Filling my chest, I said, “I’m Mira. Mira Brand.”
Carson, forgotten for a moment, nudged me. He whispered, “You did that reverse James Bond thing again.”
I frowned at him, hard enough that he lifted an awkward smile and edged back a step.
Lady Angelica had not shifted. She studied with eyes like a hawk, penetrating, but unable to be penetrated in return.
“But of course you are,” she said. “And what brings you here, young Mira? Come to live up to your famous name?”
Carson breathed, “Famous? Are you royalty?”
I flashed him another irritated look. “No more than you.”
“But I’m American; I can’t be—oh.”
I ignored him. “I’m here,” I told Lady Angelica, “because Benson recommended you.”
An eyebrow, perfectly groomed and dangerously thin, drifted half an inch up her forehead. “The broker?”
I nodded. “He said I could come to you—for a spell.”
The eyebrow didn’t dislodge. “I see.” Taking well-practiced steps toward us, she clasped her hands, gaze on mine all the while. “And what precisely is it you require this spell for, hm?”
“I’m … looking for something,” I said. “It’ll help me get to it.”
Vague. But Lady Angelica didn’t push. Instead, she said, “And would you happen to have the name of this spell?”
“Yeah. I wrote it down.”
I dug in my pocket, past my Railcard and a folded receipt from the morning’s energy drink purchase. Among the few coins jangling in the bottom, all copper, was a thin scrap. I plucked it out. Folded so many times, it looked like a accordion by the time I unfurled it.
“Here,” I said, and stepped forward to pass it over.
Lady Angelica did not reach for it, just peered at me from under that raised eyebrow.
“I, err, found it in a book. I can’t say its name.”
I fought back a flush of heated embarrassment.
She took it, holding it delicately between thumb and forefinger. Although written in small, untidy scrawl, I could see her eyes pass from left to right as she read it.
“Not too complicated,” she finally said. “I can craft it, young Mira.”
I waited. “The price?”
The soft curve of a smile crossed her lips. “Consider it a favor, hm?”
12
Lady Angelica guided us to a brewing chamber across the corridor. Filled with flasks and liquids of every color, it looked as though she had distilled the lightshow inside each of the gateways I opened.
“Pleasant brewing!” bleated the butler who had followed us, remaining at the threshold as we passed.
“Those things are weird,” Carson breathed.
“I expect they must be somewhat peculiar if you’re not used to them, yes,” said Lady Angelica. She had already set to work, procuring stoppered flasks with purple contents from a rack. A label was stuck to the front, faded, text illegible. “They are, however, friendly, and of great use. For that, I find them invaluable.”
“Where’d they come from?” Carson asked, transferring his puppy dog nosing curiosity to Lady Angelica. Thankfully.
“A world out of Delhi. It was utterly full of them, and just as friendly.”
“Are they alive?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Lady Angelica said, placing an armful of flasks down one by one on a surface beside a brewing stand. “They were constructed by a very prolific, brilliant inventor. I sought him out and requested he put together several that I might bring back with me. He was only too happy to oblige.”
“We haven’t seen anything like that, have we?” Carson asked me.
I wrinkled my nose, frowning. For the umpteenth time, I wanted to remind him that there was no we. It was just me, and a temporary tag-along, swept up in the ride.
“No,” I said shortly.
“We saw this kind of forest,” Carson continued in his usual babbling manner, oblivious to my irritation. “It looked like everything was made of glass. All the starlight came through, just reflected over and over again.”
“It sounds beautiful,” said Lady Angelica.
“But then there were these kind of dog things,” Carson went on. “They were horrible, weren’t they, Mira?” No answer from me, but he didn’t pause for one anyway. “They howled, and it sounded like … like babies crying. Babies with asthma.” He shuddered.
Lady Angelica had poured contents from half of her flasks into a larger beaker. Now she was adding the most gradual trickle from yet another, this liquid luminous green. She stirred with a glass rod all the while. The motion was so perfectly precise that she might be mechanical, like the butlers who’d escorted us to her.
