by Robyn Bachar
“I see. But if you had the opportunity, would you be interested in using your talents in the pursuit of justice more often?”
“How so?” I frowned in confusion.
“I aid a guardian in New York City, Miss Justine Dubois. She and I have solved a number of crimes together, and I can say with certainty that with some training you would be a marvelous investigator.”
For a moment my heart soared at the idea, but I shook my head at the sheer impracticality of it. “That is kind of you, but my father would never allow such a thing.”
“Do you need his permission?”
“Well…no, not legally. But I wouldn’t want to create ill will with my family. I cause enough trouble as it is,” I admitted sheepishly.
“Perhaps I could convince him? I know this appears forward of me, but I can assure you that my intentions are honorable. Miss Dubois comes from an old, respected family of guardians, and you would be safe and well cared for in her employ. She owns a large home, and I’m sure she would be happy to have you stay with her.” He sounded very sincere, and I sensed no deception or trickery from him.
“I’m not certain—”
“Will you at least think on it?” he interrupted. “Seers are so very rare, and there is so much more you could be doing. To waste your abilities…it is almost criminal.”
I blushed. “I do not disagree, but it is not that simple. I would like to do more, but I have always been bound by the expectations of propriety.”
“I understand. Miss Dubois often voices a similar complaint, though there are few who will openly argue with a guardian. Please consider my offer.” He smiled, and I watched him as he turned and walked down the stairs.
Indeed it was something to consider, and the matter would require some research if I wished to pursue it. I wasn’t about to sail on the next ship to New York in search of a new life, but a part of me was thrilled by the idea. Aiding a guardian in solving mysteries—how exciting! And far better than marrying a sorcerer, but Father would never agree to let me go. It was as unlikely as the hope of having some sort of life with Michael.
Turning, I looked down the empty hallway. Aside from the promise of a second kiss, I had no expectations of anything from him. There was no future for us…there may not even be a future for him at all. My stomach sank, dropping like a stone to the bottom of a pond, and I forced myself to return to the room I had just left. Visions of the future were malleable. If I warned Michael and Mr. St. Jerome of the danger, perhaps they could take additional precautions during the ritual.
I knocked lightly before entering, and found Michael and Mr. St. Jerome standing before the fireplace. Neither of them looked happy, and from the tension in the air I knew I had interrupted an argument. I paused, uncertain of what to do.
“Thank you for your aid, Miss Wright,” Mr. St. Jerome greeted with a polite bow.
“I am happy to have helped.”
“Are you?” he asked. The question startled me, and I glanced at Michael. Had he told his mentor about my discovery? I folded my hands, choosing my words carefully.
“Well, of course I am not happy about Miss Morgan’s unfortunate fate, and I would like to see justice done for her and her family. If my abilities can be of use in doing that, then I will do my best to help.”
“That is very diplomatic of you. I imagine you do not often use your abilities in such a manner in your role as a matchmaker.”
Though his tone was neutral, I could not shake the feeling that he meant it as an insult. I frowned, uncertain of how to reply.
“Emily is a woman of many talents,” Michael said.
“So you have mentioned. My apprentice speaks very highly of you, Miss Wright, and quite often.” Mr. St. Jerome peered at me, and though I felt a chill from his gaze, my heart soared at the idea that Michael spoke of me often. “I must admit, I have not met a seer in many years. The last one I knew served as an advisor to the king of France. He was a very powerful man.”
His words made me feel small, but I squared my shoulders. “I’m sure he was. My work may be more domestic, but it is important to those I have matched.”
“I suppose a woman would consider romance a worthy goal.”
“I suppose a man would belittle its worth,” I retorted hotly. “I have found three people their soul’s mate, and I can assure you that they consider that knowledge priceless.” I regretted the words the moment I spoke them, for I realized that my record had changed. “Four,” I corrected. “Four people.”
“You found someone’s soul mate this evening?” Mr. St. Jerome sounded surprised.
I nodded, attempting to swallow my misery and chase it away with a deep breath, but I was unable to hold back tears. I turned away as the first traitors slipped down my cheeks. I hated myself for having proved that I was as weak and foolish as the chronicler assumed, but I hated him more for being part of the obstacle blocking me from my soul mate. I also hated that I had ruined my only handkerchief with his blood, rendering it useless to dry my tears.
Michael touched my shoulder. I flinched, and he offered me his handkerchief. After I took it, he wrapped his arms around me. Though his presence was comforting, I could also sense his conflict—a mix of guilt and regret.
“I assume there is a detail of your evening that you neglected to mention,” Mr. St. Jerome commented dryly.
“You didn’t tell him?” I asked.
“No, I had not gotten to that matter yet,” Michael replied.
“Oh.” I turned to glare at the chronicler. “So you are naturally this unpleasant? Here I thought you were being cruel out of jealousy, believing that I am stealing your apprentice’s affections.”
He ignored the comment and continued to peer at me with a guarded expression. “You are certain of this?”
“If I hear that question once more tonight, I will scream. Yes, Mr. St. Jerome, I am quite certain that you are unpleasant.”
“Emily!” Michael said disapprovingly.
