The Midnight Bargain

by C. L. Polk

  Once freed, Ysbeta delighted in taking deep belly breaths. “I can feel the power.”

  “Perfect. That’s the energy you shape with intent and hand sign to cast.”

  “Teach me how.”

  “There’s something more important first.” Beatrice folded the fingers of her right hand, so the index and smallest finger pointed outward, the middle and ring finger captured against her palm by her thumb.

  “This is the sign of banishment,” Beatrice said. She raised her left hand, fingers together and palm facing out. “This is the sign of the wall of light. Do it.”

  Ysbeta folded her fingers with expert dexterity.

  “Good,” Beatrice said. “Now take all that power you gathered and cast it out through your hands. Make this one reflex. This is how you banish a spirit back to the aether. Never forget it. It could mean your life.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It hurts them,” Beatrice said. “Now you’re ready to start.”

  Beatrice taught her the sign of welcome, the sign of protection, and the sign of summoning before Ysbeta made a cradle of her hands and breathed, her rib cage swelling.

  “In the belly,” Beatrice said. “Imagine the air as light filling your body when you inhale, and then expelling as a cord through your navel as you exhale. Breathe slowly. Calmly. You can’t hurry this part.”

  Properly, one couldn’t hurry any of it, and Ysbeta kept trying. She hadn’t raised a shred of power. She was simply too overcome to balance her mind to the necessary state. Now half-unclothed, the neck of her gossamer-fine shift unlaced so the garment fell off one shoulder, she looked like the old woodcuts of blood witches, those who made bargains with spirits to do evil.

  Ysbeta had to calm down. “Here.”

  Beatrice stood behind Ysbeta, reaching around her to lay her hand over Ysbeta’s belly. “When you breathe, make my hand move.” She lifted Ysbeta’s right hand by the wrist. “Left hand is the sign of what?”

  Ysbeta curled her little finger down to meet the tip of her thumb, the other three fingers upraised. “Protection.”

  “Good.” Beatrice kept her voice low, murmuring in Ysbeta’s ear. “And the right?”

  Ysbeta swiveled her hand so the palm faced upward. She crooked her little finger and its neighbor, her middle and index finger pointed. “Invitation.”

  “Don’t hold down the ring finger with your thumb,” Beatrice said. “That’s a different sign.”

  Ysbeta adjusted. “It strains my arm.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Beatrice said. “Now, the sigil is one unbroken motion. You draw the hexagram, thus—” She moved Ysbeta’s hand in the gestures that traced the six-pointed sorcerer’s star, and then relaxed her hold.

  “Like this?” Ysbeta traced it perfectly, to Beatrice’s relief.

  “Precisely. Now we vibrate. You must direct the sound to the aetherial plane—not through your mouth, but through your navel. The first vibration is always Anam, lord of magic.”

  “Mages really do summon a starborn to oversee their works?”

  “Yes. Where magic is done, Anam is there. Use your entire breath. Push the vibration out of your navel, through my hand.”

  Ysbeta’s breath pushed Beatrice’s hand away as her abdomen properly swelled. She caught the knack of voicing the syllables in her throat, bathing Beatrice’s palm in tingling warmth.

  “Perfect,” Beatrice praised. Ysbeta was focusing, forgetting the fear that drove her to learn magic, learn it right now. “The vibration is Anam, Kefaa, Welan, Hado. Vibrate one in each quarter while you draw the hexagram.”

  She let Ysbeta go, and watched as her student tried to breathe, sign, scribe, and vibrate—and the first thing Ysbeta did was heave a great, rib-expanding breath.

  Beatrice put her hand back on Ysbeta’s belly. “Again. With me.”

  Together, they breathed. Two right hands curled in the sign of invitation rose to trace the hexagram. Two voices vibrated the name of the lord of magic, drawing out the sound through their navels. Two aetherial bodies expanded, inflated with breath, sign, sigil, and vibration. They wove the circle, filled it with their will, and the air took on the thick, stone-smelling pressure that hinted at lightning across a cloudless sky. Beatrice’s hair stood on end as she inhaled the smell of magic, saw the shimmering, twinned sigils floating in the air. She had done the bulk of the work, but Ysbeta’s efforts were unmistakable.

  “That’s it,” Beatrice said. “You’ve cast a circle.”

