The Foxfire Lights

by Elizabeth O'Connell

  Matthew suddenly sat up straight, shoving Nurse aside. “Calm! Calm!” he shrieked. “I won’t be calm. He’s after me!”

  “Who is after you?” Hal said, frowning. “Why should anyone be after you?”

  Lord Ransom gave Hal a sharp look, but said nothing. Matthew stared at him, pale-faced and wary.

  “The man with the lantern,” he said, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “He’s coming for me now!”

  “But why should he?” Hal rocked back on his heels, smoke curling up from his pipe. He raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you think of any reason?”

  “Never mind,” Lord Ransom said sharply. “This is—you’re upsetting him. Let Nurse take care of him.”

  “You think I’m lying,” Matthew said, the hysterical edge back in his voice. “You think I’m making things up! Well, I’m not—I’m not—I’m not!”

  “Hush, love,” Nurse said, patting his arm. “No one said anything about lying.”

  “I know you all think I’m a liar,” Matthew said, his eyes huge and dilated in the firelight. “But I saw him—I know I did—outside my window. And he had Albert with him.”

  “Albert?” Lord Ransom frowned. “You saw Albert?”

  Matthew screwed up his face into a grimace. “Now you care. Yes—Albert was with him. Floating along in the dark. But he was after me!”

  A muscle quivered in Lord Ransom’s jaw, and he took a breath before he spoke again. “Albert—was he . . . alive?”

  Matthew flung himself back on the pillows, throwing an arm over his face. “He looked like he was sleeping. Oh, I don’t care. I’m tired now. Let me sleep.”

  He let Nurse lay a flannel over his forehead. Lord Ransom watched him a moment longer, his face pale. Matthew was silent, his eyes closed, and his breathing evened out. Finally, Lord Ransom turned from the bed, beckoning us to follow him.

  “We must organize a search,” he said, keeping his voice low. “The mire—we must search it again.”

  Hal waited until the door had shut behind us. “You will not find him—the spirit has placed him beyond our reach.”

  “No, we—he must be found,” Lord Ransom said, running his hands through his hair. “My wife—I can’t leave him out there. And Matthew has seen him. He must be . . .”

  Hal gave him an appraising look and filled his pipe. “Has it occurred to you that Matthew is lying—or perhaps hallucinating?”

  Lord Ransom shook his head. “I don’t—perhaps he is. But I can’t—we must go to the mire.”

  He turned and went down the stairs, feet clattering on the steps. Hal watched him go, pipe smoke billowing about his face.

  “The mire,” he muttered. “Why the mire?”

  I chewed at my lip a moment before speaking. “Will we go with them?”

  He blinked, turning to look at me as though he had just noticed I was there. “Yes—yes, I think we shall. Go and make yourself ready.”

  With that, he went back to puffing on his pipe, rocking back on his heels. There was no point in asking him why we were going—he was plainly in a brooding mood. I went down to my own room to make ready.

  When I came down again, the men were gathered in the entryway; Forsythe and his son Jack, Lord Ransom, the driver who had brought us down from the station, and a few others. Hal stood a bit apart, watching the proceedings with an odd look on his face, smoke curling about his head. I went over to him, and he handed me a lantern from the table beside him.

  “Why are we going along?” I said, keeping my voice low that the other men wouldn’t hear. “You know perfectly well that we won’t find Albert out there.”

  He frowned around his pipe. “Because I am interested in seeing where Lord Ransom’s ancestor disappeared—and because I want to know why Lord Ransom keeps going back to the mire.”

  He turned away from me, folding his arms over his chest and watching Lord Ransom give instructions. Then Lord Ransom raised his lantern, and we went out into the chill spring air. It was a clear night, and very still—the silence was almost eerie as we trooped out down into the valley where the mire lay, a collection of shadows punctuated by the lantern lights.

  Once we had reached the mire, we spread out in groups of two and three; Hal went off on his own, without waiting for instructions from Lord Ransom, and I followed him, the cries of Albert’s name fading into the dark as we walked.

