Darker Still (9 page)

I accepted another cup of tea, wondering if I’d ever stop shaking from the madness of it all and signed something to the effect of: “Does spiritualism have a precedent for this?”

Mrs. Northe shook her head. “Hardly. I fear I’m out of my depth in this matter. While I’ve no experience, I do have some ideas. But remember, Natalie, this is the blackest of magic. I deal in spirits, human forms transcendent to energy. I embrace and use positive things, beautiful but generally simple things along the veil between life and death. This matter is entirely different. We are dealing with demons and vile, complex magic. I’d take a mere haunting any day over this.”

And then something that had been nagging me from the first inkling of the supernatural reared its head. There was something I was ignoring, avoiding. Something that made my eyes well up with tears as it bit the back of my mind.

If what had happened today was real, then so was the Whisper. The movement at my eye was real. Perhaps messages came from the beyond after all. From Mother. This event cracked open everything I’d ever wondered, hoped, or believed. My heart burned with all of it trapped inside.

“Do you speak to the dead?” I signed.

She stared at me, deeply and for a long time, as if measuring my worthiness to the weight of her answer. “I have,” she replied quietly, “but I’m not sure Denbury is dead.”

I stared at my lap. My present concern had nothing to do with Denbury. “No, not him.” Shaking hands did not make for good sign language. “Would you…” I couldn’t look at her.

“Speak with your mother? Or at least try?” Mrs. Northe finished simply.

Tears fell again from my eyes, and I batted at them. I did not want to get the reputation of being a weepy, weak, or sniveling girl. I was no orphan, no cripple, and I was not fond of tears. But I wanted to speak to my mother. It seemed a reasonable request.

“In due time, if you feel it is right, we can try,” Mrs. Northe replied gently before cautioning me, “But with forces like these afoot, we don’t dare draw anything so meaningful to you. We can’t summon anything as tied to your heart as her. Your desires could be used against you. We must keep careful guard around sacred and loving connections, and use them in the proper time and place. They are our greatest vulnerability and greatest weapon.”

I glanced at her, and I know the disappointment I felt was evidenced on my face.

She patted my hand. “I’m sorry to deny you,” she murmured. “But you must steel your heart, Natalie. Lock it tight against those who would pry it apart. Keep your energy close, your spirit sound. Else unsavory forces may suck the very life out of you.” My eyes widened, and my hand went to cover my throat.

Mrs. Northe set her jaw. “No, I don’t mean one of those vampires in those dreadful penny theatricals. Though such a creature may indeed exist, there are worse things than such carnivores. Denbury
chose
you
. If you’re found out, you will also be a target of such magic as was used against him.”

I stared at her, eyes wide. Panic surged in my veins.

“Denbury was cursed,” Mrs. Northe clarified. “We simply have to find the counter-curse. And as I doubt the magic will let me in, it’s likely up to you to find it.” She smiled softly.

“What I learn, I’ll tell you,” I signed. “In
words
, I hope.”

My fear turned into a little thrill. It was true: I had
spoken
. My teachers had told me that I was capable of the act if I only trusted myself. Apparently, when faced with the impossible, an act I’d written off as impossible refused to be ignored and showed itself to be possible. It was just like I’d dreamed; I had slipped into a fantastical world only Collins or Poe would believe, and there indeed I had my voice.

“What was he like, really, in that moment?” Mrs. Northe asked.

A glimmer in her eye reminded me that Mrs. Northe had surely once been young and in love. Once she’d cavorted and danced with men like Denbury in fine society. Once she too had been rendered breathless by beauty. Her expression said all this, and her simple question held wistful echoes. I began to sign, attempting to keep my flattery—and my blushes—within reason.

