La Dame Blanche was standing behind them on the stairs.
“Oh, not you again,” Elle said.
“Surrender!” Loisa said. “Your airship has crashed and your army is defeated. There is nothing more here for you.”
“Au contraire,” she said shaking her head. We most definitely have unfinished business. The warlock is mine!”
“He is certainly not!” Elle said.
Before Elle could do anything, Loisa hissed and lunged at the lady. They fell to the ground, hissing and scratching at one another.
As quickly as she could, Elle ran to the metal cage and undid the chain that held the door shut. Clothilde and Loisa were still rolling around on the floor. Every now and then Loisa gave a squeal of pain as Clothilde hurt her.
Elle stepped around them. “Loisa! Quick. Now!” She shouted.
Loisa shoved Clothilde up and rolled out of the way. In that moment Elle grabbed Clothilde by her long white hair and shoved her into the cage with the undead.
“Not so much fun being in a metal cage, now is it?” Loisa said. She was kneeling on the ground, panting.
“Loisa, are you all right?” Elle said.
She nodded and rubbed her throat. “I am much better now, actually.” She stood up and straightened her clothes.
“He’s waking up,” the doctor said.
“Loisa, hold this door for me please,” Elle said. She ran up to the table where the doctor and the professor were undoing the bindings that held Marsh.
Marsh groaned and opened his eyes.
“Oh my darling,” Elle whispered.
His eyes, no longer milky white, focused on her and for the briefest moment, they connected.
“He’s very weak and he needs time to recover …” the doctor started saying, but he was interrupted by Clothilde laughing.
“Very good work, doctor, but you have no knowledge of this procedure and without my will, he is not going to survive,” she said.
“Take cover!” Loisa shouted in the split second before the cage exploded.
Clothilde rose up from the rubble in a whirl of white hair and tattered darkness. A terrible halo of blue lightning crackled around her as she hovered over them.
She lifted one bone-white arm and pointed at Marsh.
By flesh and heart and skin and bone
The warlock will be cursed to wander the borderlands alone.
By the four corners of this world and the next,
May he live yet may his heart not beat in his chest.
Ever searching, never to rest.
I call upon the specters of fear and doubt.
To cast all resolve and courage out.
May they curse those they may,
And let misfortune guide them, until the end of days.
Clothilde waved her arms and an inky swirl of cloud boiled above them. Hard icy rain started pelting down, stinging exposed skin where it hit.
“I cast this curse three times over!” She screeched and pointed at them.
Elle held onto Marsh shielding him from the harm with her body as she braced herself for what was to come. It was all she could do as the bright blue bolt of energy hit them.
Clothilde started laughing again. “The warlock is no longer your husband. He is mine and we will retreat to the Realm of Shadow forevermore.” She was breathing heavily as she reached up into the air before her, as if she were going to open a set of curtains. Elle felt the barrier between Shadow and Light rip and she gasped in agony at the sensation.
“I thank you, Oracle for your life force. It makes opening the void so much easier,” Clothilde said.
But before she could do anything more, a rush of air filled the room, pushing the rain and clouds out of the way. Elle caught the dank odor of rotting plants and forest floor as white light poured through the opening that Clothilde had created.
To everyone”’s astonishment, Old Jack stepped through the barrier, carrying his lantern and a bundle slung over his shoulder. Without batting an eyelid, he shoved Clothilde out of the way and she fell to her knees.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Stop her, little Oracle,” Jack said. “It’s the only way. Use the silk around your finger. Do it now, before it’s too late.”
Elle closed her eyes. She slipped her fingers round her wedding band, feeling for the invisible strand that bound her to Marsh.
“I’m sorry my love,” she whispered and then, using all of her strength she pulled at the filament to release it. She felt a sharp agonizing pain in her chest, tearing at her insides.
Marsh let out an inhuman wail beside her as she felt the bond between them split and fall away.
