The sphere of fireflies hovered in the distance, the light pulsating and growing. As they neared, it encompassed them and Hannah gasped. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder as they stepped through the ball of light and into the underworld.
Hannah closed her eyes against the stab of brightness as the cloak of darkness drew back from around them. The glare subsided, and she opened her eyes and sucked in a gasp at the landscape laid before them.
“Duat,” she whispered, and took one step forward on the golden ground.
Sand under her feet turned to lush green growth as it rushed to meet a winding river. The water a pure blue, shadows played over its surface and hinted at creatures in its depths. More rustling reeds and grasses interspersed with pastel pink flowers on the other bank gave way to a wide, paved road. In the distance was a towering temple, with a city spread out beyond it until its buildings merged with the horizon.
“Hannah,” Wycliff murmured beside her.
She turned, and her eyes widened. He had grown and changed. His smoky, fire-tipped fur was now a silky black so intense, it shimmered blue under the sun. In size, he stood as tall as she and large enough to ride like a pony, each upright ear bigger than her hands. His eyes were a deep amber that glowed with hidden warmth. Around his neck was a wide gold collar inscribed with hieroglyphics, and from it dangled a golden ankh.
“Does the light hurt your vision?” She ran a hand over his fur. No longer did it dissolve under her touch. In the Duat, it was made corporeal.
He shook his head. “Here, my vision seems normal. You and your mother have also changed.”
When Hannah stared at her mother, she gave a sob of joy. Seraphina stood as Hannah always remembered her. Tall and slender, her chocolate hair with sun-bleached ends loose around her shoulders. Blue eyes bright with intelligence. Her skin had never been a fashionable alabaster, but bore the golden caress of the sun from time spent outside with neither bonnet nor parasol. Both of them were dressed in a gown that combined the current Empire fashion with images from ancient texts—a simple linen dress that fell to their feet with gold cord wrapped around their torsos.
Seraphina opened her arms, and Hannah hugged her.
“You do not know how good it feels to stand on my feet after my years in that chair. Nor how pleased I am to see your face without the veil misting my vision. But we must not be distracted. We have a purpose to fulfil.” Seraphina stroked Hannah’s hair.
Hannah pulled back and wiped her face with the heels of her hands. “Then let us go to the temple. Does that not seem the best place to begin our search for answers?”
They walked toward the river, where a jetty stuck out into the water. A barge tied there bobbed up and down with a gentle movement. Dark shapes drifted past and a pair of eyes and nostrils emerged as a hippopotamus snorted water and then paddled downriver.
“Doesn’t this look much like the tiles in the grand entrance at Mireworth?” Hannah asked as they approached the barge. She plucked a delicate pink lotus bloom and inhaled the soft fragrance. Then she tucked it behind her ear.
“Yes. But how is it possible that a scene from Duat was created in the house?” Wycliff’s fur rippled over muscle as he walked.
“I suspect Kemsit might have had a hand in that.” Seraphina held out her bare arms and let the sun caress her skin.
An odd tingle ran over Hannah’s skin, and someone whispered her name. She turned toward the sound, but found no one there. Odd. Her sandal caught on something and the tingle rippled over her foot. Bending down, Hannah picked up a chunk of glass or crystal. Some two inches in diameter, it appeared almost translucent except for a silver wisp swirling inside it.
“How beautiful,” she murmured. It warmed her hand and reminded her of her mother’s magic. How odd.
“What have you found, Hannah?” Seraphina asked.
“A piece of glass. I am sure it called my name, and it tingles like your magic.” Hannah held it out for her mother’s inspection.
“How odd. But I am sure we will find many odd things here.” Seraphina smiled and gestured to the river.
Hannah tucked the glass into a pocket of her gown and thought no more of it, as she followed her mother.
They walked along the jetty to the barge, the only way to cross the river. Painted in brilliant hues of gold, red, and blue, its deck was scattered with cushions large enough to curl up on. A canvas awning stretched above and created shade for those resting below. As they boarded, the man at the helm bowed to Wycliff and then issued orders to his oarmen.
