Longshadow

by Olivia Atwater

  This was clearly not the answer that Lady Pinckney wished to hear. Her brows drew together, and she looked deeply stricken. “I can convince you, surely,” she said. “I will find something that you want—”

  “You will not,” Mercy told her gently. “You aren’t even the first person who’s tried. Some things are not for sale, Lady Pinckney. I’m sorry.” Her pale features softened, though, and she asked: “Would your husband want to see his daughter, while I’m here?”

  Lady Pinckney stared at Mercy, still trying to digest her response.

  “No,” Lucy said quietly. “My father won’t wish to see me. And I don’t wish to see him. I only wanted to see my mother… and now I have.” Lucy turned back to her mother. “You will be happy again one day,” she said softly. “Please don’t be sad on my account. I am going to go and find the faerie with the stars in his eyes—so I will not be alone, Mama. He is excellent company, and I will be just fine.”

  Lady Pinckney glanced between Mercy and her daughter’s ghost. Abigail thought that the lady was still trying to come up with a clever way to force Mercy to stay. But finally, she looked away again. “I love you very much, Lucy,” Lady Pinckney said. “I am sorry that I did not say it often enough.”

  “I love you too, Mama,” Lucy said softly.

  Mercy tugged her hands back. The twilight faded, but did not disappear—and it took Abigail a moment to understand that it was now real twilight filtering through the window of the drawing room.

  The emotion on Lady Pinckney’s features remained keen and cutting. She continued staring with obvious longing at the place where Lucy had been.

  “It’s nearing dark,” Abigail said quietly. “I think we must leave. Thank you for seeing me again, Lady Pinckney.” She took Mercy’s arm gently in hers, and started them towards the door.

  Lady Pinckney pressed her lips together. She wasn’t crying any longer, but her eyes still shone with unshed tears. “You will be back, surely?” she asked Mercy. “At least once more?”

  Mercy did not pause them on their way to the door. “I truly don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think you should expect as much.” Her tone was firm, though not unkind.

  Hugh rose from the divan to walk behind them. His posture was still slumped, as though someone had drained all of the energy from him.

  They left Lady Pinckney at the table in her drawing room, cast in the hazy pink twilight of London.

  Chapter 12

  “It’s not wrong to be upset,” Mercy said, as they climbed the steps up to the House. “A bad thing happened, an’ lots of people got hurt. But that isn’t my fault, Lucy—I didn’t kill you. An’ what you’re askin’ isn’t fair to me, or to anyone else. I don’t exist to serve you.”

  Lucy and Mercy had been talking nearly the entire way back, though Abigail could only hear Mercy’s side of the conversation. Mercy sounded very tired of it all, though she had somehow managed to maintain her patience so far.

  “Lucy is still tryin’ to convince Mercy to work for Lady Pinckney, I guess?” Abigail muttered to Hugh.

  “She is,” Hugh mumbled back. “I understand why. Her mum was awful upset. It was terrible to see.”

  Abigail sighed heavily. “I understand now why Mercy doesn’t like lettin’ people talk to their dead loved ones,” she said. “It’s like takin’ someone away for a second time. But I didn’t realise how much danger it might put Mercy into. Lady Pinckney is desperate, an’ she thinks she can have anything she wants. I don’t think she’d try an’ abduct Mercy, but—”

  Abigail stopped cold, with her foot partway lifted for the next stair.

  Hugh looked up at her questioningly.

  “Mercy,” Abigail said, “I think I know why someone might be abductin’ sluagh.”

  Mercy turned, just before the door that led into the ballroom. “You’ve got a theory?” she asked.

  Abigail picked up the pace again, hurrying to join Mercy at the top of the stairs. “Imagine if Lady Pinckney could trap her very own sluagh,” she said. “I’m not at all sure that she’d hesitate.” Abigail winced as she remembered that Lucy was nearby, and added: “I’m sorry Lucy, but you know your mum is very upset right now, an’ maybe not thinkin’ straight.”

  Mercy frowned. “But why capture three sluagh, in that case?” she asked.

