A Shadow Bright and Burning

by Jessica Cluess

  I threw my arms around him, not caring how improper it might be. He clasped me back as I sobbed into his shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry,” I cried.

  He petted my hair. “It was an accident. Accidents can be forgiven.”

  R’hlem was right. I did live at the mercy of others. But come tomorrow night, I’d have a true home in the sorcerers’ fellowship. There was a path before me, and I would follow it.

  Agrippa and I sat before the fire while I ate supper. It was only a little cold mutton, but it tasted heavenly. He watched the flames, distant.

  “Are you all right, sir?” I asked.

  “Hmm?” He smiled. “Just distracted. Imagine, this time tomorrow night you’ll be a commended sorcerer.”

  “I hope so.” I gripped my teacup, savoring the warmth.

  “It’s impossible to be otherwise.” He looked into the flames again. “I would have had this talk with her, you know.” He sighed. “My Gwen.”

  “You must have been proud.”

  “More than words can say. She was my only child. There should have been brothers and sisters for her, but when her mother died, I couldn’t bring myself to marry again. Everyone thought I yearned for a son, but Gwen was enough for me.” He shook his head. “They told me I shouldn’t train her. They even told me to give her a stave, then take it back immediately and bind it to leave her powerless.”

  What a monstrous idea.

  “When I saw she could be a sorcerer,” Agrippa said, “I couldn’t have been more pleased. And then that awful, terrible disease.” He closed his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sometimes I go over and over that night—was there anything I could have done differently?”

  “You can’t alter the course of a fever, Master Agrippa.” I stood, a bit awkward, and placed my hand on his shoulder. He gripped my fingers.

  “Thank you, Henrietta. You’ve been such a comfort. It’s wonderful to have a young woman in the house again.”

  “I never met my father, but I know that you’ve shown me as much kindness and care as he ever could have,” I said.

  Agrippa began to sob. His whole body shook as he leaned against an armrest, burying his face in his hands.

  “I’m so sorry. Did I say something wrong?” Oh, what was I thinking? “I didn’t mean to say I feel I’m your daughter. It was awkward and stupid of me.” Was there no end to my idiocy today?

  “Not at all, my dear.” He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and kissed my hand. “It will be so hard to let you go.”

  “Let me go?” My heart swelled. Was his concern that I would leave him once I had been commended? I wanted to tell him that I’d stay if he needed me, but before the words could pass my lips, he said, “Henrietta, perhaps you should go to bed. Rest for tomorrow. You’ll need it.”

  “Of course. Good night, sir.” I left him and moved up the stairs, feeling lighter than ever. What a difference a few hours make. Agrippa didn’t want me to leave. I’d approach the subject after the commendation, but already I imagined him embracing me in joy.

  And Rook? If the situation became more permanent, perhaps his status would change. Perhaps we could discuss his shadow powers with Agrippa. I kept calm, reminding myself that nothing was certain. But if I made it through tomorrow, all might be well.

  I dreamed of Gwendolyn Agrippa lying in bed, her pale yellow hair arranged around her on the pillow. She looked peaceful and beautiful even in death. I was dressed in ragged boys’ clothes, my hands and face dirty as a beggar’s. I went to take a ring off her finger and put it on my own, but the mattress erupted in a fountain of blood.

  I woke to a sharp knocking. Waiting for my heart to slow, I crept to the door and whispered, “Who is it?”

  “Me,” Blackwood said. I put on my wrap and opened the door a crack. His appearance shocked me. His black hair was wild and unruly. His shirt was undone at the throat, his white cravat rumpled under his chin. With his eyes rimmed in red, he looked as if he’d been drinking. “I need to speak with you. The library.”

  When I found him before the fire, he frightened me. Usually so composed and elegant, he clung to the marble ledge and leaned his head against it, his eyes closed tight. He muttered something to himself. All I could make out were the words lost and time.

  “What on earth is the matter?”

