“No, I know that. But I’m different, Ember. I have no soul. It was removed and placed in a pumpkin.”
“But didn’t the doctor say he was the one who invented lanterns in the first place? If the pumpkin does hold your soul, then we’ll bargain with him to put it back.”
“I’m dead, Ember,” he said flatly. “What kind of a life can you have with a dead man?”
“Isn’t Delia technically dead? You can see Graydon doesn’t care a whit. Do you judge me to be more fickle in my affections than he is?”
Jack sighed. “No. You are the most immutable, obdurate girl I’ve ever met.” He glanced at her lips again. Ember tasted like escape, and he wanted to lose himself in her arms and never look back. The tiny seed of possibility grew in his heart, taking root and extending its tender, frail foliage. He took her hands in his and kissed her fingers. “We will speak more of this at another time, agreed?”
“Agreed,” she answered. Her smile was as bright and wild as a bonfire. “So I’m assuming you didn’t come here just to check in on me or kiss me until my toes curled, which they did, by the way. Best tell me the plan, then.”
* * *
* * *
Jack slipped back into the room with the men a few hours later and settled into a corner as a small cloud of fog to sleep. When he dreamed, it was of surreptitious encounters in the sleepy little hollow and long, drugging kisses beneath his bridge. But then the nightmares came. Instead of kissing Ember, her back pressed up against the bridge railing, she hung dead from the rafters, a rope tight about her bruised neck as he howled his sorrow at the moon.
Then he was chasing Ember on horseback as she raced across a meadow, Jack summoned his inner light and his skeleton face gleamed. The grinning skull crowed with delight as he lifted his sword and sliced off Ember’s head. Then he removed his own head and replaced it with his pumpkin. The light inside it was no longer white but red, lit by the flames of Hades.
He heard a cackle and entered the trees to find a coven. Crooked, hunchbacked witches, half living, half dead, with clockwork eyes and metal mouths, stirred their hell broth as they poured the souls of the dead into their cauldrons and chanted.
Chapped rats and bats’ wings,
Brandied worms and adders’ stings,
Goat’s wool and owl’s hoot,
Fish’s tongue and dog’s foot.
Into the potion, all you go,
Add clockwork hearts, positioned so.
A touch of hyssop, a cat’s meow,
A pinch of hemlock, a lover’s vow,
A snip of time, a dewy toad,
A goblin’s thumb, all tightly sewed.
Now let the brew bubble, cook, and settle,
Then watch the brew quicken in the kettle.
When the draught is weighed
’Neath a pale moonbeam,
And a doctor’s blade
Cuts a shroud of steam,
When a graveyard kiss
Lights a dead man’s dream,
And a devil’s trick
Snares a witch’s scream,
Then the potion’s done, a flawless spell.
And you’ll hear the peal of a burial bell.
Then it’s time to harvest a lantern’s gleam,
And you’ve got the beginnings of Halloween.
Jack watched as Dr. Farragut stepped into the glen. He took the potion from the witches, then bade Jack follow to his laboratory, where a long table was draped with a white sheet. When he removed it with a flourish, he saw Ember’s headless body. Pieces of metal were grafted onto her skin like armor—bracers and gauntlets on her arms, pauldrons crossing over her chest and shoulders.
The doctor pulled open her breastplate, displaying her peeled-back skin and internal organs. He took a knife and carefully continued his vivisection, saying jovially, “Come closer, young man, you’ll want to see this.”
When the girl’s heart was exposed, the lantern saw that the white light encircling it had turned brittle. The fragments shattered as the doctor removed the organ and then replaced the heart with a new clockwork version. Once it was in place, he poured in the witch’s brew, then closed the breastplate.
“Excellent!” the doctor said, wiping his hands on his apron and smiling. “She’s ready!”
The horseman pointed to the stump of the neck where the head had been severed.
The doctor’s smile twitched and fell. “Ah, yes. How could I forget?”
