Longshadow

by Olivia Atwater

  Abigail snorted. “Humans exist to be unnatural,” she said. “Nature’s cruel an’ unfair, an’ we decided to fix it. That’s why we’ve got clothes an’ houses an’ medicine. What’s natural isn’t always good. An’ as for me… I think I like what’s good an’ fair an’ kind better’n what’s natural.”

  Mercy pressed her lips together. “An’ what if there’s consequences to that?” she asked. “Do you know what happens if a ghost stays too long?”

  “I don’t,” Abigail said. “I’d be willin’ to change my mind if I knew it was bad—but no one’s told me anything like that just yet.” She met Mercy’s eyes. “Maybe the sluagh know somethin’ the rest of us don’t. But if that’s the case, they’ll have to say it to my face.”

  Mercy let out a breath. There was frustration there, and a small hint of confusion. But even as she paused to search for an adequate response, a voice spoke from behind them.

  “Is that a horseshoe?”

  Lady Theodora Wilder stood just in front of the window that led back into the Greenhouse. Dora wore a hastily donned pelisse and half-boots; her rusted red hair was barely pinned, and her cheeks were flushed with exertion. She held a small pocket mirror in one hand.

  Hugh stumbled in, just after Dora. He looked awfully pale and ragged at the edges; his form wavered urgently, as though he was barely holding together. But just as he set foot in faerie, the silver locket against Abigail’s chest chilled with recognition, and Hugh’s image became steadier.

  “Mum!” Abigail managed. “You made it!”

  Dora blinked mildly. “Of course I did,” she said. “You would never have let Hugh out of your sight unless it was a very serious situation.”

  Hugh grinned wearily. “You should’ve seen her!” he said. “We got to the gate into the gardens, an’ there was no one there, an’ Mum just climbed right over it!”

  Abigail smiled in relief. “I’m glad you’re all right, Hugh,” she said. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you, I promise.”

  Dora nudged at the horseshoe on the ground with the toe of her boot. “Should I move this?” she asked. “It seems rather in the way.”

  “Please do,” Abigail said. “Feels like we’ve been stuck in this trap for ages.”

  Dora sat herself down in the dirt, examining the horseshoe. “It’s been staked here,” she said, “but the ground is soft. I should be able to pry it free.” She rolled up her sleeves and reached for a short, stubby stick, nudging it beneath the edge of the iron. “You have a friend with you,” Dora observed absently, as she worked at the horseshoe. “I don’t believe that we have met before.”

  Abigail glanced at Mercy, still weary and red-handed where she leaned against the tree. “Mercy, this is Mum,” she said. “Mum, this is—”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean for you to introduce me,” Dora interrupted. “You might as well wait until we join your father. The garden gate is made of iron, obviously, and he could not climb it as I did.”

  Abigail groaned. “Dad came with you?” she asked.

  Dora glanced up at her. “Well, naturally he came with me,” she said reasonably. “We thought you were in danger. He is very agitated. It’s really best if we don’t leave him for long.”

  Mercy eyed Dora sceptically. “You killed a lord of faerie?” she asked.

  Dora leaned one last time upon the stick, popping the horseshoe neatly from the ground. She pushed up to her feet, dusting the dirt from her pelisse. “I did,” said Dora. “How curious of you to bring it up.” She leaned down to retrieve the horseshoe, removing it from their path. As she did, a faint tension eased from Abigail’s spine, and she sighed in relief.

  “Yes, hush!” Mercy muttered—and Abigail saw that she had turned her attention behind them, to a particular spot of empty air. “We’re not leavin’ you here, no matter how bad your manners are.”

  Hugh glanced sharply past Mercy. “Oh,” he said. “You did find Lucy.” He made a sour face. “Do we have to bring her with us?”

  “We have to bring her with us, Hugh,” Abigail said with a sigh. “It’s not right to leave her. An’ besides which, we might want to ask her more questions.”

  Dora, meanwhile, had stepped aside to inspect another of the horseshoes that had been nailed to a tree. Her lips pursed with interest. “These horseshoes are quite loose as well,” she said. “I think someone has pried them down and put them back up a few times now. Should I try to remove them?”

