Darker Still

by Leanna Renee Hieber

  But Denbury smiled and my blush persisted.

  I debated whether to tell him of the robbery attempt, but if his curtain had been closed, he’d likely have no idea. For his sake, I hoped he was ignorant of what was happening around him. Being trapped while a fate befalls you that you cannot control would be most maddening. But the question remained, was I trapped here too? I looked through the glassy, waterlike barrier to where the rest of me stood.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Stewart,” he murmured, “to have quite truly dragged you into all this. Such things as I’ve been through should not be spoken to a lady, yet I’m so grateful to see you—I…” He turned away, clenching his fists. If he had further fears, he did not share them.

  “I cannot fault your manners, Lord Denbury, as the situation is far from normal—”

  “I’d just begun to live!” He pounded his fist against the desk again, the small room boxing his energy. He was a beautiful animal confined in a most unusual cage. “I had a calling. I was about to do great things. I would’ve been someone whom my parents could have been proud of, if we had all just been given the chance.” He stared darkly out at that murky beyond, the true world, and said through clenched teeth, “Perhaps the Devil knows when a man could do great things and stops him from them. Wreaking havoc in his path instead.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He looked around him, pacing the perimeter he’d no doubt paced thousands of times before. “So now I’ve only this room and no sense of time. Surely you didn’t hear me calling for you—”

  “No, but I dreamed of it,” I replied and immediately turned away, blushing, a hand flying to my mouth. No matter what the circumstances, a girl does not admit to a boy she has just met that she dreamed of him. “Pardon me,” I said, my back to him. “Spending a lifetime thinking things rather than saying them has not prepared me for an actual, proper conversation with a gentleman.”

  Denbury laughed. A wonderful sound. He took a step toward me and put a hand on my shoulder, turning me back to face him. “The lovely Miss Stewart dreamed of me? I’m honored.”

  He thought me lovely? I was going to swoon, particularly if he kept that hand on my shoulder. Maggie would kill me out of jealousy. I didn’t know what to say, but I was fairly sure I wore my heart on my sleeve. How could anything escape his piercing gaze? Surely he could read my soul and see that I was utterly compelled by him. And the more delicious fact was that the knowledge didn’t seem to deter him in the least.

  “But gaining your voice, Miss Stewart, it heartens me. You see, I hope to establish my own physician’s practice, in order to help people. A friend and I started a volunteer clinic in London, but I want to do more, so much more. If this harrowing chamber made a mute girl find her voice…” Another delicious smile played upon his lips. “Such a gift makes it worth the prison.”

  Touched by his sentiment as I was, I couldn’t help but wonder aloud: “Thank you for saying so, Lord Denbury—you are kind. But am I imprisoned here now too?”

  Horror crossed his face. “Oh! I hadn’t thought—I didn’t think you could join me. I just wanted you to know someone was inside. You…I had to reach out to you—”

  “Why me?” I pressed.

  “Because of your colors.”

  I blinked at him.

  He tried to explain. “When I first saw you out there—” He gestured out past the frame’s edge to the world as I knew it. “Blurry as you were, you were still surrounded by green and violet—a halo, if you will. I’ve noticed light around only a few. You, Mrs. Northe, and another girl.”

  “That’s Maggie. She’s your friend too,” I blurted.

  I looked down at myself and saw no such green and violet halo.

  “Yours was the strongest light of all,” he murmured in a quiet, concerned tone as he took a step closer to me. “The devil who imprisoned me performed a terrible rite. As he cast me backward into this prison—like being pushed into deep water—colors crackled around him like a sorcerer’s spell, all red and gold, the veritable fires of Hell with a hint of sulfur scent. His halo was in colors exactly opposite yours. When I saw you, your light made me…forget everything else.”

  Denbury raked his hand through his hair, gauging my reaction. Evidently it wasn’t what he hoped, for he sighed in sorrowful exasperation. “It’s madness. I had to try to tell you something lived beneath the illusion. I couldn’t have known you’d come in. It isn’t you the demon requires, it’s me. You must trust me that I’d never intend you harm.”