  “Please sit down.” He ushered me into an armchair, then turned, a dark silhouette against the flames. “What I’m about to tell you I’ve never told another living soul. Not even my mother or sister knows this secret.” I waited, hands clasped in my lap. “Before my father died, he told me something that he begged me never to repeat to anyone else.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “My father had an open mind,” Blackwood said, rubbing his chin. “He believed in making England stronger through harnessing forces beyond our natural understanding.”

  “Like magicians?”

  “Yes. Magicians. Listen,” Blackwood said, kneeling before me. “Do you know why I pay Jenkins Hargrove?”

  “Out of charity.”

  “No. Not really. It’s part charity, part…debt, I should say.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I pay him because his real name isn’t Jenkins Hargrove. It’s Howard Mickelmas.”

  I almost jumped out of my seat. Howard Mickelmas? The evil magician who had worked with Mary Willoughby to bring our world to an end? That was the man who had trained me? If anyone ever knew, I’d die.

  I couldn’t reconcile the untidy, rather drunk fellow I knew with the insane monster he was supposed to be. No, they couldn’t be the same person.

  “How do you know he’s Howard Mickelmas?” I gasped.

  “Because my father told me who he was and to pay him.”

  “Why would he have done that?”

  “Mary Willoughby and Howard Mickelmas brought ruin down on this country, yes, and they tore open the breach that allowed the monsters to cross over. But they needed a third to complete the trinity of power, and that third,” he said, his face twisting in pain, “was my father. And no one,” he snapped, noting my look of horror, “outside myself and those concerned has known about this. Not until tonight. Not until you.” He moved away from me to the fire. “My father, once the Ancients had been unleashed, knew what word of it would do to the Blackwood family. He fixed it so that it would appear Willoughby and Mickelmas were to blame, not he.”

  My mind raced but settled on one detail. “You said no one knows but yourself and those concerned. Who else?”

  “Mickelmas, obviously. And Master Palehook,” he said. “I can’t imagine how, but he knows what my father did.”

  “That’s why he’s so free to be rude to you?”

  “Precisely. Father knew how unscrupulous Palehook was. I was instructed to obey him in all things. I did.” He looked at me again, guilt written upon his face. “Until recently.”

  “What did you do?”

  “He wanted something I’d no right to give.”

  Like a burst of light I saw the scene again: Blackwood coming into the magician’s home, with Rook of all people…Blackwood hurrying me along, leaving Rook behind…his burst of insight, when he thought—no, when he knew—Rook would be in trouble. I leaped from my seat. He caught my wrists.

  “How could you?” I cried.

  “I couldn’t. It’s why we went back. Whatever he had planned, I knew I’d no right to sacrifice Rook to save myself.”

  “What does Palehook want with him?”

  “I’ve no idea. I swear.” He fell to his knees, his hands clasped together. He looked as if he were praying. “I’m so sorry.”

  Trying to breathe out the anger, I sat. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Master Palehook said that if I didn’t give him Rook, he’d reveal my family’s secret. I received a letter this morning. Every sorcerer in the city will know by breakfast tomorrow. I’ve failed.”

  “Why tell me now?
”

  “Because I wanted to give you a chance,” he said, his eyes wild. “I called you low, pretended I was your born superior. Here.” He gripped my wrists and put his face in my hands. “Strike me, burn me, do whatever you want. I deserve your punishment more than anyone else’s.” He looked half mad.

  The younger, less complicated me would have gladly attacked him. But I knew how it felt to lie for my own survival. Tentatively, I stroked his hair.

  “This must have been a terrible burden to bear alone.”

  Blackwood lowered his head onto my knee, almost as if he were melting in relief. I slid down to sit beside him. We looked into the fire together.

  “I was wrong about you,” he whispered. “At first I saw you merely as a pain to be endured. But now you’re the only person in this entire house who could understand me.” He wasn’t wrong. We were similar people, keeping vast and terrible secrets from the world. “For the first time in a long time, I’ve wanted someone to think well of me.”

  He’d shown me his soul. To be worthy of that, I had to be honest.

