“I’ve nothing to keep them here,” he says, rubbing his temple. “If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll carry Carolina home.”
My eyes drift back to the house. “We’ll solve that problem later. How do we get in?” I ask, walking up to the high gates. On either side of the twisting metal is a wall twice my height. This house was clearly designed for privacy.
As soon as I have spoken the words the gates sweep open, beckoning us inside.
“How is that possible?” Eddie asks, his face paling as he watches the gates move by themselves.
“Anything is possible,” I mutter and start forward.
Nobody ventures out to greet us so the three of us walk up the stone steps and through the unlocked door. As soon as I step a foot across the threshold, the gates swing shut.
“I have the distinct feeling that getting out is going to be a hundred times harder than getting in,” Joel says. I hate to agree with him.
When we enter the house we find it completely dark. If I didn’t know better I’d think no one was here. I take out one of the Illuminum devices my father invented and light fills the hallway we’re stood in. Beside me is a coatrack, metal and spindly, and for a brief moment I consider how wonderfully it would work as a weapon before I note a number of walking sticks—one of which is made entirely of metal. Without really thinking about it, it’s in my hand and I’m striding forward and into the seemingly lonely house.
Joel and Eddie are alert at my sides, quietly moving through the lower floor. Nothing. We venture upstairs only to find the second floor as empty as the first.
“This isn’t right,” Joel whispers.
Eddie asks, “Is there a basement? There’s always a basement in these sorts of houses, isn’t there?”
I look at Joel and he shrugs. “It’s the best idea we have.”
We discover a door that conceals a set of descending stone steps in the kitchen, and an unspoken message sends us down them, Joel first, me in the middle, and Eddie at the rear. I grip the metal walking stick and ready myself to use it. I’ve never used a weapon before; the thought of it makes me nauseated.
The basement is dark, but The Illuminum allows us to see that it runs below the entire house. In the very far corner, under a spot of light, is a chair. Tied to it and half in shadows is Carolina. I can’t tell if she’s awake or unconscious from this distance but at least she’s here. I only pray we’re not too late; that she still lives.
The light is wrenched from my hand without warning, the metal edge of the cylinder cutting open my palm. I grit my teeth against the bite of pain and raise the walking stick in my other, suddenly unsteady, hand.
“I would not if I were you, Branwell,” says a man, amusement curled around his words.
Joel tenses beside me, waiting to strike.
“How do you know me?” I ask through gritted teeth. I need to cling to my anger—otherwise I will dissolve into fear and uselessness. My cousin needs me. I can’t tremble, can’t crumple.
“I know all about your family. I was a good friend of your father’s.” The light throws disturbing shadows from the man’s face. He smiles, slow and self-satisfied and I know in an instant that this is the man responsible for my father’s death. Vomit rises in my throat. Whether he poisoned him with his own hand or made someone else do it, he killed my father. “You did very well bringing me the Lux,” he continues. “I hadn’t known if you would or if you’d try to trick me.”
“What—” Eddie begins but I silence with a hand on his elbow. He’s shaking as much as I am, though I suspect with anger.
This man, this Adam Morelock, doesn’t know what the Lux looks like. He thinks he has it in his hand instead of a simple light.
“I was not given much of a choice,” I say, and the tremor in my voice makes it all the more convincing. “And now you have what you want. So we will be taking Carolina.”
Morelock laughs. “Highly unlikely. Tell me, how did the Lady know of this place?”
I wish I knew. “She read about it in my father’s journal,” I reply, my heart speeding as I scramble to concoct a lie.
“Ah. Those dreaded books.” He laughs pleasantly, as if he’s chatting with old friends. “I should have known you’d have them when my men couldn’t turn them up.”
Anger burns in me. I speak without thinking. “Did you kill him?”
“Goodness, no. That request came from higher up.”
“Higher up?” Eddie’s voice is hard—volatile. “You’re not the leader of this group then? What are you—a servant?”
Morelock’s eyes narrow dangerously at Eddie, but he addresses me. “I’d keep your staff in line if I were you, Branwell.”
