by Lynn Vieh
“I suppose I could be persuaded to allow you your freedom.” I sat back and thought for a moment. “I have three conditions.”
“I’m not a genie,” he reminded me. “I can’t grant you three wishes, turn you into a princess, or any of that nonsense.”
“You can give me your word that you will not possess anyone permanently,” I said.
“Oh, not to worry.” He waved his hand. “I’ve grown accustomed to living in spirit form.”
“Promise me.”
He looked up at the ceiling of the cab as he pressed his hand over his heart. “On my honor, I promise not to possess any host body permanently.” He winked at me. “Temporary’s more fun anyhow.”
“Second,” I continued, “you go into business with me as my partner.”
“Business? Work?” He recoiled. “What for?”
“Because you have nothing better to do,” I reminded him. “If you get bored, you can teach me everything you know about magic and mind powers.”
“You’ll never live long enough for that.” He saw my face and sighed. “All right, I’ll be your business partner.” He squinted at me. “What’s the third condition?”
“Tell me your name, Harry.” As he started to reply, I raised a hand. “Your true name, the one you were born to.”
“You’ll not believe me.” When I said nothing, he muttered something vile under his breath. “I haven’t used that for ages, Charm. Hundreds of ages.”
“Then back in the pendant you go.” I saw the panic in his eyes and added, “If you want me to trust you, Grandfather, then I deserve equal consideration. Tell me your name.”
And so he did.
* * *
When the cab reached the docks I was alone again. To avoid being trapped again in the nightstone, Harry had to put some distance between us before I touched the pendant.
“He’ll never change, you know,” he said before he left me. “Dredmore will always be a cold, selfish, dark-hearted bastard.”
“Yes.” I felt an odd quietude settle over me. “I expect he will.”
I was not surprised to find Lucien Dredmore standing in the exact same spot as I’d left him in the future, at the very end of the pier. It was like George suddenly appearing outside my office building; as if time had rearranged a few things to fill some gaps no one could see.
I stopped beside him to look out at the cold, dark ocean. The wind brought with it a cutting edge, promising snow. “Did you have any trouble dealing with the Tillers?”
“Hardly. They know my reputation.” He took the kerchief-wrapped stone out of his greatcoat and regarded it. “I have some knowledge of the warlord Zarath, and how many armies he commanded during the Aramanthan wars. His power to control had almost no limits. He is one of the greatest mages of all time.”
“He was.” I took the kerchief from him and heaved it into the waves. It sank out of sight. “Now he’s just another rock sitting on the bottom of the bay.”
He blinked. “That won’t kill him, Charmian.”
“He’s immortal,” I said, nodding. “Nothing can. But no one else saw, so only you and I know he’s there.” I glanced up at his stern face. “I’ve no reason to dive in after a rock, and you can’t swim. Isn’t that nearly as good as dead?”
A rusty sound came from his throat, and it took a moment before I recognized it as a chuckle. “Yes, I believe it is.” He faced me. “Are you ready to tell me about the future?”
I wasn’t going to enjoy this as much as chucking that Aramanthan jackass in the drink, I thought, wrapping my arms round my waist. “What do you want to know?”
He took off his greatcoat and draped it over my shoulders. “Why did I confide the most private details of my personal history to you?”
“I can’t say.” I tried not to breathe in the delicious scent he’d left on the wool. “You weren’t yourself at the time.”
Dredmore pulled up the collar so it shielded my ears against the wind. “What made you stop despising me?”
“I met him.” I nodded toward the water. “By comparison, you are a saint.”
Dredmore tipped up my chin with his hand so I had to look into his eyes. “Why did you save my life, Charmian?”
“You’re not dead,” I countered. “Do you want me to promise not do it again?”
“I want to know”—he bent his head and touched his lips to mine—“why you’re not slapping me, or threatening to push me off a cliff, stab me in the heart, or lock me in my carriage and set it alight. Why you looked so terrified when I came out of Morehaven this morning, and then in the next moment, so relieved. I want to know what changed things between us, Charmian, and how.”
I had to tell him something, but the future that we’d shared no longer existed. It didn’t matter what we’d done; all that mattered was what we would do now . . . and then I knew exactly what to say.
“I had a dream, a few days from now,” I lied. “I was buying peaches at the market, and I stumbled over a curb and twisted my ankle. You helped me up and offered to take me home. After that we became great friends.” I felt him go very still. “That never happened, of course, but when I woke from the dream, all I could think was how much I wished it had. That you and I had become friends instead of enemies.” I smiled. “It was all downhill from there.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time, and then he nodded slowly. “We could try to be friends.”
“We could.”
“Then as a friend I should tell you, that was a terrible lie,” he added. “Someday I will make you tell me the truth.”
