House of Furies
Cupboards opened and closed in a flurry. I could hardly track Mary as she bounced around the kitchen gathering up tiny bottles and wooden boxes into her arms. While she busied herself in the kitchen, I glanced around for any usable cosmetics. There was nothing but books and a globe and a few framed drawings to be found. “Ah! We can see to that. Silly man. He has almost everything I need right here . . . moonwort, pigeon leaf, even baltian violets. And here I thought Giles was a hopeless gardener.”
“I’m not sure I know what any of those are.”
“You wouldn’t. Some of these will only grow in certain soils during certain phases of the moon and wilt from the touch of humans and animals. Moonwort only grows in land fed by the corpse of a fairy,” Mary explained. She opened all of the tins and bottles she had collected and began stirring in different measures of each into a miniature cauldron on the stove. She added water from the kettle and a few glugs from what looked like a wine carafe. At once, a delicious and florid scent poured out from the archway. Francis the tabby flipped onto his stomach and arched his back, sniffing. “I’m not all that talented at restoratives, but I try to listen when Mrs. Haylam teaches Poppy.”
She brought me an engraved cup filled to the brim with steaming hot liquid. I put my nose into the vapor and inhaled deeply, my stomach growling from the smell. It was like buttermilk infused with violets, or the perfume of baked bread wafting through a field of flowers.
Giles St. Giles burst through the door to the cellar, a jar of ugly black leeches tucked under his arm. His face fell after catching a whiff of the concoction in my hands.
“Mary, you scamp, you sent me on a useless errand. Thought I might give her a leeching. Practically any of life’s ailments can be cured with a good leeching. Except anemia, obviously.” He laughed as if this was the funniest joke ever told.
“I think we might skip the leeches tonight, Giles. She’s been through enough already.”
“Misunderstood creatures,” he moaned, lifting up the jar and stroking it. “They simply want to help.”
As they talked, I sipped the sweet, thick restorative, warmth spreading through my body, all the way down to my toes. The ache in my throat and head eased, as if the pain were being drawn out of me like poison from a bite. I might have fallen asleep right there in the comfortable chair near the fire, but Chijioke peered into the parlor, pulling off his scarf and stamping his feet.
“Do any of you bother to knock?” Giles asked with a frown.
“Apologies.” Chijioke did not look in the mood for an argument, going directly to the fire and holding his palms to it. Francis arched against the thick fabric of his trousers. But he ignored the cat, pulling off his coat and turning to the undertaker with a grim expression. Maybe it was a trick of the firelight, but his eyes flared crimson. “The bodies are below, Giles. We should get started. The blood moon is full and their souls are viler than most and I want to be rid of them for good.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The cellar was cool and smelled of wet stones, and two dead bodies lay naked and washed on the table.
The scene playing out before me had the hazy quality of a dream. I drank the hot restorative and huddled under my patchwork blanket and looked openly at the face of the man who had tried to kill me. Well, what was left of his face.
My foot tapped anxiously under the blanket. I needed Lee to listen to me without worrying, and that would not happen without the creams and tinctures to cover up the last visible evidence of Merriman’s attack. Unlike the sitting room upstairs, this chamber was packed with chemicals of all kinds, and I squinted, trying to find promising labels on the tins stacked throughout the place. Many of the chemicals just seemed like various perfumes to cover up the smell of rot on the bodies. Chijioke made another trip upstairs, then reappeared with the undertaker, who nattered on constantly about his new competition in Malton. Two doves cooed softly in a cage carried by Chijioke, though the birds quieted when they were brought to the table with the corpses and the cage placed there. To my right, high wooden shelves lined the wall, hundreds of tools, knives, shovels, and odd medical devices heaped in glistening rows. As upstairs, the whole room smelled faintly of vinegar.
There were two entrances to the cellar, one from the stairwell I had used and the other from a tall, wide set of doors in an alcove behind the bodies. Scuff marks and a trickling of dirt led from those doors to the table. Chijioke must have unloaded the bodies through that back entrance.
Mary hummed as she set out a few candles around the tall, sturdy table with the bodies. Her gaze flitted to me more than was strictly necessary.