Though I might have imagined it, I thought I saw the corners of Mr. St. Jerome’s mouth twitch in a smile. “You are not the first to accuse me of such, and you may call me Simon if you wish. I am indebted to you for campaigning so strongly on my behalf. Is there anything else I should be aware of?”
I nodded, and then looked up at Michael. How could I tell him? I supposed there was nothing to be done to soften it, so I blurted my reply in a nervous rush. “When I saw that we were soul mates, I also saw that you would be dead by the end of the year, but I assumed that it was only the end of your apprenticeship, because I did not know that there was a possibility that you could truly die. That’s why I asked if your apprenticeship was almost over. But there must be something you can do, can’t you?” I turned to his mentor. “Precautions you can take? Perhaps healing potions? I know a very talented alchemist—”
“There aren’t precautions, per se, but there are steps that can be taken now that we know this,” Simon interrupted. I nodded, a bit relieved. “Are you recovered enough to read the guests in the ballroom?”
“Yes, I should be.” I dabbed at my eyes once more and returned Michael’s handkerchief. “Will you walk with me? It is difficult to walk and read auras at the same time. It would be a great help if you could steady me. I fell flat on my face at a party once, and Sarah has never let me forget it.”
“Of course.”
I took Michael’s arm and we proceeded to the ballroom. Simon walked behind us, cold and silent. I was beginning to understand why Mr. Gryphon seemed so convinced that Simon was capable of murder, but I couldn’t imagine Miss Morgan flirting with him. She preferred her men dapper and animated, and no one would accuse Simon St. Jerome of being either of those things. We found Lord Willowbrook waiting for us outside the ballroom.
“The rooms are being searched, though that may take some time. Are you ready to proceed here?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” I said. “What should I do if I spot the master necromancer?”
“I have
not announced your intention. If you are discreet, no one will suspect what you are doing, and if you spot him, remain silent,” Willowbrook instructed. “You can inform me of it once you are outside the room, and we will decide how to handle it best.”
“Very well.” I nodded. It wasn’t a very reassuring plan, but I felt safer knowing that Michael would be accompanying me. We stepped into the ballroom, but before I could begin my reading I spotted my father making a beeline for us, red-faced and puffing like a locomotive. “Oh no,” I murmured.
“Emily! Where have you been? Your sisters have been worried sick over you.” Of course he made no mention of worrying about me himself. If the game hadn’t ended, I doubted that he would have noticed my activities at all.
“Miss Wright has been aiding Lord Willowbrook,” Michael informed him.
“Oh she has, has she? Well that nonsense ends now. Go sit with your sisters,” he ordered.
“Your concern for my welfare is very touching, Father. Did Miss Morgan’s unfortunate demise interrupt your game?”
“It did, if you must know, and my luck was just about to turn for the better.”
Of course it was. Father suffered under the delusion that one more hand at cards would completely change his fortune. “Perhaps you should have a drink.” I glanced in the direction of the refreshments. “I will speak with the girls and set their minds at ease.”
Father followed my gaze, and his determination wavered as he spotted the wine, as I knew it would. Spirits were a close second to cards on his list of favorite diversions. When his attention returned, he frowned at my new companion. “What is your purpose here?” he asked Michael.
Before he could answer, I patted Michael’s arm affectionately. “Oh we’ve been making mad, passionate love in the library. It’s very scandalous, everyone will be talking about it for weeks,” I said flippantly. Michael made a sound very much as though he was choking.
Father merely sighed and shook his head. “You and your tales, Emily. I suppose you’ll compose a sonnet about that as well. Go on, comfort Jo before she gets so upset she delivers her babe in the middle of the room.” He walked away, and I looked up at Michael, who was blushing quite handsomely.
“I thought seers always spoke the truth?” he said.
“We are devoted to the truth. But that wasn’t a lie, it was a flight of fancy, and I knew he would dismiss it as such,” I explained. “Are you brave enough to face my sisters?”
“If we can avoid any further flights of fancy, yes.” We started in the direction of my family. “A sonnet?”
This time I blushed. “I write poetry. It’s a bit of a hobby.”
“Really? Would you let me read some of your work?”
“I…I suppose so.” The request surprised me. Other than Josephine and my mother, no one had ever asked to see my work. On occasion I considered attempting to publish it, but the idea was too daunting.
When we approached the sitting area I had left my sisters in, I saw that their husbands had returned and were standing guard. I pitied the murderer if he came near them, for they appeared to be spoiling for a fight—or as much as a group of librarians could be. As a rule, librarians are not known for prowess in battle.
“Where have you been?” Sarah asked.
“I have been helping Lord Willowbrook.” I spared Michael the indignity of another story.
“Are you all right? You look unwell.” Concern was etched on Josephine’s pretty face, and her husband, Thomas, stood behind her, appearing worried as well, but likely more for her sake than mine.
I felt guilty for worrying Jo, because I was closest to her, and I smiled sheepishly. I probably looked a fright by now. “It was difficult, but I am fine.”
“Miss Wright has been very brave,” Michael assured them.
“Have you been looking out for her or leading her into trouble?” Thomas asked.
