by M J Moores
Yes, time … She was supposed to have the rest of her life to break the curse, but now—that bloody letter. Her health deteriorated rapidly …
“Miss., are you okay?”
Louisa shook her head as if to dismiss his comment, but words slipped out past unguarded lips. “I need to be in Southwark before it’s too late.”
“Before what’s too late?” Morrie asked.
She broke from her stupor. “Please, forgive me. I misspoke and—” His intense, calculating stare made her insides jump. The rain pattered down on the fabric above their heads, the force of each drop ticking off the seconds.
“I’m heading back to the office now. I’ll be passing through Southwark on my way to London. You’re more than welcome to ride along.”
Louisa glanced at the breast pocket her watch nestled in, then over to the hangar where Bennett celebrated his momentous achievement, laughing and talking with his biggest supporters, discussing the timing for the official presentation of the project and patent, and talking to Elenore, his pilot. Louisa ought to be in there with them, but Bennett had given her leave to take the afternoon off once the test had been completed.
She focused on the man before her. The more time she spent with him as Louisa, the greater the opportunity for her to mess up and reveal herself, or for him to figure it out some other way. Still … I fear she will not live …
“Yes, thank you. I believe I’ll take you up on your offer.” She was not a lady and therefore her reputation was not at stake—at least, not in the same way. As Bennett’s assistant she often ran errands and spoke with other gentlemen alone. She just needed to remember to keep her voice low, do the opposite of what her instincts demanded, and she’d be okay.
He nodded and inclined his head toward the door of the Steamie. “Shall we?”
Thunder cracked in the heavens and the rain poured from above. Louisa hopped into the back of the Steamie and sat, knees together, hands on lap, back straight, wondering what kind of mess she’d gotten herself into this time.
Morrison Tweed popped in from the other side and shook out his umbrella before setting it at their feet. The driver released the gear, and the public steam-powered landau trundled forward out of the airfield.
“So, what can you tell me about Mr. Bennett?” Morrie asked, leaning into the door and dropping his arm across the back of the seat. He expected her to talk.
Oh, yes, this was definitely a bad idea.
#
The giant mass of gray stone, mortar, and glass rose ever higher the closer Louisa got to the grand front entrance. The estate home adopted by the asylum came right out of the feudal era. Its intimidating architecture dwarfed her and her courage—something which had grown exponentially smaller since Morrie had dropped her off a block away.
Her insides quaked, churning her stomach worse than that damnable open-air lift. She grasped onto the thought of that afternoon’s flight, yesterday’s races, and the extraordinary breakthroughs on the cusp of changing the world—or at the very least, her small corner of it.
The distraction worked, and before she knew it, Louisa found herself inside the imposing asylum, at the front desk. She spoke to the nurse like an automaton, saying the words she’d rehearsed while lying awake staring at the ceiling well into the wee hours of the morning. Every muscle in her body tightened, including her lips and maybe even her heart. The nurse rang a silver bell and an aide appeared.
“Please escort Miss. Pierce to see her mother, Marie.”
The woman, dressed a lot like a nun, moved off without even acknowledging Louisa. They walked through chilly, drab corridors to a large open lounge with double doors leading outside. The rain hadn’t reached that far yet, and even though the sun hid behind wisps of autumn clouds, the aide led Louisa behind the doors to a large inner courtyard surrounded by hedges, walls, and windows. The splash of white daisies and yellow black-eyed Susans did more to amplify the barriers than hide them.
The aide’s trajectory changed, and they headed toward a rail-thin woman wearing a simple turban and sitting in a wheelchair beside a small table in the middle of the grassy area. Even though she had her back to Louisa, the long, limp, honey-brown curls escaping their confines were unmistakable. Louisa’s chest squeezed tighter and her heart thundered against the binds. Three paces from the frail woman, the aide stopped.
“Thirty minutes and then visiting hours are over.” She spoke to the air above the patient’s head, turned, and left.
Louisa glanced over her shoulder at the retreating figure, taking in the solitude of two-dozen or more individuals dotting the patio by the doors. No one else ventured onto the weed-ridden square.
Sacks of flour may as well have weighed down Louisa’s feet as she shuffled forward, hands fisted at her sides, suddenly hyper-aware that her tailored slacks and vest labeled her doubly as an outsider. The warm caramel fabric contrasted with the steel grays, blues, and faded whites adorning the patients and staff, and it contradicted everything her mother had ever tried to instill in her about being ladylike, of being a member of the upper-class, and of acting refined.
I shouldn’t be here. This is all wrong.
Louisa drew in a shaky breath and pushed herself to close the gap. She slid her stray locks behind her ears out of habit, only to silently curse herself for fidgeting and comporting herself in the manner of a character of lower station. Though the woman who taught her everything she knew sat crumpled in her seat, her robust voice refused to leave Louisa’s mind.
She drew level with the empty chair but turned to face the woman before her, the act of presentation etched into the fiber of Louisa’s soul. She exhaled, trying to breathe past her jitters, and looked at the woman.
“Hello, mother.”
