The Curse of the Brimstone Contract

by Corrina Lawson

  “Close your eyes, Joan! Do not look!” Gregor had a vise grip on her. “Milverton! Run! Take cover!”

  Even with her eyes closed, light seeped through and blinded her. Joan heard her mother scream. She fought to break away from Gregor and help her mother but he would not let her go.

  “I must help her!”

  “You cannot help her now.”

  Joan felt the inky blackness growing around them, as it had the night they had been trapped under the desk. Gregor was shielding them from the golem’s attack. He was also effectively locking her in and locking her mother out.

  Her mother’s screams grew louder.

  Joan pounded on Gregor’s chest. She screamed but could not hear herself in the darkness. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Utter void surrounded them. It was just the two of them, safe in a pitch-black cocoon, while somewhere out there, Roylott was doing horrible things to her mother.

  As suddenly as the dark had enveloped them, it was gone. The world was back.

  And in utter shambles.

  The building had collapsed around them.

  London’s moist air whipped her loose hair around her face. The outer wall of the sewing room was gone and the boiler had crumpled inward. Around her, smoke rose from the wooden rubble. The chimney had broken in half.

  She spotted a shapeless lump in the twisted metal near the boiler.

  Roylott?

  The sewing machines were molten semblances of their former selves. Above them, a timber creaked. Perhaps something still stood after all.

  The dust cleared around them, revealing an image of a human seared into the floor to her right.

  That was where her mother had been standing.

  “Mother,” she whispered.

  Gregor shook her. “The rest of the ceiling is about to collapse.”

  He pulled her past the boiler and to the side street. She heard a horrible crack and turned to face the destruction.

  The second floor of Krieger & Sims, where her living quarters had been, rained down on the first, blowing around splinters and dust so thick it burned her eyes.

  The destruction seemed to go on forever.

  When the air cleared, she did not believe what her eyes told her. She fell to her knees and put her face in her hands.

  Gone. It was all gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  All Joan could hear was the sound of her own breathing.

  “Joan! Sherringford!” Sir August’s shout cut through her shock.

  “Here,” Gregor answered. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

  She heard Sir August’s steps and the thud of his cane long before he appeared out of the dust cloud. “Thank God you’re alive.”

  “I suspect God had little to do with any of this,” she said.

  “Milverton, send for Inspector Davis,” Gregor said. “And the fire brigades, I should think. We must be wary of fire in all that mess.”

  “Yes, of course.” Sir August stared at her. “Is she injured? She looks so fey.”

  “Not in the way you mean,” she said. “And I can answer for myself.”

  Gregor knelt down next to her so they were eye to eye.

  “Joan.”

  Never had her voice sounded so gentle on someone’s lips.

  “Is there someone I can call? Somewhere I can take you?”

  “I have nothing and no one now.” She rose. “You would not even let me try to save her!”

  “I have not the gifts that would have saved your mother.” He stared at the ground. “I could shield only one person from Roylott’s wrath. I chose you.”

  Joan wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “I killed her. I beat Roylott and he killed her, and so I killed her too…” Emotion caught her throat and she started to cry. She doubled over, the sickness in her stomach threatening to spill out.

  Gregor pulled her close and let her grief pour out until she had no tears, nay, no feelings left.

  Police and other authorities arrived. Several men spoke to Gregor but she was so unraveled that their words made little sense to her.

  “I must go clear up some matters. I must make sure the blowback from this goes in the right direction.” Gregor held her away from him. “I must leave you for a time.”

  She nodded, numb. What was one more loss today?

  It was Sir August who drove her to the home of her father’s younger sister. He explained to her surprised and shocked aunt that an explosion of unknown origin had destroyed Krieger & Sims.

  Joan let him speak for her. She numbly looked around the home. It had been over a year since she had visited. Her father had not wanted to go out because of his fits. He could not risk making himself a public spectacle.

  Hah, she thought. She must be more of a spectacle right now than he would have ever been.

  The home smelled like fresh-cooked bread. Her aunt responded to the news with admirable restraint, or perhaps it was just shock. She led Joan to a small bedroom off the kitchen that was permeated with the smell of the bread and fresh stew.

  Her aunt asked if she wanted something to eat or drink. But all Joan wanted was to be alone.

  Joan curled up in a small ball on the bed, shutting her eyes, trying to deny the images of the past day. Her aunt came back and made her drink some liquid that she claimed would settle her nerves.

  Joan did not so much fall asleep as pass out. When she woke, uncertain of how much later it was, a new set of clothes was draped over the chair on the side of the bed. This bedroom had the advantage of an attached washroom and so she cleaned up, scrubbing the dust out of her hair and skin.

  But the sight of her mother’s ashes burned into the floor would never be scrubbed away.

  The lotus case containing her grandmother’s pendant remained around her neck. She thought about removing it but ultimately left it alone. Its weight kept her grounded to the world. Considering the destruction of her home, it might be all the legacy she had from her family.

