by Kim Foster
I reach into my other boot for the knife and in a great lunge swing the blade in an arc that lands squarely in the hand wrapped around my ankle.
He bellows and loosens his grip for a second. It’s all I need. In that instant, I wrench the blade free and flip myself onto my knees. As Bowler Hat turns, I drive the knife into his thigh. He stumbles. I come up and sweep his feet out from under him, flipping him onto his back, cracking his head on the marble tile.
I’m on my feet in an instant. I have to help the others. I sprint back to the melee in the foyer. It’s pandemonium as the other Candidates struggle to keep the Huntsmen at bay. We are not winning.
I attack the first Huntsman I encounter, a wiry, swarthy man grappling with Hugh. From behind, I grab the Huntsman’s shoulder, spin him, and issue a knockout punch before he has a chance to register I’m even there.
Aristos surges through me. I spin in time to see a Huntsman woman leveling a pistol at me. She sports a vicious scar over the bridge of her nose. It would seem she doesn’t share Bowler Hat’s goal of capturing me.
The bullet fires and I spiral beneath it. But as I come out of my spin she’s upon me, pushing me down and drawing her blade, a whine of metal on metal. Her arm rises preparing to stab me in the chest.
I try to push away but she’s impossibly strong.
And then her arm is wrenched backward and she’s lifted off me. Charlie. I jump to my feet, grab a tall lamp from a table, and thrust it into her gut, winding her. Charlie delivers a crack to the back of her skull and she goes down.
“Felicity! You can channel—” he begins. But there’s no time for pleasantries about what I can and cannot do.
Two more Huntsmen are there. One levels a crossbow. I hear the snap as the bolt is fired, knowing the next sound will be a singing whine and then a sickening thud as it slams into my chest. I dive out of the way, pulling Charlie down with me.
The bolt embeds in the stair railing. Charlie stands and immediately attacks a Huntsman bearing down on him. I wrench the bolt free, turn, and fly up the staircase, scooping up a discarded crossbow as I go. I need a better elevation.
I hear the sounds of pounding feet close at my heels, and then a voice I recognize. “Felicity!”
Julian fights off Huntsmen as we fly upward. When we reach the landing above the hallway, I plant my feet by the railing, pull the crossbow level, slam the bolt in, and scan the room.
Julian is by my side, picking off the Huntsmen with his own crossbow.
I hold steady to Aristos and breathe. Blood pounds in my ears. A Huntsman below raises an ax, about to strike down Rose as she fends off another attacker. I aim and fire. The arrow bolt strikes the man in the throat. His eyes go wide and he falls, dead.
I just killed a man. My vision goes fuzzy around the edges, and Aristos slips. The weight of the crossbow is suddenly too much and I drop it to the floor below.
As a wave of dizziness washes over me, I fall to my knees, trying desperately to grasp Aristos again. But I can’t feel it anymore. I can barely think.
Julian will soon be overpowered by the Huntsmen racing up the stairs and scaling the wall to breach the banister. There are simply too many of them.
Despair gathers into a knot in my chest.
And then the front door—what’s left of it—flies open and the Morgana Elders flood through.
Hawksmoor leaps into the fray, pistol drawn. Isherwood swings herself up onto the landing with us. The other Elders dive into the fight.
It’s a matter of moments before the Huntsmen see the tide changing. They gather their troops and retreat, leaping out through smashed windows, flooding through the front door.
Charlie is on one side, Julian on the other. They lift me from my knees.
“Felicity, that was—incredible. Did you know you could do all of that?” asks Charlie, his eyes wide.
Hawksmoor cuts everyone off with a sharply raised hand. “Enough. We need to get moving. We’re leaving Greybourne.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.”
—Emily Dickinson, “Because I could not stop for Death”
Hawksmoor barks orders at us all. The servants load the injured into the carriages and climb in. Everyone else—mostly all able-bodied Candidates—will be riding on horseback. Including me.
“Can you do it?” Charlie asks me with concern.
I nod, although I’m not sure I can—I’ve only had a few riding sessions. But what choice do I have? Besides, this is all my fault. I’ll have to try.
We dash to the stables to saddle the horses. I’m terrified of hearing the sounds of the Huntsmen reappearing. I pray we can get out of here before they return with reinforcements.
The younger Candidates and most of the house staff are going north to catch a train headed to another estate in Yorkshire. The journey will take most of the night, but they will be far safer once they get there.
The Elders and senior Candidates, and a few servants who weren’t injured in the fight, are headed to the London headquarters of the Morgana.
We fly across the darkened landscape. The storm has lessened a little. Now, instead of the earlier gale winds, it’s merely a pounding rain. I grit my teeth, praying I can keep my seat and match the pace of the others. As it is, I can barely make them out.
While we ride, my mind clutches at one very specific question: How did the Morgana not know the Huntsmen were Tainted? In all our encounters, it never came to light. How is that possible?
But as I run through each encounter, it occurs to me … there was always something just off. On the train, we jumped off and into the gorge. In Oxford, the Huntsmen themselves aborted the attack by dropping over the edge of the bridge. Perhaps they were hiding the full truth from us until they were ready for an attack they were sure they couldn’t lose.
