“I’d have thought Lord Herrington could hire a better house sta—”
Mid-insult, the door opened, revealing an impeccably starched butler in glorious livery and a look that was indifferent by most standards, but absolutely furious by a butler’s. “Welcome to Newton House. May I—”
“We’re here to see the marquess,” Mr. Redburn said with carelessness, and ducked his way in. Pure shock overtook the butler’s face (his eyes widened slightly), but he recovered and scrambled after the rude man.
“He is not expecting anyone at this early hour, and as such, I will have to ask you to return later.”
Captain Goode followed with a calm-looking Lady Atherton behind him. “Please tell the marquess that the Society of Aberrations has come to—”
“She’s here to heal his daughter,” Mr. Redburn interrupted, edging to the stairs impatiently. How he expected to find a little girl’s bedroom in this mansion without the butler’s help was beyond me.
The butler looked torn between calmly speaking with us and chasing after Mr. Redburn. Confused, he split the difference, turned and puffed to his fullest. “Just one moment, young ma—”
“Rollins. What is going on down there?”
A red-haired, ashen-faced man stood partway up the foyer steps. His cravat was slung around his neck and even from this distance I could tell his eyes were swollen with lack of sleep.
“Your Lordship, these … guests—”
“Lordship! They’re gonna make your daughter all better.” Mr. Redburn gestured broadly toward me. “Though your butler—”
“My apologies, my brother has been up for many hours,” Captain Goode said, closing his eyes for a moment as though in pain. “Please meet us outside, Felix.”
Mr. Redburn smiled as if that had been his plan all along. He sauntered out the front door, leaving a very angry Rollins to close the door behind him.
“My apologies, Lord Herrington. I am here with Lady Atherton and Miss Evelyn Wyndham. We are here to help your daughter,” Captain Goode smoothly said.
Lord Herrington hesitated.
“My lord.” Lady Atherton curtsied. “I promise you will want to see what these people can do.” She smiled a little and Lord Herrington softened.
“All right. Follow me. It certainly cannot hurt.”
I clutched my skirts in one hand and slid past Rollins, who looked fit to burst. His mouth opened once or twice, but finally he just gave a tremendous sniff and stalked back to the doorway. I wanted to apologize, but how did one apologize for a man like Mr. Redburn?
Captain Goode, Lady Atherton, and I followed Lord Herrington up to the family rooms. He opened the door to a scene I had seen many times with Rose back in Bramhurst. I felt her with me as I focused on the fully drawn curtains, whispered tones, and the sense of delayed urgency in everyone’s movements. All was centered on a pale child, hidden in the bedclothes. A shock of black hair over a pale arc was all I could make out from the doorway. At her side was a nurse, red-faced and thin-lipped. A lady, presumably Lady Herrington, the child’s mother, paced the room, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth to keep in her silent sobs.
Lord Herrington rushed over to the bed. “Is she…?”
“No, she is still with us,” the nurse replied, voice gritty with lack of sleep and emotion. She gently swept back the dark locks. “We are trying to make her comfortable.”
Lady Herrington scowled at us like we were disrupting a horrible, intimate moment because, well, we were. “Lady Atherton? What is this? Who are these people?”
“They … They can help,” Lord Herrington explained gently to his wife.
“Indeed, Lady Herrington, I beg you to allow this,” Lady Atherton said, smiling encouragingly.
“More doctors, Richard?” The frantic woman tugged at her husband’s arm. “Please, just let us spend these last moments with Pippa in peace! She doesn’t have much time left.”
“I know, dear, but they say they have something special.” Lord Herrington gestured to us and Captain Goode stepped to the bed.
“How dare—” Lady Herrington started as she registered us as potential help for her daughter. “Her? She’s practically a child herself!”
Her husband laid his hand on her arm placatingly as I reached the edge of the bed next to Captain Goode. The nurse nervously moved away and I took her place next to the child, noticing how translucent her skin was, veins and dark brows the only spots of color left on her face. Up close, she was so still and drawn it was hard to imagine her ever waking again.
