Lilith turns to him now.
“I told you, darling Bram, that I am a witch who speaks to spirits.”
“Is this where you come to do so?”
“No. Ordinarily, no.” She pauses, choosing her words with great care, then continues. “Do you remember, the other night, I was … I was afraid? You saw that I was.”
“I cannot forget it. You seemed terrified.”
“I had been visited by a spirit. Not one I had called or summoned. One that sought me out.”
“Does that happen often, to … people such as you?”
She shakes her head. “Mercifully, almost never. The spirits answer our call. They are not welcome to assail our thoughts whenever they choose. Most would not think of doing so. But this spirit … he comes at the behest of someone else.”
“Someone else? Someone living, do you mean?”
“Yes.”
“A witch?”
“No. That is, not exactly. Oh, I am sorry.” She shakes her head in frustration. “I am explaining this terribly badly. There is so much you do not know. There is no good place to start, no easy way to tell you what I must. And I would not have dreamed of speaking of so many aspects of my life as a witch, or of necromancy, or any of this, but…”
“But?”
She raises her eyes to meet his and he is shocked to see they are filled with tears.
“Bram, you are in danger. I have put you in such dreadful danger.”
“You have? I don’t believe it.”
“It is because of me … because of the Dark Spirit who haunts me. He wants something from me. Something I can never give to him. He wants it for the masters who have summoned him and who are using him to weaken me. And he … he knows how I care for you. He has found my weakness. He means to threaten you, at the very least…” Her voice falters and she leaves the thought incomplete, looking away. “I should never have let you get close to me. It is because of me that this awful creature now aims to turn his vile strength on you! I should not have allowed myself to care for you, nor you to care for me. I will only bring you pain and confusion and…”
Bram takes hold of her shoulders and speaks calmly and firmly, even though he feels unnerved by the atmosphere of the churchyard and by what Lilith is telling him.
“Now you listen to me,” he says. “I don’t care who threatens me, be he man or ghost or … anything, or anyone. I will not be driven away from you by threats. I will not leave you to face this … monster on your own. Lilith, look at me.”
She looks, blinking away tears, and sees the warmth in his eyes. The longing. The passion.
“I love you, Lilith. Just let this fiend try and come between us. Just let him try!”
She straightens her shoulders and sets her jaw. “You’re right. I’m being ridiculously emotional. I brought you here to try to explain how I am going to keep you safe, and instead I end up sobbing like some silly schoolgirl. Don’t worry. I shan’t cry again.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. Your tears would freeze to your beautiful face in this fearsome weather.” He indicates the inscription on the headstone in front of them. “This is your father’s grave. Why did you choose to bring me here?”
Lilith says simply, “Because I want you to meet him.”
She takes a step forward. Holding her arms wide, she closes her eyes, and Bram sees her lips move as if she is praying or reciting some well-practiced words. The hairs on his neck stand as a shiver descends his spine.
Is such a thing truly possible? Am I to see someone brought back from the dead to talk to us?
He watches in silence, unable to hear what she is saying, but all too conscious of the shift in the atmosphere around them. The night-dwelling animals and birds cease their fidgeting and fall quiet. Even the fog itself appears to stop its lurching movements. The temperature drops suddenly, several degrees. He begins to tremble and has to make a conscious effort not to allow his teeth to start chattering.
Lilith lets her arms fall by her sides and opens her eyes. She stands still as the stone angel beneath the cedar tree, the eerie half-light robbing her face of all color, save for the sharp green of her irises.
She looks more exquisite, more splendid, yet more fragile and ethereal, than I have ever seen her.
For a long moment nothing happens, and then, slowly at first, but with increasing speed, the fog begins to shift in unnatural patterns. As Bram watches, the misty air appears to pulsate, taking on this form and that shape, until at last a figure steps from it. A tall, lean man, with angular features, whose stern face is softened by the expression he wears as he greets his daughter.
“Lilith!” His voice is clear but breathy. He bows low, formally, adding, “Or rather, Morningstar.”
“Papa!” Lilith cannot hide her happiness at seeing him, though Bram can see she is doing her utmost to remain in control of her feelings. He knows little enough about what her coven requires of her or how such things work, but he knows her sufficiently well to feel her reticence, her hesitation. She gives him the feeling that she is doing something of which her father will not approve.
“Father, thank you for answering my call.”
“I would never refuse a Lazarus Head Witch. Nor would I refuse my daughter.”
“It is as your daughter that I come here today,” she says. And Bram sees in her expression the truth of this. It has clearly cost her to seek her father’s help. Knowing her as he now does, he can only imagine how hard it must be for her to admit she is in a situation she considers beyond her.
How dearly she must have wanted to prove herself. To him. To me? To herself, certainly.
“I have not come alone,” Lilith explains. She beckons to Bram and he steps forward.
Could a man ever have imagined such a strange introduction to the father of the woman he loves?
At once, the late duke’s demeanor alters dramatically.
“A non-witch! You have brought a non-witch to witness a calling? You clearly summoned me to reveal myself, knowing that I would be seen! What madness is this? To go against the coven creed…!”