  “Now conjure a spirit,” Ysbeta said. “I know you won’t let me do it, so conjure one for yourself. I want to see.”

  “We don’t have much time left—”

  “So you should get started. Call its name.”

  She could call the spirit without making a bargain.

  “Nadi, spirit of chance, I know you—” Beatrice began, and the spirit hovered before them.

  :Beatrice,: Nadi said. :You need me, and I am here.:

  “Thank you,” Beatrice said. “I have no need of your effort today, but I have cold fruit. Do you wish to dwell with me until sundown?”

  “I can’t hear the spirit,” Ysbeta said. “What’s it saying?”

  “Shh,” Beatrice said.

  In front of her, Nadi vibrated with excitement. :Can we eat?:

  “Yes. We can eat.”

  :I want to see things.:

  “You will see the whole journey from Lavan House to Triumph Street,” Beatrice said. “Do we have a bargain?”

  :Who is the girl with you?:

  “My companion is Ysbeta Lavan.”

  “It’s talking about me?” Ysbeta asked.

  :She is unlucky,: Nadi said. :We have a bargain. Let me in.:

  Beatrice reached past the bounds of their circle, and Nadi seized her hand. It felt natural to have a spirit inside her now, and Beatrice turned back to Ysbeta.

  “There’s no more time if we’re going to get dressed. Watch me take the circle down. I’ll teach you at our next lesson.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  “Curse you and Nadi both,” Ysbeta muttered as she hiked into the meadow grass after her ball. “You can’t cheat at the tournament. Promise me. You’re a very good player, but this is flagrant.”

  Birdsong spilled through the air, and Beatrice grinned at the sky. She spun her mallet, tossed it in the air, and caught it, nimble as a juggler.

  :This is fun,: Nadi said. :I love winning.:

  :It is fun,: Beatrice agreed, :but people will notice you helping me when my luck is this strong.:

  :So?:

  :So cheating with magic is wrong, and I would be punished for it.:

  :What would they do?:

  :They would put a warding collar on me. They would make it so I could never call you again. You have to be a secret.:

  :Move—: Nadi seized control of her limbs and she leapt aside just in time for the ball to come flying through the space where she stood.

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Ysbeta cried. “Wait. How did you know? You weren’t looking at me.”

  “Nadi saw,” Beatrice said. “Nadi jumped. Not me.”

  Ysbeta’s face went wide-eyed with surprise. “It can control your body?”

  “You get used to it. It’s awkward at first, and then you learn to work together.”

  “Oh, I don’t know—”

  Beatrice didn’t argue. She leapt high in the air, landing on one foot, and then did it again, twirling in the air before landing safely. “I could show you my tumbling, if I wasn’t in stays.”

  “Is it fun?”

  “It’s wonderful.”

  “Not a lot of reason to run and jump,” Ysbeta mused.

  “It’s freeing,” Beatrice said. “Now that I am accustomed to it, I quite enjoy the enhancement.”

  Ysbeta stretched her arms and practiced her mallet swing. “I should call the spirit next time.”

  Beatrice considered it. “A minor one, perhaps. Think of what you want to bargain. Can you practice casting and d
ismantling the circle on your own?”

  “That was an excellent shot,” Ysbeta said, pitching her voice to carry. “We shall be the terror of the hazards course.”

  Beatrice stared at her until it finally made sense. She turned, and Ianthe strode up to the two of them, splendid in a saffron-golden coat decorated with scrimshawed ivory buttons.

  “What a day,” Ianthe said. “Good afternoon, Miss Clayborn.”

  Beatrice dipped her knees and nodded. “Your day has not been so fair as this weather?”

  Ianthe glanced up at the cloudless, vivid blue that belonged on a summer sky and his expression went sober. “I’m just back from Meryton.”

  “Did you find a lawyer?” Ysbeta asked.

  “I wish I had been able to,” Ianthe said. “Instead, I stand before you chilled to my bones at the horror committed on a young woman and the child she bore.”

  Beatrice shivered as if a cloud had passed over the sun. “I’m sorry. It must have been awful.”

  “They took all the initiates to Meryton,” Ianthe said. “They wanted us to see what came of indiscretions.”