“I love you. I will always love you,” Elle said. And then, with resolve she did not know she possessed, Elle pulled at the strand. It came away into her hands, thick and strong like a hangman’s noose.
Jack was right. Now was the time for action. Before Clothilde could react, Elle rose up and faced her. The raw energy that poured through the rent was splashing through her. It felt like she was standing under a waterfall that gushed and swirled around her, filling her with exquisite power.
When she found her voice, it projected with such power that it echoed through the entire building.
“I am Pythia. I am the Oracle. Hear me!” Elle’s voice boomed.
Clothilde looked up at her and her face filled with fear.
“Lady of the White … You have broken the laws of the two realms. You have interfered with the natural order of things. How dare you show your face before me?”
Clothilde stood. She was still shaking, but her face had grown hard with resolve. “I dare and I will. Do not think you can frighten me, madam. I am far older and more powerful than you are.”
“You will heed me!” Elle said. “Undo this curse and restore this man to his former self. This I command as the One who holds Shadow and Light together!”
“Never!” Clothilde spat. “I do not care what you do to me, but the warlock will be mine!” With that she screeched and launched herself at Elle clawing and screeching.
The two of them rolled on the floor in a cascade of light and shadow. They rolled on the floor until they hit the wall on the other side. Clothilde rose up. She was holding Elle by the throat, pinning her to the wall.
“And now you will die, Oracle. And with this opening in the void, all Shadow creatures will be free,” Clothilde hissed.
Elle gasped as the last of the air was squeezed out of her lungs. Clothilde’s white bony fingers digging into Elle’s flesh, choking her. Darkness loomed on the peripherals of her vision. Death would be hers if she did not react.
“No … you … will … not …” Elle managed to say. Then, raising her arms, she looped the glowing rope in her hands around the lady’s neck. Her mind went blank as she grabbed both ends and pulled as hard as she could. This was a fight to the death.
The lady’s sea-green eyes widened with surprise as the rope seared through her hair and into her white skin. She made a horrible gurgling sound.
Purple electricity cracked over Elle’s forearms, singeing her skin, but she did not care. All she could think about was ridding the world of the evil that was this woman once and for all. They stood there, locked in this deadly embrace for long moments.
Clothilde wailed and screeched like a banshee as each woman fought the other’s hold. And then, quite suddenly, the rope sliced cleanly through her neck. There was a massive blast of white light that blinded everyone .
Everything went silent. La Dame Blanche was no more.
Elle fell to the ground, singed and wide-eyed.
“Is it over? Is she really dead this time?” Loisa sat up and looked about.
Elle did not answer, but around then small tatters of the lady’s robes sifted down around them, like soft little feathers.
Marsh grunted and crawled away into the shadows.
“Hugh!” Elle croaked and made to follow him, but he hissed at her.
She held back, extending her ha
nd toward him.
He grunted and shuffled forward pulling himself up to his full height as he stepped into the shaft of moonlight that fell through the huge windows as the storm clouds vanished form the sky.
Outside, the soft sounds of the Battle of Battersea reached them. From the whoops of joy, it sounded like the right side had won, but somehow everything, including the victory felt hollow and distant.
Elle felt her heart constrict with fear and doubt as she beheld the effects of the Lady in White’s parting curse.
Marsh’s heart may have been back and inside his chest, but the man was gone. All the vibrancy and vitality that had so been such a quintessential part of him was washed out of his face. He stood perfectly silent, hunched up in his tattered carriage cloak. It was as if every part of him that had belonged to the Realm of Light was gone. Only remnants of Shadow remained in the wraith that stood before her.
“Please, let’s go home my love,” she whispered. “We will find a way to fix this.”
He stared at her with a dark fierceness that made her blood run cold. “I … cannot,” he said. His voice was nothing more than a hoarse rasp that sounded like it came from very far away.