We are aiming to catch the last London train but at our rest stop, I see Hawksmoor look at his pocket watch and I know we’re not going to make it to the station in time. He alters direction slightly and we set off anew.
Almost an hour later, we’re thundering across the terrain, and I can make out a faint rumbling—a new sound. I glance over my shoulder and see a train’s lantern pointed toward our backs, steam rising up from it.
We’re going to have to jump on while it’s moving.
Not again.
“Listen,” hollers Hawksmoor. “Half of those with Aristos will go first and help the others on. The other Aristos will take up the rear with me.”
It’s impossible. There are too many of us. But there’s no time for argument.
We split into two groups—one aiming for the first cargo car, one for the rear. I’m in Hawksmoor’s group. Rose, Hugh, and Charlie pull forward. They will be among the first to board. Before long, we are parallel to the track, the train thundering up behind and churning past.
We wait until the passenger cars slide by and the cargo cars pull alongside us. This is our chance. Hawksmoor makes the leap first, tearing open the cargo door to reveal a gaping hole. That’s our target.
Among us, we help the servants and those Candidates not strong in Aristos. Only three of us have yet to board the train—Julian, Jane, and me.
“Come on, Jane, you can do it,” Julian says. Terror whitens her face.
I tamp down my own fear. We can’t leave her behind. I look over my shoulder to see how much more of the train remains. On the crest of a hill, a line of men on horseback appears, silhouetted by the moonlight. They are charging toward us. Huntsmen.
They won’t catch the train, but if there are any stragglers …
I try to holler to the others, to warn them about the Huntsmen. But between the rain, the hoofbeats, and the thundering train, it’s too loud.
I dig my heels into the flank of my horse to catch up. Forward, and on this train, is the only way.
&
nbsp; “We’ll help Jane aboard,” shouts Julian. “Then I’ll get you up, and I’ll go last.”
I nod grimly. Between us, we lift Jane up and toward the car, into the waiting arms of the others.
I try to grasp Aristos, but I’m too exhausted and too muddled.
Jane panics and glances back at Julian, scrabbling for his cloak. She hooks around it, halfway on board. “Jane, let go!” he shouts, but she can’t hear him. The others are pulling her legs, but she won’t release Julian’s cloak. She’s going to pull them both under.
Julian has no choice. I watch, helplessly, as he swiftly stands in his saddle. With Jane still clutching at his cloak, Julian leaps aboard. Both he and Jane tumble into the train car and Julian’s horse gallops away.
I’m the last one. I don’t dare turn, knowing the Huntsmen will soon be upon me. The train slips slightly ahead, gathering speed. I kick my horse’s flank, but it’s not quite fast enough. Pale, shocked faces grow farther away.
Terror rushes into my mind. I’m not going to make it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock during a thunderstorm.”
—Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
The cargo cars slide out of reach as the train continues its acceleration. But there’s still the caboose. There will be nobody to catch me there. I’ll either make the jump or get sucked under.
More than ever, I need Aristos. I breathe in and out. Focus on the moment. Focus on calm.
And then the familiar feeling begins to call to me. The train, in my eyes, slows. Raindrops hang suspended in the air.
With one final burst from my horse, I stand up on his back and leap.
The cold, slick metal of the handrail slides under my palms. I squeeze with enough strength to bend iron and my feet come up under me. I gather myself in and stand, hugging the very back of the caboose. A tiny platform.
I’ve made it.
Some time later, I huddle with the others in the cargo car. We’ve fashioned seats from crates and boxes. I pray the train keeps going straight on to London, that the Huntsmen do not keep pace and board when we reach our next stop.
The car is quiet as we all contemplate recent events. I flick a glance at Hawksmoor. I know the attack was all my fault.
My head is thick with the aftermath of the siege, with the terror of our escape, with visions of Professor Garrick in the conservatory, dead, because of me.
But within all that, one thought struggles to the front of my mind: my father was Tainted.
He knew I was, too, even before I knew it myself. Why did he keep the secret from me? How deep did his deception go? How could I know so little about my family, about myself?
“When will we be able to return to Greybourne?” someone asks.
“We will have to stay in town until we can resecure the Academy, which may take several weeks. We will certainly stay on until the Royal Jubilee is over.”
The Jubilee. It’s only two weeks away.
Julian turns to Hawksmoor. “I don’t understand. If the Huntsmen are Morgana, why are they hunting their own kind?” His leg bounces as he waits for Hawksmoor to explain.
Hunting their own kind. And we can no longer count on the advantage of our preternatural abilities. We are on level ground.
Terrifying as it is, knowing the Huntsmen are Tainted helps. I have a clearer understanding of my enemy and of my own abilities.
Hawksmoor plucks a speck of dirt from his trousers. “I do not have an answer for you,” he says.
“Could that be the reason they kept secret that they are Morgana?” I ask. “To keep that advantage?”
The spymaster says nothing, inspecting his fingernails. The silence lengthens and pulls thin.
“Hawksmoor?”
He looks up at me. “They did not keep it a secret.”
