirt and white blouse. She took her hairbrush to the window. The strange boy from last night had gone. The street below teemed with people. From this high up, all she could see were the tops of their hats and bonnets. It was impossible to tell if they were human or demon. When she was younger, she had made it a game to try and guess what they were. The dead were easy to spot; they ambled along, while the ghosts walked through things. A lady passed below, wrapped in a heavy black cloak. The rim of her wide bonnet concealed her face. She walked normally; a human still living, Raiden guessed. The lady paused; muck covered the street. She picked up her skirts to avoid the filth and Raiden saw a brief flash of her feet, only they weren’t feet. They were thick and rounded like hooves. She was a human with demon blood.
Raiden tied her hair back with a black ribbon and sat on the bed to pull on her boots which Peters had cleaned in the night. She checked her reflection in the mirror and then hurried to the sitting room to join the others. It was too small to serve as a bedroom. There was just enough room for a table and four chairs and an old sofa in front of the fireplace. But it did have a carpet that, although thin and threadbare, covered the whole of the floor.
Cassade sat at the table reading a newspaper. Her golden brown hair was braided and coiled around her head for fencing. Peters handed Raiden a cup of tea as she took the seat opposite Cassade. She wrapped her cold hands around the cup; it was lukewarm. In the centre of the table was a plate piled with cold toast. Peters brought breakfast up for them, so they didn’t have to go all the way down to the hall, but the food was always cold by the time it got here.
Cassade set the newspaper down with a sigh. “There was a fire at a factory yesterday; over a dozen ogres were killed.” She smeared butter onto a piece of toast. “It’s not fair. If it was humans, people would be outraged, but they’re just ogres so no one cares.”
Cassade’s mother belonged to every charitable society imaginable, for the welfare of everything from ogres to trolls. Cassade was just as passionate about reform. She even thought women and demons should be able to vote - but not the dead. It was the only thing she and Raiden disagreed about.
Raiden drew the newspaper toward her. She wanted to see if there was any mention of James Matherson. She unfolded it and scanned the tiny print, not expecting to find anything. Her attention fixed on a small advert. Smallpeace, Dawes and Pumprey, the solicitors where her cousin worked were mentioned. It said they were settling the affairs of a Mr James Matherson, recently deceased. All enquiries were to be directed to them.
Her cousin, Aren, had been disinherited from the family. He now had to work to earn a living. It was strange his firm had been chosen to deal with the case. The solicitors only dealt with the living dead. All their clients were either zombies or ghosts. James Matherson had died violently; it was possible he hadn’t crossed over. He could be a ghost. Raiden wouldn’t have to worry about the fact she couldn’t summon him back if he was already here. If he was a ghost, then she could speak to him. He could tell her what had happened that night.
The bell began to ring. Cassade got up to go to class. “Are you coming?”
“I’ll meet you in the hall,” Raiden said.
She hurried to her bedroom. She sat down at her dressing table and pulled off the heavy black cloth from her mirror. “Aren Feralis,” she said. At first nothing happened, then gradually her reflection faded away and the surface turned grey. Aren must have his mirror covered.
She couldn’t contact him that way. She picked up her quill pen and quickly scribbled a note to Aren, saying she needed to see him. She rushed back to the sitting room, where Peters was still clearing away the dishes from breakfast.
“Take this to Aren.” He nodded and disappeared through the wall. She wanted to summon Tobin and have him take her to see her cousin, but Aren had been disinherited; she wasn’t meant to have anything more to do with him. If her grandmother found out she had been to see him, she would be furious. Besides, he might not know anything more than what the newspaper had said. The bell rang again. Reluctantly, Raiden left the room and headed down the stairs. She was going to be late for her first lesson.
