The little girl had already fallen asleep on my lap. I hugged her close. “You were telling me of the magical schism.” Magician history was one topic I’d been interested to learn, and he to share.
“Ah, yes. You’ll recall Henry the Eighth, great hairy king, who liked having things his own way. His first wife, Catherine, couldn’t give him a son. So he went to his Order of royal sorcerers and said, ‘Find a way to let the queen conceive.’ No one knew how, of course, and told him he was being a crazy git. One of them, Ralph Strangewayes, dreaming of fortune and fame, decided to see what he could do.
“For two months, Strangewayes locked himself in his room. He ordered books of all sorts, alchemical, medical, biblical. One day, he summoned the king to his chambers and presented a woman. Some say he fashioned her hair from ribbons, her skin from candlelight, her body from the west wind, and her tongue from three notes of birdsong, but she was the most beautiful and the strangest woman anyone had ever seen. The king fell in love upon the instant. Strangewayes said, ‘Here is the woman who will birth your new sovereign.’ ”
“Anne Boleyn?” I said, certain he was playing me for a fool.
“Indeed. So the king divorced Catherine and married this magical creation. For a while, Strangewayes and magicians eclipsed sorcerers in every way. Of course, as history tells us, Boleyn got her head lopped off, and Strangewayes fell out of favor. Ended up in the tower waiting to see if anyone would have him executed. But when Queen Elizabeth came to power, that child of magic and royalty, she commended Strangewayes. Magicians became, for her reign at least, the preferred magical practitioners. Elizabeth was a mule. Did you know that? Born not of human woman, but seeded by human man. Many believe the reason she was the virgin queen was because she had no means to procreate.” He giggled until his dark skin flushed darker still. “You know? Down there? Smooth as the wickless end of a candle.”
I shushed him, nodding at the child asleep on my knee. “I think these are all lies.”
He made a rude noise and drank some more. “You’re a good apprentice.”
“Thank you.”
“Granted, you’re as much fun as pig slop dressed up for a Friday night, but you can’t have everything.” He wheezed with laughter. “Y-you’re so sour that if Molochoron swallowed you, the whole mass of him would pucker!” He drummed his feet upon the ground and laughed like he’d die.
“I know,” I said. “Tell me more of magician history.”
“No, you tell me your history, my little kipper. Why are you such a grim-faced melon?”
“Because I know what I am.” I stared at my hands.
“Which is?”
“As you’ve said yourself. Unlovable.” To my annoyance, Hargrove stuck out his tongue at me.
“You young girls are all the same. ‘Oh, my life is so impossible. No boy will ever desire me, and I’ll live alone in a hovel with sixteen cats. Such is my woe.’ ” He said it all in a piercing, effeminate voice.
“I don’t pity myself. I simply know that I’m not easily loved.”
He stopped his mimicry. “What’s so awful about you?”
I’d never told this story to anyone before, not even Rook. Unsure as to why I should relate this to Hargrove of all people, I said, “When I was five years old, my aunt Agnes brought me to my Yorkshire school.” I could recall her vividly after all this time, a tall, proud woman in black clothes who wouldn’t look at me as I clung to her skirt. “I cried as she walked back toward her carriage. I yelled, ‘Please, Auntie, don’t leave me here. I want to go with you. I love you.’ That was when she turned to me and said—” I stopped when a hitch formed in my throat.
“What did she say?” Hargrove lost his smirk.
“ ‘You are a horrid child. If only you could be pleasant, I would love you. But how could anyone care for a peevish, whining, solemn little thing like you?’ ” The words were exact. I’d run them through my mind at least once every day since they were uttered. “And there you have it,” I said, my voice artificially bright, forcing a smile. “Nothing to be done.” I turned my face away as a tear crept down my cheek.
“Poor child,” he said, his voice soft. He reached across the table, and I gave him my hand. “Poor, poor child.” In that moment, he sounded as tender as Agrippa. “You have a good heart. It wasn’t your fault.” Then he said, so quiet I nearly missed it, “It wasn’t hers, either.”