  Abigail shook her head. “I don’t know that part,” she said. “But I think this must be in the right general direction. It feels right. The sluagh speak with the dead—an’ they can probably touch the dead too, if their magic is anything like yours. Someone’s tryin’ to bridge that gap, an’ they know the sluagh can help ‘em do it.”

  Mercy grimaced. “There’s outside magic for some of those things,” she said.

  “There is,” Abigail agreed. “But it’s hard to do, an’ not very reliable. I didn’t ask Dad’s help when I made Hugh’s locket—I asked Other Mum. An’ let’s say you’re a magician with very few resources. Why wouldn’t you take a shortcut an’ just abduct an expert?”

  Abigail opened the door into the ballroom, letting them inside. The sky had truly grown dark now, and she was just thinking that she ought to run back downstairs with one of the lamps to find a light—but even as she picked up the lamp on the desk, it sprang to life of its own accord, burning with a bright golden flame.

  “I see that we have all spent the day quite fully,” Elias observed, from the doorway to the stairs. He had come up behind them somehow, without so much as a sound. Dark circles had started beneath his eyes, and Abigail suspected that he had not slept nearly as much as she and Mercy had done.

  “I thought your magic was all tied up in those bans,” Abigail said, with a glance at the lamp.

  Elias closed the door behind him, tugging wearily at his already-mussed cravat. “I should hope that I can still do something as simple as lighting a lamp,” he said.

  Abigail could not light a lamp with her magic, even at her best. But then, Hollowvale was fond of the damp and the cold, and she had to imagine that Swiftburn was the opposite. She nodded at her father. “Thank you for the light, then,” she said. “We have been out all day. Did you find anything helpful on your end?”

  Elias walked for one of the tall, heavy bookshelves on the wall, glancing over the tomes there. “I did, and I did not,” he said. “Could you please bring that lamp over here for a moment?”

  Abigail carried the lamp over to Elias, and she saw that he was searching the shelves for a specific title.

  “I have a list of several people who have purchased books of interest in the last few months,” Elias said, as he hunted through the shelf. “But even more interesting is this: when I went to John’s magic shop on Berkeley Square, I asked him to check through his stock. Two books in particular came up missing. No one has bought them, as far as he knows—and so, they were likely stolen. I find it more likely than not that the magician we are searching for is to blame.”

  Elias pulled a book from the shelf and handed it over to Abigail. She looked down and saw that it was Debrett’s Peerage of Faerie.

  “Our edition is older than the one that was stolen,” Elias said, “but it might still help us understand what it is our thief was looking for.”

  Abigail tucked the tome beneath her arm. “And the other book?” she asked. “You said that there were two books missing.”

  “A Cunning Grimoire of Plants,” Elias replied. “I am afraid that I do not own it, and I was unable to find a copy of it today.”

  Abigail frowned. “We have plenty of other books on plants an’ magic,” she said. “I could go through ‘em an’ see if somethin’ jumps out. We’re waitin’ on Lady Pinckney to get some guest lists, so I’ll need somethin’ useful to do anyway.”

  Elias nodded wearily. “I will require some sleep,” he admitted. “But before I go, I should ask what you have learned today.”

  Abigail dutifully updated him on the day’s events as best she could, trying not to leave anything out. As she spoke, Elias sat down at th
e desk and picked up a quill pen, and Abigail was pleased to see him taking notes. There was something very satisfying about seeing her work set to paper, right next to his own.

  “I believe that you are on the right track, searching out those guest lists,” Elias said, when Abigail was done. “I will go one step further and suggest that we should only consider aristocrats and upper servants. Lower servants do not generally walk into John’s magic shop; they would stick out very noticeably.”

  Abigail nodded slowly. “Do you happen to know how our magician might be guaranteein’ ghosts?” she asked. “I can’t imagine there are many spells that do that.”

  Elias shook his head. “I do not know yet,” he said. “But that is why I have a library. Perhaps while you are reading through the peerage and the witchery with plants, you can keep an eye out for curses to do with ghosts.”

  Mercy groaned softly. “Outside magic,” she muttered. “I hate outside magic.”

  Abigail shot Mercy a bemused glance. “You don’t have to help,” she said, “but it would go faster if you did.”

