by C. C. Finlay
Blue, as pale as ice in the moonlight, flashed between the trees.
Proctor ran toward it. His skin was electrified, covered with goose bumps. He rounded a corner and stopped.
There, in the middle of the path, was the most striking woman he had ever seen. Her face was a symmetry of full lips, delicate nose, and large eyes, with skin as pale and perfect as marble, with her lips painted red, her cheeks rose, and one black dot below the corner of her left eye. Her hair was piled atop her head in the French manner, her dress was cut shockingly low, and the fabric was trimmed with lace that sparkled with tiny jewels. Her neck, fingers, wrists, and ears were adorned with jewelry, and every piece carried a charm or spell. He could feel the power of it.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Brown,” she said. “I understand that you have been looking for me.”
“And you are?”
“The Countess Cagliostro,” she said. She glided over to him, hooking her hand familiarly around his arm. “But you may call me Seraphina. Let us walk and enjoy the garden while we talk.”
“Where is the count?” Proctor said, looking over his shoulder as they strolled past a row of motionless visitors. Even the air was still, as if they had somehow stepped momentarily out of time.
“At the palace in St. Petersburg by now, I hope,” she said. “Although he can be easily distracted and is loath to bypass a single opportunity, so he may have stopped anywhere between here and there. But I thought you were seeking members of the Covenant?”
He tried to pull his arm away, but it felt pinned to her hand. She wasn’t strong enough to hold him. He suspected one of the charms in her bracelet.
She smiled without showing any teeth and tapped him on the wrist. “You wanted to find me, and you have found me. Do not run away or you will not find me again.”
“But I thought—”
“Have you ever seen a charlatan perform, one of those who call themselves magicians?”
He didn’t answer. He felt out of his depth, and out of control, and he was more than a little frightened. He didn’t even know if Lydia was all right.
“Stage conjurors use misdirection to fool their audiences,” the countess continued after his uncomfortable silence. “They perform one action over here with their hands”—she flourished her free hand in the air, and he immediately looked at it—“while they perform the trick with their other hand over here.”
In the hand looped around his arm she held Deborah’s lock of hair, taken from his pocket. In place of the plain gray ribbon that had tied it before, there was now a ribbon of black silk, embroidered with a vine that snaked around its edge. It curved in shapes that seemed to form letters, though Proctor did not recognize the words.
“Interesting,” she said. “If you pull it out by the roots, it will have much more power as a focus. But this woman has talents …”
He snatched it back from her. It was still Deborah’s hair, but it felt tainted to him now, as if there were a layer of oil on the lock. He slipped it into the opposite pocket.
“But my point is that those of us with talent are in constant danger,” she said. “People fear us because they are jealous of our power and unable to oppose our will. That is why it can also be useful for those of us with a true talent to practice misdirection. While everyone watches my dear husband the count and follows his every action, I am free to pursue my own purpose.”
“And those are the purposes of the Covenant? You are the leader?” If she was the leader, the one who had orchestrated all the evil they’d done so far, could he do what was necessary? Would he kill her?
“Oh, heavens, no. Though I was one of the twelve and came to London at his call in ’seventy-six to add my power to his. But I think that he’s gone mad with his focus on your pitiful country.” She indicated the gardens and the palace with a sweep of her arm. “There is no culture there, no power there. Why build a single empire around the world in that direction, when, if he but turns east instead, a civilized land lies before him? I have severed my ties with the Covenant.”
She spoke confidently, but Proctor detected a slight tremble of fear in her voice. If she had cut her ties with the Covenant, then she was looking for new allies.
An old man in a dusty wig sat on the edge of a fountain, his outstretched hand offering bread crumbs to pigeons that were frozen in their eagerness to reach the meal. The countess gestured with her hand. The pigeons scattered, squawking, the noise harsh in the unnatural silence. The old man looked up startled, as if woken from a dream, and, after one glance at the countess, averted his eyes and hurried away through the other people still frozen like statues. The countess spread out her dress and took a seat.
“If nothing else, it takes magic to remain comfortable in these dresses,” she said. “Please, sit.”
“I think I’ll stand,” he said, rubbing the cold spot on his forearm where she had been touching him. “If you are no longer loyal to the Covenant, then you can tell me who they are.”
“I’m not going to give you names,” she said. “If you can’t discover them on your own, you’re not worthy of the task.”
“What will you tell me?”
She considered the question for a moment. “The Covenant was a pact formed over two hundred years ago by a group of necromancers who wanted to achieve immortality in this world. They believed we are the children of the Nephilim, the offspring of men and angels, and so they sought ways to speak to the angels to learn their secrets. There was one leader and twelve disciples, and each disciple was to recruit another twelve disciples, and so on, all of them channeling their power to the leader.”
“I don’t understand the connections to the Masons.”
