The cabbie’s hands trembled on the reins. He looked at each of them in turn. “All of you can’t be—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, ought we just threaten you, then? Fine! Let us up, and take us to 1178 Greensborough Row, or I’ll come up there, throw you out of the seat, and requisition your cab in the name Queen Gloria’s police force!”
Whether it was the promise of Chris’s height, Olivia’s fire, or just the sheer number of them together with their blood-stained garments and wild eyes, the driver apparently weighed his options and decided that they might be able to deliver on that threat. Gulping, he jerked a thumb back to the car, and one by one, they piled in.
Chris ended up beside Rachel. She was shaking as she settled in beside him, and, without thinking, he twined an arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.
She shook him loose violently, laughing in the back of her throat. There was a hysterical edge to the sound. “Stop!” she cried. “Please, stop being—it’s done, all right? You didn’t dance with me. You didn’t—it’s done. I’m not all right. I am going to confront my brother. Just let me do it in peace!”
Chris snapped away from her as if she’d burned him.
“Goodness. I do hope you’re up for this,” Olivia said, surveying them. “You seem a bit perturbed, Miss Albany.”
Rachel cured her arms around her middle. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “I’m… I’m fine. Just get me there. Please.”
Olivia pondered. “You know,” she said. “We may just as well forego this entire effort. It really is quite a poor plan, indeed. We might be better off using our time to contact Hannah and apprise her fully of the situation. She’s trained in this exact sort of operation and has a soft spot for Mister Cartwright. She’d probably do more good than us.”
“No,” Rachel said, firmly. “I—believe me. I know my brother. He is already so many steps ahead of you…” She shook her head. “I don’t care how good she is at what she does. She doesn’t have a chance.”
“Mn,” Olivia said. She leaned back. “You do seem quite assured of the matter.”
“I am.”
“And what if Mister Albany doesn’t listen? Yes, I know. ‘He will.’ What if he doesn’t?”
Then Chris would step in. Garrett Albany was just a man, after all. No amount of cruel brilliance could make him immune to a power that Chris had more control over ever day. Perhaps Will had been right about everything. Perhaps it was wrong to use it on his friends, on people he cared about. Or even on strangers. Perhaps people did deserve their feelings, whatever they may be.
But Garrett Albany was something else entirely. If he had to put spectral fingers within the man’s head to free Will and get the spiritcell back into friendly hands… well. So be it.
“We’ll handle it,” he murmured.
Olivia’s eyes flickered to him. She looked momentarily surprised. And then her brows pulled down. Her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared. “We?” she repeated.
His heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to reply. And then carriage jolted to a halt.
“All right!” The cabby beat on the car as if he was trying to shake them off. “Get out, and may every devil take the lot of you!”
When Chris hit the footpath, he looked up. The gate of the Cartwright house was before him, wrought iron. Manicured bushes framed the pathway to the front door. He stared down the path. The door opened. Agnes Cartwright, angelic and beautiful, floated down the walk like she was made of water and gossamer. She carefully unlocked the gate. “Christopher,” she said, “All right. It’s time to remember.” As Chris’s head erupted into images and thoughts, Will’s mother turned to Olivia before him. “Good morning, Julia.”
Chris jumped, twisting to look at the space where Missus Cartwright’s eyes had gone. But it was only Olivia after all, forcing a handful of bloody bills up at the driver. “Take them!” she insisted, and then threw her hands up. “Or fine! Don’t! Gods.”
He looked back at the house. The gate was still latched, the door still closed, and there was no sign of Agnes Cartwright.
“Christopher,” Rachel’s voice penetrated his confused mind.
“Hm?” Chris scanned the empty space. The hedges were more grown up than they had been. The shutters had changed colours. The ghosts that this place conjured in him made his head ache and throb.
“Won’t you just forgive me? Please. Just… let’s go back to last night. I’m willing. I care about you. Let’s just… be those people. Won’t you consider doing that? Wouldn’t that just be… better?”