  “What are you looking for?” I said, picking my way carefully along the stones. “You can’t think you’ll find any trace of Lord Ransom’s ancestor after all this time.”

  He did not answer me—only sped up his pace. I stumbled after him, my foot slipping on a rock, and silently cursed his stubborn nature. My attention was so thoroughly focused on my feet that I did not notice the mist rising up over the mire until it began creeping up to my toes. I looked up, and realized that I could not see two feet in front of me—the light from my lantern reflected back against the mist, but did not pierce it. I stopped, afraid to step any further without being able to see ahead of me.

  I turned around, lifting my lantern, but all around me the fog pressed in, clouding my vision—and then, from the corner of my eye, I saw the lights. I turned, and there they were—small blue flames, dancing against the edge of the mist. I blinked, and the lights were further out, beyond the edge of my lantern light, shrouded in mist. I hesitated a moment—the wisest course would be to wait here, wait for Hal. Any misstep could have me bogged down, just as Lord Ransom’s ancestor had been.

  The lights flickered again, and I stepped toward them, my feet moving before I knew it. I felt a sudden certainty that I should follow the lights—they had led me to the spirit once before, and I thought they would again. It was something I could do that Hal couldn’t—information I could gather that he wouldn’t, out there searching for Lord Ransom’s dead ancestor. Spurred on by that thought, I followed the lights as they winked in and out along the mire.

  At first I was careful where I stepped—for, even in my haste to find the spirit, I had not forgotten the fate of Lord Ransom’s ancestor—but soon I was watching nothing but the lights, flickering before me. I feared I would lose them—would lose my chance—and I hurried after them, heedless of where I stepped. Finally, they flickered out completely, without winking back into existence, and I went still. A chill wind blew past me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I turned, very slowly, raising my lantern.

  There stood the spirit—all shadow and flame, his hollow eyes watching me. I stumbled back, my heart pounding in my chest, and he floated closer to me, raising his lantern and giving an eerie blue cast to the surrounding mist. The moans from the lantern filled my ears, and my stomach twisted.

  “You,” he rasped, his voice low. “You again. For what have you come into my domain?”

  I swallowed thickly. “I—I followed the lights.”

  He tilted his head and floated around me, the cries from his lantern echoing in his wake. “You seek a bargain?”

  My chest tightened, and I shook my head. “No—no, I only followed the lights.”

  He stopped, leaning closer to me, his dark shadowed eyes inspecting my face. “No. You are not one of the three. But you are interesting all the same.”

  “Three what?” I said, my voice thick and hoarse. “What does that mean?”

  “Three I must collect,” he said. “It is my wager. Three bound by flesh and blood and bone. But you are not one of them.”

  I took a step back—I had found the information I wanted, and every fiber of every nerve in my body was shouting at me to get away from this creature. “I—I’ll just go now.”

  “No,” he said, in a voice chill as a winter wind. “You came to me. And I have a use for you.”

  I shook my head, my heart in my throat. “I’m not . . .”

  He thrust his lantern into my face. “Long have I searched to find one who could take this burden from me. Long have I waited for my freedom. Take the lantern—take it from me!”

  I stumbled b
ack, tripping over a stone, and landed flat on my back, the wind pushed from my lungs. The spirit floated over me, and I wanted to cry out—but I could not catch my breath. He leaned over me. “I—I can’t,” I managed to gasp out. “I can’t take it.”

  The spirit looked at me for a long moment. “No—not yet,” he said at last, in sorrowful tones. “I must fulfill my contract. But I will set my mark upon you—and when the contract is finished, I will come for you.”

  As he spoke, he reached out a spectral hand. I scrabbled backward, but he caught hold of my arm—my left arm, with its set of scars from the encounter with the beast in Rowanwood—and agonizing pain shot up my arm. It was as though the beast’s teeth were sinking into it once more—but a thousand times worse, as though at the same time my arm had caught fire, fire spreading into my chest and filling my lungs.

