In the vehicle, Hannah and Wycliff took the seats facing backward. Frank sat up top with Barnes beside him. Mary stood on the terrace and twisted her hands in her apron, worried whether the hulking giant would be safe. They travelled in near silence as the light dimmed outside the windows, arriving at Bunhill Fields as dusk settled like an old woman into bed.
Wycliff led the way. Sir Hugh wheeled Seraphina along the rough pathways until they reached the quiet corner under the trees with its row of demure mausoleums and raised graves. Hannah trailed behind. She found the older areas of the cemetery beautiful and peaceful. If she did not reanimate after the curse claimed her, she would like a spot under the shelter of a large tree for her remains, where she could become one with its roots. She glanced at Wycliff and observed the tight set of his jaw. Today was probably not the best time to discuss her interment if their plan failed. He carried a burden already on his broad shoulders, and she would not add to it.
Through another overgrown area, Hannah spotted one grave on its own in a tiny clearing. A monstrous metal cage enclosed the recently disturbed earth. A shudder worked down her spine. The metal spikes had been driven deep into the soil, and the solid bars were close enough that only a hand could slip between them. The purpose of the cage was to deter body-snatchers; concerned families could rent the constructions from a blacksmith. Yet there was something about the haunting structure that made her wonder if its true purpose was to keep the resident inside the grave.
They walked along another winding path, where Wycliff directed them to rows of graves laid out before squat mausoleums with their backs to an unruly hedge. He stopped at a grave with a short metal railing around it. Hannah stood next to him and drew comfort from the warmth radiating from his form.
“A circuit of the grave, please, Hugh,” Seraphina said to her husband.
Sir Hugh pushed the bathchair clockwise around the grave. They stopped at each side, as the mage considered the black marks staining the granite from different angles. At one point, she reached through the railing and swiped a finger across the stain, the soot near invisible on her black glove. She rubbed thumb and finger together and brought them closer to her face.
“This is as I feared. Someone used magic here. I sense an enhancement similar to the one I used to make the intense fire that shortened the suffering of the secondary Afflicted.”
“But as I recollect, Mother, your flames burned pure white, while this was reported to have been blue and white.” Hannah wondered if they had used a different spell.
“If two people write the same sentence, does it look the same? There is a type of handwriting to magic. Two mages can cast the same spell, but there will be variations between them. This is the same spell, but the mage’s handwriting is displayed in the colours of the flames.”
“So a mage would have been present?” Wycliff asked.
Seraphina tilted her head and watched the last of the sunset paint fire over the clouds above. “Not necessarily. There were occasions when secondary Afflicted were euthanised and I could not be present. A mage can cast the spell directly, or it can be distilled into a potion that can be thrown into a fire as an accelerant.”
“How many people know that?” Wycliff asked.
Sitting at the head of the gravestone, Seraphina resembled a monument, gazing at the person buried at her feet. “Only a few people know of the fate of the secondary Afflicted. Those who were present that horrible day at the Repository, whoever Sir Manly reported it to within the government, and the mage council were all privy to that information.”
“Whoever did this didn’t only consign poor Lady Albright to the flames, they knew to enhance the fire to make it burn hotter.” Hannah stood opposite her mother at the foot of the grave and mentally added up those who had the necessary knowledge. Twelve mages, and perhaps as many more within government and the Repository.
“They also knew she had to be immobilised. No one stands still while they are immolated.” Wycliff narrowed his eyes and glanced around.
“Whether by spell or potion, they would have procured it from someone.” Hannah reminded him of the slip of paper she kept in her stays that had rendered two Afflicted unable to fight back while being captured.
“There are mages who sell such spells, but who knows how many hands it might have passed through or when. Paper does not expire like fish. It could be a spell bought last week, or last year. Same with the potion. Someone could have acquired it at any time and kept possession of it for such an occasion.” Seraphina cast a light orb as the dusk thickened in the sky, and it lit the clearing.