But the feeble being said nothing; did nothing. Louisa pulled the empty chair over and sat across from Marie, taking in the gray pallor, thin lips, and straggly hair. The tired eyes wavered up and stared right through Louisa.
“Why?” she asked, voice ringing dull against Louisa’s ears.
That one word speared her heart. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Her mother was never supposed to get better. Yet, the woman before her radiated a brokenness Louisa had never seen before. No matter the delusions and tricks of the mind, her mother’s current clarity of sight only confirmed her impending death.
“Why did you bother coming?” Her gaze flickered over Louisa’s attire and confined locks. “To gloat?”
Louisa whispered, her voice betraying her.
“Speak up when spoken to.” Her mother didn’t yell, but the words were so much more familiar than the rest of her, Louisa jolted with the impact.
“I—I’m so sorry, mother.”
Marie twitched and shuddered.
“I—you—oh, God. You snapped. I didn’t know what to do.” In her mother’s last fleeting moments of lucidity, Louisa had struck the deal. Now, her mother’s piercing eyes belied any prior illness of the mind.
“Why have you stopped eating?” Louisa asked, voice soft and more tender than she thought possible.
Marie narrowed her eyes. “You know why. There’s nothing left to live for. At least when I had you, I had excuses. Now, there’s nothing for me but a slow rot on my back with my legs apart or slaving away in a workhouse. I’d rather end my days right here, thank you very much, in control of my senses and my destiny.”
Each word stabbed at Louisa’s heart. She’d been an ungrateful child, had tossed her family aside when things got tough. She’d convinced herself it was the only way she’d be free of her mother’s curse—of being forced to straddle two worlds as a bastard child with no rights to her own name.
Louisa bit her lip, desperately trying to stem the flow of guilt from each spoken knife thrust. She shook, vibrated with unshed tears, cursing herself for being weak then and now. She should listen to her mother. Walk away. Live her new life. Take pride in her new name. Relish in not one but two jobs …
Instead of breaking and blubb
ering, begging and pleading for her mother not to give up on a life that did just that seventeen years ago, Louisa’s thoughts, her understanding, her future crystalized … because that’s what her mother needed.
A reason to live.
“Now is not the time to give up, mother.”
Marie’s eyes widened slightly at her daughter’s tone. She cocked her near skeletal head slightly.
“I’ll be back in a week with news for you. And I’ll be back the week after that, and so on, until you’ve sat for your release hearing, when I will be here to walk you out of this place … ready to start over.” Louisa stood when several bells rang in call-and-response to mark the end of the hour and the end of the pity party. She gave her mother a curt nod and left the asylum unescorted, cursing herself the whole way home.
She had no idea if her mother would be alive come next Saturday, and if she was, Louisa had no idea what news she had to give her or where exactly she would go if Marie did, in fact, live to walk out of the place. What Louisa did know was she wouldn’t let her mother saddle her with this guilt for the rest of her life. She was not a murderer; she was Shadow Phoenix: city guardian, protector of the people. That included the woman who cursed her into existence.
In the News
THE LONDON CHRONICLE
From Thursday, October 12, to Sunday, October 15, 1876
LEADING LADIES TAKE FLIGHT
By Morrison Tweed
Several records were broken over the past few days, all of which were led by three outstanding women. That’s right.
Starting with the Battersea mini-zeppelin races Friday afternoon, Miss. Elenore Rathburn and her assistant, Miss. Louisa Wicker, were the first women to pilot a Mini in the races and to win the sprint to the capitol.
Not only did they win but the ladies also showed their mettle by breaking air-speed records with Harold Collingworth’s new racing engine.
However, these intrepid ladies were not done. Saturday morning at the South Lambeth Airfield, just south of the Sky Port, Miss. Rathburn took up the mantle of pilot a second time as she worked with inventor Andrew Bennett and his assistant on a larger test of Mr. Bennett’s cloud-seeding system.
Rathburn was a natural. At the last minute she stepped up in place of her brother, who was incapacitated by a strange ailment, to ensure history was made.
As the skies above South Lambeth drew forth rain, farmers and botanists within a five-mile radius danced for joy while the parched earth drank her fill. We look forward to Inventor Bennett’s full presentation of his patent in a month’s time.
Meanwhile, a third female is thwarting expectations as she defies the warrant for her arrest and continues to act as city guardian. Shadow Phoenix flies in the face of rigidity, showing no compromise by tripling her record of civilians saved within one week. But be forewarned: the constabulary will detain anyone wishing to harbor the Phoenix.
A wise woman once said, “None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives” (Jane Austen). The same holds true for these women of the skies.
Episode V: Lairs, Caves, & Credenzas
COMING December 16th, 2019
Thank you for reading the third episode of
SHADOW PHOENIX
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Other Books by MJ Moores
The CHRONICLES of XANNIA
Time’s Tempest
Cadence of Consequences
Rebels Rein
Forgotten Fallacy
FLAWED ATTRACTION ROMANCES
Final Year
SHADOW PHOENIX VOL I
Answering the Call
Syndicatus Evolutio
Oubliette