“Be strong, dear,” Lady Atherton said bracingly to her friend.
“I have a simple charm here that Miss Wyndham will place,” Captain Goode said calmly. He handed me the silver token and I hesitantly put it on the girl’s forehead. Captain Goode gave me a small nod.
“A charm? This is ridiculous!” The lady’s voice was high and thin but echoed my thoughts perfectly.
“Miss Wyndham, if you would monitor the patient’s heart,” Captain Goode said, ignoring the woman.
I lifted the girl’s hands from under the covers ever so gently. She was almost cold. A pulse beat lightly, slowly, under my thumb.
Lady Herrington looked at us in bewilderment and opened her mouth to protest again, but Lady Atherton spoke softly.
“There are miracles in this world. Believe in this one.”
I took a deep breath and concentrated only on the girl’s hands beneath mine. Though I did not know what difference it might make, I tried to send whatever power I had into her skin, hoping this wouldn’t be the moment it failed me.
The room was quiet, expectant; just the elevated breathing of the six of us as we strained to see if the girl would revive. My eyes were fixed on her cheeks, wondering if there was a bit of color coming back into them, when the maid gave a loud cry. The girl’s lashes began to flutter madly. Beneath my hands her pulse began to steady, stronger and faster. Warmth seemed to blossom on her skin. It had barely been thirty seconds. Captain Goode’s power was rather astounding.
Her mother rushed forward. “Pippa! Pippa!” She pulled one hand away from me to clutch it fiercely and I frowned, but simply placed both my hands on her other arm. There was no question—the girl was coming to.
“Mama?” The croak came before her eyes opened, but that quickly followed, revealing lovely, lively brown eyes.
“Yes, darling! I’m here!” Her mother climbed on the bed and cradled Lady Pippa to her, almost dislodging the charm. I had to jostle to keep my grip. If the woman would just give me one moment, her daughter would be fully cured.
“What happened?” Lady Pippa sounded stronger with each word.
“You were ill, my darling! We thought you might die but here you are, here you are, my dearest!” The girl gave a whimpering cry at the foreign idea of death and buried her face in her mother’s bosom. The charm slid to the side.
“Excuse me, Lady Pippa, but I need you to stay still for just one more moment.”
My rather grumpy words and replacement of the charm while actually getting a better hold on the girl seemed to remind the room that there was a reason their daughter was alive and speaking.
“My God.” Lord Herrington spoke as though he couldn’t stop himself. He turned to Captain Goode. “You were right. It is … a miracle.”
Lady Atherton was glancing at me speculatively. Her lips thinned but I sensed a shrewdness there.
Lady Pippa was progressing nicely to a full crying fit at this point. Presumably, her body was somewhat shocked to come back to a healthy state and her mind was just as bewildered. However, it was a very … vigorous tantrum she was throwing and I felt it safe to let her go.
I got up and gave the maid, who was looking between me and Captain Goode as though we were a witch and a sorcerer, a reassuring smile. That seemed to make things worse as she gasped and crossed herself.
Rollins was more conflicted when he returned to lead us out. His lips twitched into an actual smile as he noted his Lordship’s daug
hter, pink and lively in her mother’s arms.
“Thank you ever so much, Rollins. We are so sorry to discomfit you today. You do excellent butlering,” I told him.
“It was my pleasure,” he said, sounding both sarcastic and sincere. I decided to assume it was the latter.
Lord Herrington, however, was pure gratitude as he met us back in the main foyer. “I don’t know how I can possibly repay you,” he said. “And the Society.”
“I am sure we can find a way,” Captain Goode replied. “All we ask for now is your support.”
“Of course! Anything! Whatever you need, just say the word.”
“Thank you. You’ll be hearing from us.”
I felt my stomach turn as I watched him vigorously shake Captain Goode’s hand. I didn’t quite like being responsible for putting this man in debt to the Society when I didn’t even know how those debts were to be paid.
