“If you do not blaze like a dying star, my child, then you might as well be already dead, no longer glittering in the sky of promise God intends for you. You must be spectacularly luminous. Burn far hotter than you’re able. Beam for your dear life, child. The world is nothing but shadow and dead ends. Only your own fire can light a way out of the maze.”
“Amen,” Reverend Blessing murmured.
The rest of our meal was spent mostly in silence, with a bit of small talk about art and a few amusing Washington anecdotes from Senator Bishop. He was savvy enough not to bring real political issues to the table. But all I could think about was what lay ahead and if Jonathon and I could remain the solid team we’d been thus far in trying times. I was a woman of faith who was full of doubt. What could a ragtag band of Spiritualists, a senator, exorcist, a British Lord, a museum curator, and whatever I was—some Lutheran magnet for nightmares and the fancies of demons—do against a wealthy, resourced secret society who distributed murder and mayhem like a calling card to calling hours? I wanted to see a way out of the maze, but for the life of me, and maybe yet the death of me, I couldn’t.
As per tradition in fine dinner parties, the men went off to the dark wood and leather of the late Mr. Northe’s study to smoke cigars and talk about being masters of their domain or some such masculine chatter, and the ladies went off to the soft, lace-filled parlor to do the same. From Jonathon’s reports, that male-driven room had been immaculately maintained and kept nearly overstocked with all kinds of fine liquor and exquisite cigars. I wondered how often Mr. Bishop was over to partake of these treasures as well.
Peter Northe had been gone for at least seven years if I remembered correctly, but it would seem his favorite supplies would be refilled in perpetuity. Perhaps his widow felt some part of him lingered on in the fine things enjoyed by the other interesting men who entertained at her home. I wondered if she heard his spirit speak, what he’d think of the growing closeness between my father and his widow, or just what the presence of Senator Bishop meant, as they too appeared far too familiar for mere friends. The energy between them seemed sibling in nature, but then again Mrs. Northe was a mystery. Just another question to add to my growing tally.
“You’ve a lot on your mind, Natalie,” Mrs. Northe murmured over her shoulder as she led Lavinia ahead of her to the parlor where the maid had set out tea and aperitifs. Lavinia floated ahead as if she were a ghost, her thin frame alighting upon a divan, black layers splaying out, her eyes downcast, her expression lost in some reverie.
I set my jaw, wishing I could better hide things from her, as this was not the time, in a stranger’s company, to unload all that gnawed at me. “That I do.”
“Whatever you think I may have neglected, I hope you’ll do me some credit and believe that I have taken actions on all counts that require concern.”
I looked into her steely eyes, bright and powerful, and somehow I was sure she was talking about Maggie. I hoped she’d elaborate at the appropriate time. She then leaned close and murmured, “I’m going to interview the madman Crenfall to see if I can get a hint from him about the root of Society operations in the city. I don’t expect much, but any lead is better than none. Care to come with me?”
And in one swift rush, all my doubts and my frustrations were forgotten in the excitement that was being included in secret operations by this most compelling woman. I was under her thrall yet again.
“Yes, I’d like that very much.”
“No, you won’t like it at all. Asylums are horrid places, but—”
“But I can’t bear being useless.”
“Indeed, I figure you’d be less trouble if I took you with me. Tomorrow?”
“No, we’re…” I looked up in her eyes, and I felt my cheeks color. I was not a good at lying if I was quite sure my lie would be discovered. It was so hard to be artful around a clairvoyant. “Busy.”
“Indeed. Not tomorrow? The day after, then. I’ll tell your father we’re out for lunch. I’ll indeed feed you, though I’m not sure we’ll have much of an appetite after we’re done with the place.”
I just nodded, feeling a bit helpless and useless, wondering if, like the times before, the dark magic was just waiting around another corner I hadn’t anticipated. But at least my next two days would prove eventful. It was true, I was less trouble if I was busy. After a moment I realized Lavinia was staring at me with an intense scrutiny that surpassed custom.
