Longshadow

by Olivia Atwater

  Abigail gritted her teeth, leaning momentarily upon a chair. “Mercy’s really a sluagh,” she said. “Her magic started doin’ funny things, an’ then she disappeared.” Belatedly, it occurred to Abigail that she had Mercy’s name—in theory, she thought, she could probably summon Mercy, just as she would summon any other sluagh. Abigail had no circle to contain Mercy, of course, and no milk or honey, but she suspected that Mercy would not grudge her the missing food.

  “Mercy Midnight,” Abigail muttered, as quietly as she could. “Mercy Midnight, Mercy Midnight. I need you, please.”

  Silence echoed in the drawing room, broken only by the distant sounds of the ball from upstairs.

  “What’re you mumblin’?” Hugh asked warily.

  Abigail let out a desperate breath. “Mercy can’t come,” she said. “She’s trapped, Hugh—just like all the other sluagh. I don’t know how, but Miss Fernside caught her.”

  Hugh swallowed fearfully. “This isn’t good,” he said. “Stop an’ rest for a second, Abby. I’ll go ahead an’ try to find Dad, so you don’t waste time searchin’ around for the library.”

  Abigail nodded. The simple movement required far more energy than she preferred. She half-collapsed into the chair in front of her, breathing hard.

  Hugh flitted down the hallway in front of her, stepping through doors one by one. As he walked through one door in particular, Abigail heard the raucous noise of several birds squawking in unison.

  Hugh stumbled quickly back through the door, backpedalling in a panic.

  “I think I found the sluagh!” he said in surprise.

  Hope surged through Abigail. Somehow, it gave her the strength to get back up to her feet. The dizziness and the nausea had passed, and she suddenly found it far easier to stride towards Hugh.

  “I think this must be Miss Fernside’s room,” Hugh said. “It’s locked, isn’t it?”

  “Why on earth would Miss Fernside have her bedroom down here?” Lucy demanded. “Surely, her room ought to be above the ballroom?”

  Abigail stared at Lucy, confused. The other girl was now perfectly visible, standing behind Hugh in her thin white nightgown, with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Why can I see you, Lucy?” Abigail asked. “Why can I hear you?”

  A terrible thought occurred to Abigail, then. She turned around—and saw herself still sitting in the drawing room chair, slumped over the table.

  Oh, Abigail thought wearily. Well. That’s that.

  Perhaps Abigail should have been more upset about being dead. After all, she had been telling the truth when she’d said she intended never to die. But Abigail had always had a rather pessimistic understanding of the world, and so it did not terribly surprise her that she had died anyway.

  Hugh stared at Abigail, looking horrified. “But—no!” he said. “No, it’s all right, Abby. We’ll… we’ll get Lord Longshadow’s apple, an’ we’ll bring you back instead. It’s all right, really.”

  Lucy whirled on Hugh with a furious sound. “We will not!” she said. “You promised that you would give that apple to me!”

  Abigail clenched her jaw. “You promised Lucy what now, Hugh?” she demanded. But after another moment’s thought, she realised that this did not terribly surprise her either. “No. It doesn’t matter. We can’t waste time arguin’ about this. Mercy’s in danger, an’ who knows who else might be in danger with her. We don’t even have an apple to talk about yet, so let it be.”

  Abigail turned to face the door to Miss Fernside’s room—and walked right through it. Her body tingled slightly as she passed through the solid door.

  The bedroom beyond was surprisingly large, and Abigail thought that it must be a second master bedroom. Perhaps, she thought, it had once belonged to Miss Fernside’s mother. Moonlight poured through a western window, casting the entire room in weak illumination.

  There was a four-poster bed—unmade, with very tousled sheets. Abigail’s eye caught upon a dressing table in the corner; most of the brushes and cosmetics had been stashed elsewhere or else brushed aside, in order to make way for a large stack of books. An empty glass bottle that looked to have once held eyedrops had spilled over onto its side next to one of those books. And there, just next to the dressing table, was a large wrought-iron birdcage.

  Three huge ravens turned their eyes towards Abigail as she entered the room.

  “So many ghosts!” one of the ravens murmured, in a deep, rolling voice. It had, Abigail noticed, four wings instead of just two.