I snap my jaw shut on a retort. We weren’t meant to speak to this man; we were supposed to save Carolina and abscond as fast as our legs could carry us. But here he is, attempting to make polite conversation. “What do you want?” I seethe. If I thought I could run across the room and reach Carolina before he caught me, I would. But I’m out of options and ideas.
“Right now?” He pauses to consider the question. “To do this.”
A gold glint in his hand is the only warning before Morelock shoots Joel. Joel falls with an anguished cry and a meaty thud. I want to kneel beside him and see that the shot is not fatal but I can’t. Eddie will take care of Joel. Energy buzzes through me—anger, adrenaline, urgency.
My hand moves as if it has its own brain, its own will, and my body follows just as quickly. The cane in my fist bashes Morelock’s head before he has a chance to process it, caught up as he is in his self-satisfaction over having hurt one of my companions. He stumbles backwards, dizzy. I lash out again, this time in tentative control of my movement and panicky, breathing short. Morelock’s hand catches the end of the stick; my body strains as he pulls it away from me. For a second I wonder where he’s put the light he thinks is the Lux, but then I realise it’s in his other hand and he has thrown his gun to the floor.
He has thrown his gun to the floor.
Eddie is faster than I am, darting for the golden gun at the same time Morelock launches himself across the floor towards it. I manage to wrangle the walking stick back to my hand while his attention is diverted, and with a trembling hand strike Morelock on his shoulder, giving Eddie the chance to take hold of the gun. Morelock changes course, fury etched on his lean face as he dives toward me, a hand looking to curl around my throat—but he comes face to face with a golden barrel before he gets the chance.
Between Eddie and myself, we drive Morelock into a corner, and I pick up The Illuminum as we go. If Morelock is planning anything, the dark will only aid him in injuring us. He backs away slowly until his body hits the wall, and then he laughs; a sharp, chilling thing that goes straight through me.
My eyes scream as blinding light blurs out the space. All I can see now is white.
I grasp for the wall, clutching to stay upright. Why am I unsteady on my feet? Why have my hands stopped trembling? Why am I sliding down the wall? I feel disconnected from my body, my mind apart from it until I hit the floor and the impact jars me back to myself. I’m hurt—I’ve been hurt—shot? A searing pain charges through my shoulder and all the way down my arm and I scream.
I clutch my shoulder, still unable to see through the paralysing white light. My hands come away wet. I’m bleeding.
My head fogs again, stuffed full of cotton wool instead of thoughts and reasoning.
The white light fades to its original dimness and someone drops to my side. I don’t attempt to fight them off. The pain has my entire attention. There’s a ripping sound and then the agony and heat in my shoulder spike and I cry out again.
“Am I dying?” I moan to no one in particular.
“Not if I can help it,” replies Eddie. I lean towards his voice but the pressure of his hands vanishes and I slump to the ground. I lay my head back against the stone and forget all about him. In the back of my consciousness I can hear a struggle and shouting. And then I hear
a feminine scream that cuts through every slow thought.
Benny, I think. That’s my sister! I push myself as hard as I can off of the floor and get my knees underneath me. For a second I think I will be able to stand but I greet the ground face first. The floor is wet. Too wet for damp, some part of my brain infers, and I decide that the basement must have a leak because there’s a pool of water under my body.
Slowly and bit by bit, the room comes into focus. It’s still difficult to see anything but there’s an area of light at the far side of the basement. Joel is on his feet, grappling with Morelock while Eddie attempts to free Carolina. Carolina. That’s whose scream I heard. My sister is at home, safe, but Carolina is here, very much in danger.
Eddie helps Carolina out of her bindings, holding onto the rope. He leads her across the floor, towards me and the steps to safety. Behind him Morelock and Joel are a blur of action. My eyes alternate between in-focus and out-of-focus, most things just colours and shapes, but I can tell that Carolina is getting closer to me.
“Branwell!” she whispers, falling beside me. “Oh God, Bran!”