A faint breeze cooled the air and carried with it an array of odours. Hannah picked out the sweetness of flowers, a hint of spice, and the sharp tang of citrus. Their journey across the river to the other side didn’t take long enough—she wanted to float down the river and soak in the peaceful atmosphere. Then she remembered her father and Timmy, keeping watch over their physical forms in the glade.
“How easy it would be to forget the living world and stay here,” she murmured.
“Many souls choose to remain here, rather than journeying on to the true afterlife,” Seraphina said.
On the other side of the river, more men appeared and swung a gangplank over before making the barge secure. As they disembarked, the helmsman bowed again and smiled at them.
“Do you think they do that to everyone, or should we read something into it that they bow to you?” Hannah asked her husband.
Wycliff’s head rose even further on his massive neck and shoulders. “Maybe it’s the gold collar that marks me out as important?”
Hannah absorbed their surroundings. Some people flowed toward the temple. Others tended the crops in fields by the river. A few fished in small boats. The afterlife in the Duat resembled life by the Nile. She wondered if the crops were still prone to the vagaries of the weather and the annual flood of the Nile, or did death remove some of that unpredictability?
“How will we find Dupré?” Wycliff sniffed the air. He stared at a group of people and they jumped back out of his way.
“We ask whoever is in charge. We are assuming the French mage is even here. For all we know, there might be different versions of the afterlife and this one is tailored to us.” Seraphina rubbed her hands together and sparks flickered over her skin. “Interesting. My power is stronger here. Even the air energises me and pleads with me to use it.”
“You are a shadow mage and this is your realm. Could your increased ability allow you to create a cure here for the Afflicted that Wycliff could carry back?” Hannah asked.
“I feel as though anything is possible here. Keep your eyes open for any Afflicted we recognise. Finding a ka in Duat would confirm my theory that the two parts of the soul have been separated from their physical form,” Seraphina said.
“Does that mean you might encounter your own if you are currently inhabiting your ba?” Hannah wondered how she would keep them all straight and how the two might be merged into one again.
“I don’t know. We need to find someone who does.” Seraphina gestured to the temple with its soaring stone columns.
They walked the road laid with bricks of a golden hue—so well laid, Hannah doubted a hair could slide between them. The road was easily wide enough for three chariots to pass each other. One approached, the sides painted cream with a vivid blue pattern. The horse’s coat shimmered like copper, as though made of beaten metal. The man holding the reins possessed bronzed skin, a muscled bare chest, and a fine linen kilt around his hips. He saluted to Seraphina as he trotted past and winked at Hannah.
“Oh, my,” Hannah whispered. A lady never saw such displays of half-naked men in London unless she were smuggled into the bare-knuckle fights. The cadavers that found their way to her father’s laboratory or the dissection lectures didn’t compare to a living specimen.
“It’s probably an illusion like the one I wear, and his physical form weighs more than a hippopotamus,” Wycliff huffed.
Hannah ruffled her hand through her husband’s fur
and stifled a laugh. Did a hint of jealousy stir within the enormous hellhound? “Nothing is more magnificent than you, dear husband, in any form—but particularly unclothed.”
Seraphina snorted and then coughed. “There are some things a mother does not need to hear, Hannah. Although I am delighted by how much you two love each other.”
The hellhound’s shoulders shook with a mostly silent snicker and a gush of good humour flowed through Hannah. Around them, people wandered in many different directions. Some struck off from the road and walked across the glittering sand. Others were in charge of oxen, pulling carts laden with wares in pottery jugs or wooden boxes going to or from the city.
As Hannah watched the people conducting their afterlives, one face tugged at her attention. The older woman with grey hair tied in a neat bun wore a sad and lost expression. She plucked at her sapphire-blue gown and kept stopping people to ask them something. Each passer-by shook their head and carried on, and the old woman shrank more into her body. Her eyes widened as she watched the massive hellhound approach, then her gaze wandered over Seraphina and the woman gasped. “Lady Miles!”
Seraphina halted and tilted her head at the other woman.