Wycliff huffed. “Lord Albright has stewed for two years, trying to either ignore his former wife or have her put away. He has had time to plan this crime. All he would have needed was the opportunity.”
As her family discussed possible motives and the sequence of events, the Albright family mausoleum drew Hannah. On a plaque attached to the outside was engraved the names and dates of those who resided within. The light her mother cast flickered across the brass. Hannah reviewed the list, wondering which of these the unfortunate woman had set out to visit. And why snapdragons? While they were a charming flower, they weren’t what one typically placed on a grave.
It wasn’t the name at the bottom of the list that caught Hannah’s attention, but the all too brief span between the years.
* * *
Henry Albright, 1800–1801.
* * *
A gasp caught in her chest and she reached out to touch the engraving. A son who had not lived to see a second year. A child who might have been amused by the odd flower that could be made to snap. She brushed her fingertips over the name, and it seemed that a wash of his mother’s grief ran up her arm.
“What have you found, Hannah?” Wycliff’s voice pulled her away from the tide of sadness.
“She gave him a son who did not live long. He died in 1801.” Hannah turned back to the group. “It is so unfair that a woman should carry the blame when she does not provide an heir, or if that child is snatched away by some act of fate or disease.”
“Laws are written by men to benefit men, my dear. Such will be the way of the world until women have a voice in how we are governed.” Seraphina grasped the metal railing and stared at the scorch marks.
“Or for men to decry the practice and work to institute the change we need.” Wycliff stalked to his wife and drew her to his side.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Hannah’s lips, before it dropped away. “What do you see out here?”
He picked up her hand. “More souls than I would find at Almack’s. Flashes dart at the corners of my vision and low words murmur in my ears. Some hide, knowing they have escaped justice. Others want my help to move on, but I cannot send them where they need to go.”
“When you dispatch a soul, do you not have a choice of doorways?” Hannah asked.
He shook his head. “The void that opens is a place of punishment. There is nothing light or good within it.”
Hannah mulled over his words. “That does not seem balanced. Surely if a hound can dispatch a foul soul in one direction, you should have the ability to send a lighter one to a peaceful place.”
“Events are out of balance,” Seraphina murmured.
Balance. The single word echoed through Hannah as though a tuning fork had been struck.
9
The next day, Hannah sat on the window seat with an enormous book open in her lap. She continued her study of the Egyptian underworld, while her mother worked on the hieroglyphics they had found at Mireworth. Today, Hannah read about the Duat, the valley of the dead where Anubis ruled and souls lined up to have their hearts weighed against a feather by the goddess Ma’at.
“It’s a name!” her mother exclaimed from her desk.
Hannah set aside her tome and crossed to the desk to peek over her mother’s shoulder. Before her lay the rubbing taken from the square inscription on the end of the sarcophagus.
Seraphina tapped a seri
es of pictograms inside an oval shape. “This is the name of Wycliff’s dead mage—Kemsit. A woman mage in a time when we were snuffed out in England. Although the ancient peoples were more enlightened than we.”
“Kemsit,” Hannah let the unfamiliar name roll around in her mouth. “Now that we know who she was, will that lead us to why she rests there and what bargain was struck with de Cliffe?” A shiver worked over Hannah’s skin and with it came a certainty that everything was connected. Hundreds of years ago, events had been set into motion that would soon reach their conclusion.
“There is more. Not only do I have her name, but also her standing in Egyptian society. Here, these symbols identify her as a mage to Anubis. Or as they called her, a shadow mage.” Seraphina extended her arm above her desk and in its wake, a figure appeared of a woman draped in a grey cloak made of shimmering spiderwebs.
Hannah sucked in a breath. “A shadow mage? I’ve not heard of such a title before. What do you think it means?”
Seraphina tapped her finger on the symbols. “I need to do more research, but I cannot help but wonder if there is also a light mage?”