  “I don’t think so,” Abigail said. “We really want to get back to Kensington Gardens before the sun comes up an’ the path closes. At least any other faeries who wander in here will be able to go back the way they came now.” She pushed to her feet and reached down to help Mercy up gingerly by the arm.

  “Hold my hand,” Mercy murmured to the ghost next to them. “You look as though you need it.”

  Abigail couldn’t see Lucy anymore—but there was a hint of sympathy in Mercy’s voice now, and she had to assume that Lucy had finally taken on a more conciliatory tone.

  They stepped back through the window into the darkened Greenhouse. Suddenly, there was a real moon in the sky once more, shining through the glass. Part of Abigail relaxed at being once more in England, though another part of her missed the strange effervescence of faerie.

  They passed very few flowered faeries on their way back to the gate—only a sleepy pair of hollyhocks and some foxgloves remained, chatting amiably with one another as they wound their way back to a faerie path. One of the foxgloves nodded and smiled at Abigail; she realised then that she was still holding onto Mercy’s arm, and was therefore worthy of acknowledgement.

  A tall, agitated figure paced just in front of the iron gate. Lord Elias Wilder had not grown any less dishevelled since the last time Abigail had seen him, on the floor of the House’s ballroom; his hair was still an awful mess, and his cravat was now nowhere to be seen. Abigail felt a brief pang of guilt, knowing that he and Dora had probably rushed out to her aid without much pause.

  Elias fixed his eyes upon them as soon as they came into view. He took one step closer to the gate, before flinching at the sensation of nearby iron. “Are you all right, Abigail?” he asked. “What on earth is going on?”

  Abigail winced. “I’m fine,” she said. “Mercy’s hands are burned, though. The rest is an awful long story.” She eyed the gate in front of them. “I suppose Mum could climb the gate again, but I won’t be able to touch it.”

  Elias grimaced. “I roused someone to fetch the key,” he said. “I have told them there was faerie business here, and that is all that anyone ever wants to know.” He turned his golden eyes upon Mercy, inspecting her keenly. “I don’t believe that we have any ladies named Mercy in any of the orphanages,” he said doubtfully.

  Abigail shook her head. “I met Mercy just today; she’s got a piece of Longshadow in her, the same way I’ve got a piece of Hollowvale in me. I think you’ll want to hear some of what she has to say.” Abigail turned to Mercy. “This is my father, Lord Elias Wilder. You can see for yourself, he’s very kind, an’ not terrible at all.”

  The mention of Longshadow had raised a flicker of suspicion in Elias’ eyes. But he blinked at Abigail’s next words. “Terrible?” he repeated. “Well, I like to believe that I am sometimes terrible.” The statement was oddly defensive, and Abigail knew that Elias was feeling sheepish about his current, not-very-terrifying state.

  “You are not generally terrible to young women with injured hands,” Dora said patiently, “which is all that anyone here needs to know, for now.” Dora attempted a reassuring smile at Mercy, though the expression was, as always, slightly flat.

  Mercy, for her part, was now studying Elias with great wariness. Abigail and Dora’s words had clearly done little, if anything, to reassure her. “I’m no danger to anyone you care about right now, Lord Sorcier,” Mercy said carefully. “I know you don’t get on with Longshadow, but I’m just tryin’ to figure out what’s goin’ on.”

  Elias frowned at Merc
y through the iron gate. “I do not, as a rule, bully young working women,” he said. “If you were a noblewoman or a faerie, of course, it might be a different matter. But so long as you are uninvolved in pesky things like murder, I am sure that we can find some common ground.”

  This did not entirely mollify Mercy’s unease—but she nodded reluctantly, nevertheless.

  Eventually, one of the groundskeepers returned to open the garden gate. By then, the sun had just started to peek above the horizon. The groundskeeper gave their small group quite the strange look—but all he asked Elias was whether the gardens were safe again, and faerie-free. Elias assured him that they were, and this seemed to bring the matter to an abrupt end.

  The walk from Kensington Gardens to the House was short enough that they could make it without a carriage. It was a weary trek, nevertheless, as they had all been awake the entire evening.

  The dining room was still empty, except for a single maid, who sighed at their bedraggled state. Elias took the woman aside briefly, and she soon disappeared down the stairs.

  “I expect that we will require tea for this conversation,” Elias said ruefully.