I can’t think of a single thing to say so I just watch the menagerie of colour and shape. My breath collects in my throat as the dark form of Morelock forces Joel’s body into the brick wall. Joel sinks down it, lying still at the bottom.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Eddie is saying to Carolina while the darkness that is Morelock slinks across the room. The metal cane I had earlier is in his hand—for a split second, the man is in incredible focus but then he’s a shadow shifting through the dimness again. His shadow lashes out at Eddie with such a force that it knocks him over. I close my eyes. I can’t watch any more. I focus, once again, on the pain—the curse that is surging through my body is enough to take the rest of the basement, the rest of the world, away.
We’re dead, I know. Morelock will not stop with Eddie and Joel. He has what he thinks is the Lux now; what use are we to him?
A strangled sound rips through the room, followed by a gasp, and I drag my eyes open. Behind Carolina—who somehow has her hands on the gun-like device from my coat pocket—is Morelock. He’s struggling, grasping with his hands at a rope around his neck. A rope is strangling him! Muddy hope moves through me.
Morelock’s struggling increases and then all at once he is still. His body drops to the ground.
“Go,” a voice cuts through the sudden silence. It’s not Morelock; it’s distantly familiar and it’s filled with fury and pain and passion. Where Morelock formerly stood is a man dressed in blurs of brown. His hair is golden and lit up by lantern light. Where did the light come from?
“Go, Carolina. For God’s sake, get out of here!”
“But …” she feebly replies. Her voice catches. I can’t make out her features; she’s just a mass of brilliant blue in my narrowing vision. Midnight blue, Bennet would call it. For a second Carolina stands frozen and then, faster than my eyes can track the movement, blue meets brown and she’s crying great echoing sobs. “I didn’t think—you’d be—able to find me. I thought you—you wouldn’t know. I thought—I thought you wouldn’t come.”
“Oh, Cara,” the man replies. His voice is thick with tears. I know him suddenly, but I can’t find his name. “I will always come for you. Always.”
The colours are blurring into one, much like my thoughts. The world is all movement and darkness and light and then my eyes slide shut again.
***
Bennet
23:44. 29.09.1878. London.
Weight presses on my chest, bending bones and lungs within, and I can’t breathe. Nobody can tell me how long my brother, Carolina, her driver, Joel, and Eddie have been gone. I’ve been pacing, frantically coming up with options for where they may have gone, snapping at my only friends for no real reason, for over an hour. Edward, Eddie’s father, has taken one of the horses out to see if any of our neighbours or friends have seen them, but I don’t expect him to turn anything up. Whatever it is that has sent them out of the house is most likely dangerous and completely rash. I’d be furious if I weren’t so worried.
Florence paces the halls, murmuring a prayer in Spanish under her breath, and Nancy is gripping her rosary beads. I stand in the main doorway despite the many protests for me to come back inside. I’m of half a mind to go racing out into the night myself, but only the fact that Bran and Carolina and Joel could come back while I’m gone keeps me here.
After a while, Edward returns with no news of their whereabouts as I expected, but he did find out that our closest neighbours noticed Carolina’s carriage travelling in the direction of the city at around six this evening. She’s been gone almost six hours and we have no way of knowing where she is or if she’s safe. My guess is the men went out after her in some gallant attempt at a rescue.
I wish I knew where they had gone so we could send help.
I wish they’d bothered to tell me.
Why would they do something so dangerous? My brother I can fully understand—he has a thoughtless, questioning nature—but Joel? I had thought he possessed some sense. I can almost forgive Eddie for leaving; he’s a man who can handle any kind of situation. I can almost forgive him. But Carolina! I cannot string enough words together to form a coherent thought about Carolina.
I’m so worried it stabs at my heart and rations my breath.
We wait. After ten minutes, the entire household is stood with me on the front steps.
“Can you hear that?” Edward asks, descending the steps. “Carriage wheels, I swear.”
“I don’t hear owt,” Nancy replies, squinting into the night.
