by Gemma Holden
“Who threw that?” No one answered. The room had gone silent. Mr Crandell picked up the pen from the floor. “Whose pen is this?”
Raiden raised her hand.
“You think this is amusing, Miss Feralis?”
“No, Mr Crandell.” She glanced back to look at Gale. The air witch was pretending to be absorbed with her book. Blaize sat smirking.
“I will be speaking to Miss Grimble about this.” He turned back to the board. “Let’s get back to the lesson. I’m sure there are some students who are here to learn.” He picked up the chalk. “Now, Harold had rushed south after fighting the Troll King at Stamford Bridge.”
Her books were suddenly flung off the table and crashed to the floor. She wasn’t quick enough to grab them.
Mr Crandell put his chalk down. “That’s it. Get out of my classroom.”
Raiden rose and bent to pick up her books. The other girls were all looking at her, but no one would meet her eyes. Mr Crandell followed her out of the room. “How dare you interrupt my class! Is this some pathetic attempt to get attention for yourself? You can go and explain your behaviour to Miss Grimble.”
“I --” She didn’t get the chance to defend herself as he shut the door. She hugged her books tightly to her chest. She walked down the corridor and sat down on the stairs. Wet tears splashed onto her books. She rubbed them away with the back of her hand.
She felt a presence settle beside her. A phantom hand gently patted her arm. Mr Smith was trying to comfort her.
“I hate this place,” she said. “I hate it so much.”
He squeezed her hand. He seemed to sympathise.
After what seemed like hours, the bell finally rang and girls came streaming out of the classrooms. She went down to meet Cassade.
“You have to speak to Grumble about them,” Cassade said.
Raiden didn’t answer. Grumble would never believe her anyway.
“Raiden, this isn’t simple name calling or being spiteful,” Cassade continued. “You need to tell someone. It can’t go on like this.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Raiden --”
“We had better get to English.”
She walked on ahead to the classroom. She hesitated at the door. A sick feeling filled her stomach at the thought of having to face Blaize again. You’re a Feralis, she thought to herself. They’re not afraid of anything. She raised her head and squared her shoulders and went in.
As soon as the bell rang, she hurried up to her room to change before she went to meet Aren. She would miss Miss Radbone’s class, but Miss Radbone wouldn’t notice her absence. She never noticed anything. Raiden changed her dress and shoved her arms into her coat. The imp sat on her dressing table, playing with a black ribbon. He had been so quiet; Raiden had forgotten he was even there.
“What am I going to do with you?” She crouched down before him. He hadn’t caused any further damage, but he couldn’t stay here.
“Deg stay. Deg gud,” the imp said.
“Is Deg your name?” Raiden asked.
He nodded his head and banged his small fist on his chest. “Deg.”
Raiden grabbed the pouches of bones and ashes and tied them at her waist. “Stay here while I’m gone,” she said to Deg as she left the room. She followed the stream of girls down the stairs, but instead of going to class, she slipped out the front door.
Aren was waiting by her carriage. “How is your head?” she asked.
“Better.” He helped her in, and then took the seat across from her. “I’m not sure I should be taking you to this place. Not after what happened yesterday with Matherson.”
“It’s too late now,” Raiden said. “You’re stuck with me.”
Aren smiled at her. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you all, even mother and Elissa.”
Raiden didn’t know what to say. He always seemed so happy when he talked about working for a living, but was that the truth or just what he wanted her to think?
“I could speak to my grandmother for you or perhaps Xan could do something,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. It’s too late for that. It’s between me and mother.”
They pulled up to a row of run-down terraced houses. The area was poor. The street was filled with mud and excrement. A woman and a little girl walked past in ragged clothes. The child skipped along, holding tightly to her mother’s hand. Tiny horns jutted out from beneath the child’s matted hair. She must have demon blood; her family probably couldn’t afford to have the horns removed.
“The boarding house is the third one along,” Aren said. “The one with the dirty windows. That’s where Matherson lived for the last year before he moved into the house we went to yesterday.”
“Did you find out where he got his money from?” Raiden asked.
“No. I’ve made enquires, but it hasn’t turned up anything yet. Let’s go and see what his former landlady knows.”
She took his arm and he led her across the road. She couldn’t avoid the filth. The hem of her dress was soon splattered with mud. A carriage was parked further down the street. The driver sat bundled up in his box drinking from a flask, his collar turned up against the cold. The carriage had no windows and the horses didn’t move; they stood still as if frozen. Bone was visible on one of the horse’s shoulders where the flesh had rotted away. She realised they weren’t frozen; they were dead. They were zombie horses.
Aren knocked on the door. The door opened a crack and a woman peered out.
“Good day,” Aren said. “My name is Aren Feralis. I’m from Smallpeace, Dawes and Pumprey, the solicitors.” He took a card from his pocket and offered it to the woman. A thin arm emerged to take it. “I’m here about James Matherson. I believe he rented a room from you.”
“He died,” the woman said. She started to close the door.
Aren put his foot against it. “I’m aware of that. My firm has been hired to settle his affairs. I wish to see the room he rented.”