  The dress and coat she’d borrowed from the Duchess of Bennington were utterly ruined. Gregor would have to make good on that with his sister-in-law. It was fitting her one day of being a lady had ended in dust and destruction. Her borrowed clothes from her aunt suited her far better.

  She stumbled out of the room to find that her cousins were already sitting shiva for her mother. Why not? There would be a memorial service but a funeral had already taken place. Her mother was already ashes, permanently a part of Krieger & Sims.

  She spoke to no one, so out of respect for tradition, no one spoke to her. Her uncle steered her to the food and drink set out in the dining room.

  She drank tea and nibbled at bread. She stared into the space in front of her. At one point, she held up her hand and looked at her fingers, to make certain she and this world were real. The bandage covering her wound from the sewing duel was clean and fresh. She peeked under it, to make certain the puncture was real. That would be proof.

  There it was, a small, deep wound that had scabbed over. Bruises surrounded it. It all was true. She had not imagined the events.

  Useless duel. She had won nothing and gained only her mother’s death.

  She stared down at the floor, breathing in, breathing out. People came and went. Her aunt, uncle and cousins offered condolences and she gave them the appropriate responses.

  The undercurrent of the chatter was that she was in shock and not up for talking. They were concerned she had temporarily lost her wits.

  Quite true.

  But she did hear what they said and processed it. The story being passed around was that the boiler at the business had exploded, killing her mother and Roylott, and nearly destroying her. No mention was made of magic. More lies, she thought, but let these stand. Her cousins would not believe the truth.

  After some hours, she removed herself and went back to the bedroom. She heard a commotion from the outer room but had no energy to investigate. Who knew, perhaps Gregor had come back and caused a stir by arriving in full nobl
e dress and manner. He certainly owed her explanations. He had guessed Roylott was a golem, else he would not have prepared the means to destroy it.

  She snapped to her feet as the voice became clearer, and it was not the voice she had expected. She rushed out of the room, her skirts swishing about her waist, and stopped in her tracks, thinking she was hallucinating.

  “Father?” she asked.

  Alexander Krieger smiled, approached and hugged her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders to prove that he was not a specter or figment of her imagination. As they broke the hug, she saw that his eyes were clear.

  “Yes, I’m cured,” he whispered to her. He turned to the family and asked for time alone with her. They cleared out of the room, and she sat on the couch.

  She blinked. Her father seemed vital, younger and clearheaded. Yet his smile hadn’t lasted very long. Neither had hers. She had too many questions. And too much anger.

  “You can’t blame yourself,” he said. “Promise me you won’t do that. All of this started with me.”

  “There is blame enough for everyone. If I had followed your orders and married Sir August, my mother would be alive.” She closed her eyes and put her head in her hands. Roylott’s taunting of her mother echoed in her memory. Mistress, he’d said. Joan’s mother had created the golem. How, Joan didn’t know. And then what? Had she set Roylott to the task of corrupting her husband with promises of wealth?

  “If Mother had not created the golem… If you had not signed the contract…” Yes, there was blame enough for all.

  Her father would not meet her eyes, and they sat there for what seemed like a very long time, not looking at each other. Perhaps it was only minutes. It felt like a lifetime.

  “It started with my greed, Joan.” He still did not look at her. “I was so eager to merge Sims with my family’s business that I convinced my father and your mother’s father what a good merger it would be. I forgot to convince your mother of the same.”

  He hung his head, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “She resented me from the start, much as you resented Milverton, and for the same reason. I wanted what she could bring me. I didn’t see her. After I realized my mistake, I thought I’d win her over, especially when I made certain she could still run her shop.”

  “She didn’t want your permission to run it; she wanted to be free to run it herself,” Joan guessed. Oh yes, her mother had never liked answering to her father.

  “We both wanted to be in charge. I felt it was my due. I also foolishly thought she’d let me take a stronger hand after you were born. After all, motherhood should take priority over any work.”

  Her mother loved the business as much as her child. That, Joan understood well. And from his words, she doubted her father understood even now.

  “The first real sign of her hatred of me was her unwillingness to have more children.” He sighed. “Are you certain you want to know all this?”

  “I’ve lost my mother, my home and my work. I deserve to know why.”

  “Yes.” Her father’s face flushed. “The business was going well but I was ambitious. When Roylott showed up with his offer, I turned him down at first. Then we lost several clients. I saw my life’s work disappearing. I wanted to leave a legacy. I said it was for you, but I was lying to myself.”

  “And so you signed the contract.”

  “And so I did. Roylott said he would only take small bits and pieces, that it would be as if I had a wasting sickness. I didn’t truly believe in what would happen, especially when there were no ill effects for some time.”

  “And then there were,” Joan said flatly.

  “And then there were.”

  “When did you guess the truth about what my mother had done?”

  “Not until recently. I found some of your mother’s hidden journals. She’d saved books from her mother’s family, books that detailed magic and spells, and some other documents that I didn’t recognize but seemed to be about mage ability.” He put his head in his hands. “All those years, she hid those from me. In one of my periods of lucidity, I confronted her. She admitted she’d created Roylott out of hate for me and had ordered him to offer the contract for my soul. And then Roylott ripped away a larger piece of my soul.”