“Some of the creatures in the worlds beneath are not to be trifled with,” she said. “Escape should be conducted swiftly, and failing that, a solid evasion mounted.”
Carson bit his lip. He cast me an aside glance, looking for a second as though he were weighing something in his mind.
At last, he said, “Some men chased us—in black cloaks. They had cinquedeas.”
Lady Angelica paused her stirring. “The Order of Apdau.”
“Who?” That was Carson, but I leaned forward an inch, interest suddenly piqued.
“An ancient order,” said Lady Angelica. She laid the glass stirring rod gently on the surface beside her beaker, which had now gone white and cloudy, and lifted the cap of a five-inch glass test tube, like the ones from secondary school science. No liquid in this one; flakes of platinum material were nestled to halfway up. She tipped, tapping with a solitary finger, until one fell out. She dropped it into the beaker, whereupon it let off a belch of metallic gas and turned pitch black.
“What are they looking for?” I breathed.
“Decidian’s Spear.” She turned, peering at me with a stony expression. “Hence why they seek you.”
I looked down at the umbrella at my belt, instinctively and guiltily. “How do you—?”
“Glamour is not impenetrable if you know how to look.” Lips pursed, she rotated to the brewing stand. Setting the beaker upon it, she lit a flame. “I advise you to steer clear at all costs.”
“We have been,” I began.
She spun around again, a step closer to me before I could even blink.
“I mean this seriously, young Mira. The Order of Apdau are dangerous.”
Yeah, well, both Carson and I could’ve told her that. At least now they had a name, though.
When at last Lady Angelica relinquished me from her gaze, she returned to the brewing stand. She twisted a knob to adjust the flame. It flashed white for a second, then reduced to a soft yellow glow.
“Your spell will take some time to prepare,” she said.
I balked. “I can’t have it now?”
“You can,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me, “but it won’t work. If you’d like it to function as intended, I recommend you return tonight, when the spell is complete.”
My lips pressed into a thin line. Not only had I needed to rely on someone else’s help, but now I was stuck in the lurch? Alain Borrick would be pressing for the cutlass even now.
But with no choice in the matter, I conceded. Another trip to Kensington it would be, then.
We left the room, returning to the corridor and the butler with the black faceplate. He raised an arm.
“Greetings! Pleasant brewing, I trust?”
“As pleasant as brewing can be,” Lady Angelica said. She started down the corridor. Carson and I followed, the butler whizzing around us to wheel along at Lady Angelica’s side. For an older woman, she certainly pushed us to keep pace.
“Should I escort our guests to the front door, Lady Hauk?”
“No, thank you. I’ll handle that myself.”
“Of course! Have a pleasant day. Bon voyage, visitors.” And he stopped dead in his tracks, like the brakes had been thrown and the power immediately cut. I glanced at him (it) as we passed; Carson did the same
, mouth open wide, only turning again when he took a misstep and stumbled.
“Careful,” I warned, voice low. The last thing I needed was for Carson to crash into the back of my apothecary. I’d probably end up coming back to a completed spell, but totally different to the one on my scrap of paper. Likely something that turned my head into a moose’s, or something ridiculous like that.
By the time we reached the bottom, my legs were aching and tired again. Definitely needed to swig my second energy drink once we hit the street. Maybe, just maybe, it would give me enough buzz to drop Carson off, and get back to my hideout without wanting to curl up in a corner and fall asleep for twenty hours.
As we approached the front door, Lady Angelica slowed.
Carson, distracted yet again by the endless cup of water, nearly stumbled into her. I threw out my arm just in time to stop him. I shot him a dirty look; he returned it with an apologetic wince.
“Remember what I told you,” Lady Angelica said.
Carson frowned. “About the butlers …?”
“The Order of Apdau are dangerous.” She turned to peer at me, gaze unreadable, her lips tight. “Mysterious in equal measure, but very, very dangerous. Keep your eyes open. Your greatest chance of escape lies in seeing them before they see you.”
“Right,” I muttered.
