by Sarah Hoyt
He came over to the bed and reached for the mage light on Seraphim’s bedside table. It extinguished at his touch, but then, as though thinking better of it, he brought it back to a dim glow, just enough to see the contours of the room. Seraphim didn’t comment, but he had not kept his mage light on, even this low, since the age of ten at least. So why would Gabriel think Seraphim wished it on now? Or perhaps Gabriel was trying to assuage his own fears. He turned to Seraphim now, “And the woman, Miss Felix, is mixed in it somehow?”
“On whose side?” Seraphim asked.
Gabriel shrugged. “Well, she knew the man who tried to kill you,” he said. “But perhaps we shouldn’t hold that by itself against her. After all….” He shook his head. “I sense no harm from her. And no fairy magic, before you ask.”
Seraphim wasn’t going to ask, but now that Gabriel had said it, he couldn’t get it out of his head. He looked at his half-brother as he turned and said, “Well, enough, now, I too must get my rest, and then we’ll see what we can do tomorrow in the light of day. I’ve put wards in place. Call me if you need anything.” And then he was gone, which was good because for a moment Seraphim had feared that Gabriel meant to sit up all night by his bed, ensuring that another attack didn’t find Seraphim.
And I might very well not be able to sleep with him in the room, Seraphim thought, and felt guilty about it. He didn’t remember when he’d first found out that Gabriel had elf blood. Not that first day surely, and not the second. He suspected he’d discovered it either by listening to servant gossip – years ago, before they’d come to know Gabriel well, all the servants had been a little afraid of him – or by Gabriel himself telling him. It felt as though Seraphim had always known it, though surely that wasn’t true, since at the very first he’d thought Gabriel was his full brother, brought into the family as a gift to him. All of which showed Seraphim’s understanding of human reproduction had been both lacking and fanciful. But all the same, he felt as if he’d always known that Gabriel was part fey.
And yet, in his heart, he’d never thought of Gabriel as anything but his brother. Oh, his valet, too, he supposed, particularly as they’d got older and had to learn to act their respective positions in public. But most of all his brother and his friend.
So what had changed, now, so that Gabriel’s presence in his room while he slept would feel less reassuring than vaguely threatening? Was it all due to Seraphim’s memory of the chant in inhuman words? Or was it…? Yes, it was Gabriel’s sudden slip of tongue, his almost referring to “mortals” to signify those unlike him, his talking about you as opposed to himself. As though he didn’t consider himself human. Wasn’t he? Was Gabriel Penn some form of immortal?
And what did he mean by telling Seraphim – who’d never thought of it before – that Miss Felix didn’t have the blood of fairykind? Seraphim didn’t like that preemptive denial. Was it true? Or was it part of that “me” and “you” that Gabriel suddenly seemed to divide the world into?
Oh, Seraphim believed Gabriel about the throne of Fairyland. At least, he thought he did. There had been too much loathing in Gabriel’s voice to be false. But would he feel the same way about a creature like himself, half human and lost in the world of humans? And was Miss Felix such? There was something odd about her magic, Avalon born but learned by utterly alien means not even normal in any civilized world.
Seraphim stifled a groan as he sat up in bed. He knew he was about to do something he’d regret. He regretted it already, in fact, and yet it must be done. His silver-headed cane was resting against the bedside table.
He grasped the head and rose with its aid. Getting on his feet was more difficult, but he managed it. Putting on his dressing gown was only difficult because he must hold onto the bed with one hand or the other.
One of the advantages of having known Gabriel since they were both very young is that Seraphim knew exactly where Gabriel would have placed the spell that told him if Seraphim tried to leave the room. And also that, having learned the earliest spells together, Seraphim knew Gabriel’s magical habits and how to disarm his traps. At least, he was fairly sure that if an alarm went out to Gabriel telling him his magical alarm had been rendered ineffective, it would be delayed.