  “I’m not a sorcerer,” I said. “Mickelmas told me my father was a magician and had my fire abilities. I’m not special. I’m not your prophesied one.”

  It should have hurt. It should have been terrible. But all I felt was a sweet, calming relief in telling the truth.

  He considered this. “The prophecy called for a girl-child of sorcerer stock. Magicians are descendants of sorcerers. Perhaps that’s what it meant.” A flare of desperation showed; he needed to be certain of my status.

  “Mickelmas believes the Speakers wouldn’t make such an error.”

  “You can use a stave.”

  “I’m a mix of both races, but I was born a magician. You have to know the truth.” My heart pounded as I waited for his reply.

  He was silent a moment. Then he said, “We need you. That’s what’s important. The rest is titles.” Gently, he took my hand in his own. It wasn’t a romantic gesture; it was deeper than that.

  We sat side by side, our burdens eased, if not lifted.

  —

  WE WERE SILENT AT BREAKFAST, BUT nothing happened. No letter arrived. Agrippa didn’t leap out of his chair, point at Blackwood, and shout, Off with his head! All Agrippa did was ask for more marmalade. I thought Blackwood would faint by the end of the meal. I didn’t feel much better myself.

  I wanted to call on Palehook and find out what was happening, but the day’s preparations made that impossible. Almost as soon as we were done eating, we went through a brief, final round of training, and then began the absorbing task of scrubbing and dressing.

  The household was in a bustle of activity all day, with the boys looking for their hats or wondering if their boots were correctly polished or wishing they could grow a proper beard.

  Lilly bathed and powdered and primped me until I felt I would run mad. She shoved pins into my hair, scratching my scalp so that my eyes watered. As dusk began to creep into the sky, there was a knock at the bedroom door. Eliza entered with a parcel.

  “There. I threatened Madame Voltiana with ruin if she didn’t have this ready by tonight,” she said before flinging herself on my bed in a most dramatic fashion. “You’ll have to relay every delicious detail to me afterward. I’m not allowed at the ball until next year, when I’m sixteen. Tonight I’m to sit home with Mamma and sigh before the fire.”

  I opened the package and uncovered the most beautiful gown, intricately stitched gold lace filigree over a white satin base, with a capelike train fastened at the shoulders. The skirt was voluminous, taking up the entirety of the bed. I shook my head, overcome. It was a work of art.

  “Eliza, it’s too beautiful.”

  “Of course it is. I chose it.”

  Lilly ran her hands over the fine work. “Oh, let’s put it on now!” she cried, grabbing fistfuls of the gown.

  “Aren’t you a dear?” Eliza cooed, satisfied with such enthusiasm.

  I’d one last thing to do. Leaving the girls alone with the cherished dress, I raced upstairs to the servants’ quarters, down the long hallway to Rook’s door. I tried to turn the handle, but of course it had been locked.

  “Hello?” he said, his voice faint.

  “Rook, it’s me. How are you?”

  A pause. “I’m well, Nettie. Resting. Are you on your way to the ball, then?”

  “Yes, nearly. Next time we speak, I may be one of Her Majesty’s sorcerers.” I laid my hand on the door, imagining I could simply melt through the wood and into the room.

  “You’ll have the life you always should have had.” It sounded as if he was describing that life without him.

  “You’ll come with me, Rook. We’re going to get control of this.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t sound convinced. If only I could see him.

  “I’m sorry for what happened.”

  “So am I. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” He sounded afraid. “That’s all I seem to do now.” There was a moment so silent I thought he’d ended the conversation, but then he whispered, “Is anyone nearby?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “What Mr. Magnus said about…was he telling the truth?”

  I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the door. I could just lie to him. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Oh, I see,” he murmured. I could almost sense that he’d put his own forehead against the door, much in the same way. I looked down and found his shadow stretching into the hall, reaching for me. With a gasp, I pushed away. “I’m sorry,” he cried. The shadow slunk back under the door. There was a weak thump, as if he’d beat his fist against the wood. “I’m trying so hard.”

  “Rook.”