  I nodded, believing his intentions, but still my mind reeled and I could not trust my sense or sensibility. There was potent magic about him, yes, but not all of it was good. Not what had brought him here. Colors, curses, halos…I fumbled for something practical. Like how to get, for God’s sake, out.

  “What happens when you try to escape?” I asked. He held up the back of his left hand. It was scarred and red. Burned. I winced. “I wonder if that holds true for me.”

  “Careful,” he blurted.

  But I’d already reached toward the pool that was the other side. I had to understand the particulars of this world. The thought of being trapped in one room for the rest of my days, even if it was alongside such stirring company, choked my breath. My incessant nightmares often included being trapped in rooms, knowing my voice couldn’t shout for someone to let me out. My body seized with panic at the thought. My fingertips again touched cool, thick water…

  The reverse of my entrance happened, and a great force had me in that same strange, suctioning pull. I felt myself falling forward. I was thankfully in no pain and felt no burning, but I was off balance. I turned to Lord Denbury, who was reaching for me.

  He grabbed my arm at the last minute. And even though I pulled as hard as I could, trying to bring him with me, I saw a flash of red and golden fire and heard a hiss of pain and a most ungentlemanly curse. Then his grip was gone, and I was tumbling freely through a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors.

  I regained my body, snapping up rigidly against the bones of my corset and fighting nausea, and looked back at the portrait. There was a flash of furious helplessness in his gorgeous eyes. But beyond that, nothing of the moments we had shared was evident. He was still. He was a painting. He was subject to the rules of this outside reality again.

  I wanted to reassure him, but when I tried to speak, all that came out were faltering sounds. I, too, was subject to this reality. A place where I could not—did not—speak. Tears welled in my eyes at the injustice of it all, and I kicked at my white gloves lying limp upon the floor at my feet. To so easily gain the effortless, blessed gift of speech and then to have it taken away again? I tried to convey everything I was thinking in a single look. I will come back for you. I will help you.

  But am I brave enough to make good on my promise?

  June 10

  I took my leave from Mrs. Northe’s quickly after those events inside the painting, too overwhelmed to have gone into details with her.

  She didn’t press me beyond saying, “You look as though you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  I stared at her and nodded. “I met two,” I signed.

  At that moment, Father came into the foyer and I brightened my expression. “Natalie, darling,” he exclaimed, “we mustn’t wear out our welcome here. Come along.”

  “I’ll see you soon, Natalie,” Mrs. Northe murmured as she helped me affix my favorite hat—the one with a small tulle veil and a satin rose—atop my head and sent me out the door. “You’ve a story for me, I can tell.”

  And so the next day there I was again in Mrs. Northe’s study. She’d come to fetch me at my home while Father was at the Metropolitan. Bessie was again all too happy to send me on my way, and while I was seriously questioning my sanity, I felt I had no choice but to tell Mrs. Northe about having fallen into another world.

  I sat in a sumptuous chair with a cup of tea in hand while Mrs. Northe simply stared at me patiently. Amid the terror of the situation, her calm strength was a most gracious
balm. I rejoiced in this motherlike figure who was not stricken in the face of what I feared was madness.

  I debated for a moment about inventing some lie or feigning that my corset had been laced too tightly the day before. But she herself had said that fate had brought us together. This sort of thing could not go on without comment—not to a woman like her, invested as she was in this situation. She’d see through a lie. If we two had light and colors that Denbury could see, that made us both players in this strange drama.

  The first thing I signed was to plead for Mrs. Northe’s discretion. I wished for Father to hear none of this.

  “Go on then,” she said. “I promise not to say a word. To anyone. You mustn’t hide what magic has been wrought here.”

  I signed to her how the painting had changed, how it lured me and then dragged me under like a tide, how Denbury had caught me against him, how the event had created such a shock that it drove me to speak. I felt my cheeks redden in frustration that the miracle had not held true of my voice upon my return to this world.