The doctor pulled a new, smaller table close to the body and removed the cloth covering it. There was Ember’s head. But it had been altered. The chocolate-brown hair was now jet-black with a white streak running through it that looked like Rune’s. The curls were stiff and wiry, and they stood straight up from the crown of her head.
The doctor picked up the head and attached it to the body, tightening it in place with heavy screws at the neck; then he snapped thick gorgets in place to hold it on. “There now,” the doctor said, finishing up. “I believe she’s finished at last. Shall we try a test run?”
The doctor headed over to a wall of knobs and threw a lever. Witchlight sparked and crackled in the lights over the table, the metallic bindings holding her limbs, the screws at her neck, and in the doctor’s control panel. The woman’s eyes opened. Electric lights buzzed in aftershocks, arcing between the metal plates of her body.
Her exposed skin was chalky and green-tinged. Gone was the soft, sweet witch. In her place was a manicured figurine, made a half foot taller by new, longer legs and heavy boots. She sat up, the sheet falling away, and lifted robotic hands to the lantern.
Tilting her head, her rounded mouth moved over straight, white teeth and she said, “For me?”
“Yes,” the doctor replied with a too-enthusiastic nod. “He’s for you.”
The girl stumbled closer to Jack and reached for his pumpkin head, bumping against it clumsily. The pumpkin rolled off the neck stump and fell hard to the tiled floor, splitting open and spilling seeds and mashed orange flesh.
“Oh dear.” The doctor eyed the scene. “What a terrible mess.” He turned back to the girl, who now hung her head in shame. “Not to worry, my pet. I’ll simply have to make you another one. Yegor!” the doctor called.
The servant entered. “Yes, Doctor?” he asked.
“Bring in the next subject, won’t you?”
He disappeared momentarily and then returned, dragging in a kicking and screaming boy with a shock of red hair. When the boy saw the smashed pumpkin, he screamed.
Jack woke up, surprised to see he was in human form. His skin was covered with dew, and he breathed rapidly. It was rare for him to dream at all and nightmares never plagued him. He was the thing that haunted others. It was unnerving after all these years to experience a dream so disturbing and so vivid.
Yegor knocked, bringing in their breakfast trays on a rumbling cart that rolled in by itself. Dev was quick to explain to him that they would prefer to remain Dr. Farragut’s guests rather than his prisoners. Finney asked if the doctor’s offer to tour his laboratory was still on the table.
It wasn’t long until Yegor returned. They were to be shown all the doctor’s hospitality, with the understanding that they were not to attempt to enter locked rooms or try to escape. Both Finney and Ember were to be escorted to the doctor’s lab just before luncheon for a brief tour.
When the servant departed, Dev turned to Jack. “You look like the very devil.”
“I had a nightmare,” Jack replied.
“Strange. A lantern haunted by the specter of sleep.” He eyed Jack. “Well, since the traces of your demons still mark your face, I’d suggest a vigorous scrubbing.”
Deverell, of course, was already dressed in a riding jacket, boots, and breeches. As far as Jack knew, there wasn’t a horse anywhere on the island. Dev pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and consulted the dial.
“Best you get a move on, then. If we’re going to get out of this mess, I’ll need the abilities of a lantern.”
Jack frowned, wondering who had put the too-handsome vampire in charge. When he headed to the washroom, Jack wrinkled his nose in distaste. The room was as florid as Dev, more suited to design than function.
He could still hear the witches singing in his mind. Deeper and deeper the melody wormed, twisting and writhing, burrowing and nibbling. Trouble, rubble, double, stubble, they chanted as he shaved. The intonation grew louder, until he felt the walls around him tremble in time with the song.
When it became overwhelming, he summoned all the light within him and sent it out in a burst, shouting, “Stop!”
Abruptly, the pain vanished, along with the lurid sound of the witches. He wondered if kissing Ember and daring to think they might find a way to be together was causing a wrinkle in the order of things.
Once he was presentable, he emerged to discover that Finney had already been collected and Graydon had left before that. Dev seemed content to wait for Jack, and together the two of them left their room, heading down to the library.