“Thank you, Lady Atherton,” Captain Goode said when we were back on the drive. “I hope Miss Wyndham will be content to join you on other calls like this.”
She smiled at him. “Indeed, Captain. My husband always told me that the Society did such important work. I am sure Miss Wyndham sees the good of helping.”
With that, she allowed herself to be handed into a very sleek carriage that looked as though it had been painted only this morning, it gleamed so in the sun.
“For a society that is doing this for the good of England, you do enjoy holding people to favors,” I said when I was alone with Captain Goode.
He led me toward the street and responded slowly, kindly. “Men like Lord Herrington and the late Lord Atherton have run this country for centuries while the rest of us relied on their favors.”
“So now you get to turn the tables?”
“More that we are invited to join their table,” Captain Goode replied. “This is mutually beneficial. Lord Herrington has a seat in the House of Lords and a vast fortune. We may simply ask for him to use his influence if we ever need his help, or perhaps provide funding for our society to grow and do more.”
I frowned slightly. “So people without powers, members of London society, they know about the Society?”
“Only a select few, like Lady Atherton. They have to earn their place like anyone else,” Captain Goode said. “England is changing. You can feel it. The voting reforms, Mr. Cardwell’s improvements, this Society. My brother and I were born with nothing. To be in a place that judges by merit; where anyone can gain respect, advancement, and comfort for good work; where men and women of the highest and lowest birth can work together, it is something I am quite proud to be a part of.”
“That sounds … rather democratic,” I said.
“I was hoping it would sound inviting,” Captain Goode said expectantly.
“I don’t know,” was all I could say. I was running out of logical arguments and relying on the unease in my chest, my anger for Dr. Beck.
A crackle sounded in the wall next to us and Captain Goode gestured to the open portal. “Please, Miss Wyndham, before you write us off forever, let me show you something at the Society. I think it will be of interest to you.”
* * *
“Unfair,” I said as Captain Goode opened a door to reveal a beautiful library. The room seemed to stretch on forever. Bookshelves lined all the walls. Hundreds, thousands of volumes. The air carried that wonderfully comfortable and musty scent of dust, age, and wisdom that only worn books can emit. Mahogany tables and desks were arranged for studying and chairs were grouped more casually around the fireplaces—two that I could see.
“We keep records that go back many years. I wanted you to see who came before you—which role you would be filling.”
The shelves seemed to be divided into several sections. There was one large set of shelves with a gold placard declaring it POTENTIALS. As Captain Goode led me by, I quickly sussed out that it was organized by region and chronology.
Another shelf was labeled HISTORY and seemed to be organized by topic. Some volumes focused on historic events, others were biographies of people whose names I didn’t recognize, and there were even books on oddly specific objects like jewels and weapons.
Finally, we came to POWERS. It was organized alphabetically by type, it seemed. My eyes searched wildly, not sure what specific words the Society had chosen to assign. Some of the terms were completely new to me. There was the word Captain Goode had said about Emily—Telekinesis: “the power to move objects using only your mind,” said the subheading. Intangibility seemed appropriate for Oliver. Strength, Portals, Fire, they all kept catching my eye. But Captain Goode was pulling out a volume for Healing and handing it to me.
“Finding a healer has always been one of the Society’s highest priorities,” he said. “I know you are reluctant, but you would be a most valued member.” I thumbed through the fragile book carefully. It reminded me of a peerage book, except this lineage was limited to two names, one of which was mine. There was limited information, simply my date of birth. The other name, Meiko Inoue, had a bit more, noting when she was born (1680), when she joined the Society of Aberrations (1703), when she was married (1706, to Richard Best), when she had a child (1707, Patrick Best), and when she died (1713, beheaded). So, healers could be killed. That was … important to learn.
“I will let you read,” he said. “When you are done, please come find me at the back garden. I have one more thing to show you.”