  Abigail stifled a yawn. She was not terribly keen on admitting everything to her father—but there seemed to be little getting around the matter, if she was going to tell him anything useful about the dead girls. First, however, she glanced at Mercy.

  “Will Lucy be all right for a bit?” Abigail asked her tiredly. “It can’t be nice havin’ to hold her hand all this time, what with your hands like that.”

  “Lucy should be fine, now that we’re back in England,” Mercy mumbled. “I’ve held her hand ‘til now because she’s scared. But we’re close enough to her home now that she shouldn’t fall apart.”

  Abigail nodded. The maid soon returned with a tray of tea and a cool bowl of water, which she placed in front of Mercy. Mercy submerged her hands with a grateful sigh of relief, as Abigail took a few long sips of her tea and started her story.

  Elias was predictably displeased to hear that Abigail had lied to him so directly about returning to Hollowvale. But he did not interrupt her as she explained her visit with Lady Pinckney, her meeting with Mercy, and her investigation at Kensington Gardens.

  “All of this is just to say,” Abigail finished slowly, “I’m startin’ to think Lord Longshadow an’ the sluagh aren’t the ones killin’ the girls. Lucy said that she was already feelin’ ill when she went to bed, an’ I don’t imagine you or the sluagh had anything to do with those horseshoes.”

  Elias frowned darkly. “I do not know where those horseshoes came from,” he said. “I am inclined to agree with the rest. I thought I caught a hint of black magic when I investigated Miss Kendall’s bedroom, but a priest had already been there and performed his blessings, which made it difficult to tell.”

  Abigail shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Then shouldn’t you destroy those bans on Lord Longshadow?” she asked. “If he’s not responsible for all of this, then aren’t they just tyin’ up your magic?”

  Elias looked away, rather than responding… and Abigail narrowed her eyes.

  “You’re still keepin’ somethin’ from me,” Abigail said. “An’ Hugh is keepin’ somethin’ from me too, now that I think about it.” She turned her gaze upon Hugh, who had settled himself on Mercy’s other side, presumably opposite of Lucy. “You were worried about goin’ too close to Longshadow in particular, Hugh. I think someone ought to tell me the truth at this point.”

  Hugh looked down at his hands on the table. “When you first gave me the locket,” he said, “Other Mum told me I should be careful not to wander near to Longshadow. I wasn’t keepin’ it from you on purpose, Abby. It just never came up before now.”

  Abigail scowled at her father, and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Elias sighed heavily. “I have a history with Lord Longshadow,” he said. He glanced at Mercy as he spoke, and Abigail had the feeling he was reluctant to discuss the matter in front of her. But he forced himself to continue, nevertheless. “I was raised in faerie, by Lord Swiftburn. As I grew older, however, Lord Swiftburn turned upon me and tried to kill me. At the time, I didn’t understand why… but since seeing the way that Hollowvale has treated you, Abigail, I think it must be that Swiftburn—the realm—took a liking to me, and Lord Swiftburn considered it an insult.”

  Elias ruminated over his tea, rather than drinking it. “I was forced to kill Lord Swiftburn. I still suspect that I only managed to do so because the realm was upset with him. I knew that Swiftburn wanted me to take my father’s place, but I was… grief stricken, in a way. I had convinced myself that I loved him, though he was terribly cruel. I only wanted to leave, to find somewhere kinder than faerie.” Elias leaned back tiredly into his chair. “The other faeries were afraid of me. But Lord Longshadow offered to lead me back to England. He said that I belonged in England. He was wrong, of course. But then, I have come to understand that I don’t quite belong anywhere.”

  Abigail knitted her brow. “But none of that seems too terrible,” she said slowly. “Why would you fight with Lord Longshadow, if he helped you?”

  Mercy was now looking every bit as uncomfortable as Elias, and Abigail began to suspect that she also knew the answer to this question.

  “Lord Longshadow came to visit me again, not long after Lord Hollowvale’s death,” Elias said. “He told me that I owed him a debt, and that he had come to collect it.” He tightened his jaw. “Lord Longshadow demanded that I give him the children who had died in Hollowvale, so that he could send them on to the Other Side. Sending ghosts on is something which he exists to do, for whatever inhuman reason, and I could not placate him with either sentiment or reason. Naturally, I refused to give him the children. But he has not let the matter rest—not even for a moment. Lady Hollowvale must therefore remain in Hollowvale to watch over the children as much as possible, so that the sluagh do not steal them away.”