Once there, Dev pulled out a book, and examining the title, he murmured softly, “Best use your prodigious talent to check the locked rooms while you can. I’ll cover for you.”
Jack grunted and glanced around. He was about to turn to fog when Dev added, “And don’t think I missed your departure last night, or the duration of your absence.”
Choosing not to respond, Jack simply melted into fog and crept through the quiet-as-a-tombstone house looking for an escape for all of them.
* * *
* * *
Finney and Ember were escorted down to Dr. Farragut’s laboratory. It was down many flights, and the deeper they descended, the more mottled and uneven the steps.
Finally, they came upon an iron door and Yegor inserted a key with an interesting series of gaps in the teeth that looked like the pumpkin’s carved face. The orb had stayed with Finney, a thing Jack didn’t mind, especially knowing that Ember would be with him.
The lab was as different from the pitted stone steps as sunlight was from a smoking torch. The doctor’s workplace was as pristine and orderly a sight as Ember had ever seen. The first room held rows and rows of plants, all growing under different colors of light. Ember recognized one with the icy blue glow of witchlight. She guessed the white light must be lantern light. Then there were purple, green, and even red.
She wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell, Finney?”
His nostrils flared as he paused from scratching notes. “I cannot be certain,” he said, “but the odor is reminiscent of petrichor. Petrichor and…and coffee.”
“That’s mocha, to be exact,” a voice behind them said. The doctor emerged from behind a curtain. He wore thick leather gloves, polished to a sheen. He lifted his goggles onto his forehead and adjusted his white coat. “Salutations, my young friends,” the doctor said as a second, large man parted the curtain behind him.
Ember’s face brightened. “Frank!” she said. “How lovely to see you.”
The big man’s oblong face colored, his cheeks turning a darker shade of green. He inclined his head politely. “Miss,” he said, and touched his fingertips to the bolts at his neck. They came away greasy with black oil. Frank rubbed his stubby fingers together and the doctor handed him a towel.
“Frank’s just been in for a checkup. I’m happy to report he is in top working order. Though you shouldn’t forget my offer to switch in some upgrades when you’re ready,” the doctor said amiably. He turned to Finney and Ember. “I’m just obsessed with what makes him tick.” He then giggled gleefully at his own joke.
“Dr. Farragut,” Ember began.
“Please, call me Monroe,” the doctor said, removing his gloves.
She waved her hand at the wide variety of plants. “Are you an herbalist as well?” she asked. “You certainly have a lot of plants used in witches’ spells.”
“Ah, I dabble, I dabble. But, practically speaking, I’m actually more of a horologist.” He stepped closer and dug around the base of the plants they’d just been looking at, then clucked his tongue. “Oh dear. These lovely tattooed goutweed plants were thriving with vitality yesterday. I’m afraid they’re now sunburned.”
“Sunburned?” Finney said. “How can that be, seeing they’re growing underground?”
“Things are not always as they seem, are they, young man?” He clapped his hands together, suddenly distracted. “Now, where should we begin? What are your interests? Canine? Fauna? Flora? Spells? Automaton? Clockwork?”
“I don’t know about canine,” Finney said. “Unless by canine you mean werewolves. I’m wildly curious about that species—er, race. Ember is learning about spells and witch power and I’m building an automaton of my own.”
“Yes,” the doctor said. “You mentioned that. I’d love to take a look at your sketches, primitive as they may be.”
Finney opened a page in his notebook, and the doctor pushed up his glasses and peered at it, then wet his thumb and turned to the next one.
“Promising, promising,” he said.
“I’ve also dabbled in weapons-making,” Finney said, barely containing his enthusiasm. “I’ve an idea for a tiny gun you hide in your waistcoat. You disguise it as a flower, and it fires a spell when you touch a button.”
“Fires a spell, you say?”
“Oh, yes,” Ember quickly added. “He’s made me a lovely pair of guns. Unfortunately, we used up all our spells during the ghost storm.”