The woman opened the door. Straggly grey hair hung down past her shoulders and her teeth were stained and rotted. She clutched a yellow lace shawl around her. It had most likely once been white, but few things stayed white in London without the use of fairy salts. The pollution turned everything yellow.
The woman sniffed. “Some gentleman has already come to look at it. Why do you want to see it again?”
“No one from my firm has been here,” Aren said. “Did this man give his name?”
“Why should I tell you?”
Raiden nudged Aren. He looked at her and she inclined her head. He looked puzzled. “Give her some money,” she whispered.
“You want me to bribe her?”
The woman stood waiting. She could hear what they were saying. Eventually, Aren reached into his pocket and drew out a few coins. The woman snatched them greedily. “You’d best come in. We don’t want people talking.”
They followed her into the house. It was just as cold inside as it was outside. Raiden could see through into the parlour; there was a chair and a small table, but little else in the room.
“This gentleman you mentioned,” Aren prompted.
“What about him?” the woman said.
“Do you remember what he looked like?” Raiden asked.
“I might.”
“Anything you could tell us would be most helpful,” Aren said.
The woman sniffed again. She watched them, trying to decide what to tell them. “I’ll tell you what I know, but only because he was unkind to me. Treated me like a thief he did. He hurt me. Look.” She stuck out a thin arm from under her shawl and pushed back the dirty sleeve. Her arm was mottled black and blue with bruising.
“I’m sorry,” Aren said.
“The man who came here was dressed in old clothes, but he couldn’t fool me. I know a gentleman when I see one. I don’t remember much else about him, except his hair.”
“What about his hair,” Raiden asked.
“It was red. Not
red like orange, really red, like blood. I ain’t never seen hair that shade of red before.”
“What did he want?” Aren asked.
“Just to see the room. He looked around for a while and then he left. I couldn’t see anything was gone. I’ll show you the room if you like.”
“That would be very kind,” Aren said.
They followed her carefully up the narrow wooden stairs. There was no railing to hold onto and Raiden didn’t want to touch the filthy walls if she could help it.
“Do you know what Mr Matherson did for a living?” Aren asked.
“I didn’t ask questions.”
“He lived here for more than a year and he never once mentioned what he did?”
“What did I care so long as he paid his rent on time and never caused any trouble. I never had any problems from him. He kept to himself. Though a few months ago he began acting strangely, coming and going at all hours of the night. He started using runes to lock his door and then he just left. He said to keep his room for him. I only heard after he died that he’d moved into a fancy house.”
“You don’t know where the money came from?” Aren asked.
“He must have been running some scam, but if he was he never told me about it. I could have helped him if he had.”
They followed her up yet another set of winding stairs. “What was Matherson like?” Raiden asked.
“He was quiet. He paid his rent on time. Never brought any girls back. Sometimes I heard him talking in his room, though I never saw him take anyone up there. Once I thought I heard someone talking back, a woman, but when he came out of his room there was no one else in there.” She would’ve had to have been listening at the door to hear that. “Once, I saw him with an imp. He had been keeping it in his room.”
“An imp? Are you sure?” Raiden asked. “What colour was it?”
“Grey I think. I don’t know where he got it from, but I won’t have those creatures in my house. Dirty, horrible things they are. Only good for thieving and spying.”
The landlady stopped outside a room. She produced a large chain of keys and unlocked the door. “There’s nothing to see. The room’s empty.” Raiden glanced at Aren. “I didn’t take anything. He took all his things when he left. I don’t know why he kept the room. The gentleman that come wouldn’t believe me. He said I had taken something. He threatened to hurt me if I didn’t tell him.”
“I’m very sorry,” Aren said.
“I’ll be in the parlour if you need me.”
They waited until she had disappeared down the stairs before Aren opened the door.
“She was right when she said there was nothing here,” Aren said.
There were only a few pieces of furniture in the room; a bed, a table, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. The walls were stained brown and the floorboards were bare. An empty cage lay on its side on the floor. It must have been where he had kept the imp.
“At least we know where Matherson got his money from now?” Aren said.
“What do you mean?” Raiden asked.
“If Matherson was keeping imps then he was up to something illegal. Thieves like to use them. Imps are immune to magic. They can break into anything, although they’re difficult to train. The only way to make them behave is to torture them.”
She thought of Deg and how he had trembled and cowered away from her when she had picked him up.
Together they searched the room. Raiden pulled out each drawer and checked under the bed. There were no loose floorboards, nowhere to hide anything. She went over to the table below the window. Flecks of powder caught her eye. She ran her finger along the windowsill. It came away with dust that glittered. She rubbed it between her fingers. “A fairy has been here,” she said, holding up her finger to show Aren the residue.
“What does that mean?”
She wiped the residue on her dress. “I don’t know.”
Aren lifted the mattress off the bed to check underneath. Raiden opened the wardrobe, but it was empty.
“If there was something here, the man who came could have taken it already,” Raiden said.
