“Yes,” I said uncertainly. “But still, I don’t see . . . .”
“No, you don’t,” Hal said sharply. He rubbed at his forehead, and when he spoke again, his tone was milder. “A curse is a very dangerous spell, Jem—and this one was laid rather sloppily to begin with. Its effects go beyond Cecilia’s illness. If I go at this haphazardly, what do you suppose might happen?”
I poked at the cold potatoes again, frowning. “You might make it worse?”
“That is quite possible,” he said. “If I am careful and clever—and fortunate—I may break this spell and save a life. If not—well, more than one person may die. Even if Marcus did cast the curse, and is the beast, if Sir Jasper kills him, all hope of breaking this curse may be lost. For then we have lost one of the parties to the spell.”
There was cold lump in my stomach that had nothing to do with the smell of food. My arm ached, and I rubbed it absently. “Hal, this spirit—what if you aren’t fortunate?”
He looked at me quietly for a long moment. “I won’t lie to you,” he said, finally. “There is danger in this—not only for Cecilia. I will keep you out of it as much as I can.”
I swallowed. “And what about you?”
“You don’t have to worry about me.” He smiled. “I’ve been studying this, after all.”
I looked at him a bit skeptically, but I nodded. I wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that he could look after himself. I pushed the cold mound of potatoes around my plate distractedly.
“You haven’t eaten anything since last night.” Hal frowned at me. “Why not?”
I scowled at him. “I’m not hungry. Is that a crime?”
He shook his head and stood up, sighing. “Never mind—but if you’re not going to have dinner, we might as well go and see Cecilia.”
He went to find Reeves, and I waited, wondering what could possibly be worse than what we’d already seen of the girl.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We followed Reeves from the dining room, up the staircase past the dozen staring portraits, to Cecilia’s room at the end of the long passageway. The room was close and dim, lit only by the fire and a solitary candle set on the little table by the maid. Cecilia sat in a window seat, shawl draped loosely about her thin shoulders. She twisted around to face us when we entered, and my stomach turned.
Sir Jasper had said she’d grown worse, but he had not done it justice. The cracked red lips were raw and bleeding, the sharp blue eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed; her dark hair had begun falling out, leaving bald patches on her head. I scarcely blamed Sir Jasper for not joining us; to see his daughter in this state must have been more than the man could bear.
Despite her decline, the blue eyes burned bright as ever, and she fixed them on my brother as he came into the room, twin lanterns of contempt. Her voice came in a raspy hiss. “What are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough?”
Hal rummaged through his pockets, drawing out another packet of herbs and tossing it on the fire; it eased my headache and made the room seem warmer—but Cecilia recoiled from the smell, face twisting in anger.
“She’s taken awful bad these past two days.” Jenny’s voice quavered. “Her hair—her pretty hair—it started falling out this morning, when I went to brush it. She didn’t know the master when he came to see her—what will we do?”
Hal frowned, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. He said nothing, but watched Cecilia carefully. She laughed; at least, I thought she did—it was a harsh, scraping noise that sounded as though it were dragged from her throat.
“I suppose you want another riddle,” she spat. “Well, then: a son who walks the same path as his father is bound to come to the same end.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat, cutting my eyes over to Hal. He did not change expression, watching her impassively with his hands in his pockets, smoke curling up from his pipe.
“That’s only natural,” he said, his tone neutral. “It isn’t much of a riddle, is it?”
“Only because you are so stupid.” She hissed, baring her teeth. “So stupid that your head is the wrong way around.”
She turned and fixed her burning gaze on me, and gave her harsh, scraping laugh again. “It’s too late for you, anyway.”
I stepped back, reflexively, as though I’d been slapped. The wound in my arm suddenly sparked with pain, as fresh and intense as it had been when the beast first sank his teeth into it. I closed my eyes and clutched at my arm, sucking in a breath.
“That’s enough,” Hal said sharply. “Leave him be.”