  The pain burst through my chest and I screamed—the sound tearing hoarsely from my throat. The creature loosed his hold on my arm, and the pain faded—everything faded—into darkness.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When I woke again, a lingering scent of decay filled my nostrils. The blinding pain was gone, but my arm still hurt as though it had been burned, and my chest ached as though I had run several miles. I lay there in the dark, too tired to move, and shivering in the cold. I turned my head, looking for my lantern, but it was too dark to see—if I still had the lantern, it had gone out long ago.

  “Jem!” My brother’s voice, hoarse and strained, broke into my thoughts. “Where are you? Jem!”

  I turned toward the sound, but could see nothing—his voice had sounded far away, and in the dark I could not tell how far I had wandered. I heard him call again, heard the edge of fear in his voice—and I realized that I didn’t know how long I had wandered, either. I pushed myself up to a sit, groaning as the movement pulled at my arm.

  “Over here!” I called, my own voice raw and rough-sounding. The shout echoed in the dark, but only silence answered. “Hal?”

  “Stay where you are,” came the response. “I’ll come to you.”

  I waited there in the dark, but I didn’t know how far away he was—couldn’t tell by the shouting. It was hard to wait—to stay in the same place where the spirit had taken hold of me—and as I waited I grew agitated. How was Hal to see me, here in the dark? I fumbled around for a moment, and found my lantern, turned on its side and put out—and it did me not an ounce of good, for I had no means to light it. I shoved it away, and pulled my knees up to my chest, still shivering in the cold.

  After a moment, I heard Hal call again, closer this time, and I answered him—and a moment later, his lantern came bobbing up from the dark, and he took shape behind it. He crouched down next to me, his face pale in the lantern light, a deep line between his eyebrows.

  “What happened?” he said. “Are you hurt? I heard . . .”

  Guilt bubbled up in my chest; he must have heard me scream—and I didn’t like to think what that had been like for him. I looked away.

  “I’m all right,” I said. “I just—I followed the lights.”

  “Followed the lights?” he echoed, disbelief in his tone. “Out here? On the mire? Why—when did your lantern go out?”

  I shook my head, still not looking at him. “I don’t know. It must have—it must have been when I was with the spirit.”

  “The spirit?” He took hold of my shoulder. “Jem, look at me. Tell me what happened—why you did such a damned stupid thing.”

  I swung around to face him, stung by his words. “Stupid—of course. That’s all I ever do—stupid things.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, weariness settling over his features. “Think about what you’ve done—to follow those lights, and not know where you were going—you might have bogged down. You might have been killed. Don’t you understand that?”

  I stared at him. “No—that’s not—I had to find the spirit. I knew the lights would lead me there.”

  “That’s even worse,” he said sharply, furrowing his brow. “To go off after the spirit alone—you’re not an idiot, Jem, but sometimes you do a remarkable impression of one.”

  “I was investigating,” I said. “You know—what we’ve been hired to do. I had an opportunity, and I took it.”

  “And did you learn anything?” he said. “Was it worth the trouble?”

  I sighed, and recounted for him my encounter with the spirit. When I finished, he sat back on his heels, running a hand over his face.

  “Let me see your arm,” he said. I held it out, and he began pushing back my coat. I winced, sucking in my breath as the material dragged over the place where the spirit had touched me, and he frowned. “It said it set its mark on you?”

  “Yes,” I said, pulling my arm back. The remembered pain gave me a sick feeling in my stomach, and the thought of the spirit leaning over me made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “What about the rest of it?”

  “The rest of it?” he said, still frowning at my arm.

  “Bound by flesh and blood and bone,” I said. “That’s important, isn’t it?”

  “It means the three must be related,” he said. “I had suspected it—and now it is confirmed. But that is not—do you realize the danger you are in?”

  I scarcely heard the last part of what he said—so great was my disappointment. “You mean—you knew already?”

  He looked up at me. “What?”

  “About the three,” I said. “You knew.”

  “Yes,” he said shortly. “Jem—that doesn’t matter. We need to . . .”