Hannah knew that voice, but it had been two years since she had last seen that face more recently covered in a heavy black veil. “Lady Albright?”
21
The woman sobbed and rushed toward them, skirting around Wycliff. She grabbed Hannah’s hand. “Oh, Lady Wycliff. How pleased I am to see you and your mother. I do not know what is happening, or where I am.”
Hannah bit her lip. Relief surged through her that Lady Albright had journeyed to the afterlife and wasn’t trapped in the cemetery. But how to explain the rest?
“This is the afterlife, but it is not the one we are raised to expect,” Hannah said in a soft tone. Then she pulled the older woman to one side of the wide road. Large stones with hollowed-out tops were regularly positioned along the road, like benches placed in a garden. Many were covered with brightly coloured blankets. They sat on one draped in green, yellow, and cream stripes.
“I do like this blue gown. I cannot remember the last time I wore such a shade.” Lady Albright smoothed a hand over her dress.
Wycliff stretched out on the ground, his colossal head on massive paws, and eyed the people milling around them.
Seraphina declined to sit; having regained her legs, she preferred to use them.
“Lady Albright, do you remember what happened to you?” Hannah asked.
Confusion crossed the older woman’s face. She scrunched up her eyes and sucked in her bottom lip. “It all seems so vague. Like a dream. My cousin and I had a disagreement. I decided if I was not welcome under her roof, I knew where no one would remark upon my presence. The maid picked me some snapdragons from the garden and tied them up with ribbon. I took a hansom cab out to Bunhill Fields to visit…” Her voice trailed away.
Hannah squeezed her hand. “To visit Henry.”
With a nod, Lady Albright looked away and wiped a tear from her eye. The passage of years could never diminish a mother’s anguish at losing her child. Hannah glanced to her mother, busy crafting dragonflies in jewel tones and setting them free to buzz around them. What had it cost her mother to free the spell that had killed her child? “Do you know what happened next?”
“Dark came quicker than I expected. There was a lovely man who arrived at the same time as me. He said he was a Bow Street Runner, and he offered to escort me to the mausoleum. He lit a lantern to show the way.” Lady Albright held out her hand and a sapphire-blue dragonfly alighted on her palm.
“Taylor,” Wycliff barked from his spot at Hannah’s feet.
“As we neared the mausoleum, he pulled something from his pocket and threw it at me. I remember cool liquid seeping through my gloves and gown. Then I could not move and…oh…how it hurt.” Her shoulders heaved, and she shuddered at the memory. The dragonfly flitted away as she dropped her face into her hands. “Then everything went blindingly white, and I screwed up my eyes. When I opened them again, I stood here, at the end of the road by the river.”
“I’m sorry to make you remember such a horrid thing. You are beyond anyone’s ability to hurt you now.” Hannah placed a hand on the other woman’s arm.
“But where am I? I do not understand what is happening. Am I in Hell?” Lady Albright shook free of the memory to focus on more immediate concerns.
“This place is called the Duat. It is where souls go after they have passed. You can stay here if you wish, or there is another place that is like Heaven. I think that is why many people are heading to the temple.” Hannah assumed that inside the temple, the souls had their hearts weighed. Or at least, she supposed the ceremony occurred there, given what she had read in books.
“I don’t know if I am ready yet. It is so nice to feel the sun on my skin and I’ve not worn anything but black for so long.” Lady Albright put on a brave face. “Wait—you said souls come here after they have passed? Oh, Lady Wycliff.” Her eyes widened as she realised Hannah was also dead.
“I am fortunate. I have journeyed here with both my husband and my mother.” Hannah rose from the seat.
“That…beast…is Lord Wycliff? That would explain rather a lot.” Lady Albright scrunched her sandal-clad toes away from the reclining hellhound.
“I will come back for you, Lady Albright, but we must carry on to the temple.” Hannah worried about the other woman, alone in the afterlife.
But she only smiled. “Oh, you go ahead, dear. I feel much better now that I know you and your mother are here too. Since I am truly dead this time, I imagine I can wait for some time.”