The pain eased to a dull ache, and I opened my eyes. Hal was watching me, brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, not yet trusting myself to speak, and Hal turned back to Cecilia. He crouched down beside her, taking one of her hands and turning it over. Someone had wound a clean white cloth around it as a bandage, and at her palm it was stained with blood.
“You’re in pain, aren’t you?” Hal’s voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Don’t worry. It won’t last long.”
“You pity me?” Her eyes blazed, and she yanked her hand back. “You dare? Get out. Get out!”
Hal sat back on his heels, smoke winding around his head, a meditative expression on his face. “It’s almost time to go home, isn’t it?”
I looked at him sharply, but I had no time to speak, for Cecilia’s reaction was swifter and more dramatic by far than my own. She hissed again, her face twisting into the same inhuman scowl I remembered from the night she howled at the wolf, baring all of her teeth. A chill wind blew through the room, extinguishing all sources of light but the faint moonlight that glowed through the window.
“Foolish magician.” Her voice had taken on again that rasping, unearthly quality. “Wicked magician. Get out, I said! Get out!”
And she struck out at my brother, one claw-like hand raking across his face, knocking the pipe from his mouth. I stepped forward, alarmed, but he put out a hand to stop me.
“I will go now,” he said, without looking away from her, his voice tight and controlled. He stood up, pressing one hand to his cheek, and turned to Jenny. “The fire, please. And a candle.”
Jenny, who was staring at Cecilia with eyes so wide that they seemed to take up all of her face, blinked at him. She nodded, getting to her feet, and poking at the coals in the fireplace. I took it upon myself to find some matches and light a candle.
I carried the candle back over to the window seat. Cecilia had retreated back into her silent position, watching out the window. The unearthly air had gone from her, and there was an intense sort of yearning in her burning eyes as she stared out across the snow. I looked away from her and went to my brother, who was fishing about in the dark for the pipe he had lost.
He still had one hand pressed against his face, and in the candlelight I could see small drops of red along his collar.
“Hal,” I said, my voice shaking a bit. “You’re bleeding.”
He did not look up at me. “It’s only a scratch. Help me find my pipe.”
I crouched down beside him, holding the candle up, and saw the glint of polished wood. I pointed it out to him, and he picked up his pipe, refilling it and lighting it. Now that he had taken his hand away, I saw clearly the four red lines across his cheek where Cecilia had struck him, blood dribbling down his face.
He took a deep pull from his pipe, looking over at Cecilia, who had not looked away from the window. Behind us, Jenny had gotten the fire lit, and it filled the room with light and warmth. Hal rocked back on his heels.
“I’ve seen enough,” he said. “Come along, Jem.”
He took the candle from me and I followed him out of the room, down the passageway and to the second floor into my own room. The fire had already been made up, and Hal took the candle and used it to light a lamp on the desk. From time to time he gingerly touched the scratches on his face, frowning.
I sat down on the bed, waiting to hear what he thought he had learned from thi
s encounter with Cecilia. My arm still ached from whatever she had done, and I couldn’t get the image of her scowling face, with its cracked and bleeding lips, out of my mind.
Hal turned to me, pulling the small jar of ointment from his jacket pocket. “We need to change the dressing on your arm.”
I blinked at him. “What about Cecilia?”
“Your arm first,” he said, setting the ointment down on the table at the side of the bed. “It’s all the same thing, really, after all.”
I frowned, but let him help me out of my jacket and sling. He pushed back the sleeve of my shirt, and unwound the bandage. My stomach turned; there was the unmistakable feeling of the dark magic, creeping through my nostrils and winding about my spine. It made my head ache. But there was more than that—it smelled, a horrible smell, like nothing I’d ever smelled before—and it made me think of death.
I made myself look at the wound, and had to swallow back the bile in my throat. The ointment had indeed stopped the blight from spreading—but the dark lines around the bite had grown darker, more numerous, and the flesh between them was red and angry. The bite itself looked ghastly—filled with greenish pus. I began shaking.