“Are you saying you disabled the ghosts using your weapons?”
“No. It wasn’t as effective as we’d hoped,” Finney explained. “We ran out of ammunition, and Ember ended up taking care of them herself with her witch power.”
“All of them?” The doctor’s eyebrows shot up.
“Mostly,” Ember said.
“You will have to tell me all about that, dear. I’ve never heard of a witch obliterating that many ghosts.”
“I didn’t obliterate them, exactly,” Ember said.
“My, my,” the doctor said. “We are full of surprises then, aren’t we? Tell me…Finney, is it?” The boy nodded. “Have you heard of the Prague astronomical clock?”
Finney shook his head, his ginger hair falling over his eyes.
“It exists in your world. Once I came upon a brilliant clockmaker, and we spent many long weeks together discussing the origins of the universe, the fundamentals of time, and the movement of the planets. He determined that a clock could be made that would show these functions.
“I stayed on for a time to help him in his work. It took him many years of his too-short life, and when he was done, I returned to celebrate its revealing. It was a masterpiece. The device was way ahead of its time, but there was something missing—the Otherworld. I added a small ring, a countdown, if you will.”
“A countdown to what?” Finney asked.
“Ah, you do ask the right questions. Unfortunately, the clockmaker was not at all happy once he figured out what it meant. My name was maligned, and the next time I visited, they’d added statues of apostles and depicted me as the devil. Me! Can you imagine?”
Ember swallowed and glanced at Finney, whose mouth was hanging open.
“The point of my story, lad,” he said as he put his arm around Finney, “is that often those who are the most brilliant—men who wish to help others and make the world a better place to live for the sad, little beings that inhabit it—are often those who either toil unseen or are branded as diabolical. The line between greatness and villainy is as thin as a garrote wire. Men like you and I are anvils. Other men are shaped and sharpened on our sturdy backs. We don’t break beneath the blacksmith’s hammer, and we don’t bend beneath the forge fire’s breath. Will you remember that, Finney?”
“Y-yes, sir,” Finney said.
“Ve
ry good.” The doctor grinned. “Now let me show you the most extraordinary plant. I’m quite proud of this one.”
“It’s a fern,” Ember said.
“Precisely,” the doctor said. “But consider, if you will, the profusion of seeds growing in clusters beneath the leaves.”
Ember reacted with skepticism. “But ferns don’t have seeds.”
“This one does.” The doctor’s enthusiasm was almost infectious. “What’s more, its seeds grant invisibility. Isn’t that miraculous?” he asked.
“Are you certain?” Finney asked. “Have you done trials?”
“Oh, yes. Yegor was my first triumph. Of course, there were many gruesome failures before him. I’m afraid I’m quite impulsive when it comes to experimentation.”
“Wait. Are you saying Yegor is…”
The doctor nodded. “He’s an invisible man! That’s the reason he wears so many layers.”
“But I’ve seen part of his face and his eyes,” Ember said.
“He coats his face with a special powder when he must meet the public. He’s rather grim-faced about it, if you’ll pardon the phrase. It flakes terribly, and his pores become inflamed as a result. I’m afraid his vision loss was a side effect of the elixir, so his eyes are clockwork. But he does still bear the semblance of a man, which is the least I could do for him in exchange for his cooperation.”
Ember reached for Finney’s hand and the boy took it, needing as much comfort from her as she did from him. There was a crazed light in the doctor’s face, a barbarous mendacity. They would have to proceed very, very carefully.
“Doctor?” Ember started. “I mean, Monroe?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Might Finney and I collect some of your herbs and brew spells to replace what we lost?”
“Of course you may,” he replied courteously. “In fact…” He went to a corner and opened a closet. Several brooms and mops fell to the floor. He shoved them aside and pulled out a witch’s cauldron, setting it atop a panel. “Just flip this switch here and the witchlight running through it will heat the contents of your potions.” He glanced around. “Do be careful of the plants beneath the red light,” he said. “They’re not thriving as I’d like.”