For a moment, he considered it. Turning, seizing her hands. He’d say something like… don’t worry. I have a way to ensure that your brother does what you ask. You don’t need to be afraid. It would be so heroic. She’d swoon, and he’d kiss her, and….
But.
Will was in there.
And until he was safe….
“Don’t ask me that right now,” he said.
Rachel closed her eyes tight.
When Olivia pushed at the iron gate, it opened in a screech of badly oiled hinges. She winced. “Well,” she murmured. “I suppose that just announced our presence.”
Her skirts trailed behind her as she began her way up the walk. Chris’s mind’s eye doubled. His mother had walked those stones so many times. Her fingers would reach out to trail through the leaves of the hedges. For a moment, he saw her overlaid on Olivia’s body, and it seemed as if Julia Buckley wore Olivia’s bloodied skirts.
One by one, they followed after. The gate banged shut behind them. Chris didn’t see the line of a soundshield, but he felt his hair stir as they passed through one. After days in the country, the beautiful silence of the shield shutting out the city seemed incredible.
The front door opened when Olivia took the first step up the stoop.
Chris thought he recognized the pretty blonde girl who greeted them, though he couldn’t say from where. Not until Olivia shook her head and sighed. “Katie Woodruff,” she said. “Really, I thought you ought to have known better than this. When I saw you on Mister Albany’s arm at the Piffleman’s Gala House this summer, I had hoped it was a momentary lapse of judgement, rather than a choice. Especially after what happened that night.”
He remembered what she’d looked like with her hair piled atop her head, her face fresh with cosmetics, all brocaded in dusty rose, a pretty little trifle on Garrett Albany’s arm.
“I hate to disappoint, Miss Faraday,” Miss Woodruff said. She really did sound quite sad. “You did me well, helping me out of that charge. But I can’t turn my back on the cause. I never could.” Her gaze slid past Olivia and landed on Rachel. “Come back to the fold, Rachel?”
“I want to talk to Garrett.”
“Oh? I’m not so sure he wants to talk to you. You know how he feels about family. About blood. And about loyalty.”
Rachel swallowed hard. She shifted ever so slightly closer to Chris, and he forced himself not to reach out and thread confidence and strength through her mind. Let her stand on her own. Let her walk on her feet. “I know, Katie. I know all about blood, ever since we were young.”
Miss Woodruff nodded slowly. “All right.”
“Is Garrett inside?” Rachel asked.
“Yes.”
“Does… does he have someone with him, Katie? Someone he’s prepared to hurt?”
Miss Woodruff nodded slowly. “You know Garrett. He’s prepared to do anything. But yes, we do have a guest here.”
Oh, Gods. Will.
Miss Woodruff tilted her head. “Is that what you want to speak to him about? Guests?”
“Please.”
Miss Woodruff turned. She walked back into the house, leaving the door open behind her. It was as much an invitation as they were likely to get.
Olivia paused on the threshold, twisting to look behind her. Her ice blue eyes scanned the streets. “Where the hell is Hannah?” she murmured. “I am not comfortable going inside without her her
e.”
“We’re running out of time,” Rachel pressed. “If I had to guess, your police friend is preoccupied with the directions you gave her to find the courier and the spiritcell! And once Garrett discovers he’s been outfoxed, I have no doubt that Christopher’s friend will be done away with!”
Olivia’s shoulders tensed and then released. She focused her attention on Rosemary. “You know,” she said. “I really would prefer you spirited yourself off somewhere a great deal safer than this, Miss Buckley. You got us to Darrington. Your part is done.”
“What?” Rosemary gasped, and then her hands were on her hips in an instant. “No! Absolutely not! Where am I to go, anyway?”
“Might I suggest the Buckley estate? Or the precinct. I’d feel much better if I were certain Hannah had the message….”
“No. Definitely not! You might need me!”
“I would certainly feel better if Miss Buckley were present…” Rachel said quietly.
Olivia gave her a long look. And then she shrugged, sighed and passed the threshold. “Right. Hm.” She sighed. “Then I suppose it’s into the lion’s den.” She pushed into the house.