Seraphina cupped her hands together and shook them. Something within her grasp clinked. Opening her palms, she held several golden coins. With a shake of her other hand, a sapphire-blue pouch materialised. The coins were dropped into the pouch and she held it out to Lady Albright. “Here, buy yourself a treat from one of the stalls. You can eat whatever you desire here.”
“Oh, really? I would love to eat an orange again. Do you think they have those?” She took the pouch and clutched it between two hands.
“I am certain of it. Here is a fruit vendor now.” Seraphina gestured to a man pushing a wheelbarrow along the road. Brilliant oranges sat next to bright green limes, and vibrant red apples nestled beside blood-red plums.
They left Lady Albright exclaiming over the fruit and trying to decide what to purchase, and continued toward the temple. The structure increased in size as they neared, the pillars soaring to easily a hundred feet above their heads. Pools of glittering blue water ran along either side of the entrance and fish flashed between the plants. Palms spread their fronds and offered shade to the people who sat beneath and chatted. Others carried baskets and were selling wares or food.
Hannah thought everyone happy and content with their place in the afterlife, but the more she looked, the more shadows she saw darting at the corner of her eye. Some people were draped in tones of grey and stayed out of the sun. They cast furtive glances around them and scuttled deeper behind buildings and rocky outcrops when she tried to look directly at them.
“Souls who do not want to be judged,” Wycliff said when he followed her line of sight to a cloaked figure peering from behind a column. “My urge to hunt them down and drag them to the temple is the same one I experience walking through Bunhill Fields.”
“An instinctive reaction, perhaps?” Did the afterlife use hellhounds, too, to ensure the souls of wrongdoers did not escape justice?
She paused by a pool to watch the fish playing hide and seek among the reeds. A voice that whispered her name seemed to come from under the water. Curious, Hannah brushed her hand along the surface, and as she skimmed over a water lily, a chunk of glass wedged itself between her fingers. Pulling it free, she held it up to the light. A pale rose in colour, inside it a wisp darted like that inside the clear piece she’d found earlier.
A niggle took up residence in her mind, wh
ispering that the coloured crystals were important. Or perhaps she had developed magpie tendencies in the afterlife and simply wanted to collect pretty things. Either way, Hannah placed the pale pink crystal in her pocket with the other and continued up the steps. They halted at the entrance to the temple.
“It’s beautiful,” Hannah murmured in wonder.
Even the most talented artist would fail to capture the full grandeur of the interior. The paintwork glowed with a metallic shimmer, the colours more vibrant than anything she saw in the living world. Huge murals covered the walls. Egyptian deities fifty feet tall looked down upon their subjects. Pots large enough that Frank could hide in them contained palms and ferns with deep green foliage.
“This will confuse the Christians,” Seraphina said. “Although I suspect the aspect changes depending on one’s core beliefs. We expected the Duat and so that is what we found.”
“But what of Lady Albright? She expected to find Heaven. Unless the curse somehow ties one’s soul to this afterlife,” Hannah said.
“We are all bound together in many ways.” Seraphina stopped before a mural that depicted a mage crafting a silver orb between her hands. People sat at her feet, their upturned faces awash in the glow.
They followed a central aisle, where a queue of people formed. Before them was a raised platform with an altar that appeared identical to the one in the scroll Seraphina had found. The goddess of truth and justice stood behind her scales, her feathered arms easy at her sides. The scales were modest in size compared to everything else around them. The brass gleamed in the low light. In a pan on one side of her scales lay a glistening white feather. The other waited for the heart of the soul wishing to journey on. A man prostrated himself before the altar, perhaps unable to watch as the scales dipped from side to side, finding their balance. They came to a halt, the heart weighing heavier than the feather.
“You are unworthy,” Ma’at intoned.
The soul cried out. The man flung up his arms, his hands outstretched either to defend himself or plead his case. A creature lunged from the shadows. Monstrous jaws snapped up the heart from the scales and gulped it down. The soul’s cries were cut short as he crumbled to the floor and dissolved, his soul form now no more than dust motes spinning on a ray of light. Then even they disappeared.
Hessians and Hellhounds Page 19