****
The hall seemed larger in the daylight. The tables had been pushed against the wall and laid out with foils, épées and sabres. The fireplaces were unlit as always. Raiden rubbed her cold hands together. There were twenty girls in her class. They were spread out around the hall, standing in their groups of friends. Cassade stood alone, a foil in her hand, practising her lunges. Heather was talking with Bryony and Marigold. Blaize stood with Glacia and another girl. Her name was Gale Aeris and she was an air witch. Raiden hadn’t seen her at dinner last night; she must have arrived later. Her blonde hair moved around her shoulders, stirred by an invisible wind.
They all hushed down as the door at the far end of the hall opened and Mrs Lynch strode in. “Good morning, girls.” Mrs Lynch wore a skirt and white blouse. She marched to the centre of the room, where she stood inspecting them. Satisfied, she nodded. “We will be working with the foils today. You know what to do. Get into pairs.”
They started to put on the heavy protective coats and face masks. Raiden approached Mrs Lynch. “Mrs Lynch…”
“What is it, Miss Feralis?”
“I wanted to speak you about the body I found. I wondered if you had done anything about him yet.”
“He was taken away by the authorities this morning.”
“Will they find out who he is? He might have a family. They might be looking for him.”
“That is no longer your concern. In future you will not bring any more dead bodies to school.”
“Yes, Mrs Lynch,” Raiden said.
“I understand you’re going to see the Duchess this afternoon. I don’t think there’s any need to inform her about this incident. The corpse is with the police now.”
“I understand.” She was relieved she wouldn’t have to explain to her grandmother about the corpse.
Mrs Lynch strode away. Cassade handed her a foil. Raiden put on her face mask and took up her position opposite her friend. They began sparring slowly. They were both cold and stiff. They took it in turns to attack while the other defended. Raiden saw an opening and lunged. Cassade failed to block her and Raiden scored a hit.
“Very good, Miss Feralis,” Mrs Lynch called as she made her rounds
Fencing was one of the few things she did well. She trained for hours at a time with Pierre, one of her family’s ghosts. There was little else to do when she was alone at her family’s estates in Northumberland.
They sparred back and forth for a while. Suddenly, Cassade stopped and pulled off her face mask.
“What is it?” Raiden asked. She turned to see what Cassade was looking at. Glacia and Marigold were fencing. The blonde earth witch was trying her best, but Glacia was far more skilled. Glacia lunged. She hit Marigold in the chest and again on the side of her thigh where she had no protection. Cassade shook her head in disgust. They were meant to only hit on the chest and to strike only once. Raiden looked around for Mrs Lynch, but she was on the other side of the hall. Glacia forced Marigold back. Marigold stumbled and fell to the fall.
Glacia pulled off her face mask. She saw Raiden and Cassade watching and raised an eyebrow, daring them to say something as she walked away. Raiden and Cassade helped Marigold to her feet. She was cradling her wrist.
“Are you hurt?” Raiden asked.
Marigold shook her head. “No. It’s just bruised.”
“You should tell Mrs Lynch,” Cassade said. “She’s wasn’t fighting fairly.”
“Please don’t say anything.”
“Why are you girls just standing there?” Now there was no need for her, Mrs Lynch had appeared. “Marigold pair up with Cassade.”
“That leaves Raiden on her own,” Cassade said.
Mrs Lynch looked around the room until her eyes fell on Glacia, who stood leaning against the wall, examining her nails. “She can partner Glacia.” They made no move to do what she had said. “Glacia, you’re partnering Raiden,” Mrs Lynch called.
Cassade hesitated.
“It’s fine,” Raiden said. Cassade nodded and went with Marigold, although she kept looking back over her shoulder. Raiden tensed as Glacia pushed away from the wall and sauntered over.
Glacia didn’t say anything to her. She gave a short nod and then put on her mask and took up her position facing her. It was only the icy look in her pale eyes that told Raiden she wasn’t happy about being paired with her.
Glacia lunged and Raiden parried. They didn’t start slow, but began in earnest. Glacia was a good match; they were both of a similar ability. Glacia was constantly on the attack, trying to find an opening. They were supposed to take turns attacking while the other defended, but Glacia was lightning fast, never giving Raiden a chance to attack back.