“Shadow and light. Life and death. Everything in balance,” Hannah whispered.
“I am a-tingle with possibilities, Hannah. The British mage histories are silent on such things, just as they prefer to ignore the fact I continue to exist and cast magic. They are like ostriches, sticking their heads in the soil so they can deny what happens around them.” The tiny mage strode across the desk and knelt to touch the rubbing taken from her tomb. “I am most curious about her being a mage to Anubis, god of the underworld. While I am leaping to conclusions, I also wonder if Kemsit may have been similar to me. Dead, yet still powerful, drawing her magic from the afterlife.”
Hannah placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Do you think that when we walk the dark path, we will find Anubis at the end rather than Hades, or the Devil, or any other incarnation of that god?”
“All evidence does seem to point in that direction.” Her mother huffed a light laugh. “I have been thinking much of late about balance. It is odd that Wycliff can dispatch a dark soul to justice, but not release a light one to move on. The balance is missing. England used to have only twelve living mages, but now has one dead one to add to her tally. What if one shadow mage balances the twelve light ones?”
Her mother turned and grasped her hand. How Hannah wished to see the bright ideas burning in her mother’s gaze! “Balance is at the core of the questions plaguing us. Even in this bargain struck between de Cliffe and someone unknown—must there not also be a balance in the exchange?” Seraphina said.
Questions crammed themselves into Hannah’s head until she had to let go of her mother’s hand and walk to the window. The soothing garden beyond rippled over her troubled mind. “We must make our journey soon to seek the answers, and yet we cannot until we know who committed this crime against the former Lady Albright.”
Seraphina snapped her fingers, and the phantom Kemsit dissolved into the paper beneath her feet. “There is also the matter of Unwin and Alder. Someone attempts to pull back the veil with which I cloak their enterprise.”
Hannah turned around and dropped to the window seat. “We could solve so many problems if we cured the Afflicted.”
Seraphina huffed under her breath. “And put Unwin and Alder out of business. I doubt they would thank us.”
“I am sure they could transition to provide for other needs Unnatural creatures have.” The clock chimed once, the single note vibrating through the air and drawing Hannah’s attention. It reminded her of the passage of time and all she had to accomplish. Wycliff had gone to London to question Lord Albright. Hannah had agreed not to visit Mrs Sennett’s brother until he could accompany her. “I shall leave you to your studies, Mother. I have a chore to undertake for Papa and I must see how Timmy fares with his studies.”
Hannah left the library and headed to the other end of the hall, where Timmy worked in his own airy space. When he grew older, it would become his study. Currently the room was a classroom, complete with fellow students. Barnes and Sheba rolled on the rug and appeared to be wrestling.
“How have you progressed this morning?” she asked as she stepped over spaniel and hand and stood by the lad’s desk. He laboured on an anatomical drawing and added labels. His handwriting showed great improvement. “Oh, Timmy, this is such good work!”
The boy smiled and then ducked his head. “I’m finding it comes easier every day. It’s like something inside me only needed to know the words, and now it can string them together and tell me all sorts of things.”
On impulse, Hannah held out her hand. “Once, you saw inside me to my secret. Would you look again, please?”
His eyes widened, and then he nodded. Timmy took her hand, held it between his, and closed his eyes. Hannah stared out the window with its view of the rear yard and forest. She watched one of the chickens bathing in a dusty hollow.
“It’s closer than I remember it being from the first time, milady.” He drew the words out in a soft tone.
“Can you tell me anything else?” When she’d first rescued Timmy, he had touched her hand and seen the curse within her. The lad had been shocked that she balanced so close to the brink of death. Curiosity nibbled at Hannah as to how his perception of the dark magic might differ from what her mother saw.
“It surrounds your heart, like a darkness. There’s a line holding it back, but it scratches at it, looking for a way through.” He gulped and opened his eyes as he let go of her hand.