“I can hardly feel the blows now,” I told her, ducking down behind the drink. I needed to get out of there, but giving all three of them the slip right that minute, when their concern was fixed so intently upon me, felt impossible.
“You’re strong,” Mary replied, pausing with a lit candle in hand. Some of the black wax dripped onto her skin and she hissed, shaking out her fingers and then blowing on them. “I wouldn’t have recovered as quickly.”
“In the last week, I’ve been attacked by shadows, a flock of birds, and a madman who ate his own daughter. I wouldn’t call it strength so much as self-preservation. If I examine it all too closely, I’ll wind up like those murderers on the table.”
Mary smirked and placed the last candle, then wiped her hands on her skirts. “Still.”
The undertaker loped around the room, dousing any candle that wasn’t black. The flames dancing around the dead bodies burned bright purple with scarlet cores. Chijioke positioned himself between the two corpses and opened the birdcage. Neither of the doves took their chance at freedom. I couldn’t blame them; the room was cold and unwelcoming, the reddish-purple flames glowing like unholy eyes in the gloom. Giles St. Giles disappeared behind the stool I sat on, rounding the corner into a little alcove separated from the larger cellar by a curtain. There was silence for a moment, and then the metallic squeal of gears grinding together, an ancient mechanism coming to life and churning. I could hear him start to pant, and pictured him laboring against a massive crank. One could all but follow the pipes and shafts that made up the machine overhead. I saw a few wheels turning, and then a trapdoor I hadn’t seen before opened right over Chijioke and the table.
It did not lead above to the sitting room but straight up to the sky, flooding the cellar with scarlet moonlight.
I gasped and hunkered down farther under the blanket. It was beautiful and strange, the corpses on the table all but glowing with the intensity of that light. The screeching and churning of the machine ended, and a loud thud echoed around us as the skylight locked into position. Giles St. Giles joined us again, coming to sit on the empty chair beside me. He dropped down into it with a whoosh of excitement and slapped his hands together, rubbing them.
“My child, have you seen a ferrying before?” he whispered, as if we were about to be in for a night at the theater.
“She’s very new to all of this,” Mary explained. “Perhaps this will be too much.”
Yes, perfect. I nodded in vehement agreement, even beginning to rise out of my seat. This was my chance to run. But Giles clapped a hand over my arm, tugging me back down again.
“Tosh! There is nothing more beautiful, more breathtaking than the ferrying of souls. Why, she should feel honored to witness it. Privileged. And so soon after arriving at Coldthistle! I was a trusted servant of Mr. Morningside for ten years before I was ever invited to spectate. Consider yourself beyond fortunate, young—”
“Oh shut it, Giles; all this bickering is distracting,” Chijioke muttered, pushing up his sleeves and pinching his nose.
Mary came to stand on my other side, placing a gentle, comforting hand on my shoulder while Chijioke inhaled deeply and dropped his head back so he could look at the ceiling.
“When I tell you to shut your eyes and mouth,” he said in a low rumble, “do it.”
He himself closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he open
ed them again they glowed red all around, like rubies lit from within. At once, the atmosphere in the room became close, a tightness rising sharp and sudden in my chest. Mary held my shoulder more firmly, as if to anchor me there to the chair. The very air itself began to hum, a silvery miasma drifting up from the floor and gathering around Chijioke until he wore a shroud of mist.
The chill in the cellar dissipated, replaced with a wet warmth, like the first droplets of summer rain, and Chijioke began to mouth a chant of some kind. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could feel their power growing, growing, until the heat in the room was almost unbearable and the swirling fog wrapped around him like a cocoon, obscuring everything but his glowing red eyes.
Hotter, hotter, and louder, somehow, a distant thunder that felt like a heartbeat filling the space around us. The doves in the cage began to hop on their perches and trill, turning this way and that as if the life was being squeezed out of them. It was becoming difficult to breathe. I held the cup of tea with one hand and touched my throat with the other. As a child I had fallen and knocked the wind out of my lungs many times, and this was similar, only it happened slowly, a deep exhalation I had no control over.
