Half a Soul

by Olivia Atwater

  “I would not like to be known as a gambling woman in the first place,” Dora said dryly. “But since I seem to have lost the same bet that Lady Cushing did, I suppose that it is supportable in this instance.” She found herself smiling back at him though, and as she took his hand, the heaviness that had been in her chest all day lightened noticeably.

  As Elias led her back onto the floor, his hand dropped to her waist, and a strange shiver went through her where he touched. At first blush, it should not have been a proper way to touch a lady in public—but as Dora glanced around at the other dancers, she realised that they were all engaged in similar positions. “Oh,” she murmured. “We are waltzing, then?”

  “Apparently so,” said Elias. He turned fully towards her and lifted her hand to his arm. There was no looking away from him in such a position; his warmth was nearly close enough to touch. The sweet scent of myrrh tickled at Dora’s senses, and she found herself staring up at him in jumbled confusion.

  “I do not have the translation with me, I’m afraid,” Dora told him. “I gave it to Albert earlier. I should be able to finish the last quarter of it tonight, if I can borrow a candle.”

  Elias smiled at Dora again. “Albert gave me your work earlier today,” he told her. “I am not here to bully more of it from you.”

  Dora considered this for a long moment. She could not help but be aware of his arm sliding around her back, as they continued to prepare for the dance. “Is there some other help that I might offer, in that case? I cannot imagine you came to one of these parties you so hate in order to dance.”

  Elias had not looked away from her once as they talked. Tired as he was, there was no hint in him of the desperate anger she had seen only a day prior. There was still grief, Dora thought, but it was tempered with something softer and less violent. “You are correct, of course,” Elias told her. “I despise these silly balls. I did not come here simply to dance.” He cleared his throat slightly. “I have again had little success today. I found myself sitting alone in the dark, tired and bitter. And I suppose I could have stayed like that. But I promised Albert that I would be kinder to myself. And so I tried to think of where I would want to be, if I were not so bound to this hopeless task.”

  Dora knitted her brow. “You cannot have thought of Lady Cushing’s ball,” she said sceptically.

  “I did not,” Elias said. “I thought of you, Dora. But you are here, and so here I am.” Those golden eyes held hers, and a flustered heat pooled against the surface of Dora’s skin. “I did not come here only to dance. I came here only to dance with you. It is quite a different thing.”

  The dancing began, and it was a good thing that it did—Dora was suddenly certain that she could not manage to stay still beneath those eyes for even a moment longer. Her head was swimming, and her breath was oddly short. Elias had a reassuring hold on her, and she found herself wondering whether she would still be able to stand upright once he finally let her go.

  “You are very quiet,” Elias said, after they had taken a few rotations around the floor. His gaze did not waver from her face. Dora thought he might be searching for something in her expression.

  “I do not know what to say,” she admitted. “I think I am deeply touched. But if I am supposed to react in some particular way, I should warn you that I do not know it. My condition confounds me.” Dora found herself looking at his chin now, instead of into his eyes. “I am a doll sometimes, and not a human being at all.”

  Elias pressed gently at her back, leading them aside from the other dancers. He paused there for a moment, and she felt his gaze hot on her face. “Surely, you cannot think that of yourself,” he murmured. “Or has someone else said it to you, perhaps?”

  Dora stayed very silent. She did not want to admit that she had accidentally plucked the words from that pile of misery at the bottom of her mind. It would be too much like admitting that Auntie Frances had won some battle over her.

  Elias leaned down towards her, probably closer than was proper. “It may be true that you have only half a soul, Dora,” he whispered, with a surprising abundance of empathy in his voice. “But that does not make you half a person.”

  Dora trembled at that, without quite knowing why. She felt the words all the way to her bones—deeper and more piercing than anything that Auntie Frances had ever said to her. The rare sincerity in his voice struck her squarely in what remained of her heart, somehow painful and relieving all at once.

  Wet tears trickled down her cheeks. Too late, Dora reached up to wipe at them, bewildered.