“What?”
Hargrove released me. Placing his head in his hand, he said, “Please use the porter’s circle. I’m tired.”
“Did I offend you?”
“It’s not enough that I have several little mouths to feed and you to teach. Now I have to be bogged down by these depressing stories.”
Stung, I laid the little girl to sleep and went to the carved porter’s circle. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. Goodbye.” I lifted my skirt to step inside.
“Henrietta.” He rarely used my name. “You’ve suffered a great deal. Remember that you’re not the only one.” He laid his head on the table, as though he was exhausted.
“It was selfish of me to burden you,” I muttered, and vanished toward home.
—
THE NEXT NIGHT, I SAT BEFORE the parlor fire with Blackwood. He used cards to test my memory on the Ancients. “Zem,” he said. The firelight danced on his features, shadowing his eyes.
“A fire-breathing serpent, as long as a small ship. He’s seen frequently in Hertfordshire and has leveled, at present, two entire villages.” I squeezed my eyes shut in concentration.
“Good. What’s being done in Hertfordshire to defend the citizenry?”
“All sorcerer families with estates in the area have sent at least one son as protection. They’re also creating a series of canals in each village to bring in water as a natural deterrent to Zem. It’s a slow process.”
“Excellent.” He laid down the cards. “How have you been these last two weeks?” There was concern in his eyes. Ever since Cellini’s attack, Blackwood and the others had taken extra care of me. Lambe and Wolff showed me new strategies for chess. Dee tried especially hard not to step on my feet during dance practice.
“I’m all right.”
“Do you still need to be alone on your afternoons off?” Something about the way he said it took my attention. “You’ve become so skilled. Surely the entire afternoon’s no longer necessary.”
“Is there something you’d like to ask?”
“Some are sure to be interested in what you do. I advise you to be careful.” His tone and look suggested this was serious.
“Who’s interested?”
“Only try not to draw too much attention to yourself.” He sank deeper into his armchair and shuffled his cards. I knew that look he wore. Try as I might, I would get nothing else out of him on the subject. “Now, then. Tell me about R’hlem, and be sure to focus on his campaign in Scotland.”
Over the next nine days, I avoided going to see Hargrove. I played games in the parlor, attended lessons, and took chaperoned cart rides with Magnus. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care if I ever saw the magician again. But I woke the morning of June 19 feeling guilty. The commendation ball was in a mere two days, and I doubted I’d get a chance to visit after I became a sorcerer. Besides, he needed the last of the money. He’d earned it.
One final lesson before we both moved on with our lives.
When I arrived, we didn’t speak for the first few minutes. I laid out a sack of oranges for the children, which they joyfully snatched up. He sat with his face cupped in his hand, drumming his fingers on the table. I gave him the last of the money and spent a great deal of time folding and refolding my gloves.
“You seem distant today,” Hargrove said at last.
“If I am, I don’t want to concern you,” I replied. “It’s rude to ask you to share my troubles.”
“I’m sorry about the other night.” He ran a copper penny along his fingers, over and over again. “Responding to such a story in suc
h a way was the height of bad manners.” His apology shocked me. Surely the real magician had been kidnapped by faeries, and this polite copy left in his place. “I have always been uncomfortable with fragile things, like feelings and confessions. Butterflies, too.”
“I forgive you,” I said, studying an orange. “Shall we have a lesson?”
“There’s nothing more I can teach you. No, I thought today we might talk.” The penny glided over his fingers at a faster pace. Hargrove wanted to talk? Why did he seem so nervous? “Are you ready to be commended?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I said. Hargrove didn’t respond, only watched the children devour the oranges. “What is it?”
“When you first came here, I thought you’d be just like your father. I was wrong.” He slammed the coin down on the table and rubbed his chin. He looked like someone preparing to dive into an icy river.
“In what way? You think I’m not as good a magician as he was?”