He walked down the hallway as fast as he could. He must go to Miss Felix. Somehow, it all hinged on her. The world had been rational before her path had crossed his.
Trapped
“Antoine,” Seraphim heard, as he approached Miss Felix’s room. He heard it clear as day, sounding through the closed door, and he stopped, swaying a little as he balanced on his feet and his silver headed cane, and looking at the door in puzzlement.
She’d said the same word – and used the same tone – when she’d seen the corpse. Seraphim wrinkled his forehead. Was she talking about the corpse?
The next words “Oh, Antoine, no,” made him wonder if she was lamenting the corpse’s death. Stupid if so. Well, perhaps he was not in the position to judge. He’d never been in love. At least, he didn’t think so. There had been that cook’s assistant when he was twelve, but he rather thought that his interest in her had been predicated more on the currants that she had it within her power to dispense than on her own, very young and charmless, person.
However, he’d seen in his time how men – and possibly women, too – could become utter fools over love, or what they believed was love. Even Gabriel Penn, one of the people Seraphim knew best in all the world, had thrown over his academic career and the possibility of making his independent way in magic or law for the sake of love.
But at that moment words echoed through the thick oak door that might be related to love, but were not related to mourning a dead lover, “No, Antoine. Stop. You cannot do that.” The last words were a scream, and there was real terror behind them.
Seraphim didn’t think he could use enough magic to unlock the door. Not in his present weakened condition. And he didn’t think he could put his shoulder to the door, either. He opened his mouth to call for help, but – this far, in the guest area of the house – he doubted anyone would hear him. Oh, of course when they had a house party, they staffed this part of the house, but not when it was merely a guest, and an unexpected one at that. There would be a bell in the room, but–
He put a hand to the doorknob. To his surprise, it opened at his touch. He threw it open, and stepped into the room before he realized he was staring at the back of a man, who loomed large, standing up, and cornering Miss Felix, who, in the corner of the room, held her fingers crossed in a gesture of aversion.
“Step away from the lady,” he yelled, even as he thought that corpses were not supposed to be wandering the house in the night. The man was dead. Seraphim had made sure of that. The magical bolt he’d thrown at the creature would have felled anyone with even a particle of magical talent. And the man had magical talent. Had to have it, else he’d not have been able to attack Seraphim.
So, this man, Antoine, had to be dead. And dead men didn’t walk, except in the fantasies of sickly old maiden aunts. Or unless, of course, someone had used the resurrection spell. And that would mean someone in Seraphim’s house. And it would mean, of course, that Antoine, whoever he was, would still be dead, just an animated corpse.
The idea made Seraphim’s hair stand on end. The man? Corpse? Hadn’t reacted to his shout. Animated corpses were notoriously hard to deter. As Seraphim watched, the creature took one step closer to Miss Felix, whose whole face had drained of color, and whose eyes looked too wide as she stared up, in sheer terror.
Seraphim grabbed the nearest object – one of the decorative vases atop a nearby table – and threw it with force at the creature’s head. The vase hit and burst. The creature started to turn and Miss Felix ducked under its arm, and ran towards Seraphim. “I’m so glad,” she said. It was almost a scream. “Oh, thank you,” as she grasped his arm and almost toppled him with the force of her terror. “He’s dead, you know. Quick. Let us–”
Before she could say what he sho
uld let them do, the creature who’d been threatening her had spun around, and Seraphim grabbed for his cane, and took in breath, horrified. There was no doubt that Antoine was dead. He looked exactly the same as he had while lying on the pallet which the gardeners had carried up from near the lake. His face was pale and immobile, his lips drained of color. His eyes, as far as they were open, showed only a sliver of white. There was no expression to the slack features.
Seraphim pushed Miss Felix behind him, with barely a qualm as he remembered she seemed to have objections to being protected. “Stay,” he said. “What was he– it doing to make you scream?”
“Chasing me,” she said. She must be mad with terror, because she made no effort to assert her ability to care for herself. “Trying to corner me. He should not be alive. Why is he alive?”