  Elias rose to his feet, a bit unsteady. “There will be a decent bit of French in there,” he said. “I don’t believe you’ve learned any, Abigail. Dora is always pleased to help with research—especially the French—but I do not think she will be available until tomorrow.”

  Abigail thought about this for a second. “I’ll wager that Lucy knows French,” she said. “She can read any French books over Mercy’s shoulder, if she’s feelin’ amenable.”

  Mercy glanced behind her, and then nodded. “Lucy can help with the French,” she confirmed.

  Abigail looked back towards her father. “That’s settled, then,” she said. “Now go an’ rest, Dad. We’ll probably still be here in the morning.”

  “I am not certain that I have a choice,” Elias said. “I already feel as though I am sleepwalking.” He trapped a yawn behind one hand, and headed for the door to the stairs. On his way there, he dropped an absent kiss atop Abigail’s head, which made her blush with embarrassment.

  Once Elias had left, Abigail cleared her throat. “I suppose we ought to make a pile of books,” she said. “Are you all right at readin’, Mercy?” Abigail considered this a terribly relevant question, given that she had only learned to read herself once she had left the workhouses behind.

  “I’m fine at readin’,” Mercy muttered crossly. She looked for a moment as though she would have preferred being illiterate.

  “I can’t read much at all,” Hugh admitted. “I guess I couldn’t turn the pages, anyhow.”

  “You’ll just have to cheer us on as we go,” Abigail told him.

  Abigail turned her attention back to the bookshelves and started pulling down the most promising volumes. By the time she was done, she found herself grimly considering a very sizeable pile.

  “I suppose I’ll start with Debrett’s Peerage of Faeries,” Abigail said.

  Mercy blinked. “Why shouldn’t I read that one?” she asked. “I’m sure I’m more familiar with faeries than you are.”

  Abigail nodded. “That’s exactly why I ought to read it,” she said. “Our magician was searchin’ through this book for somethin’ they didn’t know. I think you know too much about faeries already to guess what they were lookin’ for.”

  Mercy acknowledged this with a slight bob of her head. “I’ll start on the plant books, then,” she said grudgingly.

  There was only one lamp, and plenty of books to get through—and so, Mercy and Abigail sat down together against one of the bookshelves, each with their own research. As the evening wore on, Abigail found herself leaning against Mercy in order to soak up the slight heat she gave off. To her surprise, the scent of lye and lilies that clung to Mercy’s clothing had become comforting; each time Abigail breathed it in, her body relaxed a bit more, in spite of the importance of their work.

  Around the time the oil in the lamp had burned down halfway, Abigail sat up against Mercy, looking down at the page in Debrett’s Peerage of Faeries to which she had just turned.

  “Listen to this,” Abigail said. And she read:

  “LORD LONGSHADOW, Earl of LONGSHADOW. True name unknown. Titles include: The Last Sigh, The Final Usher, The First Among Sluagh, The Keeper of Life and Death, The Raven with a Thousand Faces. Heir Apparent—Several speculated, among them the sluagh known as Lightless.”

  Mercy listened intently as Abigail spoke—but just as Abigail had expected, she did not look at all surprised by any of this information.

  “Were you goin’ to mention any of this?” Abigail asked Mercy, with a hint of exasperation.

  Mercy blinked. “I didn’t realise it was relevant,” she said. “Which parts did you find interestin’?”

  Abigail rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Oh, plenty,” she said. “But let’s start with The Keeper of Life and Death. That seems to reference—well, what Lightless told Lucy. That Lord Longshadow could bring someone back to life if he chose to do so.” Abigail had nearly said something about the apple in Longshadow, but she had remembered just in time that Lucy was probably sitting next to Mercy too.

  Mercy nodded slowly. “But we already knew that,” she said. “It’s not new.”

  Abigail let out a short breath. “It’s not new to us,” she said. “But it’s in this book, for anyone to read! Imagine that our killer got a look at this. I’ll tell you what, there’s one thing no magician has ever managed to do with outside magic, an’ that’s bringin’ someone back to life. In fact, I don’t think anyone except for Lord Longshadow can do it.”