“He is not your husband any more, little Oracle,” Jack said softly. “And now you owe me a third favor. Three times three.” He rubbed the front of his cloak which was none too clean. “Looks like I got here just in time. You should never have left me behind like you did,” he admonished.
Elle ignored the old Fey. She reached out to take Marsh into her arms, but he stepped back, with his arms out to stop her.
“Must go to the Shadow … Better … Safer for you.” His voice came to her, soft and haunting, like the whisper of wind through conifers.
“Do not go any closer. He must go to the Shadow before it’s too late and this portal closes. Wraiths do not survive for long in the Light,” Jack warned.
“Come with me. We can break this curse. Together we can do this.” Huge tears started running down her cheeks, unbidden.
“Don’t be sad.” Marsh’s eyes softened. “Better I go … be free and forget me … better that way.”
“He is right. If he is truly a wraith, he will drain your life force away,” Loisa said.
“There will be nothing left of either of you, before long,” Jack said. “Come along then, sir, before it’s too late. Wouldn’t want to miss the gap.” He motioned toward the glowing rent in the barrier from which he had just stepped. “Tell them old Jack sent you. They will take care of you if you do.”
Marsh looked at Jack and nodded.
“No! Don’t leave me, please,” Elle weeping so profusely now that she felt as if her lungs would burst.
Marsh turned to look at her. A strange look of compassion crossed his face. “It calls and I must go.” As he turned, his face filled with color and for a sliver of a second he was human and he smiled at her. Then he turned and slipped through the rent and disappeared.
“No!” Elle fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Her tears were mixing with the soot on her skin, spitting large black drops of sorrow onto her clothes.
“The black tears of a grieving widow. You should hang on to those. They are very valuable. Very rare too. Pure sorrow,” Jack mumbled as he picked up his bundle.
Everyone else ignored him. They were all too shocked to say anything.
“Very well, if there is nothing else, I will be on my way then,” he said as he hitched up his bundle. “Three times three, little Oracle. You and me will meet again when the time is right.” And with those words, he slung his bundle over his shoulder and walked off into the night.
CHAPTER 37
The Clockmaker sits up in his bed, grasping his nightshirt. Something is amiss. Even here, in his safe, warm little apartment in Zurich it feels like an invisible hand is pressing into him, constricting his chest.
“What waits in the darkness?” he whispers. He shrugs his head in disbelief at his own fear and makes to slip back under the comforting warmth of soft linens and goose down. The Clockmaker does not believe in ghosts or strange creatures who go bump in the night, for he is an artist and a scientist and so he puts his faith in the things that can be proven. He believes in the power of money. The power of the Consortium he has created. All those financiers and businessmen, who click and tick together to make the world turn. It is his greatest achievement.
He does not see the wraith who waits silently in the dark. He does not even see the fine lasso the wraith holds in his hand. The wraith is ready to perform the unspeakable task he has set without delay.
By then it is too late and the Clockmaker’s eyes widen in surprise for only an instant as the filament winds round his neck. The Clockmaker has time to make only half a choking sound before death takes him.
A single drop of ruby-red blood drops to the front of his pristine nightshirt, exactly in the place where his heart no longer beats, before his body falls forward in perfect lifelessness.
The wraith does not flinch at the sight of the blood. Calmly he gathers up the lasso around his left hand. It is pure white and wound from the purest strand of silk, such as can only be woven by a wyrd-weaver. The end is a little frayed, as it is had been ripped apart by some great force, but this does not matter. As he twists the filament, it shortens and slips around the fourth finger of his left hand where a ring once sat. But the wraith does not stop to remember such things, for they are now firmly in the past. All that remains for him is the burning desire for revenge. It burns within him, white and hot, like a forge which sustains the empty husk that once held a beating heart.
And so, with the whisper that reminds of summer meadows and of grass, the wraith slips from the room into the night.
For even in this darkness, there is little time before he must return to the Shadow. And he has much work to do.
CHAPTER 38
The days that followed what the newspapers were calling “The Battle of Battersea Park” would always be shrouded in a haze for Elle.