I nodded, too engrossed in the book to pay him much further attention. I turned the page to see details about Miss Inoue’s healing, which seemed similar to mine. She healed herself and others by touch and proximity. The noted times, however, were so much faster than my own. A broken leg could be healed in twenty seconds, her own in ten. A sizable cut in ten seconds, her own in five. And the range of her healing was nearly one hundred feet. If she had improved to this level, could I?
I turned back to the shelves, looking almost unconsciously for the book that would contain information on the power diametrically opposed to mine. But before I could find Illness or Death, my eyes stopped on another.
Charm.
My heart was racing and I barely noticed that I was turning the pages. Three entries. Two men and one woman had come before Rose, as far as the Society knew. I had to read the words over and over before they penetrated.
“Anyone who spends time in the charmer’s company will grow to love them. This may take many forms: romantic, paternal, platonic—but it will only grow stronger the more time spent in their company. They are irresistible, no matter what they do. This is not to say that the charmer can convince others what to do. In fact, it can be quite dangerous and unpredictable.” A little farther down, I saw what they meant. A charmer found in Denmark in the late 1600s had been killed by a mob of people—men and women—who wanted his attentions for themselves. A Persian general with troops so loyal that they refused to let him endanger himself by commanding them in battle. An Italian courtesan in the early 1800s was imprisoned in a tower for most of her adult life by her protector.
I felt sick and weary as I slid to the floor, letting my corset dig into my hips uncomfortably. Still, I could not stop turning the pages. My little sister. She hadn’t wanted a short, tragic life. She didn’t want to conquer the world or bring men and women to their knees. She just wanted to help people. Help people with the power that I possessed. I let the book close gently in my lap and looked to the window. The oppressive sky still let in a comforting shaft of light, as though the sun were pushing hard at the clouds’ surface, ready to break through.
Rose would want me to help people.
The Society would have me help people.
I sighed again and got up, placing the book back on the shelf, letting my hand linger on it. Rose would be an entry here soon, the small facts of her life listed neatly next to the others. Unfinished.
I left the room, letting the door close on the lives of the people who came before us.
Finding the back garden was easy enough.
I could make out two figures on the terrace—Miss Grey and Captain Goode. I pulled my cloak’s collar up and pushed open the french doors. The garden was somehow beautiful, in full health and bloom despite the winter. A stone fountain sat in the center, bubbling up water in a steady rhythm, and surrounding it was a verdant, well-maintained lawn, occasionally broken up by low hedges, stone pathways, and brilliant displays of flowers that should not have been in season.
“I feel so invigorated, so thrilled to have helped,” Miss Grey was saying. “I have been hoping to do this kind of good for so long.”
“I do believe you have found your calling, Miss Grey. I am so pleased—more pleased than I can say to have you here.” Captain Goode was smiling awkwardly down at her.
“Hello,” I said.
They both turned and Miss Grey’s eyebrows shot up. “Evelyn! You are here! I almost didn’t believe Captain Goode.”
“I wouldn’t have either,” I said, coming to the railing. “You look well.”
Miss Grey was pink and pleased and had never looked more lively. “Indeed! Captain Goode’s power has given me much more control. I can accurately determine locations and I remember the dreams very clearly now. I was able to bring him information on two people I dreamt of last night.” They shared a smile.
“How … is this garden here?” I asked, feeling like an intruder in their moment.
“I believe it’s that boy,” Miss Grey said, pointing to a group of four figures congregating in the garden.
Oliver looked up and gave us a sardonic wave, while two girls and another boy, who all looked to be about Oliver’s age, gave us curious looks and returned to their practices. One girl took flight, floating up a few feet into the air and moving in circles. The other lifted her hands and small rocks rose up at her command. And the boy simply walked across the lawn as grass, vines, and flowers grew all around him.
“A moment, ladies,” Captain Goode said, before striding down to the gardens and separating the group into two pairs. He made his way back over to us, looking genuinely excited. “They are going to start with a game. It’s all in good fun—a simple contest of which team knocks down the other first.” He turned to the two teams. “Are you ready?” he shouted.
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