“We don’t have enough power. We can extend life, but not cheat it entirely. We need more. The symbols of kings and nations are one way to focus the untapped magic of the people,” she said. “Religion is another, which is why the church has expended so much energy pursuing and defeating those who practice outside the bounds of its guiding hand. Both try to extend their reach around the world, do they not? And both come up against other armies and other priests. But free associations, like the order of the Masons, are a new route to power, one that has no natural opposition, and can pass the borders of any nation and welcome those of any religion.”
“For men eager to cheat death, they have been profligate in dealing it out.”
“Don’t pretend to be better,” she said. “Your hands have also laved in blood, that of men and women both. We are the scions of angels, the divine children of a higher plane, set here among the mortals. What are their lives to such as us?”
The barb about the blood on his hands hit home. Was he already becoming more like the witches of the Covenant? Was Deborah? He resisted that thought. “We are all children of one God, divine in our reflection of His divinity.”
“Not all children are created equal,” she answered, as if this were self-evident. “Only one child may inherit the title and the estates. Why should those of us with gifts not be the proper inheritors of the earth?”
“And so the Covenant proposes to bring the earth under its empire,” he said. “But I thought you had gone your separate way?”
“I do not wish to consort with demons to gain power,” she answered with a forced smile. “Again, I think you’ve seen them. I think you know the danger they present. You’ve spent some time around witches, I know. Tell me, have you known more women or men?”
On The Farm, the numbers had never even been close. “Women.”
“And who have the most powerful of those witches been?”
He hesitated, remembering the menace he felt when the prince-bishop stood over him sawing off his finger. “Women.”
“The women are often stronger than the men, and yet the men lead. How curious.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “But I sense that you are thinking of one woman in particular. Her name begins with a D … Deborah?”
Proctor took a step back, tensed, ready to strike.
“How have you seen that already?”
She waved his question aside and rose, smoothing her dress. “Come, I have one more thing to show you.”
He did not follow. “If you are no longer with the Covenant, will you tell me how to find them, so I can stop them?”
“Come with me, and I’ll tell you anything you wish to know.”
They walked through the garden, where living statues mingled with the stone. They sidestepped a nurse holding two small children by the hands, bypassed a group of Englishmen made conspicuous by their non-Parisian clothes, and circled a noblewoman chasing after a very small dog, all of them frozen. The countess spoke continuously.
“The Egyptians were great worshippers of the dead, and their rites are a powerful focus for immortality. Have you ever considered a trip to Egypt? The pyramids are the greatest buildings ever made by man.” She nodded toward the façade of the Tuileries in the distance, looking unreal against the backdrop of the clear and frozen sky. “They dwarf these palaces in conception and execution, rising above the landscape, providing the same inevitable gaze upward from every direction.”
“How does this help me defeat the Covenant?”
She stopped at the foot of a statue. “You can’t defeat the Covenant. You don’t have the power, the experience, or the numbers. That is the point I wish to make. But if you are willing to join with me, you might survive. I am drawing together a new power through the lodges, one where men and women will both contribute. You may invite some of your friends if you will join me.”
“No—”
“Do you recognize this statue?”
He looked up at a beautiful young woman with a quiver on her back. She held a small stag by the horns and was reaching for an arrow. “I don’t.”
“Her name begins with a D, just like your Deborah. She stayed away from men her whole life, and then one fell in love with her.”
“What happened?” He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“She hunted him down and killed him. Women can be so cruel, can’t they?”
Thunder rocked the clear sky, startling them both. It sounded again, and this time lightning stitched a seam from the ground to the heavens. The countess spun around. A figure in a fine chestnut coat was walking toward them through the frozen people. He came closer, and Proctor recognized the long gray hair and spectacles.
“Doctor Franklin,” the countess said.
“How gratifying to see you again, Seraphina,” he said. They kissed each other and embraced. Franklin’s hand lingered on the curves of her body. When they pulled apart, Franklin sighed happily. “You are as lovely as ever.”
Despite his casual tone, the countess was as tense as a cat. “Why are you here?”
“Although news chases your husband the count like a pack of wolves, I had heard a rumor that you were here in Paris. I need to know what you are up to, and whether you are working for America or against us.”
“I am pursuing my own interests,” she said.
He nodded judiciously and gave some thought to what she said. “Those interests do not include this boy.”
“I will be going east to join the count very soon,” she said. “I do not want to be here when the blood starts.”
“If you would help us, perhaps it need not flow.”
“It will flow. Mark my words, these gardens will drown in it.” She turned to Proctor and leaned forward for a kiss, but he ignored her. She pulled back with an expression of mock woundedness. “Poor Monsieur Brown. You will regret that you did not take this opportunity.”
“You’ll regret not helping me when you had the chance,” he said. “It’s not too late to change your mind. She should change her mind, shouldn’t she, Doctor Franklin?”
He looked over his shoulder for confirmation, but Franklin was gone. He spun back to the countess but she had disappeared also.