“Someone must have made a resurrection spell,” Seraphim said, as the creature shambled towards them. “Someone in the house?” The idea was alien and obscene.
“Stay behind me,” he said. “I won’t let it hurt you. You must remember he is not your friend.” He had no idea how he would not let it hurt her, considering that he felt as weak as a newborn kitten. But, he thought, though it was true that only the man who’d done the resurrection spell could undo it, it was also true he should be able to set a small magical restraining spell and stop this creature from coming closer. Once enclosed in a magical cocoon, it would be unable to follow Helena Felix, and Seraphim should be able to question her about how this situation had come about. More, he should be able to find out who, in his house, had dared use an illegal spell to reawaken someone who’d tried to kill Seraphim. And if Seraphim couldn’t, Gabriel could for sure.
The thought of the circumstances under which Gabriel had last been involved with resurrection spells made Seraphim hesitate, but he shook his head at his own foolishness. Gabriel Penn might have been a fool for love. Gabriel Penn might be an idiot when it came to loyalty and friendship, even, but the one thing Gabriel Penn wasn’t was a traitor to Seraphim. Half elf, perhaps, capable of his own designs and his opinions that would shock the polite world, almost certainly. Too smart for his own good, assuredly. But Gabriel Penn would not betray the Darkwaters.
The creature shambled towards them, and Seraphim put out his left arm, to keep Helena Felix behind him, while he raised his right hand that held the silver-tipped cane, and, using it as a magical wand to concentrate his power, said the first words of the cocoon spell, “Miras, enax–”
He got no further. The animated corpse facing him stopped at the first sound of the words, the first feeling of the power leaving Seraphim’s body and flying forth. But that was only in the first second. A breath later, there was a feeling as though a line that linked Seraphim to the corpse had gone taut.
Later, neither he nor Helena could decide exactly what had happened. Each of them had different accounts, and both accounts were impossible. Seraphim remembered – he doubted he could ever forget – the thing’s eyes opening fully and sparkling as though there were a fire lit behind them. Its mouth too opened, wide, wide, wider, impossibly wide, till they’d fallen into it, he and Helena both.
And that made no sense at all, because in his memory, either the corpse had grown very large, or they’d grown very small, both of which were impossible, and then he and Helena had stumbled together, falling into that dark vortex of a mouth, falling, falling, head over heels, like flying leaves or tumbling sticks, falling, falling, falling, falling, in darkness and cold.
He was so shocked it took him a moment to recognize the Betweener, and by that time they were past it, and dropped, head-first, into light and music and sound flailing and screaming.
As they landed on the ground, hard, he was aware of people all around and something ahead of him. He blinked… an elephant?
It was all the time he had before someone screamed, pointing at them. He was not sure where they were, or what had happened, but he knew one thing: in nine out of ten worlds, what they’d just done, falling out of seeming nothing, in a public place, was enough to warrant their death.
Barely able to stand, feeling as though the entire world had crashed in on him, he stood. His mind in turmoil, not knowing where they were or how they come to be there, he reached back and grabbed Helena Felix’s wrist, and pulled.
He ran away from the elephant, away from the press of people, and into the first dark space his blurry and stinging eyes could find.
In Darkness And Despair
Gabriel Penn sat up at the feeling that his spell had been disrupted. He’d left an alarm spell in Seraphim’s room, and it was supposed to trip and wake him if Seraphim left the room.
What he felt instead was the sensation that the spell had been tampered with, and that muffled and distant. Which meant whoever had interfered with his magic alarms had done it in such a way, and with such sure knowledge of how Gabriel set spells, that he could disable it and delay Gabriel's sensing it had been disabled.
Because Gabriel’s magic was an amalgam of the human magic he’d learned in Cambridge and that elven magic he’d learned when very young at his mother’s knee, only one of the human magicians in this house knew it well enough to disable it and to muffle the realization it had been disabled: Seraphim.