  Elias blinked. “Are you—are you all right?” he asked softly.

  Dora nodded slowly. “It must be all this candle smoke,” she lied evenly. “It always does make my eyes water.”

  Elias squeezed her hand. “There are better ways to light a room,” he said. “Please, allow me to help.” He released her hand to reach into his jacket and pulled out a wand of twisted glass.

  The candles in the room all snuffed out in the space of an instant. Gasps and whispers rippled among the crowd—but they soon transformed into awed murmurs. Wavering pinprick lights kindled in the air, scattered like faerie dust across the ballroom. One floated just past Dora, and she reached out to touch it with rapt fascination. The light flickered against her skin, but it neither burned nor cooled where it touched. Instead, it caught briefly upon her fingers and then fluttered away again like a floating ember.

  “Are they stars?” she whispered in wonder.

  “I am flattered by your wild estimation of my abilities,” Elias said, with a hint of pleasant mirth. “I should lie and say that I have indeed brought down the stars for your amusement. But it’s a simple magic trick, and nothing more.” He flicked a finger, and a haze of twinkling stars swept towards her, settling into the fabric of her dress and the strands of her hair.

  A few of those gathered in the ballroom began to turn their attention towards Dora at that. If she had been anyone other than herself, she might have been embarrassed at the sudden attention. But Elias was smiling at her with a whimsical pleasure, and she was swimming in stars—and as the musicians slowly found their beat again and he took her back into his arms to dance, Dora could only feel the brightest, most wonderful lantern warmth she had ever known before.

  The atmosphere until that moment had been tense and somewhat smothering, as many balls were. But without the heat of all those candles, in the gentle light of those calm, floating faerie lights, there was suddenly a hushed sort of reverence; no one wanted to be the first to break the lovely spell that had come upon them all.

  Looking up at Elias in the flickering starlight, Dora found herself utterly arrested. There was an ethereal, otherworldly beauty to him just now that made her think he must surely be at least part faerie. Dora imagined his skin like moonlight, his hair like white silk, his eyes like banked embers. He was looking at her, incredibly, and not at the stars around them. The soft atmosphere made her feel even more than usual that she was dreaming. But it was the sort of lovely dream that one dwelled purposely upon, unwilling to wake too soon.

  A scattering of stars swept up as he turned her past the corner of the dance floor, and Dora glanced behind them, watching with awe. When she looked back at Elias, there was a new warmth in his expression. “You are smiling,” he said softly.

  Dora blinked slowly. “I suppose I am,” she murmured, dimly surprised. And in fact, she could feel a distant, serene sort of smile on her face. “This is very nice, isn’t it? Just for the moment.”

  A similar, contented smile blossomed across the magician’s lips, and the warmth in Dora’s chest grew with it. “It is very nice,” Elias told her. He searched her face with a gently curious expression. “Are you happy just now, Dora?”

  Dora blinked slowly, thinking on the question. “I am... very content,” she said. But the trickling warmth in her chest increased as she continued to look at his smile, and she sighed suddenly. “No. I think I am happy. What a lovely feeling. I am dreaming, and I d
on’t want to wake up.”

  The music fell, and they came to a pause along with the other dancers. Elias leaned closer towards her under cover of the dim starlight. Dora stared at him, entranced, as his forehead pressed lightly to hers.

  “I don’t want to wake up either,” he whispered.

  She felt his breath along her cheek as he said the words. The whisper shivered its way into her heart, and Dora thought: Oh dear. Because she was now quite sure that she was in love. Every remaining ragged fiber of her half-soul shivered with the awareness of it.

  “You will have to dance another time with me,” Elias murmured. “You did promise.”

  “I could not imagine dancing with anyone else,” Dora said honestly.

  She did not, however, keep very good track of just how many times they did dance, as the night went on. Dora knew that it was far more than was proper. But as the stars scattered away, she could only hope that everyone had quite lost track of who was dancing with whom at any given time.