And then, in a blink, he was right back where he’d started, standing next to Lydia. He was dizzy and staggered off-balance, almost falling to his knees. The smell of the mulch, the chatter of the birds, the spray of water in the air falling chill across his face, all rushed back on him at once. He heard children talking in French, Englishmen arguing, and a small dog barking.
“Proctor, are you all right?” Lydia said.
“I think so,” he answered, even though his legs were weak, his heart pounded, and his breath came short. He thrust his hand into the pocket where he normally carried Deborah’s lock of hair, but it was missing. He reached into the other pocket and found it. He rubbed his thumb across it and felt the black silk ribbon, embroidered with words shaped like vines.
“Ah, Mister Brown,” said a new but familiar voice.
Proctor looked up. There, through the gardens, came Benjamin Franklin again. The chestnut-brown coat, long gray hair, and spectacles stood out among the crowd. He leaned on a cane as he walked.
“Doctor Franklin,” Proctor said. “I was hoping we could count on one new ally today. What do you think our chances are?”
“Anything could happen,” Franklin said. “How could I have ever predicted you showing up so usefully on my doorstep?” A pair of well-dressed ladies walked by, followed by servants. They looked over their shoulders at Franklin as they passed. “The gardens are wonderful. A young man should enjoy the beautiful women of Paris. Do you know how to kiss them?”
“I’m sorry?” Proctor said, confused.
“It is not the mode in Paris to kiss either the lips or cheeks, for the first is considered rude and the second may ruin the art with which the ladies adorn their faces. So you must kiss them on the neck, and this provides the opportunity to embrace them, which, I have discovered, they heartily embrace in turn.” He sighed contentedly, just as he had after embracing the countess. “It is like being a man who loves mutton and finding oneself in a land of sheep. Perhaps it would be best to help you to my chaise? It is waiting for me near those marvelous statues of Pegasus.”
Proctor was relieved that a ride was available. “Yes, that would be good,” he said. “I hope that you are able to help us with our goal.”
Franklin smiled. “There are some men come over from England, one in particular, to whom I wish to introduce you. If you wish to go to England, he is the man.”
“And if we seek a Covenant?” Proctor asked.
“Oh, he is most definitely the man for that as well.”
Chapter 13
During the short ride back to the hotel, while Franklin chatted amiably about this and that aspect of Parisian life, Proctor sat silently and tried to decide what had happened. Had the countess visited him, or had he just imagined it? Did Franklin really arrive and confront her, or was that just another part of his dream? Franklin’s comment about kissing could have been innocent—or not-so-innocent—advice. Or it could have been a winking acknowledgment that he was there with Proctor when the countess offered him the chance to kiss her.
He slid his hand into his pocket and touched the lock of Deborah’s hair. The ribbon was different. That much was real. She seemed so far away. It was not just the ocean that separated them.
When the carriage arrived in Passy, Franklin invited them up to his room. Proctor looked at the walls again, this time noticing how many of the symbols and items had magical significance. A square and compass hung on the wall, and though they were the tools of a builder, they were also the marks of the Mason, and a focus for their power. There was a sketch of an eye tacked to a corner where it looked over the entire room. A sun, whose rays formed a hexagram, was suspended over the door.
Proctor looked at Franklin again, but he gave off no spark or sense of talent. If it was there, it was perfectly concealed.
Franklin sent his servants out for additional chairs, then turned immediately back to Proctor. “I’m not sure where the other gentlemen are,” Franklin said. “Perhaps they took a walk down to the gardens. I hope
they are not taken by the same spell as you.”
Proctor twitched. “Spell?”
“The dizzy spell, the one that left you feeling weak,” Franklin answered, looking at Proctor over the tops of his glasses. “I’ve neglected your comfort. Do you require refreshment?”
“I could use something to drink,” Proctor answered.
Franklin popped his head out the door and called to one of the servants in French. Returning to the room, he smiled at Proctor and Lydia. “It’s not the day for ices, but they make marvelous lemon ices in the kitchen here, and I asked them to bring some of those for us as well.”
“What do you know about magic, Doctor Franklin?”
There. He asked it directly. If he was going to make a good decision about where to go next, he needed to know exactly where he stood.
“Magic is the subversion of natural laws by a power higher than nature,” Franklin said. “That makes it coterminous with the scope of religion.”
Proctor glanced at Lydia. She had said something very similar to him once, when he first went to The Farm. “So magic is just another word for ‘miracle,’” he said.
“That’s a perceptive way to put it,” Franklin said. He sat down, indicating to them that they should sit on the chairs available. “The longer I live, the more proof I see that God governs the affairs of men. If a sparrow cannot fall without His notice, can an empire rise without His aid? I think not. We are assured in sacred writings that unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain that build it. I think all those who work without His concurring aid have no better chance to succeed than those who built the tower of Babel.”
Was he referring to the political house of America? Or to the plans of the Covenant? His meaning could apply to either. “So you do believe that magic is possible?”
Franklin smiled. “It is like a bicameral legislature, is it not?”