Lady Angelica stared at me for a long moment. I did my best not to break her gaze.
“One last free and classic piece of advice for you, Miss Brand,” she finally said.
‘Free”—yeah, I’d bet. I didn’t believe what she’d said about calling the spell a favor earlier, and nor did I believe what would come out of her mouth was without cost either. If she were anything like Benson, this advice would cost me a pretty penny indeed.
Lady Angelica’s eyes brushed over my left arm. My sleeve, dark with a streak of blood, had rolled partway up my forearm. The long scratch left by my scuffle with mop-haired Burbondrer peeked out, two or three inches visible in raw red, crusted and scabbed.
Lady Angelica said, “Never let them see you bleed.”
I followed her gaze, then met her eyes again. “Why’s that?”
“Because they might continue under the misapprehension that they’re near to beating you.”
I stared, uncomprehending—was she referring to Brand lineage again?—but she said no more, turning away for the front door—though not before fixing me with the faint curve of a smile.
13
Lady Angelica guided us to the front door.
“Safe travels, Mira.” To Carson: “And you, sir.”
“Um.” He cleared his throat, pulling at the strap of his manbag. “Thank you.”
Lady Angelica stepped between us and opened the door. Somehow, she managed to look stately doing even this.
The sun was almost overhead now, so the long shadows of the road’s extravagant houses had shrunk almost to nothing. The doorstep and the stairs leading down to the street were still cast in it, but halfway over the road, almost exactly at the center lines, sunlight was painted in a gorgeous bright bar. The buildings were all the more magnificent for the orange glow. If I didn’t know better, I could swear we were approaching the height of summer, rather than having not long passed into spring.
The streets were not so busy here, but then why would they be? Sightseers and occupants of the neighboring apartments probably made up eighty percent of the street’s foot traffic, with people passing through or lost comprising the rest.
Fortunately, with lunchtime looming, Russell Square would be positively heaving. A perfect time to rid myself of Carson.
I stepped out onto the expansive top step.
Just as I was about to say a final goodbye to Lady Angelica, I paused. Someone stood at the bottom of the steps, on the street. A post was erected there, wrought iron bars bracketing either side of the stairs. A woman perched there, her back against it, arms folded.
As if she’d been waiting, she glanced around as Carson and I exited.
Our eyes met, then almost simultaneously raked down each other.
She was slightly older than me, I figured; nineteen, twenty, but not much past that. She was Asian, or at least had Asian heritage on one side of her immediate family. A scattering of freckles covered her face—out of place, in early April, which meant she must’ve returned from hotter climes in the not-too-distant past. Her hair was black, and cut short, just kissing her shoulders. Styled into waves that made her look like an anime character brought to life, her hair, her height—five-two? five-three?—alongside an almost delicately skinny frame made me think of a pixie.
She pushed out of her lean with her backside, thrusting it against the post to bounce to her feet. Rounding, she clambered the stairs with much more energy than I possessed. The unbuttoned shirt over her tank top fluttered. Holes were cut in skinny jeans, all the way from thigh to shin. Red Converse shoes slapped the pavement, somehow looking even smaller than I’d expected, and strangely flat.
“Ah, Ms. Luo,” Lady Angelica greeted her.
Luo passed, gaze on me until the very last second. There was no warmth in her brown eyes. Her lips did not quiver in even the ghost of a polite smile.
In fairness, the same could probably be said for me.
I tuned out Lady Angelica’s greeting to the ice queen and marched down onto the street.
At a streetlamp down near the next set of steps leading up to the neighboring building’s door, I looked around.
Luo was just being ushered inside. She looked back at the same time I did, catching eyes—then the door closed, and she was gone.
Carson dawdled. Head craned right around, he stared after her.
“Dude.”
Nothing.
“Dude!”
He jerked, like he’d fallen asleep and I’d set off one of those stupid air horns in his ear to wake him up. Spinning around, he cast me a guilty, wide-eyed look as he gripped his manbag between white knuckles.
“Sorry! I was …”
Checking out the Chinese girl?