“Nobody knew … Oh.”
He maintains a blank expression.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I say, heat rising in my cheeks.
“He was afraid,” says Julian, bitterly.
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of young, impressionable Candidates being lured away by the enemy.”
“Is that true?” I ask. Hawksmoor remains silent. “You put us at risk. We didn’t know the full strength of the enemy hunting us.”
“I did,” he says, “and for that, I apologize. I should have trusted you more.”
I frown and look down at my hands.
“Maybe you can answer this, then: What do they want with Felicity?” Julian demands. “They were clearly there to attack all of us, but they seemed particularly focused on her.” There’s an edge to his voice. Something that almost sounds like protectiveness.
“I don’t know what they want with Miss Cole. I wish I did. Truly.”
“Is that I don’t know the same as the fact that you didn’t know the Huntsmen were Morgana?” Julian fires back.
Hawksmoor’s face darkens. “I can see you are anxious, Mr. Blake. The issue with the Huntsmen is most definitely a predicament. Rest assured I will be taking a very close look at what went wrong here tonight. At the same time, we cannot let it deter us from our primary objective, which is to protect the Queen. The Golden Jubilee is nearly upon us, and that is what we must concentrate upon. The time has come for us to choose the next Candidate to promote to full agent status. If you are up to it, Mr. Blake, you can continue to work for the position. If you are too … emotional, however, about the potential danger to Miss Cole, then I require that you tell me so now.”
Julian’s face turns to stone. “You’re right, sir. You can count on me. I still wish to be considered.” Julian pointedly avoids meeting my gaze.
“When we get to London, we will accelerate the selection process,” Hawksmoor announces. “We will begin additional training in the field, eliminating Candidates based on performance.” He trains his gaze on me. “Miss Cole, this includes you.”
My eyes go wide, but I quickly school my features. The only sounds are the creaks and rattles of the cargo and the rhythmic clacking of the train. I glance around. There are five of us, five Candidates: Rose, Julian, Hugh, Charlie, and me.
“As for the Jubilee,” Hawksmoor says, “the Elders will continue making preparations. We will include the successful Candidate in our plans once he or she has been selected.”
All at once, I know: I want it.
I want to become an agent. I want to win this competition, rise up, and be counted among the upper echelons, learning all their secrets.
Nobody says anything for several minutes, until Hugh clears his throat. “Have you considered the possibility that there’s a mole inside the Academy, sir? It feels rather convenient that they happened to attack Greybourne when all the Elders were away, doesn’t it?”
Hawksmoor’s face is impassive. “We are considering all possibilities, Mr. Torrington.” With that, the subject is closed, at least on the surface.
“What about the Huntsmen?” Charlie asks. “Will they be a threat at the Jubilee?”
“If the Huntsmen wanted to kill the Queen, there have been a thousand opportunities before now. I don’t believe that’s their game.”
“But—”
“Neville is on the case,” Hawksmoor says, his tone sharp as a cracked whip. “Once the Jubilee is over, we can all turn our attention to the Huntsmen again.”
And that’s the end of the conversation. But while Hawksmoor appears unconcerned, I have learned that nothing with him is ever as it seems. Even when he has the most unflappable exterior, there are always a hundred calculations going on beneath the surface.
Silence descends in the cargo car, and I become tangled in my own thoughts again.
When we get to London, it will be time to start training anew.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic
wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavor, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned.”
—Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
I awaken in a new bed in a smaller room—though still luxurious.
The memories from last night come flooding back tearing away the cobwebs of sleep. The smell of blood, the sounds of gunshots …
I think of trying to contact Nate, telling him the truth about our father, but what would I say?
I rise and dress quickly, then go downstairs. Or, I should say, go even farther downstairs. As it is, we are deep underground, somewhere beneath the British Museum. This bunker was built a few years ago when they started digging beneath London to build the underground railway. The Queen commissioned a special side project—a top-secret London base for her enigmatic team of Morgana agents.
We are fully self-sufficient down here. Kitchens and laundry rooms, ventilated and climate-controlled bedrooms for all the agents, a war room, and a billiards room, of course. And a large gymnasium for training. Which is where I am now headed.
When I reach the gymnasium—an enormous, brick-lined space with a sprung wood floor and bright lamps hanging down—I find the other Candidates already there, paired off and sparring.
There are murmurs as I enter the gymnasium. I haven’t made a decent showing during combat training since my first morning at Greybourne that first humiliating, painful day. But things are different now. I’ve figured out how to use Aristos. And everyone here knows it.
Isherwood turns her gaze on me, her expression blank. She’s always thought I’m useless. Does she still believe that?
I lift my chin and meet her gaze.
Isherwood folds her arms, narrowing her eyes as she takes me in. After a long, agonizing silence, she nods. “Miss Cole, you will partner with Mr. Torrington,” she says. I set my jaw and try not to flinch at the memory of being roundly beaten by Hugh on my first day.
His face twists in a grin. My feet, in soft leather boots, make no sound as I approach. As we face each other, I clear my mind and reach out for Aristos. It’s there, waiting like a trained tiger.