A Study in Ashes (13 page)

“You’re betraying him.”

“So will you before the end. That’s how these games work.”

“I don’t play.”

Reading let his breath out in a huff. “Then you’d better get the hell off the board.”

POPPY SLOWED ON
her ascent of the stairs when she heard raised voices. She was on the first landing, and the sound seemed to be coming from her father’s study. Alarm sparked through her, making her tense. One of the speakers was certainly her brother—and he sounded furious.

She hesitated a long moment, foot poised on the next tread, wondering what she should do. Tobias could look after himself, but the emotions in the house tonight were running like riptides, invisible and dangerous. A little reluctantly, she stepped into the hall. She should investigate.

Poppy had barely taken three steps when the study door banged open and the Scarlet King swept out, holding his bird under one arm, as if he’d scooped it up in a hurry. He stopped directly in front of her, his blue eyes wide with anger. “Miss.”

“Sir?” She couldn’t help glancing at the bird, its feet sticking awkwardly into the air. She felt a giggle rising, and she swallowed it down, biting her lips together.

Tobias emerged from the room, his face sharp with tension. “Get the hell away from my sister, Reading.”

The Scarlet King bent down, whispering confidentially, “You have a fool for a brother.”

“Sometimes,” she said, forcing herself not to recoil at the alcoholic tang of Reading’s breath. She knew very well the only reason he was talking to her was to annoy Tobias, who was steaming down on them like an express locomotive.

The Scarlet King slowly grinned, restoring his phoenix to a more dignified position. “Impudent little baggage, aren’t you?”

Poppy didn’t answer, because Tobias was at her side, his features tight. “Go upstairs, Poppy. I’ll come find you in a minute.”

Reading gave her another look, raising one eyebrow. It was a taunt, daring her to disobey. For once, insurrection didn’t tempt her.

“Go.” Tobias gave the man a push from behind and, thankfully, Reading went. Tobias followed, no doubt making sure the Scarlet King went all the way to the curb outside.

Poppy shook out her skirts and hovered in the corridor until they were out of sight, and then she slowly mounted the stairs to Imogen’s room. What exactly had happened between Tobias and the Scarlet King? No one except Mr. Keating had dared to confront the Scarlet King earlier, and yet Tobias had just shown him out of the house. Stranger still, he’d gone without a fight.
Why does that worry me more than anything else?

Because villains only left the scene quietly when they had what they’d come for. What had the Scarlet King wanted? Something to do with Tobias? Or was he still lurking in the shadows, waiting for Imogen to wake up? A nasty feeling, a little like the slime that lurked in drainpipes, crawled through Poppy’s insides. She broke into a run, taking the last few steps in a bound.

When she reached her sister’s bedchamber, Poppy made a circuit of the room, carefully checking to make sure everything was in order. The space was large, really two chambers in one with a sitting room near the door and a large bed in an alcove at the other end. Bed curtains of heavy sky-blue silk were looped to the bedposts, framing Imogen where she lay against the eyelet snow of her pillows.

On the bedside table sat Evelina’s gift to her friend—a little clockwork mouse and a bejeweled brass bird, both barely the size of Poppy’s hand. That, more than anything else, told her that the Scarlet King hadn’t found Imogen’s room. Given his penchant for fancy animal toys, he would have picked them up for a look—and Poppy would know if they had been disturbed.

Her shoulders relaxed, letting go of the tense knot at the back of her neck. She sank into the chair beside Imogen’s bed, grateful for the soft quiet of the room. She could hear
the party below like a distant ocean and she closed her eyes a moment, imagining a safe and distant shore, with water lapping at her feet.

A few minutes later, Tobias joined her. “I guessed you would be with Im. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, not quite ready to come back to the here and now. All at once, she was so tired her hair ribbons ached, and a lump of what might become tears lurked at the back of her throat. “Why were you arguing with Mr. Reading?”

Tobias’s eyes darted to Imogen. “He asked me to do something I didn’t like.”

Whatever it was must have been bad, because the turmoil in his expression made Poppy uneasy. “Did you refuse?”

“Of course.” Tobias ran a hand through his fair hair. “I was offended that he thought I might agree. He must not think much of me.”

She was dying to know what the Scarlet King had asked of her brother, but knew better than to come at the question head on. “Was he angry?”

He gave his head a slight shake. “It wasn’t that straightforward.”

“You should have punched him in the nose,” she said with decision.

That brought a sad, weary smile to his face. Not as good as his old grin, but it was better than nothing.

“Don’t ever change,” he said. “But do be careful.”

She nearly laughed at that—they were mutually exclusive ideas—but nothing in her brother’s voice invited banter. Tobias had changed in the last few years. He was like a fire burning low in the grate, more ash than flame.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised—though she might already have broken that vow by inviting Mr. Holmes into their troubles. “I swear that I’ll do the best that I can, circumstances permitting.”

“I almost believe you.” Tobias put his arm around her, pulling her close.

Poppy hugged him back fiercely, grateful for his unquestioning affection. He never scolded her for saying outrageous things, and never told her how to walk or dress or
what she should or shouldn’t read. Tobias wasn’t a perfect man, but he was the best kind of big brother.

“I had better go downstairs and keep an eye on things,” Tobias said, releasing her. “Stay here with Imogen and lock the door when I go.”

Poppy nodded, feeling suddenly guilty. She had wanted to escape the party, but not because something had gone wrong.
Be careful what you wish for
.