  “We are helpless now,” another raven sighed, “just like them.” It was a perfectly white raven, with pinkish eyes.

  The last raven looked at Abigail, and she saw that its black eyes sparkled with thousands of tiny stars. “Why have you come here, spirit?” it asked. It had a soft, pleasant voice which struck Abigail as faintly masculine. “You should be wary. Our captor can see ghosts. She uses those eyedrops, just over there. She is a necromancer; she will bind you if she catches you here.”

  Abigail filed this information away for later, but she did not comment on it; she had far more pressing concerns at the moment. “Lightless?” Abigail guessed. “Is that you?”

  The other two ravens shuffled and murmured to one another, and Abigail knew that she had guessed correctly.

  “That is part of my name, yes,” Lightless said. He inclined his head to her stiffly. “But how did you know?”

  “Oh, it is Lightless!” Lucy and Hugh had stepped in behind Abigail—and now, Lucy clasped her hands to her chest with delight. “I was terribly worried, you know! But here you are, all safe and sound! As soon as we have freed you, we can be off again, and you can introduce me to Lord Longshadow!”

  Lightless glanced past Abigail at the other two. He cocked his head, just as a normal raven would do. “I know you, I think,” he said to Lucy.

  Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “I should think that you do!” she huffed. “I’m Miss Lucy Kendall! You found me several nights ago, and you held my hand and led me into faerie so that I could talk with your lord!”

  “Did I?” Lightless murmured. “Yes, that seems likely. My apologies, Miss Lucy Kendall. I have been in this cage for so long. The iron wearies me terribly.”

  Abigail pressed her lips together. “I was hopin’ to see Mercy here,” she said. “Why isn’t she in the cage with you?”

  “Mercy?” said the raven with four wings. “Oh dear. You’ve done it now, Lightless, haven’t you? I told you not to give the girl what she wanted.”

  Abigail knitted her brow. “What does that mean?” she asked. “It was Miss Esther Fernside who trapped you here, wasn’t it? What was it that Miss Fernside asked from you?”

  Lightless heaved a terrible sigh. “Our captor met Lord Longshadow by chance several months ago, when he came to collect her mother’s soul,” the raven said. “She begged him not to take her mother—but what else was he to do? She has since captured us each, one by one, in order to demand Lord Longshadow’s real name from us. She believes that she can command him to give her mother back to her.”

  Abigail swallowed slowly. “But what has that got to do with Mercy?” she asked. “She isn’t…”

  The stars in Lightless Moon’s eyes banked their embers. “I gave our captor the second half of Lord Longshadow’s name, in return for letting us leave,” he said. “But I was a fool—she never specified just when it was that she would let us leave. By some method I do not know, you have learned the first half of Lord Longshadow’s name. Has our captor also learned it?”

  Abigail closed her eyes, with a fresh, sinking feeling in her stomach.

  The Raven with a Thousand Faces, she thought. That was one of Lord Longshadow’s names, wasn’t it? Silly me. Why did I never think that some of those faces were women?

  “I told Miss Fernside Mercy’s first name,” Abigail said softly. “I didn’t realise that Mercy was Lord Longshadow. And I didn’t… I didn’t know that Miss Fernside was your captor at the time. I’m the one who gave
Miss Fernside what she needed.”

  But how had Miss Fernside recognised Lord Longshadow? Even Elias, who had placed several bans upon Mercy, hadn’t recognised her at all.

  The answer came to Abigail far too quickly, and she groaned.

  I helped a noble lady right here in London, maybe half a year ago, Mercy had said. She asked if I wanted anything, and I figured a good noble accent might come in handy someday.

  Surely, any daughter would recognise her own mother’s accent. No wonder Miss Fernside had looked at Mercy with such surprise.

  “This is awful,” Abigail muttered miserably. “I’m so stupid. Mercy’s been stupid too, but I have to take at least some of the credit.” She rubbed at her face. “But if Miss Fernside has Mercy’s full name, and Mercy isn’t here… well, where is she?”