Then nothing was happening slowly—the doves flew out of the cage, just barely visible in the mist, two quick white smudges, and the bodies on the table convulsed, their chests lifting, both pairs of eyes snapping open, filled with horrible crimson fire.
The doves landed, perching on the bruised flesh of the doctor’s chin and the widow’s perfect white face, leaning down and dipping their beaks into their dead mouths like they were sipping nectar from flower blossoms. The instinct telling me to look away was not as strong as the raw curiosity. It was awful, sick, and yet somehow beautiful, so intricately choreographed, a sinister ballet playing out in front of my eyes.
Rapt as I was, I only then realized how short of breath I had become. Mary and Gile, too, were gasping, taking quick, shallow breaths to combat the pressure squeezing us all. Chijioke remained unaffected, chanting silently, the mist close around him falling away as the eyes of the widow and doctor ceased glowing, flaring out in the same instant the birds’ eyes exploded in color.
I was choking. We all were. My lungs ached, starved for air.
“Close your eyes and seal your lips!” Chijioke’s voice sliced through the heavy atmosphere like steel. I did as he asked at once and felt the pain in my chest ease. Whispers filled the room, a hundred voices, a thousand, and all of them urging me to open my eyes and drink deep of the air with my mouth. I clamped my lips together tightly, scrunching up my face, ignoring the seductive voices, the coercion, the disembodied giggles and coos surrounding us. Did the others hear it, too? Did they dare disobey Chijioke’s order?
As quickly as it had commenced, the ritual was over. A single wind rushed over me, fluttering the blanket and my hair, and then the room was still and silent and cold.
“It’s done. You can open your eyes.”
I peered through a squint, finding the doves had returned to the cage. They preened as normal birds would, though I thought I saw a twinge of red fading in their eyes.
“What . . . What did you do to them?” I whispered.
“They can hold on to a soul and keep it safe,” Mary explained. “Like wee living vaults.”
The birds . . . I thought of the hundreds of them Mr. Morningside kept in the manse. Were those all holding captured souls, or were they simply empty vessels waiting to be filled? What need did a single man have of birds stuffed with human souls? A dark, dark feeling consumed me, one of foreboding and sickness. Those birds sitting passively in his office no longer seemed a charming quirk but a harbinger. I shuddered, pulling the blanket close against the returned chill. The candles had gone out. The mist abated. I glanced to my right and saw Giles with his hands clasped together under his chin, grinning from ear to ear.
“Spectacular,” he whispered, flushed. “Pure magnificence.”
In a way, I had to agree. I wasn’t certain what I had witnessed, only that it was mesmerizing. He was bringing his hands together for applause when a noise from upstairs startled us all. It was the door, and someone was knocking frantically. I hopped up from the chair, leaving my cup behind on the stool and starting for the stairs. Chijioke beat me there, heading up first.
“At least somebody bloody knocks,” I heard Giles mutter, following.
“It could be Lee,” I said. It was a short journey up to the first level and the warm salon. Francis was still lounging by the fire and didn’t lift his head as we passed by. “He knows I came along.”
“Hmm.” Chijioke led us swiftly through the maze of halls to the front passage and all its family portraits. “It’s a good thing he didn’t turn up a half minute sooner.”
“What happens if you’re interrupted?” I asked, waiting behind the door with him. The others were crammed in behind us, Mary trying to peek over my shoulder.
Chijioke looked back and down at me, smirking. “I haven’t a clue. Not keen to find out either, lass.” He leaned into the door, watching through the glass peephole. “Seems you were right. It’s the Brimble boy.”
“Let me talk to him,” I said. The astonishment of the ferrying and the shock of being attacked dropped away. The exhaustion was there, of course, just beneath the surface, but distant enough that I could shove it aside. And now here was my sometime conspirator, and we were away from Coldthistle House. Now was as good a chance as I might get to mount an escape. I had never found cosmetics, but I would just have to persuade him to leave as best I could.
“Louisa and I will step outside,” Mary said. Her tone was just insistent enough to make me prickle. “The two of you can finish up here, yes?”