“Forgive me, I know…”
“Then you also know you have broken your vows. Not only as a witch but as Head Witch! How can I have failed so completely in preparing you for your inheritance?”
“Father, this is Bram Cardale. He is the man I love.”
“Love!” The duke is so enraged his spirit grows and shifts, losing definition one moment, forming a darker figure the next, pacing this way and that in agitation. “I do not wish to hear of some girlish infatuation! How could you, daughter? How could you throw up all that I have taught you, all that you must know to be right, for some romantic nonsense…?”
“You don’t understand, Father.”
“Don’t I? Do you seriously imagine there was never a moment when I did not yearn to share with my own wife the truth about myself? About our children?”
“This is different.”
“No. No, this is you being foolish. You have thrown away all that you were destined to be for some notion of love. And what of Louis?”
“I … I cannot marry Louis.” Before her father can respond to this, Lilith presses on. “Father, I know I have disappointed you, but I came here for your help. I am being haunted by a Dark Spirit. He has threatened Bram. Because of me, Bram is in great danger.”
“What better illustration of the hopelessness of your … connection with a non-witch could there be? Tell me? How can he protect himself? How can you protect him? Do you expect me to do it? You overestimate the ability a spirit has to intervene in matters taking place in the Land of Day.”
“But you could warn us, you could watch over him…”
“If you are truly being pursued by a spirit from the Darkness there is little I can do.”
“There is more … the Dark Spirit does not come to me of his own accord. He acts for another.”
On hearing this, the duke is silent for a moment. He appears calmer. Calmer and yet more
concerned.
“The Sentinels,” he says levelly.
“You spoke of your fears before you died, Father. You were right. They are moving against the coven, determined to claim the Elixir as their own.”
The duke regards Bram coldly. “Well, Lilith, it seems you have provided them with a very useful means of getting it.”
“I will never give it to them! I would never reveal the Great Secret, not to anyone, least of all a Sentinel.”
“Would you not? No matter whom they threatened? Would you sacrifice your precious lover, Lilith, and remain true to the coven? Your conduct so far would suggest otherwise.”
“Must it be a choice, Father? Must I be made to give up one to serve the other? Is there no other way?”
The duke looks at his daughter’s anguished face and then looks away again.
“You are not the first to be faced with such a decision. If the coven is, as you say, under threat from the Sentinels, your first, your only concern must be the protection of the Lazarus Elixir. You know that. Personal happiness is a luxury, and you would have it only at the expense of the coven. That cannot happen.” For the first time he addresses Bram. “Young man, if you love my daughter, you will let her go. You cannot help her. The Dark Spirit will not harm you if you are no longer involved with Lilith. Take yourself away from her, away from London. If you have no future contact with her, you will be safe. And she will be free to do her duty.”
Having spoken his mind, he turns his back on Bram, preparing to remonstrate further with his daughter.
But Bram has heard enough.
“No, sir, I will not.”
“What’s that you say?” The duke of Radnor is not accustomed to being defied, either in life or in death.
Bram can feel ice forming on his hair and is conscious of his shabby clothes and unkempt appearance. He is conscious that his accent gives away his heritage, that his clothes mark him out as a man of small means, that he is not, in so many ways, a person the duke would have ever considered suitable for his daughter. Such opinions, however, no longer matter to Bram.
“I will not abandon Lilith. She is everything to me. I love her…”
“There is more to love than pretty words and kisses!”
“Indeed there is. There is loyalty. You may choose to refuse her request for help; that might be your understanding of love. I will stand by her, whatever the dangers. Oh, I don’t pretend to know about your coven, or your creed, or even what is happening right this minute. A man could lose his mind were he to think of it too hard and too long. But just because I cannot make sense of it does not mean I am not fit to help Lilith. We will stand together and I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe and to enable her to fulfill her duty. Because it matters to her. I will not be dismissed like some servant found wanting. I will not be scared off. I am a part of your daughter’s life now, sir, whether it suits you or not.” He steps close to Lilith and takes her hand in his.
“Please, Papa…” she whispers.
The duke shakes his head. “It seems to me you have already made your choice, daughter,” he says. And in an instant, he is gone, and Bram and Lilith stand alone at the graveside once more.
15.
The feast of Yulemass is quickly upon us. The chambers beneath Number One Fitzroy Square are abuzz with activity and expectation. As witches gather to celebrate, we assemble in the antechamber. The celebration of Yulemass traditionally begins with a sociable mingling. Some of the minor witches have set out the refreshments which are customarily simple: cheeses, rustic bread, spicy pickles, and fruit. There is also sufficient red wine intended to relax, but not to inebriate. Tonight is the Eve of Midwinter, an occasion where the coven meets to reinforce the bonds of brother- and sisterhood, and later to call a spirit as a group and to question the soul that presents itself on all manner of subjects. This is the year’s longest night, when the hours of darkness are greater than those of daylight, and those who have crossed the Rubicon are most active and eager to make contact. All coven members who are able attend, without masks, to celebrate the continuation of the Lazarus Coven, the successful protection of the Great Secret, and the privilege and wonder of being able to commune with the dead. It is a joyous event, albeit one that has, in the past, resulted in momentous portents. For the midwinter Yulemass is very much under the control of the spirits, not of the necromancers, and in this it is a singular and important event in the witches’ calendar. Mindful of this Druscilla and I have gone to some trouble to build up a layer of protective magic around the Great Chamber. We do not want the Dark Spirit of Edmund Willoughby joining us tonight, under any circumstances.