Hannah ruffled his hair. “Thank you, Timmy. That is most helpful. Now, why don’t you run along—I’m sure your luncheon is ready.”
Later that afternoon, Hannah was in the kitchen when several loud thumps and bangs came from upstairs. “Whatever could that be?” Hannah stared at the ceiling, half expecting an answer to write itself upon the plaster.
The peacock feather wrapped around her little finger tingled and summoned Hannah to the library. She found her mother next to a massive, dusty trunk. The battered old thing looked large enough that Frank could have climbed inside during a game of hide and seek.
“Where on earth did that come from?” Hannah asked as she walked around the piece of luggage that had appeared since she’d left the library earlier. Two leather straps with buckles the size of her hands were secured over the top. She picked up the end of one and it tugged itself free of her grasp. She tried again, and the leather slapped her palm.
“Careful, dear, before it hurts you. It is ensorcelled so that only I can open it.” Seraphina laid her hands over the buckles and murmured. The leather straps snapped against the thick hide of the trunk and then wriggled themselves free of the buckles to collapse flat on the rug. “Rather fortuitously, the trunk arrived today from friends in Europe. I asked them to find me any old books and scrolls about mages, and in particular, practices in Egypt. I thought it would aid our research into a cure for the Affliction. I am now hoping it might reveal a clue about the shadow mage in the bottom of Mireworth’s tower.”
That would explain the thumps Hannah had heard. Frank must have dragged the chest into the library. Perhaps it had struggled. But now, with the straps undone, Seraphina waved a hand over the lid and the trunk obliged, the heavy lid lifting with a groan and creak.
Hannah gasped in excitement at the contents—a treasure trove of knowledge. Books of all different sizes and bindings were crammed in among scrolls, some tightly wound and held with ribbon, others in small and stout leather tubes to protect the contents. “Oh, how marvellous.”
She remembered the day she’d visited Lizzie as they planned her wedding trousseau. The modiste had arrived with a trunk packed full of samples of expensive fabrics, lace, and ribbons. Her friend had delighted in reaching in and plucking free a treasure. The trunk before Hannah, with its dusty pages and faded ink, generated a similar kind of excitement within her.
Hannah knelt on the floor and leaned close, but didn’t touc
h the trunk. She glanced at her mother. “Is it safe?”
Seraphina nodded. “Yes. I have deactivated the hidden protection spells. My friends have searched Europe for more than a year now, hunting out rare and unknown volumes. Is this not the most fabulous thing, Hannah? There is a tingle in my bones. Something in here is calling to me.”
Hannah lifted free the topmost book. A small volume, barely the size of her hand, with a deep green binding and faded gold lettering in a tongue she didn’t recognise. An internal struggle erupted inside her. She wanted to take the book to the window seat and marvel over each page, yet at the same time she wanted to touch and hold every single object in the trunk. In the end, she set the book down on the rug and tried to decide which to select next. “What am I looking for in particular, Mother?”
Seraphina wheeled herself to the other side and lifted out a book with a worn brown leather cover. “Magical rituals and priestesses of Egypt. Let us see if we can find any mention of the mages who serve Anubis.”
“Did you not learn about magic in other countries as part of your mage training?” Hannah asked as she scanned the odd assortment of books. No two were alike in size or binding.
Beside her, Seraphina fell silent.
Hannah chided herself for bringing up an unpleasant memory. The mage who had trained her mother had treated her poorly. He only took on the girl mage to draw the magic from the child for his own ends. When she turned eighteen and came fully into her power, Seraphina managed to remove the invisible shackles the old mage had placed around her. Kitty, who lived next door, aided her friend’s escape. What a sight it must have been when the young mage appeared at court and demanded what was rightfully due to her.
“He told me little of our history, and then only his narrow view of it. Over the years, I have read what texts I could find in the possession of the mage council, but I find it has a similar bias. Everything is told from the perspective of mages’ being Anglo-Saxon men. Mage-born women were seen as abhorrent.”
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