  Lightless gazed at Abigail heavily. Somehow, he managed to look troubled, even as a bird. “Our captor will have summoned Lord Longshadow, I expect,” he said. “If neither of them is here, then they have probably gone to Longshadow, by a path which only Lord Longshadow knows. There is a tree, you see, at the border between Longshadow and the Other Side—”

  “Yes, of course,” Abigail sighed. “Curse it all. What an inconvenient time to be dead. I need to catch up with them somehow. I don’t know what on earth I’ll do if I catch up to them, but I’ve got to try somethin’—”

  Abigail stopped herself suddenly.

  “Abby?” Hugh asked. “What is it?”

  Abigail sucked in a deep breath.

  “Black Catastrophe,” she whispered. “Black Catastrophe, Black Catastrophe. I am dead, an’ I need you to take me to the Other Side, as fast as you possibly can.”

  There was no real sense of fanfare or transition. At first, there were three ghosts and three sluagh in the room. A moment later, there were three ghosts and four sluagh, as Black Catastrophe melted from the shadows behind Abigail, with her indigo skin and tattered clothing.

  “Well,” said Black Catastrophe, as she fixed her robin’s egg eyes upon the iron cage. “That is something, isn’t it?”

  Abigail turned to look at Black Catastrophe. “I did say that I would find the missing sluagh,” she said weakly. “I’m afraid I died right before I found ‘em, though, an’ now a black magician’s abducted Mercy.”

  “What a dolt he is,” Black Catastrophe sneered. “And always looking down on the rest of us, isn’t he?”

  Abigail held back her instinctive protest. Instead, she said: “It’s she. Mercy is a woman right now.”

  “Well, fine,” said Black Catastrophe. “What a dolt she is.” She glanced at the iron cage again. “And aren’t all of you in a fine predicament? I’d help you out of your cage, but I can’t touch iron either.”

  Abigail looked down. “Someone needs to tell Dad about all of this,” she said to Black Catastrophe quietly. “I can’t talk to him now, but… I think you could, couldn’t you?”

  Black Catastrophe pursed her lips. “I could,” she said. “I might. But first, I’ll need to kill you.”

  Abigail blinked. “What?” she asked. “But I’m already dead!”

  Black Catastrophe raised her eyebrows. “You are not,” she said. “I can tell. You are dying, certainly—but something has knocked your spirit loose before its time.”

  Abigail widened her eyes. “The nightshade!” she said. “Miss Fernside enchanted it to create ghosts. It’s made me into a ghost too early, hasn’t it?” She looked back towards the hallway. “I’m not dead yet, then. If Mum an’ Dad can find me, then maybe they can save me. Mr Jubilee is supposed to be bringin’ a nightshade remedy any moment now, assumin’ he hasn’t forgotten.”

  Black Catastrophe tilted her head, in much the same way that Lightless had done. “Where is your body, then?” she asked. Abigail shot her a wary look, and she sighed heavily. “I won’t kill you if you don’t wish it. I have some class, you know.”

  Abigail looked back at the caged sluagh. “Hold on for just a little while longer,” she said. “I’ll try an’ find you help.”

  Abigail took a deep breath—and walked back through the door, all at once.

  Hugh and Lucy followed curiously, as Abigail headed back towards her own body, slumped over at the table. Black Catastrophe appeared from the shadows a moment later, looking at Abigail’s sleeping form.

  “Dying, but not dead,” Black Catastrophe confirmed. “You haven’t got very long at all, though. A minute or two, perhaps. I could probably stave off the poison—but I cannot offer gifts freely. That’s very powerful magic, and you’d have to trade me something equally powerful. I’m not certain that you can trade me something like that right now.”

  Abigail’s heart dropped into her stomach. “So there isn’t any hope after all,” she said. “Mr Jubilee will arrive too late.”

  Black Catastrophe frowned. Thoughts flickered behind her borrowed blue eyes. Finally, she turned towards Abigail and scowled.

  “You forgot to offer me milk and honey,” Black Catastrophe said.

  Abigail blinked. “I… I didn’t have any on hand,” she said. “I was dead. Or sort of dead. Besides, I thought faeries didn’t actually like milk an’ honey?”

  Black Catastrophe rolled her eyes. “That was the least polite summoning I’ve ever seen,” she insisted. “In fact, I’m thinking I ought to curse you for it. I can’t have magicians summoning me up all of the time, whenever they feel like it. There are rules of decorum, you know.”