  “Then it was for nothing,” I said, looking down at my arm. “I just wanted—I thought it was something I could do that—why didn’t you tell me?”

  He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “It was only a theory—why does it matter?”

  “Because—never mind,” I said, rubbing my forehead. My arm hurt, and my head ached, and I was tired. “I just—I can’t believe that was all for nothing.”

  “Well—not entirely,” Hal said, looking away from me. “We did learn at least one thing.”

  I frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

  “We know what the spirit wants—his freedom,” he said. “That—that gives us something to bargain with. But it also—you’ve placed yourself in danger.”

  “The mark, you mean?” I looked down at my arm. “But it doesn’t matter—he has to finish the contract first, he said. That won’t happen—because we’ll break the curse, right?”

  A strange expression crossed Hal’s face—a flash of fear, of anger, and a kind of exhaustion—but it was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving only weariness in its place. “Yes,” he said. “Once the curse is broken—it should be all right.”

  He pushed himself to his feet, brushing the mud from his trousers. “Can you stand?”

  I nodded, and he put out a hand to help me up, before taking up his lantern. He began walking, and I followed, my head throbbing with every step.

  “Where are we going?” I said. “I’m—I’m tired.”

  “I know,” he said. “We are going to find Lord Ransom—and then we will return to the manor.”

  We trudged on in silence, until we came upon a pair of bobbing lanterns in the darkness. It was Forsythe and his son Jack—both looking pale and rather worn out. Jack had dark circles around his eyes, and Forsythe’s face seemed craggier and more lined than ever. Hal shouted, waving an arm, and they came over.

  “Have you found anything?” Forsythe said, his voice hoarse from shouting. “We haven’t—and searching all this time.”

  “I suspect his Lordship will have us out until the morning again,” Jack said, with a groan. “What’s the purpose in it? We’ve already been told we won’t find the boy.”

  Forsythe frowned, the lines in his face deepening. “That’s enough of that, Jack.”

  “He’s quite right,” Hal said. “You’ll find nothing—this is purely wasted effort.”

  Forsythe turned his deep frown on Hal. “I am
not in the habit of questioning his Lordship—and I would thank you not to encourage it in my son.”

  Hal shook his head wearily. “Regardless—I intend to engage in this effort no longer. I am taking Jem back to the manor—he is unwell. Kindly inform Lord Ransom if you see him.”

  Forsythe peered around Hal’s shoulder. His eyes widened as he saw me—I must have looked quite as wretched as I felt, for he nodded.

  “Certainly, sir,” he said. “If I may suggest—my wife makes a very good tonic.”

  Hal thanked him, and we moved on, trudging back up the hill to the manor. Hal was silent, his face unreadable in the lantern light, and I followed behind him, growing wearier by the step. I was very glad when the manor appeared out of the darkness. We were met at the door by Mrs. Forsythe, who took our coats. When she saw me, she frowned.

  “That boy is ill,” she said. “He oughtn’t to have been out in that chill.”

  “I am aware,” Hal said drily. “If you could bring up a bit of your tea . . .”

  “Tea?” she said sharply. “No, sir—a tonic is what that boy needs.”

  With that she bustled off into the kitchen, and I followed Hal up the stairs to my room. I sank down on the bed wearily, pulling off my jacket, and wincing as it pulled against my arm. Hal pulled over the desk chair and sat down beside the bed. He rolled up the sleeve of my shirt, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out as the fabric rubbed against the spot where the spirit had touched me.

  I looked down, and understood just why it hurt so badly. It hadn’t merely felt like a burn—it was a burn—a hand-shaped welt encircling my forearm, red and angry against my skin. My stomach twisted.

  Hal stood and went into his own room, returning with his case. He set it upon the desk and began rifling through it, pulling out a jar of ointment and a roll of bandages. He came back to the chair and began dressing the wound. The strange expression was back on his face, and I felt guilt roiling in my chest once more.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, quietly. “For making all this trouble.”