After I took Bram to the cemetery, after Father refused to help us, Bram and I sat up in his rooms until dawn. His unswerving support, the calm way in which he accepted my father’s appearance at the graveside, the way he stood up to my father, all have endeared him to me even further. For hour upon hour he asked me questions and I did my best to answer them. Poor darling, his head must have been filled with so many disturbing and incredible things by the time the morning light alerted us to the beginning of a new day. But, in order to keep him safe, he must know. He must come to understand as much as possible about the coven. About what it is we do. About what I am. My heart still constricts when I recall Father’s disappointment in me, his anger at what I have done. All my life I have sought to please him, and now I have broken his heart. I must prove to him that Bram is worthy of my trust. And the first part of that proof will be my ability to face the Dark Spirit. I will keep Bram safe. I will protect the Elixir from the Sentinels, and whomever they send. Perhaps then my father will forgive me.
Iago and I arrived early for the gathering. This is a rare time when I am not expected to wear my Robe of Office, or even my witch’s cloak, but may dress how I please. I have chosen one of my new black gowns, the dressiest of those bought at Mrs. Morell’s shop. It is made of the softest velvet, cut to fall in gathered sweeps to my ankles, and to move sinuously against my body as I walk. The darkness and heaviness of the fabric are relieved by sections of lace capping the short sleeves at my shoulders, with more lace from the low-cut bustline up to a high collar. It is the most glamorous garment I have worn in months, and I admit to feeling special in it. I felt such sadness at not having Violet with me as I dressed for the evening. She always enjoyed Yulemass, and we shared so many of them together. I have tried to call her, to summon her spirit, but without success. Druscilla attempted to help me, but we can detect no trace of her. She is hidden from us, I know it, deliberately kept from us. And there is nothing I can do. I tried to think what she would have liked me to wear, and chose a long, slender twist of gold. It is a necklace my father gave me, a piece of witch’s jewelry, quite outlandish and heavy, and really unsuitable for wearing anywhere other than at a coven meeting. The sleek golden rope loops three times around my neck, falling in long loose loops past my waist, with its intricate links causing it to both shimmer and shift as I move. I selected black lace gloves which stop just above the elbow, so that the only flesh visible—aside from that glimpsed through the pattern of the lace—is a short stretch of my upper arms. I had Alice do my hair for me. I had given her to believe that I was going out to a small private party. The lie served while she worked, but I cast a gentle spell of forgetting as she left my bedroom. She is a pleasant enough girl, and an able maid, but I cannot trust her not to talk below stairs, and my dressing in such a way while in mourning would make tongues wag. She piled my hair high upon my head, sleek and sophisticated, securing it with a gold dragonfly tiara. When I looked at my reflection in the mirror I felt, for the first time, that I truly am the Head Witch of this coven.
“Morningstar, my dear.” The slightly wheezing voice of Lord Grimes, Master of the Chalice and most loyal of Father’s friends, makes me turn. We embrace warmly. I am aware my position would be far more tenuous had I not the unquestioning support of such witches.
“Master of the Chalice, welcome. It is good t
o see you.”
“You look divine, child. Your father would be so proud. Might he appear to us tonight, do you suppose?” he asks, taking the goblet of wine one of the minor witches is offering him with a nod of thanks.
I am careful not to let my sorrow show, for I know very well my father will not appear to us. “Tonight it is not we who will decide who comes,” I remind him.
“Of course, you are right, and oh, isn’t that the beauty of Yulemass? I do so enjoy the element of surprise. Over the years there have been some wonderful communications, you know? Truly astonishing. My goodness,” he says, sipping his wine, “this is splendid. I’m not sure Lord Robert would have selected such quality.”
“Of course he would. He always wanted the best for his fellow witches.”
“Naturally, but … hmm”—he drinks some more—’I think I would have been more selfish and kept such a vintage for myself. Ah, the earl of Winchester approaches. He will no doubt be anxious to offer you his support, as Head Witch and as someone soon to be a member of his family, eh?”
I wince at the reminder that I have not yet had the courage to face Louis and break off our engagement. It has suited my cowardice that he has chosen to stay in the country for now. He writes to me often, and tells me how he misses me. My letters to him are somewhat stiff and say nothing of any importance. He must surely detect the lack of warmth in my words.
The earl stands before us now, every bit as handsome as his son, perhaps lacking the viscount’s youthful vigor, but easily making up for it with the gravitas and charisma of maturity. He bows low.
“Morningstar—how brightly you shine this evening.”
“Welcome to Yulemass.”
He drops his voice. “Druscilla tells me you and she have taken measures to ensure there will not be any … unwelcome visitors tonight.”
“Indeed.”
“I am eager to learn what else you have done in regard to the matter of the Dark Spirit.”
The Midnight Witch Page 22