  Hugh looked at Mercy. “You knew about this?” he asked her in a small voice.

  Mercy shrank down into her seat, pulling her hands from the bowl of water. “They’re… the children are past their time,” she mumbled. “It’s not fair to make ‘em linger like that.”

  Hugh’s eyes flashed with anger. “No one’s makin’ us linger,” he said. “I never got to have parents before I died, you know. Other Mum’s the first mum I ever got, an’ I love her. An’ I love Mum an’ Dad an’ Abby, too. What’s not fair is me never gettin’ a family until I can’t really have ‘em. But you an’ your sluagh don’t think about that part, do you, ‘cos you don’t think it matters.”

  Mercy pressed her lips together. Hugh’s anger had struck her tangibly, and Abigail could tell that she was miserable over it.

  Elias couldn’t hear Hugh’s response. At first, he fixed Mercy with a dark expression—but guilt and weariness overtook him, and he looked away again. “I did summon Lord Longshadow to ask about the dying girls,” Elias admitted. “But he evaded all of my questions, and we argued about the children in Hollowvale yet again. And so, I set three bans upon him: that he shall not harm anyone with his magic, nor steal away any unwilling beings, nor speak to his sluagh.” This, Elias seemed to add for Mercy’s benefit, though Abigail noticed that he did not mention that the bans were tied to Lord Longshadow’s feathers. “Now that I have finally bound him, I do not know if I dare to give him back his power.”

  Elias pressed his hands against his face. “I didn’t want to tell any of you because… I think I worried, on some level, that Lord Longshadow was right, even if his reasons were inhuman. That I was being selfish, holding all of the children back from something better.”

  Abigail had been terribly angry with her father over his secrets… but somehow, as he admitted this aloud, all of her anger melted away into sadness. She’d had such similar thoughts herself, more than once. Hadn’t she avoided talking to Hugh about moving on for exactly the same reason?

  “It’s Hugh who needs an apology,” Abi
gail said quietly. “I know you just wanted to protect him. But all of us have had enough of people makin’ decisions for our own good. That’s how Lord Hollowvale wrecked our lives in the first place.”

  Elias ran his fingers back through his hair. “God save me from my own arrogance,” he muttered. The comparison had shocked a genuine sense of contrition onto his face. “You are right—and I am sorry, Hugh. It is your soul most on the line.”

  Abigail glanced at Mercy with grim expectation. Mercy looked down at her reddened hands.

  “I’m sorry,” Mercy said softly. “Really, I am. I know Lord Longshadow meant for the best, but… I guess that doesn’t help things much.”

  Hugh looked between them. The apologies seemed to surprise him, more than anything. In fact, he now looked embarrassed. “Well, we… we still don’t know what’s goin’ on with the dyin’ girls,” he mumbled, moving swiftly past the matter. “I’m not sure this changes anything until we’re sure the sluagh aren’t killin’ people.” He glanced apologetically at Mercy. “I know you think they wouldn’t, but we still could use some proof, one way or another.”

  Abigail related his words exactly, for once, and Elias frowned. “You seem to know Lord Longshadow better than I do,” he addressed Mercy. “I can’t say that I’m willing to take you at your word, but I would like to hear your thoughts. What do you think of these deaths?”

  Mercy shifted uncomfortably. “I want to say no sluagh would ever do this,” she said. “Everything I know, an’ every instinct I’ve got says they wouldn’t. I want to find you proof of that. Anyway, Lightless is a kind sluagh, an’ I’m more worried for him than I am about him. Maybe…” She hesitated, and looked at Abigail. “I’m not in a state to summon Lightless. But you could, if I gave you his name.”

  Abigail blinked. “You mean his full name?” she asked. “I didn’t realise you knew it. Are you sure you want to trust me with somethin’ that important?”

  Mercy grimaced. “I don’t love the idea,” she said. “But I trust you more’n I trust the Lord Sorcier.” She glanced at Elias sideways. “No offense intended, Your Lordship.”