“What—am I going to lose my arm?” My voice trembled.
“No,” Hal said quickly. “No, it’s absolutely connected with the curse. Once I’ve broken it, your arm will be fine.”
He did not look away from my arm as he spoke, and though he’d kept his voice level, I could see that he was as troubled by the appearance of the wound as I was. I looked up at his face, the four scratches that Cecilia had made, and I saw tiny, faint lines of black spreading out from them as well.
“Your face,” I said, my voice still shaking. “It’s—you have the lines, too.”
“I know.” He scooped up a bit of ointment and began slathering it on my arm as he spoke. “Listen. I’ve had a suspicion about what happened to Cecilia from the beginning—now I’m sure I was right. I know how to reach the spirit.”
“How?” I took a deep breath. “Is this the opportunity you spoke of?”
He shook his head. “No—that, we’re going to have to make for ourselves. We have no time to waste.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, he stood up, going over to the bell pull that hung beside the bed, and tugged on it. A moment later, Reeves appeared in the doorway. Hal went over and spoke to him in low tones, while I sat on the bed and tried not to look at my arm. The strong smell of the ointment covered most of the unpleasant odor, but it lingered faintly, just at the edges of the air, like an afterthought.
After Reeves left, silently and swiftly, Hal went through the connecting door to his own room. He returned with a packet, which he tossed onto the fire. Between the packet and the ointment, my stomach eased. I looked back down at my arm; the redness had gone out of it, and the black lines seemed to have faded a bit. I took another deep breath.
“What did you mean when you told Cecilia it was almost time to go home?” I asked as Hal returned to his seat.
He had taken his pipe from his mouth and was refilling it. He tamped down the tobacco and lighted it, before looking up at me. “What do you know about changelings?”
I blinked at him, and tried to remember—I felt a headache coming up behind my eyes. “Children stolen by fairies, isn’t that it?”
“Not always children.” Hal’s face was grim. “But you have the right idea of it—a person taken by the fairies and replaced with something else.”
I rubbed my forehead. I remembered something else—something Mrs. Ogham had said. “You mean, like the beldam?”
He leaned back, smoke curling up from his pipe, and folded his arms over his chest. “Yes, something like that. But I’m more concerned with what’s left behind—the replacement for the stolen person.”
I sighed. “I’m too tired to puzzle this out. What are you thinking?”
He frowned, looking down at my arm. “All right. Well, the fairy generally replaces the stolen person with a fetch—a fairy enchanted to look like the human they’ve replaced.”
I shook my head. “I don’t—oh! You mean—you think that creature isn’t Cecilia at all?”
He stood up, running a hand through his hair. “Precisely. And I think in order to contact the spirit, we must return her child to her—the fetch she left behind in place of Cecilia.”
There was a knock at the door, and Hal went to let in a maid who carried a tea tray and roll of clean white bandages. She set them down on the table, her face going a bit pale when her eyes lit on my arm. I put a hand over the bite self-consciously, and looked away from her. She scurried out of the room.
Hal poured me a cup of tea, and sat down to wrap my arm in the bandages the maid had brought. The tea was warm, and it eased my headache. I felt a pleasant drowsiness wrapping around me, but I scrubbed at my face, fighting back sleep.
“How are we meant to return the fetch?” I said, watching him wind the bandage around my arm. “We haven’t any idea who the spirit is.”
“The fetch will call the spirit for us.”
I frowned at him. “How?”
“The fetch isn’t of this world, and it can’t stay here for long.” He tied off the bandage. “The enchantment will break down—it’s already begun. That’s why it appears to be dying—in a sense, that’s exactly what is happening.”
“And how does that help us?”
“When the enchantment breaks, the fetch will revert to its true form.” He blew out a cloud of smoke. “That is to say, it will revert to whatever object it has bound itself to in order to remain in our world—a piece of wood, most likely, or a stone.”