“He’s so…compelling. And a true gentleman. He wants to continue his studies in medicine and open his own practice. Despite his youth he’s already opened a clinic in London he seems quite passionate about. Why would anyone want to harm him? But then again, I hardly know the truth of his character.” How could I judge someone’s character when I wasn’t sure whom I had met, a man or a phantom? “Regardless, he’s magnificent,” I added, my blush rising to the tips of my ears. Mrs. Northe’s eyes continued to sparkle. “But the strangest thing of all is that there’s a familiarity—as if we know each other. And yet, of course, we don’t…”

She shrugged and again spoke as if the oddest things were obvious. “Remember when I told you that you’d know when people were meant to enter your life? When they do, those persons seem oddly familiar at first glance.” I bit my lip. He and I were
meant
to meet.

Mrs. Northe rose to her feet. “You must come to call again, Natalie, and soon. We cannot leave that poor boy trapped, and I pledge to assist in every way I am able.”

I stared at her. My hands flew in signing a blunt question: “Why are you so kind to me?”

Mrs. Northe stared directly back at me. “Because I was told to be.”

“By whom?”

She smiled enigmatically, dodging the question. “Running from fate will be of no use. Magic will follow.”

I let the matter alone, rose, and embraced her. We were suddenly sisters in a supernatural bond, too overwhelmed to do anything but agree to the compact. Neither of us could deny the impossible. We had crossed a point of no return.

And as I write these words, I keep trying to reassure myself that the man I met inside a magical world isn’t evil. He’s panicked, maddened, desperate…but not evil. Surely not?

Sitting here on my sill, looking out into the dark New York night, with its roving spots of light and life down the avenue, it is all I can do to behave normally until I am able to see Lord Denbury again, no matter if it’s dangerous. Until I can
speak
again. Until life is magical again. Yes, I partly fear the unknown, the magical, the supernatural. But when pitted against excited resolve, fear is outmatched.

June 11

If one could gain royalty through nightmares, then I would be crowned queen.

Though I have suffered from nightmares as long as I can remember, none have been so vivid. I don’t usually note every detail, yet those atrocious visions will remain emblazoned upon my mind.

The first thing I remember is walking through a door. Suddenly I was in Denbury’s study, his prison. He looked as dashing as ever, if a bit tired. He turned to me in shock as the door through which I’d entered closed behind me.

“Miss Stewart!”

“Hello, Lord Denbury,” I murmured, the sound of my voice still strange in my ears. I’ve often been able to speak in my dreams, so this was no additional shock, yet Denbury stared at me and then at the door.

“How did you do that?” he exclaimed.

“What do you mean?”

“Come through the door. I’ve tried, but…” He strode to the door, extended his hand, and tried the knob. But red and gold sparks crackled around the edges of the door. Denbury’s portrait frame crackled too, fire racing around the edges in warning and leaving glowing traces of something strange. Wincing, he pulled away, his hand clearly scalded.

The picture frame had faintly glowing marks all over it: strange hatch marks, crosses, and triangles. Symbols of a kind I’d never seen appeared in faint traces all around the back of the frame, which would have been hidden against Mrs. Northe’s wall but was visible to us on the inside.

“What on earth is all that?” I asked.

“No idea. But they’re familiar,” Denbury said ruefully, unbuttoning his cuff to reveal angry red marks, as if those same symbols had been carved into his flesh. I shuddered. “Part of the devil’s magic, surely. When the spell was cast, my arm burned with this brand.”

“I’ll have to ask Mrs. Northe about it. She might know something that could help.”

Madness after madness. I stared at the closed curtain. Something was missing. My body. “I must be dreaming then, am I? I don’t see myself.”

Denbury set his injuries aside and instead offered an unexpected but dazzling smile. “So the rumors are true indeed! Miss Stewart dreams of me.” He took a step toward me, his blue eyes warming. “I maintain that I’m flattered.”

I blushed and stammered, “But…are you dreaming? Oh! Could we be sharing a dream?”

Denbury shrugged his broad shoulders. “I wish I knew. I never know whether I’m dreaming or not. I seem to reside here in a perpetual state of consciousness.”

“It’s not healthy not to sleep.”