I want to see something, hear something, anything to give me hope that Edward is right—but my heart is convinced my friends and family are gone for good. Nevertheless, Edward rushes off down the driveway, and when Nancy and the others follow him I go after them. My feet pound against the gravel harder than I’ve run in my life and only now do I realise how desperate I am for Edward to have heard correctly. I need there to be a carriage coming up the road with my brother, cousin, and our friends in it.
What actually meets us outside the gates gives me pause. There isn’t one carriage rattling up the stretch of road, but three. I pray to God that Bran is inside one of them. When they ride past our gateway, I don’t recognise any of the coachmen; it only serves to heighten my anxiety. But then the first carriage doors open and Carolina comes rushing towards me. Bruised and dishevelled but alive. She embraces me tightly; I cling to her dress.
“Branwell is hurt,” she whispers and my heart falls out of my chest.
I pull back, scanning the alighted carriages, the men pouring out into our courtyard. “Where is he? Where is my brother?” I push my way to the carriages where Edward is aiding his son. Eddie’s white shirt is dotted with a large amount of red and my head spins. I force myself forward on unsteady legs, the world swaying.
“Where is he?” I demand of nobody and everybody. “Where is my brother?”
Arms catch me and hold me back. I fight against them, my arms straining and my legs kicking. “He’s going to be alright,” says the person who caught me.
The words knock the breath out of me. I stare up at hazel eyes and golden hair, not understanding. “Jeremy …” I shake my head but it doesn’t help clear it. “What are you doing here?”
“Come on, Benny,” he says wearily. “Carolina and I will take you inside.”
Dizziness comes over me so fast. “No, I … I need to stay with Bran. Bran needs me. Where is he?” I squirm my way out of his grip, rushing towards the carriages where my brother is surely being kept away from me. Why are they keeping him from me?
“Bennet,” Carolina cries but I don’t know why she’s saying it in that tone. I only want to see my brother.
And there he is, held up by Francis and a stranger. Why is there a stranger holding my brother? He should be with me. I am his sister! Jeremy’s arms surround me again, pinning my own arms to my sides, attempting to pull me
away—but I plant my feet. I’m unmoving. I am a bronze statue.
I stare at my brother, his pale face, the blood soaked through his shirt and dripping to the ground. Jeremy attempts to pull me away again but I faint before he can guide my feet towards the house.
08:52. 30.09.1878. London.
By the time I wake, Jeremy and Carolina have taken over everything in the house and insist that I wash and dress myself and eat breakfast before I see my brother. If it wasn’t for Jeremy’s anxious gaze following me and the cuts on Carolina’s face, I might have ignored their wishes—but I can’t refuse them when they look so concerned. It doesn’t stop me plotting the quickest route to my brother, though.
“There was a man who contacted Bran,” Jeremy tells us as he pours himself a cup of strong-looking tea. “He gave him a ransom—the Lux in exchange for Carolina’s life.” He sets the teapot down a little too hard. “Thankfully he was unaware that Bran wasn’t in possession of it, and when he showed up with that strange Illuminum device, Morelock assumed that was the Lux at work. If he’d known what he held wasn’t the Lux … I fear we might not have gotten away without more fatalities.”
“But everyone’s alright?” I ask in a breath of a voice. “What about Joel and Eddie? Oh Lord, I completely forgot about them. I was so focused on Bran because of all the blood, but Eddie and—Joel—Joel could be—”
Dead—he could be dead. And I forgot about him.
“Bennet,” Jeremy says gently. I go absolutely still, my breath catching in the back of my throat. “They returned very much alive.”
I can breathe.
“They’re injured, but they’ll heal,” Carolina tells me. “I can’t say the same for my driver, however. Poor man.”
Jeremy reaches over to pat his wife’s hand. “As far as I can gather, this Morelock is the head of the London Olympiae but he’s not, in fact, in control of the entire organisation—he only acts like he is. He has ideas above his station, William would have said.”
He pours Carolina another cup of tea even though she hasn’t finished the first. “Regardless of his standing, he sent your brother a message ordering him to bring the device, and that tells us a great deal about the Olympiae that you have seen and met. It tells us that they are only a minor part of the greater Olympiae Club.”