  Mrs. Northe’s eyes widened, and she stiffened in her chair as I relayed the events. I felt I had a warrior in the room with me, as well as a confidante. She was as amazed as I, and yet, to my great relief, undeterred. I described the incredible and otherworldly aspects: the particulars of that oddly exquisite little room with a hazy window onto the world beyond, the wild desperation of Denbury’s imprisoned soul in contrast to his stoic painted appearance, and the strange sensation of tumbling in and out of another reality.

  I accepted another cup of tea, wondering if I’d ever stop shaking from the madness of it all and signed something to the effect of: “Does spiritualism have a precedent for this?”

  Mrs. Northe shook her head. “Hardly. I fear I’m out of my depth in this matter. While I’ve no experience, I do have some ideas. But remember, Natalie, this is the blackest of magic. I deal in spirits, human forms transcendent to energy. I embrace and use positive things, beautiful but generally simple things along the veil between life and death. This matter is entirely different. We are dealing with demons and vile, complex magic. I’d take a mere haunting any day over this.”

  And then something that had been nagging me from the first inkling of the supernatural reared its head. There was something I was ignoring, avoiding. Something that made my eyes well up with tears as it bit the back of my mind.

  If what had happened today was real, then so was the Whisper. The movement at my eye was real. Perhaps messages came from the beyond after all. From Mother. This event cracked open everything I’d ever wondered, hoped, or believed. My heart burned with all of it trapped inside.

  “Do you speak to the dead?” I signed.

  She stared at me, deeply and for a long time, as if measuring my worthiness to the weight of her answer. “I have,” she replied quietly, “but I’m not sure Denbury is dead.”

  I stared at my lap. My present concern had nothing to do with Denbury. “No, not him.” Shaking hands did not make for good sign language. “Would you…” I couldn’t look at her.

  “Speak with your mother? Or at least try?” Mrs. Northe finished simply.

  Tears fell again from my eyes, and I batted at them. I did not want to get the reputation of being a weepy, weak, or sniveling girl. I was no orphan, no cripple, and I was not fond of tears. But I wanted to speak to my mother. It seemed a reasonable request.

  “In due time, if you feel it is right, we can try,” Mrs. Northe replied gently before cautioning me, “But with forces like these afoot, we don’t dare draw anything so meaningful to you. We can’t summon anything as tied to your heart as her. Your desires could be used against you. We must keep careful guard around sacred and loving connections, and use them in the proper time and place. They are our greatest vulnerability and greatest weapon.”

  I glanced at her, and I know the disappointment I felt was evidenced on my face.

  She patted my hand. “I’m sorry to deny you,” she murmured. “But you must steel your heart, Natalie. Lock it tight against those who would pry it apart. Keep your energy close, your spirit sound. Else unsavory forces may suck the very life out of you.” My eyes widened, and my hand went to cover my throat.

  Mrs. Northe set her jaw. “No, I don’t mean one of those vampires in those dreadful penny theatricals. Though such a creature may indeed exist, there are worse things than such carnivores. Denbury chose you. If you’re found out, you will also be a target of such magic as was used against him.”

  I stared at her, eyes wide. Panic surged in my veins.

  “Denbury was cursed,” Mrs. Northe clarified. “We simply have to find the counter-curse. And as I doubt the magic will let me in, it’s likely up to you to find it.” She smiled softly.

  “What I learn, I’ll tell you,” I signed. “In words, I hope.”

  My fear turned into a little thrill. It was true: I had spoken. My teachers had told me that I was capable of the act if I only trusted myself. Apparently, when faced with the impossible, an act I’d written off as impossible refused to be ignored and showed itself to be possible. It was just like I’d dreamed; I had slipped into a fantastical world only Collins or Poe would believe, and there indeed I had my voice.

  “What was he like, really, in that moment?” Mrs. Northe asked.