I lifted my brows. “Is that what friends do?” I saw how he was staring at the spot in the water where I’d thrown the stone. “He’s gone, Lucien. Forget about him.”
“I wish I could, but Zarath was not the only warlord among the Aramanthan.” Dredmore’s voice grew as icy as the breeze. “There are many more out there. They are waiting, and watching, and plotting their return to power.”
Something rose up in me, something that almost felt like icy burning of the spirit stone Zarath had forced me to swallow. “Do you expect me to burst into tears and clutch at you and wail about how powerless we are against them? Because we’re not. I’ve seen how we are, and we are . . . formidable.”
“We are mortal,” he corrected.
“Oh, very well.” I tossed up my hands. “I don’t think I can cry, but if you like I could swoon. I’m actually getting rather good at faking that.”
“You’re not afraid of what’s coming.”
“Among other things, milord, I am a spell-breaker, and a time traveler.” I turned my gaze to the sea. “Let them come.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Disenchanted & Co.,” the sign painter read out loud from my office window. “That’s a right strange name for this sort of business.”
His young apprentice began mixing up some paint in a small can. “Sort of a pun, isn’t it, miss?”
“Sort of.” I handed the painter the shilling we’d agreed on for the job along with a slip of paper. “There’s the name of my new partner. Make sure you mind the spelling.”
“Whatever you say, miss.” He read the note. “Now this one’s mum must have known he’d go into the magic trade.”
As he and his apprentice went to work, I retreated into my office to sort out the mail. On top of the pile I’d taken from the tube lay a thin gray envelope sealed with silver wax that bore the impression of a spike-wielding fist.
I sat down behind my desk and used my letter dagger to slice off the seal and remove a single sheet of thin silver vellum folded in thirds.
The paper exuded a faint scent of ripe peaches, which made me smile a little. Who would have guessed the most powerful deathmage in all of Toriana had such an infatuation with fruit?
Charmian,
Come to dinner tonight and you may have some.
Dredmore
P.S. Please.
Two of my former clients had sent referrals, one for a haunted car
ri, and the other to remove some wardlings that had become wedged in a door frame. Rumsen Main must have missed those; upon learning from an anonymous source that nearly all of the talismans in the city were counterfeits containing a very dangerous raw stone, the cops had been very busy confiscating and smashing them.
I penned a message to the desk sergeant at Rumsen Main, attached the referral to it, and got up to send it by tube, only to stop as the sign painter’s apprentice opened the door.
“Gent to see you, miss.” He stepped aside as the gent strode in.
Fair-haired and average-sized, Thomas Doyle wore his plainclothesman’s long trench and low-brim. Past his shoulder I saw a beater in dark blue hovering in the hallway.
The inspector doffed his hat, revealing the tough, wind-weathered features and sun-faded blue eyes of a former navyman. “Forgive the intrusion, madam—”
“It’s miss, To—ah, sir.” Barely remembering that to him this would be our first meeting, I sat down behind my desk. “And you are?”
“Inspector Thomas Doyle, Rumsen Station. I’m here to speak to Mr. Kittredge,” he told me. “If he’s stepped out, I can wait.”
“You’ll wait for a very long time, then, as there is no Mr. Kittredge. I am the proprietor.” I held out my hand. “Miss Kittredge.”
He gave me a firm but gentle handshake as he inspected my features. “Surely not Charmian Kittredge of Middleway?”
“Guilty as charged.” I pretended to study him back. “Would you be related to the Middleway Doyles?”
“I am. I believe we played together as children, at my grandfather Arthur’s home.”
I smiled. “I believe we did.”
He paid closer attention to my face. “I haven’t seen you in years, not since you were a gel, but still you look . . . familiar.”
“I haven’t changed all that much. Mostly taller.” I folded my hands in front of me. “Now how can I help the Yard, Inspector?”
“We received a report of some fake wardlings needing collection, but my men are having some trouble removing them. Our staff warder, Mary Harris, recommended Kittredge of Disenchanted & Co.” He glanced over at the door. “But I see you’ve a partner now as well.”
I smiled a little. “Yes, he’s just joined the firm. Unfortunately he works nights, so you’ll have to settle for me, if that’s acceptable.”
“Of course.” He seemed a little embarrassed. “We’d appreciate any help you can give.”
“Let me get my cloak and keys.” I stood up and went to the rack.
On our way out, I inspected the sign painter’s progress:
HARRY MERLI
“Very nice lettering.”
“We’ll have it done before you get back, miss.” He nodded toward the glass. “Then you and Mr. Merlin will be in business.”