“Hardly. I think with more time you could be a better one. William was a talented sort, but he had no real discipline. At least, not when I knew him.” He leaned back in his chair.
“Is my being a sorcerer what’s concerning you? I won’t forget what you’ve taught me about where I come from. Maybe before you leave for America, I can return one last time—”
“No. Once you’re commended, you cannot return.” So this would be our final meeting. Sadness lumped in my stomach, even though Hargrove could be gruff and smelled of cabbages and alcohol.
“Thank you for everything,” I said. “I’ll do what I can to help the magician cause. I swear.”
Wincing, he stood and turned his back to me.
“No, you’re not like William. You have his same impulsive rashness, but you can be reasonable when you try. I think,” he said, pausing as he turned to face me, “that you could bear it.”
“Bear what?”
“Sometimes I believe that our lives are lived in an endless cycle,” he said. “That our error becomes our children’s burden, and eventually that burden becomes their error, and so on. The only way out of it is to break the cycle. Do you understand?”
“No. I don’t think I do.”
He sat down and grasped my hand. “There’s something I need to tell you about your father. You see, he wasn’t—”
There was a knock at the door, and Blackwood opened it without waiting for a reply. When he saw me, the color drained from his face.
“What are you doing here?” he said. He half attempted to hide a small velvet pouch behind his back. Cheeks flushed and breathing deep, he looked as if he’d been running. “Well?”
What on earth was he doing here? It wasn’t Friday, his regular charity day. I wouldn’t have come if it were. To add to my surprise, Rook appeared in the doorway with a parcel in his arms.
“Nettie?” he said, shocked as Blackwood and I. We made a sort of trinity of bewilderment.
Before I could speak, Blackwood took my arm. “What are you doing?” I said, stunned by his boldness.
“We’re leaving,” he snapped, tossing the velvet pouch to Hargrove. It landed with a jingle of coins. “Charity,” Blackwood mumbled.
“It’s always appreciated,” Hargrove said drily, spilling the money onto the tabletop. “Come back anytime, miss. Tuppence for another tarot, ha’penny to read your tea leaves. Though you must bring your own kettle.”
“I will walk on my own, thank you,” I said, wrenching my arm out of Blackwood’s grip. We tromped out of the room, Rook and me walking ahead of him. I was deliberately slow, just to be irritating.
“What are you doing here?” Rook whispered.
“Paying a call.” I stumbled over the words; I still wasn’t comfortable with lying to him. “Has he had you rushing about all day?”
“Don’t worry about me.” He jerked his head in Blackwood’s direction. “I won’t let him be rough with you.”
“There’s more danger of me being rough with him.” Once below, I turned to Blackwood. “You can’t treat me that way in front of people.”
“Why are you here?” He sounded furious.
“I brought something for the children. Weren’t you doing the same?”
“Why would you visit a magician? If Master Agrippa knew—”
“I’d be so grateful if you wouldn’t tell him,” I said, trying to sound as gentle and conciliatory as possible. He set off down the street, and I hurried to catch up.
“Perhaps I should,” he said.
Well, bother gentle and conciliatory. “Master Agrippa’s certain I’ll be commended. Are you looking for an excuse to sabotage that?” It was a childish thing to say, but I wanted to lob something at him.
“Do you really believe that?” he shouted, stopping dead in the road. The crowd flowed around us. “After I’ve told you about my responsibility toward the Order? After I’ve spent hours helping to train you? Haven’t I warned you that people are curious about where you go?”
“Yes, but you never told me who exactly was so curious.”
He huffed. “I’m attempting to protect you.”
“Because I’m a fragile lady?”
“Because you’re going to be a sorcerer!” he yelled. “I can’t believe you’d come here alone, after what happened with Cellini.” He had a point. “And visiting a magician is dangerous to your reputation. Magicians cannot be trusted.”
“Why not?” The urge to hit him increased tenfold.
“What do you mean, why not? No good can come from associating with—”
“Where’s Rook?” I’d turned around to speak to him, but he was gone.