“You’re well intentioned, Miss Natalie. Worried you’ll fail, but well intentioned,” Lavinia said quietly, before turning to Mrs. Northe and elaborating. “It’s odd, ever since the incident, I smell things about persons, subtle scents, but suddenly I feel like I know the truth of their heart. You and the senator are powerful and inscrutable, but similarly well intentioned, though world-weary. I can sense it as if I were to taste the salt air of a long sea voyage.” She stopped herself as if she took a moment to truly listen to her own words.
“No, I don’t think you’re mad, before you ask,” Mrs. Northe reassured. That sounded familiar. In the early days of our acquaintance, when I was convinced I was seeing the painting where Jonathon’s soul was imprisoned move, she’d said the same thing, bless her.
“Jonathon sees that in auras,” I offered. “The ability to judge character you describe. Those of us who have been targeted by the Society end up, it would seem, coming away with more than we bargained for but something that can be useful in the right circumstances, as long as you’re brave enough to use it. I look at it as God trying to give us an advantage, a weapon borne out of toil and pain.”
I’m not sure Mrs. Northe had ever given me such a proud look as she did just then. I suppose I sounded sort of like her.
Lavinia stared at me, seeming to gain the kind of strength and sense of purpose I felt when I was called to save Jonathon, me and me alone. I found myself liking this girl who seemed to wish to rise to the challenge, not hide from it in fear. But the struggle was there in her pale eyes. I knew that too.
Of course a thoughtful, complex girl like Lavinia Kent would be Mrs. Northe’s new project instead of her entitled, narrow-minded niece. Still, I’d have to see if there was something I could do to help Maggie, even if Mrs. Northe wouldn’t. The idiot girl had nearly gotten me killed, but I had the sense that I owed her some sympathy and aid. Maggie was a product of her age, her family. When I lost my ability to speak as a child, I’d become an outcast, I had to think of life differently, fend for myself differently. Miss Kent chose an outsider’s perspective due to her interests. Maggie was the sort of girl society expected her to be, until she toyed too close to the fires of dark magic and got us burned. But I was stronger than Maggie. I had to earn Lavinia’s sense that I was well intentioned. Not only for myself, but for others.
We sipped some sort of sugary liqueur, and Lavinia drank in Mrs. Northe’s next instructions as if they were gospel. “Now, my dear girl, you must reach out to the rest of the members of your association and make sure none of them are trying to get ahold of the substance again, and if they are, we need to intercept those channels. Can you do this?”
Lavinia nodded. “I’ll make my rounds tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Day by day, fate unfolded. Carefully, wrought with the terrible dread that hell would suddenly open before us. I feared the Master’s Society had been busy creating pitfalls for us, traps for us to walk into… My morbid imagination had been given such fodder in the past months that anything was possible, and all I could do was pray. But even prayer felt like flimsy comfort against a widening net that sought to catch us up and feed…
Before long we parted our ways with pleasantries I hardly remembered; they all felt a bit forced, all of us sensitive and aware enough that we sat in the eye of the storm, a maelstrom underground, swirling around us, ready to drag us under like Hades did Persephone.
That night I wondered if I’d dream, all sorts of things having been stirred up. For the past two weeks, my nightmares had been dormant, meaning we
did at least have some effect on pushing the dark magic back from whence it came. There were flashes in my dreams, nothing concrete, just vague shadows and the back of Jonathon. Walking away from me…and the hollowness that remained in his absence...
Chapter Four
The next morning I rose early, ate well, and read the paper, glad not to answer to anything. Bessie, a long-time friend of the family who had served as housekeeper since her husband died and our families bonded in grief, was out for the morning. My father and I had enjoyed comfortable silences for far too many years due to the Selective Mutism I had now nearly entirely overcome. But old habits and all... The silence was actually a bit of a comfort, a reminder of when times were simpler. A time before Jonathon.
However, I’d not go back to permanent silence ever again, nor would I ever regret the lord that overturned everything, curses in his wake. Times may have been simpler, but I baffled my father then just as much as I did now. Someday I’d make him proud, just never in the ways he’d imagined. I kissed my father’s cheek as I saw him out the door to the Metropolitan, and the bright green eyes I inherited from him glittered. He might never have known what to do with me, and that was likely the same with Mother, but he loved us unconditionally, of that I was certain. Once he was off, I was then free to be consumed with one name, one mission.