I took another sip of tea, the warmth of it soothing my throat. “What do we do with that?”
“We burn it.” Hal folded his arms over his chest. “That will release the fetch from its enchantment. Its inclination will be to return from whence it came—it will call the spirit to fetch it home, and when it does, we will be ready.”
I set my cup down on the table. “But how do we know when the enchantment is broken?”
He stood up and walked over to the fireplace, keeping his back to me. “When the girl dies.”
I stared at him. “You can’t—you mean you’ll let her die? But I thought . . . .”
“It isn’t her,” he said sharply. “Not really. She’s trapped in the spirit realm with whatever fairy stole her away. And if we’ve any chance of retrieving her, the fetch must die.”
I looked down at the bandage around my arm; I could still smell the putrid odor of the wound faintly, just over the smell of the ointment and the tea. I pictured Cecilia’s face—scowling, cracked, and bleeding. If he was wrong, and we let her die—I clenched my good hand into a fist.
“Hal,” I said quietly, and waited for him to turn and face me. “How certain are you about this?”
He reached up, absently touching the four red scratches on his face. The blood was already dry, but the faint black lines still showed against his skin. “Certain enough.”
I chewed at my lip. “So, what then? We simply wait for her to die?”
He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the mantel, looking at his feet. “That would be easiest—but I don’t think we can wait that long.”
“Then what?” A terrible thought occurred to me, and I swallowed against a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with my arm. “Hal, we can’t—you don’t mean we’ll have to kill her?”
“Good God! No,” Hal said, staring at me. “How would I explain that to Sir Jasper? It’s an enchantment—we simply have to break it, or wait for it to break down itself.” He glanced at my bandaged arm and grimaced. “I only meant that we can’t wait for it to break itself. There isn’t time.”
I blew out a breath, feeling relieved and slightly foolish. “But then—how do you break an enchantment like this?”
He pushed himself away from the mantel and came back to sit in the chair. “It’s fairly simple—if you surprise a changeling in
to giving itself away, the enchantment is broken. It’s hard to do when the changeling is strong, but Cecilia’s fetch is already weakened. I should be able to do it easily.”
“But it will still look as though Cecilia’s died,” I pointed out. “How will you explain that to Sir Jasper?”
His face darkened. “I shall have to convince him to wait—to watch until the fetch reverts to its true form. Then he should be satisfied that it was not his daughter.”
I regarded him skeptically. “And you think he will wait—that he won’t throw us out of this house without a chance to explain?”
Hal shrugged. “If he does, he does. We shall wait in the village. Very likely the fetch will revert before the death watch has ended.”
“And if not . . . .” I let my voice trail off; I didn’t really want to know how that sentence ended.
“Well.” He stood up, putting the ointment in his pocket. “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that. Finish your tea, and get some rest. There are long days ahead.”
He left, and I made ready for bed—but even after I’d put out the lamp, I could not sleep, despite how tired I felt. The drowsiness the tea had induced was entirely overtaken by thoughts of Cecilia’s poor broken body. Hal seemed quite certain that the creature in that upstairs room was not Cecilia at all—and I wanted him to be right, for it seemed there was no other chance to save her. But if he was wrong—I closed my eyes, forcing the thought from my mind, and tried to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When I went down to breakfast in the morning, I found myself alone at the table. Sir Jasper had already gone to the mine, and Hal had already been up for several hours. I picked at my eggs perfunctorily, but my stomach was unsettled by thoughts of the conversation of the previous evening—my anxiety far exceeded my appetite, and so I pushed the plate aside and went to join my brother in the library.
He was seated before the fire, looking rather disheveled. If I had slept poorly, then I would hazard a guess that Hal had not slept at all. He leaned back in the chair, legs stretched out before him, pipe dangling from one hand. It had burned out long before, but the air was filled with a smoky haze that told it me its use had not been neglected.
The Rowanwood Curse (Hal Bishop Mysteries Book 1) Page 13