  Mercy set down the book she was reading in order to stretch her shoulders. Slow concern had started to spread across her features. “But why abduct all the other sluagh, if it’s Lord Longshadow the killer was after all along?” she asked.

  Abigail narrowed her eyes. “I suppose the killer could’ve summoned Lord Longshadow directly,” she said. “But even Dad had trouble holdin’ Lord Longshadow, an’ he’s the most powerful magician I know.” She glanced back at the page, ruminating grimly. “I’ve got a theory, I think. But I’m not sure about it.”

  Mercy had now leaned in over the book next to Abigail, reading and re-reading the words there intently. A stray lock of her long black hair brushed against Abigail’s cheek, and Abigail found herself thinking again how soft and pleasant it had been against her hand, the night before.

  “Abigail?” Mercy asked. “What’s your theory?” Abigail realised that Mercy had repeated the question more than once now, and she blinked away her thoughts.

  “I think our killer is trappin’ whatever sluagh they can get their hands on,” Abigail said. “I think they’re hopin’ one of those sluagh will know Lord Longshadow’s weakness, so that they can use that weakness to trap him.”

  Mercy stared at the book with growing unease. “Oh,” she murmured. “That’s… awful.”

  Abigail tapped at the heir apparent section of the entry. “This is the real problem, though,” she said. “If Lightless really is set to inherit, that means he must be close to Lord Longshadow—an’ maybe close in power? Do you think Lightless could overcome Lord Longshadow, if he was bound to do so?”

  Mercy bit her lip. “That’s an even more awful idea,” she said. “But no, Lightless isn’t… powerful, exactly. The realm Longshadow just likes Lightless enough that everyone assumes he’d be next in line if somethin’ were to happen to the current Lord Longshadow. Lightless an’ Lord Longshadow both know each other’s real names, but Lord Longshadow is stronger, so if it ever came to a fight—”

  “They what?” Abigail asked. Horror leaked into her voice, and Mercy frowned in confusion.

  “Some faeries do use their real names with each other,” Mercy said. “If it’s a faerie they trust, it means they can easily call upon one another.”

  Abigail pressed her face into her hands. “Dad said that he could have commanded Lord Longshadow if he’d had his real name,” she said. “If our killer has Lightless, then that means they o
nly have to convince Lightless to give up Lord Longshadow’s name, an’ then… well, they could do all sorts of terrible things!”

  Mercy was already very pale in the lamplight—but at this, she blanched even further. “I didn’t… I didn’t think of that,” she whispered. A moment later, however, she looked sharply to her right. “Is that really what concerns you most right now?” Mercy demanded.

  Abigail groaned softly. “What’s Lucy sayin’, then?” she asked—though she knew she would likely regret the question.

  “She’s sayin’ Lightless is even better than Mr Red, since he’s very nearly an earl of faerie,” Mercy gritted through her teeth. She narrowed her eyes at the empty air where Lucy was. “Do you ever think of people as people, ‘stead of thinkin’ of how important they are an’ what they can do for you?”

  Mercy’s normally endless patience had clearly run up against her growing distress. Abigail had never heard her speak with quite so much anger before. Mercy soon shoved to her feet; her twilight eyes had darkened to a furious, unearthly shadow.

  “Lord Longshadow is not goin’ to bring you back to life, Lucy Kendall!” Mercy hissed. “Just imagine, you thinkin’ you’re more special than every single other person who’s died before! I’ve met a hundred hundred ladies just like you, all of ‘em always talkin’ about themselves an’ what they think they deserve—an’ they all think they’re the most unique, the most important people ever! All hundred hundred of ‘em! You just blend in with all the others, Lucy Kendall, with the very same arrogance an’ the very same tone of voice. You’re so foolishly common an’ so stupidly oblivious about it that in only a year or so, none of the sluagh will even remember your name.”

  The lamp’s long, flickering shadows coiled around Mercy as she spoke, until her silhouette rose menacingly against the far wall. There was a cold, terrible finality to her pronouncement—as though someone had rung a deep church bell and let it hang upon the air.