Acknowledgments
The only name on the cover of a book is the author’s, and sometimes I wish I could change that. It took nearly four years to make this novel happen, and while I’ve rarely worked as long or as hard to get something into print, with this one I never fought alone. Since I can’t give everyone who had my back a byline, I’ll offer them instead my gratitude:
Tim Kim and all the wonderful folks at National Novel Writing Month and the Office of Letters and Light, who provided me with motivation for writing this story, and followed up that with unstinting support and enthusiasm. What you do for writers and kids all over the globe is nothing short of miraculous.
The readers of Paperback Writer, who cheered me on while I was working on the first draft, and all of my readers out there who have followed this journey with enthusiasm and encouragement. You are a constant joy and true blessing in my writing life.
New York Times bestselling authors Gail Carriger and Larissa Ione, whose generosity and kind words kept me going even when things fell apart completely. Ladies, I will never forget that.
New York Times bestselling author Darlene Ryan, who has been there for me in so many ways that it would take another three pages to list them all. Dust bunnies will never be safe again, and Bubba, you rock.
I wouldn’t be able to write anything without the support of my guy or our kids, but for this book they went above and beyond, and for four long years never once complained. I love you, and you are my heart.
The art department, copyediting, and production teams at Pocket Star, who collectively have done magical things for this novel. I know how lucky I am to have you, and I hope you all know how grateful I am, too.
There’s one more person whose name should be on the cover of this book, and I saved him for last because if I could I’d put it there in fifty-point font right now. For believing in me and this story, for fighting for it (twice), for restoring my faith in the creative partnership between publishers and authors, for being so damn good at what he does, and for giving me this marvelous opportunity to bring Disenchanted & Co. into our world, I’d like to thank my editor, Adam Wilson.
Torian Glossary
abstainers:
religious agnostics
across the pond:
When in Toriana, a reference to Great Britain or Europe; when in Great Britain or Europe a reference to Toriana (“pond” being the Atlantic Ocean)
aid-solicitor:
legal representative provided by the Crown to defendants who can’t afford to hire a barrister
ambrotype:
photography that uses chemicals (silverblack) to etch images on glass plate negatives
annum:
year
apothecary:
pharmacy
Aramantha:
the island homeland of the Aramanthan, destroyed by mysterious forces that caused it to break up and sink beneath the sea
Aramanthans:
a race of superhuman magic practitioners who ruled the world before the rise of mankind
bacco:
tobacco
barrister:
attorney
bathboy:
a male attendant/masseur who works at public baths for women
beater:
a uniformed police officer who patrols the streets, usually on foot
believer:
someone who believes in magic
belowground:
beneath street level
binding:
a stone or other object that can contain psychic energy until its release is triggered by touch or proximity
black:
very strong, thrice-brewed tea
blackpot:
a coal-fueled boiler
blacks:
formal suit worn by high-class male servants
bloodbane:
one of the highly toxic magic poisons used in snuffballs
blower:
a chamber that uses air leached from the city’s tubes to dry wet items
blue ruin:
gin
blues:
people of aristocratic birth
bookmaker:
printer
braves:
warrior class of native Torian people
BrewsMaid:
an automatic tea maker
bronze, bronzen:
a theatrical cosmetic that temporarily darkens the skin
brown:
Talian currency
bruiser:
a large or physically intimidating man; thug
bucks:
clothing made of buckskin
bum:
ass
calendula:
an herbal tincture used as a topical disinfectant
care kit:
first-aid kit
carri:
steam-driven carriage
carriwright:
maker of steam-driven carriages
cartlass:
a girl or woman who sells food and/or beverages from a portable cart on the street
cashsafe:
a hidden, locking recess in a private home where money and other valuables are kept
catchall:
an extending/grasping device with a pinchers at one end
Church:
the Torianglican Church, the only religion recognized and approved by the Crown; the Church of England
clearstone:
quartz
clopboard:
building siding made of planks recovered from abandoned horse barns
coal burner:
engine that runs on coal
coddles:
cod cut into chunks
collar:
vicar
commoner:
an ordinary, untitled individual; someone of low birth
conciliator:
mediator
cosh:
bludgeon
coin:
money
crispie:
potato chip
croke:
croquet
Crown, the:
the English monarchy as well as its authority over Toriana
crowswalk:
a viewing deck that encircles the upper portion of a building
dear:
costly
deathmage:
magical practitioner licensed to kill
deb:
debutante
detector:
a magic practitioner (generally employed by the court) who uses touch to discern truthfulness
digger:
miner
dink:
a small or short man
dipper:
strip of treated paper that changes color when exposed to poison or drugs
drawers:
underwear
drips:
syphilis
Druuds:
mortal magic practitioners who captured and imprisoned the Aramanthans to end the mage wars
ducklings:
children
echo:
device used to detect hidden objects
elshy:
hellchild
entitlement:
inheritance of title and property
exormage:
exorcist who nullifies curses and rids people and places of demon infestation
faeriestale:
fantasy story told to children