Instead, I said, “Hurry up. I want to get to Russell Square.”
“Why are we going to … oh.” His face clouded. “I mean, yeah, I guess I should be getting back to my hostel.”
“Yes, you should.”
I hoped he’d just shut up. Yesterday—or today? It all seemed the same, seeing as about twelve hours had been chopped out of our lives, condensed to just twenty minutes—I had been bitten by some strangely forthcoming little bug that was perfectly happy and willing to entertain this fish out of water (nerd out of math club? I shook my head). But that willingness had deserted me. I was ticked off thanks to a combination of exhaustion and the need to just twiddle my thumbs and wait for my spell—and on top of it all, something about Luo on Lady Angelica’s doorstep had rubbed me up the wrong way.
All I wanted was to offload Carson, get back to my hideaway, and finally enjoy some well-earned rest.
Unfortunately, my snippiness was either lost on Carson, or ignored, because just ten steps up the step, he blew out a breath and said, “So … those Apdau people. Creepy, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And they’re looking for your spear? Why do you think they want it?”
“Haven’t the foggiest,” I said. I did, of course; a powerful object like this would outshine those cinquedeas any day.
“Maybe they’re looking for things too? Do you think they have talismans of their—?”
Something elastic must’ve snapped, because I whirled on him, eyes boring into his. Four inches taller though he was, Carson was a pushover, and he flinched back like a lion in a zoo had suddenly gone for him behind the glass of its enclosure.
“Look,” I said, fighting to keep my voice as level as possible. “Could you just … not talk anymore? Please? I have had it up to here today.” I indicated my eyebrow.
“Um …”
“I am tired. I am stressed out. I have had to babysit you since yesterday afternoon. And although I am ve
ry sorry that you ended up being swept up in this, my patience has pretty much run out. The only thing keeping me going right now is this.” I prodded the pocket holding can #2. Body heat had long since stripped it of the chill it possessed when I bought it. “So would you please, please, be a dear, and let me have some peace?”
Carson’s mouth opened and closed. I pictured it getting stuck in a loop like that forever, him never finding the words to answer me, just gulping for air like a fish plucked out of the sea.
“Okay,” he said. “Yeah, I—I can—can do that.” He nodded, cleared his throat again. “S-sorry.”
If I had more energy, I might have felt some semblance of pity for him. But right now, I neither had the capacity to ask if I could’ve handled the task of asking him to shut up a little better, nor the ability to feel bad for failing to do so.
So I grumbled, “Thank you,” and swiveled, heading off again.
Carson’s footsteps did not follow me.
I glanced back at him.
He’d frozen in place, like a rabbit caught in high-beam headlights, stuck as their little brains froze up—right before being smeared across the road.
Or maybe he was wondering whether he should just get out of my hair now; escort himself back to Russell Square. It would be the more honorable thing to do.
“Move it,” I ordered.
But if that was what he had been wondering, he chose not to. At my instruction, his legs shifted back into motion. Nodding jerkily, he gripped the manbag close and trotted along behind me.
I held in a sigh as I trudged back to the tube station. Perfect opportunity for him to show some spine, and he’d still ended up crawling on the floor after my ankles. I dreaded to think what Carson’s future held.
Thank goodness I’d never have to think of him again in just an hour’s time.
14
I remembered, back before I ran away, when I was doing my research. Most of it was about other worlds, but I spent some time trying to get the measure of London, too, from everyone’s best friend: Google.
Of course, that wasn’t really possible; the only way to really come to understand a place was by living in its streets. But I distinctly remembered, even now, sitting in the library in Colchester, at a slow, chugging computer, as I looked up every place in London I could think of, and being incredibly taken by one particular piece of information. You see, at some point the boffins at Google must have tracked GPS data from people’s mobile phones—or just sat out in places with clipboards and calculators, tallying passers-by—because many of the locations also showed a little bar graph of how “busy” a place was, broken down by hour and day.
The World Beneath (The Mira Brand Adventures Book 1) Page 9