“He’s fine.” There was a wild, haunted look in Blackwood’s eyes. He froze, and stared with such intensity at the brick wall behind me that I wondered if he could see through it.
“What is it?” I touched his arm. “Are you well?”
“Something’s wrong. Please stay here.” He turned and, without another word, pushed through the crowd. Mystified, I called his name as I ran after him. We returned to the alley just outside Hargrove’s. That was when I saw them.
Rook was locked in a struggle with two men dressed all in black. One of them had an arm around Rook’s throat. He kicked out at the other attacker, striking him hard in the chest.
In an instant, I’d readied a blade. Blackwood followed my example, and together we ran toward the fight. Rook’s face twisted in terror.
“Nettie!” he cried. At first I thought it was a call for help, but he put up his hand, a gesture intended to stop me. “No!”
The darkness rushed in from the walls and the crevices. Rook and the two men disappeared behind a veil of shadow. Blackwood and I stood helpless before the void. I could see nothing, but I heard the men’s terrified cries.
“What the devil?” Blackwood breathed. I panicked. He couldn’t know about Rook’s powers, not yet. Hating myself, I collected my ward’s invisible force and threw it at Blackwood. A great blast of energy knocked him against a wall, and he slid to the ground. Checking quickly, I found him unconscious but breathing. I prayed I hadn’t truly hurt him, then ran toward the attackers.
The covering of darkness pulsed before me. Inside, the men’s voices began to fade. I reached out a hand to pierce the shadow but drew back in fear. Something was different and awful about this blackness.
“Let them go!” I cried. “Can you hear me? Rook!” I flung a layer of fire over the writhing mass. The shadow patch dissolved, revealing the three men lying on the ground. None of them moved. Rook was curled on his side.
“Rook, are you all right?” Terrified, I knelt next to him.
Rook lunged at me. His eyes gleamed black. There was nothing human in that look. He gripped my arms and threw me to the ground. My head struck the earth, and I grasped for Porridge. If Rook attacked again, he’d face a spell.
But the attack didn’t come. I waited in fearful silence until I heard him whisper, “Nettie, what did I do?” Slowly, I got up and crawled around to face him. His eyes were
their normal blue. His expression was one of horror. “Did I touch you?”
The men on the ground drew my attention. One of them sobbed and shivered, as though he were cold. The other lay flat on his back, staring blankly at the sky above.
“Get up,” I said, trying to sound commanding. The crying fellow hastened to his feet, pointing at me in terror.
“Stay away!” he yelled, and helped his companion stand. The quiet man moved as he was bid but didn’t seem terribly aware of his surroundings.
“What were you doing?” I held up my blade, though I wasn’t so forceful. We were all too terrified for shows of bravado.
“Stay away!” the man cried again, and the two ran down the alley. Rook pulled me to the ground as I tried to go after them.
“Don’t. It’s what they want,” Rook gasped, holding me back.
“But they attacked you.”
“Wasn’t me they were after. They grabbed me when they couldn’t snatch their true mark. Anyone could see that.”
“What?” And then I realized that Rook had been walking with me. Cellini himself had said others would attack. “Oh God.”
“I don’t think they’ll be back.” Rook rubbed his eyes. “I scared them off.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“No.” He shuddered. “I hurt you. How could I have done that?”
“You didn’t know it was me.”
“Exactly. We couldn’t tell you from the others.”
Now I was truly afraid. “We?”
“The voice in the dark whispered…” He stopped. Horrified, he looked at the scars along his left arm. “I’m a freak.”
“We have to speak with Fenswick about this.”
“No. I don’t want anyone else to know,” Rook grunted. He pulled away and went to Blackwood, who was beginning to awaken. We couldn’t argue now, so I bit my tongue and joined them. Rook helped the sorcerer sit up. Groaning, Blackwood rubbed the back of his head.
“What on earth happened?”
“I tried throwing force at the men but lost control and hit you instead. I’m so sorry.” My apology was sincere, which lent credibility to my lie. “They got away.”
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