  “Be careful tonight. My scars hurt again.” With that, I heard him move away.

  The carriages drew up through the gates and into an enormous courtyard. They delivered us before the palace, white and elegant in appearance, like a wedding cake. Red-liveried guards stood at attention. A wigged footman ran to our carriage and lowered the step. I dropped to the ground and gazed up in wonder.

  “Come along,” Blackwood whispered.

  They announced us into a ballroom shining with candles and chandeliers. I waited on Master Agrippa’s arm, as frightened as I’d been the day we’d faced the Familiars on the hillside. They announced the Duke of Buckingham, Lady Evelyn Rochester, and then:

  “Master Cornelius Agrippa and Miss Henrietta Howel.”

  As we descended the stairs, I heard whispers passing among hundreds of people, with so many eyes on me. The gold filigree caught the light and glowed as I moved through the crowd. It looks like fire, I realized. Eliza had been cunning in her choice of dress. I kept my face an indecipherable mask, just as Blackwood had instructed. Eventually, the rest of the boys joined us, and Agrippa excused himself to discuss something with the Earl of Southampton.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” Dee whispered while elegant men and women glided past, their eyes sweeping over us. “The whole of society is going to pay attention now, notice every little thing we do.”

  “I thought you’d be better adjusted to the idea.” I wished I had a spell that turned me invisible.

  “No, I don’t really like London. If I had my way, I’d go back to my grandmother’s estate in Lincolnshire and just worry over the cottages and the gardens. I’m not much for society. Not like Magnus.”

  Indeed, Magnus appeared completely comfortable with a glass of punch in his hand. He laughed and flirted with a young woman in a white dress—yet another conquest—and I looked away.

  Eventually, Dee and I were dragged into conversation with Palehook.

  “We expect the pleasure of your abilities soon, Miss Howel. I believe the war shall run smoothly with you officially on our side.” Palehook didn’t smile. I noticed that he appeared sallow and sweaty. He coughed a good deal, and his eyelids were swollen and rimmed in pink.

  “Are you well, Master Palehook?”

  “I’ve been unwell. Thank you for i
nquiring. I believe it may have something to do with how much energy I spend in maintaining the ward. Korozoth, you know, exhibits such a forceful attack.”

  “The ward is growing thinner, isn’t it?”

  He smiled thinly. “It’s through no fault of mine, I assure you.” Dee went to get some more punch. I seized my opportunity.

  “Why haven’t you informed all the Masters about Lord Blackwood?” I asked. That certainly surprised him.

  “Has Lord Blackwood made mention of our disagreement?”

  “He’s told me everything. What are you planning?”

  “Nothing.” He held out his hands in a gesture of giving. “His secret is safe with me. I confess I nearly did tell, but it occurred to me that if his secret is known, he’s out of my power. Now my power is greater than before.” He smiled. “Don’t you think?”

  Hateful man. “What did you want with Rook?”

  “I applaud it, my dear. Your devotion to one so disgustingly low.” Before I could respond, he bowed and disappeared into the crowd. I had to breathe slowly to avoid going up in flames.

  The dancing began. Magnus came to me as Dee and I stood on the sidelines, contented to remain observers for most of the ball. “Would you join me in the first waltz?” he said, bowing. I wanted to strike him. I wanted to tell him to leave me alone, but tonight I also wanted as little trouble as possible. There were too many watchful eyes in this ballroom. Besides, I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me that upset.

  “Better you than me,” Dee said into his glass. “I’ll surely be a laughingstock the moment I dance my first step.”

  So I took Magnus’s hand, and we turned onto the floor. We orbited each other, our hands arched over our heads, and then we folded together and spun, the lights and the people a blur around us. His dancing was perfect. Of course it was.

  “Are you ready?” he whispered.

  “Yes.” I made my voice as stiff as I could.

  “For God’s sake, I’m sorry. Can’t you forgive me?”

  “No,” I said. If I counted to ten, I could avoid getting angry. He gripped me tighter about the waist and pressed me as close as he might dare while we danced.