Gentle hands conveyed her to the car. At some point, she was lifted out of the seat and put to bed. Doctor Miller’s face swam in and out of her vision as he administered bandages and sedatives and sleeping potions. But none of these ministrations did anything to ease the shock or numb the pain. Marsh was gone.
She drifted through flurries of days that wisped passed. She watched on with cool detachment as if she were a stranger, observing her one life from a distance.
Each new day was punctuated by a fresh headline that appeared on the silver tray next to her bed. The same tray that was later removed untouched.
The headlines told their own story:
PLOT TO INVADE BRITAIN FOILED
one read.
MRS. MATHILDA HINGES, NATIONAL HEROINE TO BE HONORED BY THE KING
said another. It had a picture of Mrs. Hinges, finely drawn by the publishers, beside it.
ELECROMANCERS OPEN REHABILITATION HOSPITAL ON BANKS OF THE THAMES
one said later.
And later still:
ASTONISHING ADVANCEMENTS IN HEART SURGERY PIONEERED
Then:
POLICE COMMISSIONER DISMISSED AMIDST ALLEGATIONS OF CORRUPTION
It had been discovered that Commissioner Willoughby had been doing favors for various organizations. The prime minister was said to be outraged and was proposing widespread police reform.
And even later:
STRANGE KILLINGS IN EUROPE. ANOTHER RIPPER ON THE LOOSE.
A funeral was held and she stood silently and alone in a scratchy black dress next to the empty coffin as it was sealed up inside the Greychester mausoleum. She weathered the countless pats and caresses of affection and sympathy in the same way a tree weathers a summer storm. Stoic and unattached, she stared blankly before her, until all conversation ran out and the world retreated to its own business.
Ducky had escaped the crash with nothing more than a few bruises and a broken collarbone. He had hugged Elle at the funeral and promised her that he
would look after the charters till she felt better. The pilot of the other ship had not been so lucky. Elle never found out what his name was, but somehow she thought him to be the lucky one. For her life stretched out before her like a vast bone-bleached plane.
Marsh was gone.
Loisa and Jasper remained the best of friends. And after a suitably appropriate amount of time, they departed in her new steam cab, now freshly modified to accommodate two travelling coffins and emblazoned with her red family crest. Jasper had passed Loisa’s test and had joined her in the world of the night as a companion while he completed the training and rituals all young Nightwalkers must learn.
Following the great battle, the professor finally professed his feelings and proposed to Mrs. Hinges, or Dame Mathilde Hinges, as she was henceforth known. Eventually they too departed for Oxford to prepare for a small wedding to be held at the local registry office. Elle had held the cream invitation card, for a long time before she fed it into the fire. She watched the copperplate script, which advised rather formally that tea and cakes baked by the bride herself would be served afterward, blister and disintegrate in the flames.
Adele had chosen to stay with Florica. She had made it known that fairies did not fare well in places that were infused with the kind of sorrow that dwelled within the walls of Greychester house. And the travelling folk were always on the move, so it was not long until she disappeared entirely. All that Elle had to remember the fairy by was the small brass button that Florica had given her. It sat by itself in a small ornamental porcelain bowl in the center of Elle’s dresser.
Elle took to sleeping in her secret chamber. Curled up in a ball around the red velvet pillow she clung to like it was a life raft. Every night, she prowled the Shadow Realm. Always searching. Her portal to the Shadow Realm became so well used that small shadow creatures now waited for her to emerge in the hope that they could slip through into the Light without anyone noticing. She did not pay them any heed, even when one of the maids shrieked and swatted at a dip-dib who skittered across the marble floors and vanished into the dark night. On and on Elle wandered through the Realm of Shadow. Always searching. Always hoping to find him, but he was never there. She became pale and thin with dark hollows under her eyes, which spoke of her unspoken sorrow. But nothing she did helped. Marsh was gone.
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