  “That’s when you went to Milverton to get me out of the house,” she guessed.

  “Yes. And in response, Roylott started killing our clients.”

  “Did mother order him to do that?”

  “No, I don’t believe she’d have done anything to hurt Krieger & Sims. He began murdering clients because I tried to refuse giving him more of my soul. He still took pieces, of course, but he said if I was going to fight the contract, so would he. He wanted to ruin Krieger & Sims to spite me.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. “You should have told me the truth, not shunted me off to Milverton. I needed the truth. I deserved the truth.”

  And Mother might have listened to me. They could have stopped the golem together. Joan wanted to believe that.

  “How is it that you’re recovered now, Father?”

  “When the golem died, the contract he signed with you forced him to return my soul to me. It came as a great shock to my system, but once I regained my mind, I found myself in custody without knowing why. I owe your Lord Sherringford for my release. I came straight here, to you. I was so worried.”

  “Your concern is far too late.” She shook her head. His nightmare was over. Hers…she had no idea. “Your greed destroyed everything.”

  “Even you?” He turned to her. “Even you?” he asked again.

  Her hands trembled. She pushed up the sleeves to show the bruises on her wrists, which had not completely faded. “If not destroyed, I’m surely scarred.” She closed her eyes. “I heard her screams as she died.” She looked away. “I hear them still.”

  “Nothing I can say, no apology, will make this better,” he said.

  “No.”

  She looked at him. When he first walked in, he’d seemed younger and more vital. Now she saw age and fatigue etched in the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and felt guilt stab her in the gut.

  “I wanted to save you even after I knew what you’d done.”

  “You risked all to save me, knowing what I am. Yes, your Lord Sherringford told me. His words were even more scathing than yours on the matter. I didn’t deserve such devotion then and I don’t deserve forgiveness now.”

  “I didn’t want you to die. I still don’t.”

  “That is something, then.”

  “Perhaps it is atonement you should seek,” she said. “Because saving you cost Mother her life.”

  “I know. Yom Kippur will surely mean much to me this year.”

  Her aunt, perhaps too curious to stay away, finally came into the room, later followed by her grown cousins. Joan found that she could eat again and that her mind felt clearer once she had a full meal in her stomach.

  Her father kept her in sight the entire time but he made no more moves to converse with her. She was glad he was alive. The destruction of her business, her home and her mother had at least one small silver lining.

  But her life was not the same.

  Gregor had offered her truth. She’d craved it. It tasted like ashes.

  When the day was finally over, she went back to the guest room. She went over the duel in her mind again, looking at her injured hand.

  Gregor had known, she realized. Gregor had known Roylott was a golem. He’d had the paper containing the spell that created Roylott available to shove into the golem’s mouth. Joan knew it had to be the spell that had created him, for legend said nothing less would affect a golem. The burning spell had caused the Hebrew letters for truth, EMET, to show on the golem’s forehead, allowing Gregor to carve the E from Roylott’s forehead to change truth to MET. Death.

  She’d wanted truth and gotten death.

  More, if Gregor knew about the golem, he must have known that her mother had created the monster. He’d not to
ld her that.

  He had deceived her, just like everyone else.

  She sat shiva with her cousins for the required seven days. Many extended relations and friends from Temple came to share happy stories of her mother, thinking they would comfort her.

  At first, she didn’t want to hear any good about the woman who had betrayed her husband and trafficked in dark magic. But then she began to realize that these stories were the truth of her mother as much as the darker truths.

  Evil and good, all mixed. As Sir August hadn’t been the brute she’d once feared, only a determined man who saw a way to get what he’d long wanted. He had, she guessed, intended to make her a full partner. What if she’d stayed that night at his home and married him the next day? Would her mother be alive?

  If her father hadn’t let greed drive him. If her mother hadn’t let hatred and resentment drive her. If she hadn’t been so curious about Lady Grey’s murder.

  If. If. If.

  None of it mattered. Only reality did. She decided that shiva was traditionally seven days to allow a new reality to settle in around them. By the last day, she appreciated it.

  On that day, Sir August Milverton came to pay his respects. That sent her cousins into a quiet uproar as he’d not come inside when he dropped her off. Joan smiled at the whispers. A gentile, here, and one that was obviously rich and still a bit handsome, despite his age. Sir August was gracious with them, explaining he’d been one of her father’s long-term customers and wanted to pay his respects.

  When he approached her, she greeted him without resentment. He was much subdued and his concern for her seemed sincere.

  “I sensed your innate magic,” Sir August said. “I should have known it had come from someone in your family. I swear, I thought it came from your father. I knew nothing of your mother and the golem.” He shook his head. “But know, Joan, that I intended to give you a good life.”

  “I know you did. And I’m sorry that breaking off our engagement will cause you harm.”

  “I’ve spoken to the brother of our mutual friend, Sherringford. It may be my family’s situation can be improved this way. So you’ve done me some good in the end.”