  It was supper that finally interrupted them, somewhere just after midnight. By the regretful look on Elias’ face, Dora surmised that he had not intended to stay quite so late. As he released her reluctantly, she found herself feeling decidedly cold for the first time in years.

  “Thank you very much for the diversion,” Elias said quietly. “I fear I must now return to more unpleasant tasks.”

  Dora’s smile wavered at that. I do not want you to go, she thought. But that was very selfish of her, especially as she knew how little Elias wished to confront his hopeless endeavours again.

  “I was pleased to see you,” she said instead. “I am glad that you came.”

  Elias stepped back—but he took her hand in his, and leaned down to kiss the air just over her glove. For once, the gesture did not seem ironic in the least. “I will call on you again as soon as I might,” he said. “If you could endeavour to be at home, of course.”

  Dora laughed quietly at that. “I will endeavour,” she said. “But I do not know how successful I might be. Wherever your dragon-slaying accoutrements are, I suspect that you must bring them again.”

  Elias shot her a tired smile. “We shall muddle through together somehow, I suppose.”

  He let go of her hand and gave her one last nod, before turning to leave.

  Dora found herself next to Vanessa for supper, during which time exclamations abounded over the magical evening. Clearly, the Lord Sorcier had stopped by and personally conducted the display—a most uncharacteristic whimsy, someone assured the gathering, since he had once put Lady Rhine in fear for her life after being asked to perform “some magical party trick.” No indeed—the conversation supposed that the Lord Sorcier must have attended in order to impress some lady in particular; and as ladies and gentlemen both compared recollections, Dora slowly found herself the object of much attention at the table.

  “Surely not!” one of the ladies said in astonishment. “The older Miss Ettings? Don’t you mean the younger one?”

  “There is an older Miss Ettings?” a gentleman murmured in confusion.

  “She danced with him all night!” a younger woman cooed. “How romantic! Are there no other magicians in London this Season? I really must find one for myself!”

  Vanessa smiled at Dora, squeezing her hand beneath the table.

  “Is it true?” asked the girl on Dora’s other side. “Did you dance with the Lord Sorcier all night long?”

  Dora gave her a look of mild interest. “I danced with him twice,” she lied, with utmost serenity. “Anything else would surely be too much.”

  This lie was accepted with more or less scepticism by different people at the table. But as for Lady Cushing, she could not possibly have been happier—she was loudly telling anyone who would listen at the foot of the table how fond she was of the Lord Sorcier, in spite of his unconventional manners, and how she had always made a point of sending him an invitation out of sheer good manners. Dora privately thought that poor Elias might have resuscitated his reputation by mistake with his little bit of magic; for his flight of fancy had instantly made Lady Cushing’s ball the most exciting event of the Season, and now every party in the city was certain to hope for his unexpected attendance.

  The stars in the ballroom lingered through dinner and even into the early hours of the morning—whereupon they began to fade with the encroaching false dawn. Dora had halfway expected to hear some recriminations from either her aunt or the countess in the carriage on their way back; but to her surprise, none were forthcoming at all. They rode back to Hayworth House in sleepy silence instead, and as she clambered into bed and closed her eyes, the stars from the ballroom twinkled in her dreams.

  Chapter 14

  Dora slept quite late the morning after the ball. When she did finally awaken, she found herself wondering whether she had dreamed the whole thing. Surely, Dora thought, Vanessa would be able to tell her what was real and what was false—but when Dora went downstairs, her cousin was curiously nowhere to be found.

  “Miss Vanessa has stepped out with Mr Edward Lowe,” the butler told Dora, when she asked after her cousin.

  Dora considered this curiously. “With a chaperone, of course?” she asked. “Did Miss Jennings go with them, perhaps?”

  “No, Miss Ettings,” the butler replied politely. “Mr Lowe requested a private audience with Miss Vanessa, and Lady Lockheed granted her permission.”

  Dora blinked slowly. She was not by any stretch the most socially astute woman. But even she understood what such a private audience must mean.