Chris took up the rear. He didn’t know what he could do to protect Rosie or Rachel if something did happen, but he felt safer without thinking of them behind him, vulnerable to attack. They wandered through eerily empty halls, passed by large rooms without furniture or ornament.
Ghosts ran through the halls.
Here was the room where the grand piano had been. Chris could see the keys pressing under his fingers, forbidden jaunty swing music erupting from the well tuned box. Will slipped beside him on the bench. “Play Francine Waters!” Chris laughed and switched tunes in mid-bar.
Here was the grand dining room, now with nothing inside but an empty grand hearth with no spiritglow. Molly, the kitchen maid, had brought them bowls of steaming duck soup. Chris sat across from Will, and they played at battle beneath the table with their feet. Their mothers sat to each side of Doctor Cartwright at the head of the table, both leaning on his every word.
Here was the doctor’s study. The massive oaken desk had filled one entire end. Chris squirmed in a big, comfortable chair before the desk. His feet couldn’t reach the ground. “When will you publish?” Julia Buckley’s voice sounded as clear and fresh as if he had last heard it yesterday, and Chris felt tears prickle in his eyes. “This has to end. We can’t hide it forever.” The doctor explained that he had to be sure everything was ready before he did any such thing. He tried to reach out to take Mother’s hand. She jerked it away and pulled Chris up from his chair, headed for the door.
He wandered through a house of ghosts. Ghosts he’d known his whole life. Ghosts he’d forgotten, but now sprang back to life. Memories flourished, blooming from the cracks in this estate like flowers sneaking through the chinks in a fence. He was Christopher Buckley, the Deathsniffer’s assistant, twenty years old and here on important, life-and-death business, and at the same time, he was also twelve and young and playing hide-and-go-seek while his mother talked business with the strange, kind doctor who lived here. His vision doubled, and he found himself drifting in and out of consciousness, suddenly being in one place and then another, struggling to stay on one path.
Miss Woodruff took them to what had once been Missus Cartwright’s solar. One entire wall was glassed doors looking out over the large, beautiful gardens. Chris could never believe how big they were. Will’s house wasn’t like his, a massive estate crammed onto a tiny plot of land. He and Will would strip down to their undergarments and swim in the fountains, insulated from the world beyond the Cartwright home by tall walls sealed with a soundshield and twining with thick, lush, dryad-grown vines. Their mothers would sit at the glass doors in huge wingback chairs, drinking tea and conversing while the doctor worked in his study. Sometimes, he would call Chris in for more tests before he sent them home. Sometimes, he wouldn’t.
They always needed to be home before supper. Before Father and Rosie knew they had ever been gone.
When Chris left the solar, when the doctor dismissed him, Missus Cartwright would put her hands on his shoulders. “All right, Christopher,” she’d say. “It’s time to forget.”
He blinked.
Across the way, Will stirred. He was pale, wan, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, and a bloody cut across his forehead. A stained rag was stuffed into his mouth. His eyes flickered open. They landed on Chris and widened.
Then Garrett Albany strode forward, blocking his view.
Reality snapped into place. The gardens in the yard were bare for the coming winter, the vines browning on the walls. The room had no cozy accoutrements, no big comfortable chairs, no delicate tea set on a silver tray. Instead, it had a distressed Cartwright, two sturdy but rough wooden chairs, a fire roaring in the hearth, and a bristling company of blackhearted faces, all around Chris’s age, all holding pistols, knives, and other weapons in their direction.
“My,” Albany said, his voice as smooth and sweet as honey. “Isn’t this a surprise? Two Buckleys and a Deathsniffer? Just what did you bring me, Rach?”
Rachel Albany stepped forward.
And then kept moving.
She walked across the floor, into the crowd of armed reformists, right to her brother’s side. “The spiritcell is a lost cause. I tried my best, Garrett, I swear, and look, I brought you better than that. I brought you the one who made it. I brought you Rosemary Buckley.”
The world cracked beneath Chris’s feet. He staggered. He snapped his gaze to Rachel. She stared at him, face blank, eyes unreadable, before turning to look up at her brother. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice raw and cracked. “I’m sorry I turned against you. I know where I belong, now. Won’t you just take me back?”