Glacia lunged and hit Raiden on her leg. Raiden cried out. She was supposed to only strike her on the padded jacket. The blunt edge of the foil meant she couldn’t break the skin, but she could bruise her.
“Girls.” Mrs Lynch had finally stopped pretending to be oblivious to what was going on in the hall. “I think you should stop now.”
While Raiden hesitated, Glacia lunged again, giving her no chance to defend herself. The foil was knocked from Raiden’s hand, leaving her defenceless. Glacia lunged, but before she could strike, she was picked up and flung back into the air.
“That’s enough.” Mrs Lynch stepped between them. “Gale, you can put her down now.”
Gale lowered her hands and Glacia dropped slowly to the floor
“We got carried away,” Glacia said, as she took off her mask and shook out her long white hair.
Raiden didn’t take her eyes from Glacia. The ice witch met her gaze and smiled smugly.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Mrs Lynch said. “Class is over.”
Glacia shouldered by her as she walked over to Blaize. Raiden didn’t react. She went to put the protective clothing and the foil back on the table.
“You need to speak to Grumble about them,” Cassade said, as they headed up to their bedrooms to change. They had to hurry; their rooms were the furthest away.
“I can’t,” Raiden said. She couldn’t bear to go to Miss Grimble. What would she say? That Blaize and Glacia were being mean to her? It sounded so petty and childish.
“You need to do something. It isn’t fair.”
It was easy for Cassade to say that; she was never the target of Blaize’s hatred. For some reason it was always Raiden they tormented. It had always been that way, from the very first day she had come to the school. What was so wrong with her to make them hate her so?
****
The last lesson before she had to leave to see her grandmother was French. The classroom overlooked a small courtyard filled with dead roses and tangled vines. Rows of tables and chairs faced a bare grey wall with a single nail in the centre. There was nothing else in the room except a few empty shelves.
No one said anything as they waited for Miss Radbone to arrive. She had been one of the teachers that had been absent from dinner the night before. The door opened and Grub came in, bending double to get through the doorway. Tucked under his arm was a large oval mirror which he hung on the bare wall at the front of the classroom.
The mirror’s surface gradually faded away and an image began to form. A young woman sat behind a desk. Only her top half was visible. Black hair hung limply
around her pale face and her large dark eyes stared down at the desk in front of her. Raiden had seen stuffed creatures at her godfather’s museum with the same glassy look in their eyes. No one knew what Miss Radbone had done to be imprisoned inside a mirror. It was the harshest punishment reserved for witches by the Inquisition.
Although the Inquisition had allowed Miss Radbone to teach at the school, Raiden didn’t think they had done it out of kindness. She was a warning, of what would happen to them if they were to break the law. They might have magic and wealth, but they were not more powerful than the Inquisition.
“Bonjour girls,” Miss Radbone said, her voice listless.
“Bonjour madam,” they echoed back.
“Mr Grub, wait outside until I call you.” She didn’t look at the ogre as she spoke. She waited until he had left the room before she began to talk about verbs and the second participle. She never looked directly at them. Her gaze was fixed on the back of the room, above their heads. Her voice was toneless as she recited the lesson.
The bell rang. Miss Radbone broke off in the middle of her sentence. “You may go,” she said. She stared down at the table in front of her while they got up to leave.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Raiden said to Cassade.
“Raiden,” Cassade called. Raiden turned back. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t have any magic. Don’t let your grandmother tell you otherwise.”
It did matter. It mattered a great deal, especially to her grandmother and the rest of society. Instead, Raiden nodded. “I won’t be long.”
Marielle was waiting in her room, ready to help her change. She had laid out a black pinstripe hooded dress on the bed. Marielle quickly helped her into the dress. Raiden flinched at the touch of her cold fingers as she did up the buttons down the back. The ghost picked up a brush and began to brush out Raiden’s hair. Raiden winced as her hair was twisted and pulled. Marielle was usually much gentler. When she was younger, she had always known when she had been summoned to see her grandmother by how tightly Marielle had braided her hair.