  A glimmer in her eye reminded me that Mrs. Northe had surely once been young and in love. Once she’d cavorted and danced with men like Denbury in fine society. Once she too had been rendered breathless by beauty. Her expression said all this, and her simple question held wistful echoes. I began to sign, attempting to keep my flattery—and my blushes—within reason.

  “He’s so…compelling. And a true gentleman. He wants to continue his studies in medicine and open his own practice. Despite his youth he’s already opened a clinic in London he seems quite passionate about. Why would anyone want to harm him? But then again, I hardly know the truth of his character.” How could I judge someone’s character when I wasn’t sure whom I had met, a man or a phantom? “Regardless, he’s magnificent,” I added, my blush rising to the tips of my ears. Mrs. Northe’s eyes continued to sparkle. “But the strangest thing of all is that there’s a familiarity—as if we know each other. And yet, of course, we don’t…”

  She shrugged and again spoke as if the oddest things were obvious. “Remember when I told you that you’d know when people were meant to enter your life? When they do, those persons seem oddly familiar at first glance.” I bit my lip. He and I were meant to meet.

  Mrs. Northe rose to her feet. “You must come to call again, Natalie, and soon. We cannot leave that poor boy trapped, and I pledge to assist in every way I am able.”

  I stared at her. My hands flew in signing a blunt question: “Why are you so kind to me?”

  Mrs. Northe stared directly back at me. “Because I was told to be.”

  “By whom?”

  She smiled enigmatically, dodging the question. “Running from fate will be of no use. Magic will follow.”

  I let the matter alone, rose, and embraced her. We were suddenly sisters in a supernatural bond, too overwhelmed to do anything but agree to the compact. Neither of us could deny the impossible. We had crossed a point of no return.

  And as I write these words, I keep trying to reassure myself that the man I met inside a magical world isn’t evil. He’s panicked, maddened, desperate…but not evil. Surely not?

  Sitting here on my sill, looking out into the dark New York night, with its roving spots of light and life down the avenue, it is all I can do to behave normally until I am able to see Lord Denbury again, no matter if it’s dangerous. Until I can speak again. Until life is magical again. Yes, I partly fear the unknown, the magical, the supernatural. But when pitted against excited resolve, fear is outmatched.

  June 11

  If one could gain royalty through nightmares, then I would be crowned queen.

  Though I have suffered from nightmares as long as I can remember, none have been so vivid. I don�
�t usually note every detail, yet those atrocious visions will remain emblazoned upon my mind.

  The first thing I remember is walking through a door. Suddenly I was in Denbury’s study, his prison. He looked as dashing as ever, if a bit tired. He turned to me in shock as the door through which I’d entered closed behind me.

  “Miss Stewart!”

  “Hello, Lord Denbury,” I murmured, the sound of my voice still strange in my ears. I’ve often been able to speak in my dreams, so this was no additional shock, yet Denbury stared at me and then at the door.

  “How did you do that?” he exclaimed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come through the door. I’ve tried, but…” He strode to the door, extended his hand, and tried the knob. But red and gold sparks crackled around the edges of the door. Denbury’s portrait frame crackled too, fire racing around the edges in warning and leaving glowing traces of something strange. Wincing, he pulled away, his hand clearly scalded.

  The picture frame had faintly glowing marks all over it: strange hatch marks, crosses, and triangles. Symbols of a kind I’d never seen appeared in faint traces all around the back of the frame, which would have been hidden against Mrs. Northe’s wall but was visible to us on the inside.

  “What on earth is all that?” I asked.

  “No idea. But they’re familiar,” Denbury said ruefully, unbuttoning his cuff to reveal angry red marks, as if those same symbols had been carved into his flesh. I shuddered. “Part of the devil’s magic, surely. When the spell was cast, my arm burned with this brand.”

  “I’ll have to ask Mrs. Northe about it. She might know something that could help.”

  Madness after madness. I stared at the closed curtain. Something was missing. My body. “I must be dreaming then, am I? I don’t see myself.”