  “How awful,” Ysbeta said. “It was horrible, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t want to give you ladies nightmares, so I won’t go into detail. We left the scene quite sobered. Well, some of us did.”

  Ysbeta gave Ianthe a sharp look. “Some of your party were unaffected?”

  “Some of my party opined that they would never lie in the mud with peasant stock, and so it didn’t matter. Not Bard,” Ianthe said, nodding to Ysbeta. “But I don’t feel like I can play hazards right now.”

  “Beatrice is trouncing me anyway,” Ysbeta said. “Are you still up to driving her back?”

  “I can ride with the coachman, if you’d rather not,” Beatrice offered.

  “I would rather take you with me. I have to return to the chapterhouse before the family attends dinner with Lord Gordon and his family, and then we’re attending a party at the Robicheaux house.”

  Ysbeta groaned. “That’s too much revelry. I shall be exhausted by the time we come home. And Lord Gordon is so pompous.”

  Beatrice paged through her memory of names. “You mean Bard Sheldon’s father?”

  “Yes.” Ianthe flicked a glance at Ysbeta. “Bard asked me if I knew how to identify your basket for the Blossom Ride auction.”

  Ysbeta’s expression went cordially blank. “Did you tell him?”

  “I told him that I wasn’t certain you had decided on an ensemble,” Ianthe said.

  Ysbeta’s tension uncoiled just a fraction. “It will seem strange if you don’t tell him.”

  Ianthe winced. “Ysbeta. If there was a way to stop this—”

  “I know,” Ysbeta said. “I know you would.”

  “Stall him,” Beatrice said.

  Ianthe and Ysbeta turned to her. “What do you mean?”

  “How many suitors do you have on your string?” Beatrice asked, scraping her memory. What would Harriet say if she and all her knowledge of bargaining season were here? “If you don’t have at least five—”

  “I haven’t encouraged anyone,” Ysbeta said. “Cards come every day, and the maids take the flowers to their rooms, but I didn’t do anything to make any of them think that I had an interest—”

  “I know,” Beatrice said. “But if you don’t have a parade of young men trying for your hand, Bard’s father is going to tell your father that bargaining season is a waste of time and negotiate the match now. Welcome some attention. Break some hearts, Ysbeta. Get those men between you and Bard Sheldon, fast.”

  Ianthe tilted toward Ysbeta. “Still going to stay home instead of coming to the Robicheaux party tonight?”

  “I believe I have the energy to go out after all,” Ysbeta said. “Are you invited, Beatrice?”

  :A party!: Nadi exclaimed. :Dancing? Punch? Cake? I want to stay. Let me stay for the party, Beatrice.:

  :Very well.:

  Inside her, Nadi wriggled in glee.

  “I am, but it is not my only engagement this evening,” Beatrice said. “Father is entertaining Udo Maasten from the Eastern Protectorate of Vicny. He’s an inventor.”

  “Udo Maasten is not a name I recognize,” Ianthe said. “Is he a brother of the chapterhouse?”

  “He is not,” Beatrice said. “Nor is he titled.”

  Ianthe shrugged. “Titles aren’t everything.”

  “But he is also unmarried.”

  Ianthe stood up straight. “He’s unmarried, and dealing with your father? How old is he?”

  “I don’t know. Older, my father said.”

  Ianthe’s face was carefully neutral. “Your father wants you at dinner.”

  Beatrice let her gaze drop to the thick, close-trimmed grass at their feet. “Yes.”

  “To meet an unmarried, wealthy man.”

  “Yes.”

  Ianthe smiled, as if he were about to enjoy a favorite game. “You may have heard of the party we give on the Shining Hand. A feast and a dance on deck, guesting our attendees overnight on the jewel of the Lavan family fleet. It is a special occasion.”

  Ysbeta smirked. “Can’t take the competition, dear brother?”

  “I like to compete,” Ianthe said. “The only thing better than competing is winning.”

  “Now you’ve done it, Beatrice. If you thought he was solicitous before, you should brace yourself.”

  Ianthe ignored his sister. “I would like to invite your family to attend our gathering, Miss Clayborn. And I would like to meet your father. I hope we may be introduced this afternoon.”

  Oh. He did enjoy competition, and it made her heart ring like a bell—and the determined, level look he gave her smoldered like a barely contained fire.