  Edward Lowe is proposing to Vanessa, Dora thought. The idea seemed even more unreal than the long, surreal evening which she had spent with Elias. After all of the hens’ scheming and gnashing of teeth, they had finally succeeded in their aim: any moment now, Vanessa would be engaged to a viscount-in-waiting. Surely, within just a few short weeks, she would be married.

  And Dora would be alone.

  It was so difficult even to envision the idea that Dora brushed it away in confusion. Perhaps not, she thought. Vanessa said that she would want me to stay with her after she is married. I am sure she will not change her mind.

  But... no. Dora was not sure. There was no reason to expect that Vanessa had changed her mind—but what if she had? Either way, everything would change completely as soon as Vanessa reappeared through that door.

  “Dora!” Auntie Frances snapped from the top of the stairs. “You are finally awake, I see. Good. I will have the maids begin packing immediately.”

  Dora frowned distractedly. She wasn’t sure, suddenly, just how long she had been standing there staring at the door. “Packing?” she asked. “What are we packing, Auntie Frances?”

  “Your things, of course,” Auntie Frances said in exasperation. “Vanessa will be back with a ring at any moment. The church will begin reading the banns this week, I am sure. The very last thing we need is for you to do something silly to upset the engagement before Vanessa and the viscount are safely married!”

  Dora laughed with a hint of dazed confusion. “Edward is not a viscount yet,” she told Auntie Frances. “His father is still viscount. What a strange idea that would be, if Vanessa were to marry Albert’s father. Lady Carroway is very generous, but I do not think that she is quite that generous—”

  Auntie Frances marched down the stairs and grabbed her by the arm. “This is exactly the sort of nonsense I am talking about!” she said, with a hard edge in her voice. “You simply cannot say such things in public. It will be far better to have you in Lockheed.”

  Dora struggled against Auntie Frances’ grip, wriggling halfway free from her bony fingers. “I cannot go back to Lockheed,” she said, in a voice far more reasonable than she would have preferred. “Vanessa asked me to be at her wedding. And I must find a husband, you said—”

  “—Vanessa does not need you at her wedding!” Auntie Frances interrupted in irritation. “And we both know that you will never be married, Dora. Mr Lowe has still shown no inclin
ation to offer for you. We can hardly expect the countess to continue to house you here on a hopeless whim.”

  What is happening? Dora thought dimly. This was all far too quick. Vanessa was getting married. Jane was still dying. George Ricks was still a terrible villain. Dora could not possibly go back to Lockheed.

  “The Lord Sorcier is courting me,” Dora said evenly, though the words awoke a fresh confusion in her stomach. “He cannot have made his interest any more clear, Auntie Frances.”

  He is only courting me to keep the others away, Dora thought. But his suit should be enough to keep me here as well, shouldn’t it?

  Auntie Frances’ lip curled, and she pinched Dora’s arm sharply. “Do not speak to me of that magician!” she hissed. “You have made enough of a fool of yourself, Dora, taking up with him as though you are already engaged. Dancing all night together, really? All of that close waltzing! If the man truly wishes to offer for you, then he may do it in Lockheed—but I will not suffer him to tatter our family’s reputation any further with his rude manners!”

  What remained of Dora’s heart sank horribly in her chest.

  Auntie Frances hauled her back up the stairs, and shoved her unceremoniously back into her bedroom. “Get dressed for the road, Dora,” her aunt ordered her. “It is still early morning yet. I shall have you safely on the road within the hour, by God.”

  Dora opened her mouth to respond—but before she could manage so much as another word, her aunt closed the door with a sharp snap.

  The silence of the room deepened around her. Slowly, it pressed in, smothering her thoughts like a heavy blanket. Dora stood in place, trying to make her thoughts work—but even more than usual, her mind refused to focus. Somehow, the more effort she expended trying to anchor herself in the moment, the less Dora was able to concentrate at all.

  She forced herself to take a few steps across the room, if only to make her body move. Inevitably, she found herself at the dresser, digging in the drawer where she had hidden the scrying mirror.