But Chijioke wasn’t moving away from the door. The knocking persisted. He stared down at me, arching one quizzical brow. “Haven’t you had enough adventure for one night, Miss Louisa?”
“I only mean to say hello,” I replied. The blanket had slid down to my elbows and I folded it neatly, handing it across to Giles. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Of course,” he said, giving an ostentatious bow. He straightened and stuck one finger into the air. “Next time a leeching, eh? Does wonders for the constitution.”
“Next time,” I echoed. Yes. A leeching. A maypole dance. A swift kick in the head. I would agree to anything so long as it got me out the door.
Chijioke moved aside, slowly, sighing all the way, his displeasure so palpable that I shrank as I went by. Outside, Lee had ceased the knocking, standing back on his heels and inspecting the building as if he might find a window to tap on. He was ready with his usual explosive smile the moment he saw us.
“Thought I saw you all trot in there,” he crowed. “Do you know, there was the most bizarre light flashing out from inside the place. Did you see it?”
“Perhaps it was a carriage passing behind in the alley,” Mary offered. “There’s a back entrance for delivering, well . . . There’s a back entrance.”
“Hmm . . .” The answer didn’t seem to satisfy him, but he was quickly on to the next concern, my bruised face. “Heavens, Louisa, what happened? Every time I see you you’ve incurred some new bump or scrape.”
There was so much I wanted to say, but as before, there was no telling what might endanger Lee to hear. For God’s sake, I just watched a kind, gentle young man transfer a human soul into a bird! I would never be believed. The more mundane cruelty of men, I wagered, was something Lee could understand, and so I glanced at Mary, trying to ask the obvious question with my eyes. She gave a tiny nod.
“Dr. Merriman attacked me on the way over,” I said. “It’s a long and ugly story, but luckily he was not successful. Anyway, we have other things to discuss, Lee.”
“Attacked you!? Is he subdued? I should . . . I say . . . A hundred punishments spring to mind. What possible motivation could he have?” Lee drew closer, closing one eye and examining my right temple. “The lout should rot in prison forever.”
&n
bsp; “He’ll be rotting for about that long in the ground,” I murmured.
“He’s dead?” Lee considered this for a moment, grimacing. “So soon after Mrs. Eames . . .” I could see him working out the implications of this. More guests were dying, which meant he could be next.
“Try not to worry too much,” I assured him. “He was an evil person. A very evil person. Not like you.”
“I should have been there to help you,” Lee said, lowering his eyes. “I should have insisted on having you come in the carriage with us. There was no need for you to suffer like that.”
“I’m all right,” I stated flatly. Dr. Merriman was dead, his vile soul locked in some poor dove’s body, yet we still lived. I wondered if Mary would even mind if I asked her directly to leave us alone. I could cite the shock of being attacked. I could draw on her obvious sympathy. Would she understand if I wanted to leave? It felt wrong to ask, considering she had just saved my life.
“Where do you suppose your uncle is going?” Mary asked, pointing along the road, tracing the trajectory of the tall, cloaked George Bremerton walking briskly to the west. We were on the very edge of town as it was, and it looked as if he stalked away toward nothing but the horizon.
“I can’t believe it.” Lee took a few steps after his uncle. “He wanted me to stay in the inn and threatened to box my ears if I left it. I didn’t realize it was so he could go somewhere without me. This is about my parents; I have a right to know what’s going on . . .”
“Didn’t you say the address in his case was in Derridon?” I couldn’t help but watch with the others. Mr. Morningside had said he didn’t know what to make of Bremerton, but all his doubts seemed silly to me. He was intent on killing the man anyway. Why fuss over the ins and outs of his delinquency?
“Of course, Louisa!” Lee turned back to us, his smile as bold and bright as ever. “Well? Are you not coming along?”
I looked closely at where George Bremerton had gone. The edge of town. We could hail a wagon or simply find a good hiding spot and wait for Mary to get bored of searching. Even if she joined us, it would get her farther away from Chijioke, farther away from alerting him to the fact that we had run off.