Brinkman, this English spy, wouldn’t be expecting me. But it was good to meet things unexpectedly. Often a person’s true colors shone through in moments of surprise, and Jonathon might see a chink in Brinkman’s armor if things didn’t go to his plan.
I would walk the many blocks to Mrs. Northe’s home, glad for the activity to focus my nerves. Jonathon had been inspecting apartments in Greenwich Village for possible purchase, fancying a home in both Greenwich territories on either side of the “pond,” but nothing had been settled. So he remained with our most generous benefactor. I forced aside any jealousy that Lavinia and Jonathon would be under the same roof with each other. Lavinia was utterly preoccupied and over the moon about Jonathon’s best friend, Mister Veil. Still, the uncertainty of my relationship with my dear lord brought a heretofore unknown paranoia to my already industrious imagination.
The maid let me in, gesturing me to the parlor where I was relieved to see Jonathon awaiting me. He looked, as usual, dapper and stunning. Having procured finances from his trip to England, he must have gone to the very best in men’s shops here in New York for fresh suits, nothing too flashy, everything dark and elegant. This was a charcoal suit with a black waistcoat and deep blue cravat, his blue accents always setting off those heart-stopping eyes. Maggie would’ve known the brand and store of his attire, surely. She had a nose for such things. I’d have to learn, if I wanted to truly understand Jonathon’s world.
So many daunting tasks, from the more mundane function of the ways of the elite to the gravest of hard work ahead: dismantling a deadly secret society. Surely the infamous and aristocratic “Majesty” that had been giving Jonathon orders as if he were still his demon-possessed self would know where Jonathon’s suit came from too.
Upon my entrance, Jonathon bowed his head and said not a word as he rose, a walking stick in one hand, top hat in the other, and gestured toward the door. I saw no sign of Mrs. Northe or Miss Kent. Perhaps they were out bonding in the same ways she and I had done months prior. I tried not to fear for my favored place at the center of things, but jealousy has its ways.
“We’ll only volunteer vague answers to Brinkman’s questions,” Jonathon instructed.
“Wait for him to volunteer information first.” I nodded.
We took the elaborate route Brinkman had instructed in his note and kept silent the whole way. I’d seen Jonathon play his demon doppelganger eerily well and so was fully prepared for him to take the lead with his countryman. But I palmed the hilt of the small knife I stowed between the stays of my bodice and the corset beneath, accessible via a partly opened seam. This action steeled me. If the spy proved a turncoat, I’d draw and defend Jonathon in a heartbeat...
We were making the last turn of the particular route, the park ahead of us, when a flurry of action at the door to the carriage had us exclaim in alarm. My knife was out in the instant, but so was Brinkman inside in the same, with a cry of, “If you’ve weapons put them down, I’m on your side!”
The door yawned open as the man’s hands were planted upon the roof of the cab and his feet were up and between Jonathon’s and mine before a lanky body lithely followed. In another smooth motion, he threw his weight to the side, plopping next to Jonathon. He then bent to draw the flapping door shut once more and turned to both of us with a wide and winning smile, plucking a black wide-brimmed felt hat from his head. He was dressed in a fine black suit and grey striped waistcoat and white cravat, all well-made and tailored but not ostentatious. His features were nearly weasel-like in their somewhat pinched quality, and yet somehow their arrangement was disturbingly attractive. His dark brown hair was slicked back, a few ends turning out in defiance, his eyes were a sky blue, a shade darker than Jonathon’s strikingly pale ones, but that just didn’t seem fair, as I found Denbury’s so hard to look away from.
“Gabriel Brinkman at your service, Lord Denbury,” he said in a gently refined accent that I guessed came from a London elite. Though I knew little about England and its regionalisms, I could tell upper class from common well enough. “And who might this feisty young lady be?” he asked, offering a dazzling smile that dimpled lean cheeks. “I saw a telling flash of silver.” He bowed his head to me. “An impressively quick draw, miss.” He then turned to Jonathon. “Hiring a female bodyguard? Very clever and very good cover, sir.”