Aren shook his head. “If there was anything of value here, the landlady would have taken it. But I don’t think Matherson would have left anything here. He must have known she couldn’t be trusted.”
He put his arm down the back of the wardrobe. “There’s something here.” He stretched, trying to reach. He rolled out an oval shape wrapped in black cloth. “It’s just a mirror,” he said as he unwrapped the fabric.
Raiden took the mirror from him and laid it on the bed. “It’s not just a mirror.” She traced the tiny markings that had been etched into the tarnished frame. “It’s a magic mirror.”
“How did Matherson afford a magic mirror? And why would he leave something so valuable behind?”
“Yesterday, when we were at the ghost’s house, I saw something in the mirror,” Raiden said.
“Your reflection?”
She frowned at him. “No, it was as if there was someone in the mirror, someone watching me. When I was back at school, I saw it again.”
She held the mirror on her lap and stared into it, but her reflection didn’t change. She sighed and laid the mirror on the bed. She went over to the window. She leaned against the table and stared out. The strange carriage was still there with the little man hunched in the driver’s seat and the zombie horses.
“There’s nothing here,” Aren said. She had to agree with him. “I’m sorry, Raiden.”
The table wobbled under her weight. She looked down. In the middle of the table was a shadow. She looked at the window, but there was nothing there to cast a shadow.
“We should go,” Aren said. “We could talk to the landlady again.”
Raiden moved her hand above the table, trying to see if there was something invisible casting the shadow.
“Raiden?” Aren called, his hand on the door.
“There’s a shadow here, but there’s nothing that could be casting a shadow.”
He came over. He crouched down and moved his hand across the table as Raiden had done. “Pass me the mirror.”
Raiden fetched it. He took it from her and balanced it on the table. In the reflection, a small black box was in the centre of the table. She reached out her hand to where the box should be. In the mirror her hand touched the box, but she couldn’t feel anything.
“Is it inside the mirror?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. The sunlight’s touching it or else there wouldn’t be a shadow. It’s there on the table, we just can’t see it.”
“So how do we get to it?”
“I’m not sure.”
Had Matherson kept this room to hide the box? She thought of all the mirrors she had seen at his house.
There had to be a way to get to the box. Xan always said magic had to make sense. It had to be something to do with the light. There was a shadow so the light must be hitting the box.
“Xan would know how to get to it,” Raiden said.
Aren set the mirror down. “It would take too long to fetch him from the museum and then we would have to explain to him what we were doing here.”
They both stared at the space where the box should have been.
“We can’t stay here much longer,” Aren said. “The landlady will start getting suspicious. She thinks the room’s empty. There’s no reason for us to be taking this long. We might have to leave and come back for it later.”
“There has to be a way to get to it.” She wasn’t leaving without that box. Aren didn’t disagree with her. He crouched back down beside the table.
“The light’s hitting it,” he said, thinking out loud, “or else there would be no shadow. And it’s there. We can see it in the mirror.” The light was the key. “Light allows us to see things, but here it’s stopping us from seeing it.”
“What if there was no light hitting it?” Raiden said, turning to face him. “What if it’s invisible when it should be visible and visible
when we can’t see it?”
She pulled the heavy drapes closed, plunging the room into darkness. She felt her way across the table. Her hand met an object. She could feel the smooth edges of the box. “I can feel it,” she said. “It’s only visible when you can’t see it.”
“I don’t know if you should open it,” Aren said. “We don’t know what’s inside. It could be dangerous.”
Raiden found the catch. She lifted the lid up and stepped back. Nothing happened. She opened the curtains and light flooded in. The box was still invisible, but the contents were now visible. She lifted out a tarnished chain. Attached to the end was a tear shaped amulet with a faceted dull blue gem.
“Let me see,” Aren said, taking the amulet out of her hand. He held it up to the light. “It looks like glass and paste.”
A creaking sound came from outside the room. Raiden froze. Aren gestured to the door and cupped his hand to her ear. He was telling her the landlady was listening at the door. Raiden nodded to show she understood.
“We should go,” Aren said loudly. “There’s nothing here.”
Raiden closed the lid of the box, making it invisible again.
Aren offered her the amulet. “I can’t take something from a client’s room.”
Raiden took the amulet from him and slipped it into her reticule, pulling the strings tight.
Aren opened the door. The landlady stood outside, half bent where she had been listening. She straightened and adjusted her shawl. “You’re finished then,” she said.
“Yes,” Aren said.
The woman’s greedy eyes fixed on the mirror. She darted into the room and snatched it up and clutched it to her chest. “The mirror’s mine. Matherson still owes me rent.”
“It might not be safe,” Raiden said, remembering the phantom hands locked around her throat. “You should let us take it away.”
The woman backed away, holding tightly to the mirror. “It’s mine. I want you to leave.”
Raiden took a step toward her, ready to try and pry the mirror out of her grasp. Aren put his hand on her shoulder. “Of course,” he said. “We’ll leave. Come, Raiden.” He drew her out of the room and led the way down the stairs. “We’ll show ourselves out,” he called up the stairs.