Cursing under his breath, Gabriel reached for his dressing gown, which he’d flung across the foot of the bed before laying down. He slipped it on by touch, then said the one word that brought the mage light on the bedside to full glow. It illuminated the full extent of his room – a tiny servant’s room containing a narrow single bed, the trunk he’d taken to Cambridge and brought back again, and which contained all of his clothes, and a desk, pushed up against the wall and piled high with papers. From the mess on the desk he extracted his magic wand. He rarely used it these days, but he had a bad feeling over this whole situation – a presentiment of disaster, he thought, and he didn’t like these feelings. Given his origin and avocation, they tended to be all too accurate.
Holding the mage light – fully lit – in one hand, and the magic wand in the other, he opened his room door and, not bothering to close it, pelted down the hallway and up the stairs towards Seraphim’s room. He muttered under his breath, continuously, a word that would have shocked the ladies of the house very much if they’d heard it. To be honest, it would probably have shocked them, too, to see him running down the hallway in an ill-tied dressing gown over his underwear, which was all he’d worn to bed.
It didn’t matter. He’d rather shock them, or the female servants, than have the feeling of dread in his mind be justified.
He ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, and down the hallway. But Seraphim’s room was empty, the door open, the magic spell broken.
Gabriel stood in the hallway, his heart beating so loudly he could barely hear himself think. And then he felt it, coming from the guest wing, where they’d lodged Miss Felix: magic. A big discharge of magic.
He started running again, mindlessly, pleading with some nameless divinity to let him be wrong. Just this once, please let him be wrong.
But before he reached the room, he knew he wasn’t. He felt the magical discharge of a trap going off, the pull and suck of a vortex opening between worlds – a portal not activated by the people thrown into it.
And turning a corner, he saw Seraphim and Helena Felix being sucked into a maw of darkness.
As the magical fog and darkness dissipated, he realized what was left behind was perhaps even worse than having lost your legitimate brother, the duke, to a magical trap that had taken him who knew where.
In the middle of the guest room stood an animated corpse.
“Shit,” Gabriel Penn said, loudly and emphatically. And raised his wand.
A Strange Land
It was an alley, Nell realized, as she took a deep breath. An alley bordered by tall brick buildings, which could be an alley anywhere in Avalon, or – for that matter – in any large city on Earth. But the structure at the end of the alley was not something she’d ev
er seen either in Avalon or on Earth. It was purple – bright purple – and it looked like it was made of glass. It was also roughly egg-shaped, with a hole on top and an odd sheen to it.
Her first instinct was to think of it as a dumpster, but if so, these people kept the cleanest dumpsters in any of the worlds she’d visited while out with Antoine.
And on the heels of that, she tried to think of all the worlds she’d visited with Antoine. And not to think of anything else – anything else – relating to Antoine. Like, for instance, she truly didn’t want to think of his livid skin, his staring eyes, his … no, she wouldn’t think of it. Or of what type of horrible spell could make a man walk and talk when he was – when he should be – by all rights dead. Much less what kind of trap this might be.
At any rate, speaking of livid skin and staring eyes, she found that Seraphim too could fit that description. He was wearing a dressing gown. A very pretty dressing gown, she thought, though she suspected on Earth most men would be worried about wearing something that bright and silky. Never mind. She knew Britannia tastes, and for Britannia tastes, it was a very refined dressing gown indeed. He was also barefoot. And he was clutching the loveliest black-cane-with-dragon-head.
This looked completely out of place in what seemed to be a largish city in the middle of the day, but she put that out of her mind, because, really, how did she know what people here wore? One of the worlds she’d visited with Antoine, before coming to Avalon, had been apparently a nudist colony. Puzzling, since England at that time was really no warmer than England at any other time. And in another they seemed to wear vast rolls of shag carpet. For all she knew, in this world, men dressed for business in ankle-length white shirts topped with resplendent silk dressing gowns, and always carried canes.