  Abigail knitted her brow. “You told me to call you when—” But she stopped as she saw the cunning look in Black Catastrophe’s eyes. “Oh. Well… perhaps you ought to curse me. It would certainly learn me a thing or two.”

  Black Catastrophe straightened haughtily. “I think I’ll curse you to sleep like the dead, for…” She frowned consideringly. “A hundred years?”

  Abigail widened her eyes. “Oh,” she said. “Um. I’m deservin’ of punishment—but perhaps that’s too much?”

  Black Catastrophe cleared her throat. “Well then,” she said. “A year and a day ought to do it. Just to be safe. Or rather—because you’ve insulted me so terribly.”

  Abigail nodded slowly. “That seems like an appropriate punishment,” she agreed. “I’ll definitely have milk an’ honey waitin’ for you next time, that’s for certain.”

  Black Catastrophe waved one taloned indigo hand. The shadows around Abigail’s body flickered frenetically, closing in upon her. They coiled sinuously around her form, slipping between her parted lips.

  Abigail had not noticed before that her body was still breathing—but she certainly noticed now, as her body ceased breathing entirely.

  For just a moment, Abigail was worried that Black Catastrophe had killed her after all. But the shadows that still clung to her body shivered as she watched… and slowly, Abigail realised that they seemed to be breathing for her.

  “I don’t do that very often, you know,” Black Catastrophe said. “Powerful curses really are a chore to pull off.”

  “I understand,” Abigail said, with a great sense of relief. “That was very kind—er, terrible of you. I appreciate the gesture.”

  “Abby’s goin’ to live, then?” Hugh asked softly.

  “That’s unfair!” Lucy declared. “Do you mean to say Lightless could have put me to sleep, instead of taking me to the Other Side?”

  Abigail pressed her fingers to her forehead. I’m getting a fresh new headache, and I’m not even alive anymore, she thought to herself. But Abigail was so used to Lucy making everything about herself by now that she merely sighed and ignored her.

  “Let us find your father, then,” Black Catastrophe said. “Where is he?”

  “I think he’s in the library, somewhere on this floor,” Abigail said.

  Even as Abigail said the words, a door opened quietly, just down the hall. It was a simple matter to identify Elias, as he slipped back towards them—for though it was very dark, Abigail had always thought that he had a tall, noble bearing which other real ari
stocrats only wished they possessed. His golden eyes burned strangely in the shadows; Abigail was especially disconcerted to have those eyes glance straight past her, to settle upon Black Catastrophe.

  “Oh,” said Black Catastrophe. “Well, isn’t that a strangeness. Good evening, Lord Sorcier. Your daughter is in trouble. It’s a good thing she’s so much more polite than you are.”

  Elias glanced sharply at Abigail’s sleeping form. His eyes flashed with fury. “Undo your curse, sluagh,” he said. “You will not like what happens, otherwise.”

  Black Catastrophe snorted. “You won’t like what happens if I fulfil your request,” she replied. “In any case, Lord Longshadow has been abducted—because of course she has—so I ought to keep this short. I’m certain that your daughter’s spirit can explain it all, if you don’t mind holding my hand.”

  Black Catastrophe offered out one wicked-looking talon towards Elias. He gave the hand a withering look, and Abigail worried briefly that he might not take it. But Elias glanced once more at Abigail’s sleeping body, and she saw a terrible fear in his eyes, growing steadily in tenor.

  He reached out to take Black Catastrophe’s hand… and then, he looked directly at Abigail.

  “You’re all here,” Elias said with surprise. He looked between Lucy, Abigail, and Hugh. “What on earth is going on? Why has this sluagh cursed you, Abigail?”

  Abigail sucked in a deep breath. “I, um. I’m afraid I got myself poisoned,” she admitted. “Mr Jubilee is supposed to be arrivin’ with a nightshade remedy at some point, but I can’t be sure just when. Anyway, I summoned up this sluagh very impolitely, an’ so she’s cursed me to sleep like the dead. I’ll have to finish off that punishment before I can get back to dyin’, I expect.”

  “It was very nice of her,” Hugh added helpfully. “And… well, hullo, Dad! I don’t ever get to talk to you like this unless you visit Hollowvale. It’s really somethin’.” He smiled mistily. “I wish we had more time. But we really do need to get to Longshadow.”