No one moved.
And then Olivia sighed.
“Gods,” she said. “I hate being right, sometimes.”
hat?” Rosemary’s small, confused voice snapped the stillness that followed Olivia’s comment. She took a halting step forward, which came to an abrupt end when all thirty or so reformist goons cocked their guns or brandished their sabres.
“Rachel,” Chris breathed.
Rachel Albany said nothing, but she looked away, stepping closer to her brother. He swung an arm around her shoulders, as casual as if they were at a family gathering.
“Well,” he said, cocking his head and gesturing expansively with his gun. “Really, the Deathsniffer has the right of it. What did the rest of you expect? That when the cards were down, my own sister wouldn’t stand with me? Though”—he gestured vaguely at them—“Miss Faraday, I’m disappointed. You’re supposed to be smart, and yet you walked right into this situation, didn’t you?”
Olivia sighed and shrugged. “By the time I had it sorted, there was really nothing to be done about it. Clever, getting ahold of William. We’re all rather fond of him. It would have all turned out quite differently if I hadn’t been fairly certain that you would blow his brains out without hesitation if it all went off track for you. Even anticipating what Miss Albany would do… I didn’t see many options for us.”
Albany laughed pleasantly. It was, disconcertingly, the exact same laugh he’d used when Chris had met him at the Piffleman’s Gala House. “Well, you’re not wrong. And would you believe that it was all a stroke of luck? I’m glad I took the time to look into the little pissant who was trying to buy this property off of me! Sometimes, it really feels as if things just… slide into place. Egad! He turns out to be the son of a bitch who got Livingstone off, the legendary timeseer, and a close personal friend of Christopher Buckley.” He shook his head. “The Youth and Maiden do look out for us, don’t they?”
Something erupted inside of Chris, and, without even taking a moment to think, to gather himself, he acted. Everything this house had unlocked coalesced at once. He made a knife out of rage, a hammer out of betrayal, and an anvil out of guilt, and he set upon Albany, diving into him, tearing and ripping and striking—
And recoiled, feeling as if a knife had just been plunged into his forehead, through his brain, and out the back of his skull.
He cried out, stumbling back, hitting the wall.
“Chris!” Rosie cried and then was at his side, trying to haul him up as he slid down to the floor, his legs having gone completely elastic. He felt her fingers fluttering at his face. “What did you do to him?” she demanded.
Albany laughed.
Chris forced his eyes open. He blinked hard and focused on Rachel, who’d also fallen. She lay on the floor in a crumpled daze. Miss Woodruff bent to help her to her feet. Albany shook his head, smiling. Always fucking smiling. He produced a roll of paper wrapped in a ribbon from behind his back.
“Your little trick won’t work on me. Not so long as I have my sister back at my side. This is what I mean,” he said, “when I talk about luck. About coincidences. About the fact that the world has aligned itself to make me the victor. Imagine my surprise when I found these notes. When I found them talking about a boy wizard with a gift Lowry had never acknowledged. Imagine when it was the very same gift my own wizard sister had. Imagine when I realized that the boy the pages talked about was the man she now worked for!”
“What’s she talking about, Chris?” Rosie asked. She sounded so young. “What’s going on?”
“He’s talking about that little thing your brother does,” Olivia said quietly. “You know. When he gets himself up inside of your head and starts mucking about.” She shook her head. “I really do wish you had told me, Christopher. All of this…” She pursed her lips. “We might have stopped it. But maybe not. It’s hard to say.”
“I doubt it,” Albany mused. “Honestly, Christopher never had a chance.” He shook the bundle of pages at him as if it were a chastising finger. “According to Doctor Cartwright’s notes on the situation, your memories were blocked by yet another undocumented gift. The one that started his mad crusade. The one that his poor wife had.” He strode over and placed his hands on Will Cartwright’s slender shoulders. Will began to writhe in his bounds, growling around the rag in his mouth. Albany shook his head, chuckling in a way that seemed, perversely, fond.
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