“He has been looking out for me. I am quite safe in Mr. Black’s company.” They appeared comforted by my words, though I wondered what they would say if I shared the news about finding my soul mate. “Have you seen Mr. Farrell?”
Mary nodded. “He was here earlier, but he complained of a headache and returned to his room.”
“I see,” I said. It was just as well. He would be safer there, and it kept him from witnessing me on Michael’s arm. “I have a few more matters to attend to. I will return later.”
“Father wants you to stay here,” Sarah said.
“Well, then Father can speak to Lord Willowbrook about it,” I countered. “In the meantime I will continue with my task. If you’ll excuse us.”
I nudged Michael insistently, encouraging him to leave, and we walked away. I chose a spot along the wall and drew to a halt. “We will start here and do a slow circuit through the room.”
“Is there anything I can do to aid you?” he asked.
“Mainly prevent me from tripping. It may help if we talk as we move through the room, as it will look less suspicious, but please keep the topic simple. Nothing that will distract me.” Now was not the time to discuss our future, or lack thereof.
“Of course. Whenever you are ready.”
I nodded and stared out at the crowd. Everyone had arranged themselves into small groups, mostly by their breed of magic but with a bit of crossover. As a rule, magicians did not marry outside their group—alchemists married alchemists, sorcerers married sorceresses, and so on. It was the main reason I had no marriage prospects before Mr. Farrell, for no magician wanted to risk that his children would be seers like myself, even though that was a very slim risk. One that Mr. Farrell was willing to take, in exchange for exploiting my abilities for his gain. I knew it was not fondness that drew him to me, but greed, practical and calculating.
The room bloomed with color as my vision shifted, bright and riotous like an overgrown flower garden. A giddy wave of lightheadedness bubbled through me. I’d never attempted anything like this. Fear seemed the dominant emotion in the room, and the chill of it made me cling a little tighter to Michael’s arm.
“Lead on,” I said softly.
“What did you discuss with Dr. Bennett?” he asked.
It was hardly what I could consider simple conversation, but I shrugged as I examined the auras of a group of alchemists. “He offered me a position in the employ of a guardian in New York City.” I did not see his reaction, but I could feel how surprised he was by the news. “I told him I would consider it.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, I am. I doubt that it will be possible, but it is an intriguing offer. I have always wanted to travel, and it would be an opportunity to use my abilities for more than matchmaking.”
We wound our way through a sea of sorcerers, and I stumbled as dizziness attempted to trip me. My feet were heavy, as though weighed down by layers of mud caked to my shoes. I frowned, and I stopped near the refreshments. “I feel odd,” I admitted.
“Do you think you’re being interfered with?” he asked.
“No. I think I may be overtaxing myself. It may help if we pause for a moment… I think I would like a glass of wine.”
“Won’t that interfere with your abilities?”
“One glass won’t. Three would. Though by the end of the evening I may need a bottle of it.” I smiled weakly. “Perhaps I can sneak one back to my room.”
“I will fetch you a glass. Wait here.”
My gaze wandered over the crowd while I waited. Everyone’s aura was alive with color. The master necromancer could not be among them. It may have been a wise tactic for him to hide in plain sight, but he was more likely seeking refuge within the empty rooms of the estate. Perhaps even his own room, if he was indeed a guest.
Michael returned, a glass of wine in his hands and worry in his aura, and I blinked it away. My eyes were tired, as though I had strained them concentrating on my needlework for too long, and a headache twinged behind them.
“I am told this is a sweet wine. I was not sure what you would want,” he sa
id.
“Thank you. Is something wrong?” I doubted his distress was caused by the wine.
“I don’t like the idea of you going to America.”
“No?” I sipped at the wine, watching him over the rim of the glass. “There is sense in it. It might be easiest for us to be so far apart. Running into each other at gatherings like this one would be awkward.” And painful, I added silently. I pictured myself old and gray, still matching other couples while my own soul mate stood across the room, cold and ageless. Shivering, I took a longer drink.
Michael frowned. “It wouldn’t solve anything.”
“Is there an alternative you have in mind?”
“We could be married.”
I nearly dropped the glass. “What?”
“That is what most soul mates do,” Michael replied matter-of-factly.
“Yes, but our situation is unique. Most soul mates do not have one half of their partnership considering immortality. Your path is already set. And though the Order may not be a jealous wife, I would be. I’ve spent most of my life being ignored by my family while they buried their noses in books. I would rather not spend the rest of it being ignored by my husband.”
“Have I ever ignored you before?”
“No,” I admitted reluctantly. “But you would. It’s in your nature. As you said, you’ve always wanted to be a chronicler. Your mentor does not strike me as a shining example of…well of anything, really.”
Michael winced. “Simon does not excel at social graces, but he is an excellent teacher.”
“Haven’t you ever wanted more?”
“More?”
“More than this.” I waved my free hand at the crowd. “More than the same faces, the same gatherings. Always the same stale gossip.”
He glanced away, peering pensively at the assembled magicians clustered into their tight-knit factions. “I don’t usually pay attention to them. I prefer paying attention to you.” Michael smiled, and my irritation melted away. “Do you truly want to move to America, or is it the opportunity for change that appeals to you?”