  “I’m sure he would be pleased to enjoy your acquaintance.” Her voice had too much air in it, too small to be hers.

  “I will do my best to be charming,” Ianthe said.

  Ysbeta passed her hand between the two of them, and Beatrice abruptly turned her attention to her friend’s barely suppressed smile.

  “Perhaps you two should moon over each other on the ride home,” Ysbeta said. “I shall tell my maid to haul out a gown for this evening. I have to net some gentlemen.”

  She led the way through the house, her skirts swaying around her ankles. “Let’s see how many gentlemen have sent invitations today, hmm? What do you wager? Nine?”

  So many? But Ysbeta was easily the most eligible sorceress Bendleton had seen in years. Llanandari didn’t trouble themselves to visit Chasland in the search for a husband. She was the height of beauty, wealthy beyond measure, and her aura shone with the bright prismatic flares of a powerful sorceress. Maybe nine wouldn’t be that many.

  “I say ten,” Beatrice said. “And I will lose, because there are actually more than that.”

  “We shall see,” Ysbeta said. “Will the two of you come along with me? I won’t answer any invitations that are not public meetings, so you may come, Beatrice. We shall work out hand signals. Touch your face if you don’t like him. Play with your lace trim if you do. But step wary, gentlemen, for I am coming!”

  Laughter rang down the hall as Ysbeta hurried her steps, drawing closer to the grand foyer where the bubbling song of a fountain echoed against the high, vaulted ceiling—and halted so suddenly Beatrice had to swerve to keep from colliding with her.

  Ysbeta’s spine lengthened, her head high. Her shoulders shifted down, making her neck long. Beatrice copied the shift in posture immediately, then suppressed a gasp as she spied a woman at the greeting table, regarding the cut stems of fragrant, pale flowers.

  Not a servant, though she wore a canvas apron around her waist. Her brilliant green cotton gown was vented all over with embroidered eyelets and layered in tiered ruffles. Hand-hooked lace dripped from her elbows. She wore a matching green cotton headwrap that added inches to her height, folded and pleated to a queenly elegance.

  She looked so much like Ysbeta and Ianthe it was uncanny—or, pr
operly, Ysbeta and Ianthe looked like her, sharing the same balanced, elegant features as the woman who had to be their mother.

  She looked sharply at Ysbeta’s unseemly haste, but it melted into an indulgent smile that deepened the merry lines next to her eyes. “Ysbeta, my dear. All done with your game?”

  “Mother,” Ysbeta said. “Beatrice has trounced me again, but this time I gained the benefit of her instruction. We shall be the terror of the hazards tournament.”

  “So this is your friend,” Mrs. Lavan said, tilting her head. She set down a gorgeous stalk of breath-pink peony in too-early bloom and beckoned. “Let me see you, child.”

  Ysbeta stepped aside. Ianthe’s hand landed gently on her shoulder, patted twice, and slid off. Mrs. Lavan’s bright gaze shifted to Ianthe for a moment, but then that smile was back on her face as Beatrice came within three paces and then sank into a knee-bending bow that put her skirt hems on the floor.

  “Mrs. Lavan,” Beatrice said. “I am honored to meet you at last.”

  Nadi shrank inside the confines of her body. :She’s unbound.:

  Sure enough, no collar gripped her throat. Mrs. Lavan used her magic now that she was using Llanandari methods to prevent bearing children, years before her change of life. She had power of her own, the respect of her family, a voice that touched the ears of a vast business empire. Couldn’t Beatrice bend a little? Couldn’t she be happy, if her later years were like this?

  Mrs. Lavan took in everything about her, from the stray curls that escaped Beatrice’s coiffure to the wrinkles in her gown. “And I am happy to meet you, child. You have gained the friendship of both my children, I observe.”

  “Mother,” Ianthe said. “This is Beatrice Clayborn. We met her in a bookshop, and she has been charming us with her company since.”

  “I note your curricle is waiting outside the door by itself, my boy. You were going to share the drive home?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Lavan,” Beatrice said. “Mr. Lavan is returning to Bendleton now, and it saves the harnessing of another carriage.”

  “Don’t ever worry about that, child. We have a full staff in the stables available.”

  “I prefer to see Miss Clayborn safely home myself,” Ianthe said. “It’s a pleasant drive, full of conversation.”