He set his jaw and spoke bitterly, “I daresay it isn’t healthy to be cursed, severed from your body, and trapped in canvas. Please add sleeplessness to my long list of maladies.”

I bit my lip, looking at him helplessly. “Perhaps I can help you through,” I offered, going to the door. The ornate brass knob turned in my hand. It opened wide onto a long and darkened corridor. I heard a whisper.
That
Whisper.

Something shifted in the dark corridor beyond. A flicker of something ephemeral and gauzy white. I felt Denbury behind me, peering over my shoulders.

“That’s…not my home,” he said tentatively.

“No…” I said with difficulty. “If I came from there, then what’s out
there
came from
me
.”

“Oh.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause as we stared into the darkness. A figure was visible deep in the darkness, a tiny bit of glowing white. My blood was ice cold. I managed to choke out a question: “Did…did you hear a whisper?”

“No. Did you?”

“I always have,” I said, turning from the uninviting corridor. “You see, I lost a parent too, Denbury, when I was four years old. I don’t remember my mother, but I’ve always wondered if she’s whispered to me in the years hence. If it’s indeed her, I wish she’d speak more clearly.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

“As am I for yours.”

He nodded, turning away. His grief was fresher than mine but I knew he did not wish to show it.

“I suppose that’s what accounts for my nightmares,” I added.

“Your mother?”

“I’ve always heard a Whisper and glimpsed a bit of white lace out of the corner of my eye. I don’t think the worst of the world, but…I feel as if shadows follow me. Perhaps I suffer from paranoia. But I swear there’s something in that hallway.”

“It’s
your
mind. What do you think it could be?”

Oh, God.

If Denbury owned the grief of the moment, then I brought the horror.

The doorway was empty one moment but not the next. I was greeted by a sight of unequaled terror. An ugly sound came from somewhere deep in my throat, and I clapped my hands to my mouth.

A dark-haired corpse in a white dress stood at the threshold, her head bent, mussed hair shrouding her face from view. I knew it was a corpse from the pallor of her arms. That and the congealing blood that was dripping from her fingertips and tapping onto the threshold…

Here my voice left me again. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. Instead, out of panic, I turned and buried my face in Denbury’s shoulder to avoid the ghastly sight.

“Good God!” Denbury cried, seeing it too. He wrapped a protective arm around me and shifted me behind him so that he stood between the horror and me.

Even in that moment of fear I recall breathing him in as I pressed close against his shoulder, catching a whiff of bergamot, as if he’d just drunk a cup of Earl Grey tea. He took a challenging step toward the door, keeping hold of me behind him.

“Leave her in peace!” Denbury cried. As he did, a bit of light rippled up from him, pale and silvery, like a halo. Perhaps like the light he’d described around Mrs. Northe. A light like one might expect of an angel. A guardian angel.

While I’d always wondered if the Whisper was my mother, I couldn’t bear staring at a corpse to see if there was any resemblance to the daguerreotype on our mantel at home. And indeed, I couldn’t think that if it were Mother she would wish to frighten me. But my own mind, my own nightmares, oh, they were most certainly cruel.

After a long moment, Denbury gently urged me, “Look, Miss Stewart. Darkness only.”

I turned as he bid. Darkness only. I looked up at his beautiful face, reluctant to move from his side, where I felt so comfortable and safe.

I glanced at the frame. The markings had faded. All was as I’d found it. But still, it was a prison.

“We are so haunted, you and I,” Denbury murmured, and bent to kiss my forehead in a wonderful gesture that seemed perfectly natural, even though it was bold.

I had to physically force myself not to melt against him. It would have been so easy to forget the madness of our reality and just let him hold me. But he was in even direr straits than I. I straightened and clasped his hands. I wanted to thank him for his bravery, to reassure him of my commitment to help him. Yet all thought fled when he leaned closer, his eyes darkening as he tilted his head for access to my lips. Bold
indeed
…Before I could think how to respond, my senses went to black. I had a hazy sense of my body in my bed, my head on my pillow, comfortable and safe.