Jonathon offered a slight smile, but I could tell he wanted to laugh. I said nothing and tried to look menacing. I doubted it worked, but both gentlemen seemed to enjoy it. Jonathon introduced me only as “a colleague” and gave no name. If Brinkman was a good spy, he’d figure it out. Brinkman narrowed his bright eyes at me and did.
“You must be Miss Stewart. I had a look through the files pertaining to your portrait, Lord Denbury, and the goings on surrounding it. Sergeant James Patt seemed all too glad to have your nonsense wrapped up and to have pinned the blame on someone, batty Mister Crenfall, eh?”
“Well, he was an accomplice,” Jonathon replied. “He was the broker who facilitated the transfer of my portrait and...incapacitated body onto these shores. Justice was served in his arrest, certainly.”
“Indeed.” Brinkman nodded. “As for the rest of the justice... You’ve taken that upon yourselves, have you?” While his tone held no judgment, neither of us were sure how we should reply. Brinkman continued. “Patt gave me leave to peruse your diary, Miss Stewart. And am I to presume that it is true?”
I blushed. He’d have read all the kissing bits in that diary. That was so unfair.
“It is,” I said through clenched teeth.
“I stake my life on it,” Jonathon replied. “The life that is wholly in her debt, you’ll know from having read her accounts.”
Brinkman smiled at me again. That didn’t help the blush. “You’re a very good writer, Miss Stewart.” Even worse. There went the heat of my cheeks a few degrees further. He released me from his stare and turned again to Jonathon. “My contact, Mister Knowles, tells me you met a certain ‘Majesty,’ and there has been correspondence.” Jonathon nodded. “May I see it, please? Do you have it with you?”
Jonathon reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a letter with the familiar, insidious red and gold seal of The Master’s Society, the one he’d withheld from me pertaining to the offices and looking in on Stevens. “They have three avenues of experimentation,” Jonathon explained. “Splitting the soul from the body, I was the unfortunate test on that. Reanimation had us dealing with poor Doctor Preston. And now, pharmacology, with the chemical given to Veil’s Associates.” He lifted up the note and proffered it to Brinkman for perusal. “This may have come before what you assume was the undoing of my cover in Doctor Pre
ston’s death. How should I proceed with this Doctor Stevens? I went to the offices herein, but there is nothing there.”
“Are you entirely sure about that?” Brinkman asked.
“Indeed. I’ve a way of…seeing things,” Jonathon replied carefully, keeping the particulars of his new gifts out of the discussion. “No living soul was present there.”
“Seeing things?”
“Keen eyes, Mister Brinkman,” I offered quietly. “I do hope you have them too.”
“Things are never exactly as they seem at first glance with the Society,” Brinkman replied cryptically.
“And you? Are you as you seem at first glance?” I queried. “What reason do we have to trust you?”
Jonathon flashed me a warning glance not to be too harsh and was quick to add: “I’ve my reasons for why I will trust you, Mister Brinkman. But I also have ways of knowing if you’ve betrayed me to my enemy, so I’d truly not suggest you do so. Are you saying I should try these addresses again?”
“I think you might find evidence there. Persons, no. The Master’s Society manages to operate with scant personnel that don’t keep regular patterns, the bane of any spy.”
Brinkman held up the Master’s Society letter to the light. He fished in his own breast pocket and produced a small vial with a sponge on the stopper. He uncorked the vial, brushed the damp sponge over the paper and something bloomed forth in response.
My mouth hung open a bit at this magic, and Brinkman smiled again as he explained: “Sympathetic stain. Terribly useful in espionage. Your American Revolutionary rings, that Culper set, were quite fond of it. Your troops gained many advantages passed through unsuspecting pages.” He glanced down at what had been revealed, then passed it to Jonathon. It was a date. The following Tuesday. “It is likely Master’s Society protocol, then, to encode something important within the letter. Something is obviously scheduled.”
The Double Life of Incorporate Things (Magic Most Foul) Page 4