After Tobias left, the silence in the room was a palpable thing. Poppy drew near the bed, her dress whispering into the candlelight. Imogen’s face was utterly serene, dark gold lashes fanning her cheeks. Her hair was plaited into two long, pale braids that trailed to her waist. She truly looked asleep, the smocked bodice of her nightdress rising and falling with her gentle breaths.

The somber atmosphere brought the evening crashing in on Poppy. Wetness coursed down her cheeks, but she paid no attention even when it dripped off her chin. The party had been a mistake, and the Scarlet King had made it all so much worse—but that wasn’t why she cried. Poppy wept because Imogen had loved parties, and now she didn’t even know there was one going on a few floors below.

Poppy took her sister’s hand, the soft cool fingers utterly relaxed. For a moment, she studied the contrast between them—Imogen’s pale skin against her own. Poppy’s hands were brown, scratched by the cook’s cat and raggedy where she’d chewed her nails. For some reason, that made her want to cry even harder.

Where are you, Im?
There had to be magic involved, or else her sister would have faded away. But how long could a spell like this last? Another month? Years? Forever? And what would happen when it ended?

Poppy had read plenty of fairy stories and tales of dark enchantment and knew anything was possible. Holmes was right. They needed expert advice.
Imogen
needed it. Poppy drew in a long, shuddering breath. If she could stand up to a steam baron, she wouldn’t shy away from what needed to be done.

Come what may, Poppy was going to get help for her sister.

Unknown

IMOGEN WOKE—OR AT LEAST THAT’S WHAT IT SEEMED LIKE
. It was hard to tell as there was no sequence of night and day to mark the passage of time—just an eternal dull twilight. Had she truly been asleep? Or had her mind just wandered for the blink of an eye?

Disorientation clutched at her as she flailed for some reference—where she was, or when, or how she’d got there. She caught her breath and held it, listening for a footfall or a cough to indicate another living creature. But there was nothing. There never was.

She was still in the study where she’d awakened the first time—though she couldn’t begin to say how long ago that had been. She was lying on the sofa, her cheek resting on a cushion she’d propped up against the arm. She’d have odd creases where the wrinkles in the cloth pressed into her face. Or that’s what she assumed. The place had no mirrors.

Imogen let her gaze roam around the room, her stomach queasy with anxiety. Instinctively, she drew her knees up, making a protective ball. The air was gray, not quite twilight but dark enough she would have liked to light a lamp—but there were none of those, either.

As a result, the place seemed short of color, the pink and green carpet dingy, the spines of the books on the shelf a murky reddish-brown. It didn’t matter that it was too dim to read the books. Even when the room had been bright, the pages had never quite settled down to a readable state, as if
the type was playing a game of hide-and-seek upon the page.

Imogen paused, her mind drifting. The room had been bright once. That was right, wasn’t it? She remembered the drapes once had been a bright lemon yellow. Or was that green? Just like the type, the room never quite settled down to a predictable form.

It’s darker now, and smaller. There was one more bookshelf along the wall, but now it’s missing without even a blank spot to show it was there
. All at once she was light-headed, as if thinking about the changes was giving her a headache. Since she’d been there, ideas had become will-o’-the-wisps, shining bright and then vanishing before she could quite reel them in. But she wanted to remember—it felt terribly important that she pay attention.

Imogen sat up carefully, clutching her thoughts so hard she ground her teeth. After a shaky moment, she rose to her feet, smoothing down her skirts and combing her hair back with her fingers. All her hairpins had been lost along the way, so she’d plaited her hair into one long braid down her back. Her clothes had suffered, too. At some point she must have opted for comfort, because her bustle, half her petticoats, and corset were gone. Her dress didn’t fit right without the undergarments, but there was no one there to witness her fashion faux pas.

Experimentally, she paced the distance from wall to wall. Last time she checked it had been twenty-one strides. She was sure of it. Now there were merely seventeen.
And what happens once there are only ten? Or five? Or none? Or do I simply never sleep again, so nothing can shrink when I’m not looking?
Or maybe she would just forget that she’d ever existed, and wink out like a sparkler on a cake. Imogen made a terrified noise, filling the austere silence with even that tiny whimper. The place suddenly seemed deathly cold.
Why is this happening?

She couldn’t quite remember how she’d got there, or where she’d been before. Someplace else with other people—that much was obvious—but she had the feeling her memories were fading along with the room. There were
snatches of conversation, the images of parties and school but not much more.
Why is this happening?
She wanted to know while she still remembered to care.

Imogen pushed aside the drapes to discover there was nothing but a blank wall behind them. An image flickered through her mind of a window there, looking out onto …

She couldn’t remember. At least, she couldn’t remember an exact picture of what had been on the other side of the window glass—but she did remember a feeling. Blind, abject panic that pounded like a fist from her gut through the back of her throat. She’d screamed until her voice had shattered, and then she’d cried hoarsely, moaning like a bereft child.

The notion seemed ridiculous, but her body remembered her horror, as if the vibrations were still rippling through her flesh.
Why can’t I see now what I saw then? Where did the window go?
And why hadn’t she remembered that before now? New foreboding crept over her, kicking her heart into a higher gear.
You remember because this time you made yourself remember. But there’s something in this room trying to make you forget
.

Something, maybe, but she was more certain it was a
someone
. And the reason she was certain was because the notion made her stomach turn to ice. Her body knew the truth. Someone had brought her here to this shrinking room. And the only person who would do that was a bitter enemy.

It all seemed madness, but the chill in her gut said it was true. And unless she wanted to fade and vanish, she had to leave.
And no doubt this is an obvious conclusion you’ve drawn before
. This time she’d have to get past deciding there was a problem and start doing something about it before she slid back to the beginning all over again.
So find a door and leave, ninny!