Illusions of Fate (23 page)

“I am beginning to regret agreeing to stay here with the two of you.” Eleanor walks into the room and sits in a chair beside my bed with a heavy sigh. “I thought I’d be watching your rooms closely at night for far more lurid and interesting goings-on than screaming night terrors.”

“I don’t know what’s come over me.” I shift, embarrassed, kicking my feet free from where they’re tangled in the sheets. Finn has taken us both in, now that we know Eleanor isn’t safe and we no longer have possession of Lord Downpike’s book.

Oh, Sir Bird, I am sorry.

I thought—heavy with grief for Sir Bird—that I would sleep heavily. Instead, my mind is plagued with horrors.

“Give it some time.” Finn pats my hand. “Everyone has nightmares.”

“They’ve never bothered me like this. They feel so real, so out of my control.”

Eleanor frowns thoughtfully, then runs out of the room and comes back in, carrying her snuffbox.

“Isn’t it an odd time for that?” Finn asks.

“Oh, hush. You aren’t the only one here with magic, and if there is one thing I am good at . . .” She pulls out a pinch, and I barely have time to close my eyes before she blows it right in my face.

She cackles. “If there is one thing I am good at, dear friends, it is detecting the presence of magic. I can
always
find it.”

I open my eyes. Particles of dust glow, swirling in a slow pattern around my head. Eleanor takes me by my shoulder and pulls my head forward. “They’re originating from back here.” She touches a spot on the back of my skull. “Anything happen there?”

“No, I—yes! My ribbon, and some hairs. Lord Downpike has them. I’d forgotten all about it.”

Finn stands, eyes blazing with fury in the dim light. “How dare he.” He storms from the bedroom. Eleanor climbs into bed next to me, scooting me to the side and putting her cold feet on mine. It’s a great comfort to have her next to me, sealing me off from the remnants of the dream and anchoring me here.

Finn comes back and I finally notice he’s wearing a thin, white nightshirt with breeches hastily pulled on underneath. I can see his collarbones.

What is it with me and that boy’s collarbones? I blush and then smile to myself. At least this is a better thing to dwell on than the fact that Lord Downpike apparently has unlimited access to my dreams.

Finn clears the nightstand next to the bed, setting down one of his heavy, handwritten books already open to a page. He has several other things—a burning candle, a pair of delicate scissors, and some powdered substance.

I examine the book, trying to decipher both the method and end result of the spell. Near as I can tell, he needs a clipping of my hair—the conduit, already being used by Lord Downpike—powdered poppy seeds, the gateway to sleep, and wax to be used to seal off Lord Downpike’s pathway.

I tap my finger thoughtfully as Finn asks permission with a look, and I nod for him to cut a small strand of my hair. He takes it back to the dresser.

“I think we could change it,” I say.

“Beg pardon?” Finn looks up from where he’s copying down the necessary symbols.

“Isn’t there a spell to turn something back onto the attacker? Using a mirror? Couldn’t we substitute a mirror for the wax, so instead of sealing my dreams from him, we turn it around and allow me to be in control when he tries to enter?”

Finn frowns. “Why would we do that?”

“Is it possible?”

“I suppose it would be, in theory. But why risk it when I’m certain we can block him?”

“He has more of my hair. Strands he took from the comb. What’s to stop him from repeating the spell?”

“If he does, we block it. Again. As many times as we need to.”

“That’s not enough. I already have to hide from him during my waking hours. I don’t want to go to sleep at night worrying that he’ll find his way in again.”

“But what good will it do you to be able to control things, if he can still enter your sleeping mind?”

I smile grimly. “I intend to make it a place he’ll want to stay very far away from.”

Eleanor giggles beside me. “You are mad.”

Finn’s frown deepens. “I don’t think we should risk it. Theoretically, it would work, but I’m far more comfortable using a spell I know.”

I stand, leaving the warm comfort of my sheets, and go to my bathroom to retrieve a small, gilt mirror. I set it down next to Finn’s materials and look him full in the eyes. “I agreed to stay here because it was safest for everyone. But you must let me respond to threats in the way I see best.”

There’s a moment, a hardening behind his eyes, where I think he will disagree with me, force me to go with his plan. And he could. I’m in his home, under his protection. Lord Downpike’s words whisper mockingly:
Is he taking good care of you?

And then, to my surprise, Finn nods. “But I insist on staying the night with you so that if anything goes wrong, I can wake you immediately.”

I beam, flush with victory, and then suddenly cold with second thoughts. Perhaps this was a battle best left unwon. As I watch Finn preparing the spell, I nearly stop him several times. But no. I will not run and hide any more than I must.

When all is said and done, the process is anticlimactic. He writes the symbols on the mirror, drops the powder onto it, and then sets it by my bed.

Eleanor sits up with a start. “Spirits below, I fell asleep. Magic is so dull. Now, if you two think I will sit in a chair and chaperone, you’re quite wrong. I’ll leave your door open and mine as well, but I am far too tired for gossip, so please do nothing interesting.” She kisses my cheek and then stumbles out of the room, still half asleep.

I sit on the edge of my bed, nervously eyeing the mirror. “Do you think it worked?”

Finn nods, but the smile on his face is betrayed by the line between his eyebrows. He hovers beside me and nods at the bed. “It would help if you went back to sleep.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” I climb back under the covers and lie down, feeling awkward and exposed. Finn sits in the chair next to the bed, watching me.

“I will never get to sleep like this.” I scowl at him, but the truth is I’m terrified. My hand aches with remembered pain, and I don’t think I can face it happening another time. I remember hiding in Eleanor’s armoire with Finn, how much I wanted to lean against him and let him hold me.

He has made a concession tonight. I can do the same.

I scoot over, leaving enough room for a Finn-sized body. I give him a look.

His eyebrows disappear beneath his golden hair. “Beg pardon?”

“I promise not to take advantage of you.” I try for a lighthearted laugh, but it falls flat. I switch to honesty. “I only want you beside me. I need to know—to feel—I’m not alone when I face him.”

He smiles, and I am relieved that it’s gentle and soft, a safe smile. He eases himself onto the bed, lying flat on his back, not touching me. I close the distance and lift his arm over me, resting my head on his shoulder. His hand comes down lightly on the curve of my waist.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I feel safer than I have in weeks.

“Don’t think I provide this service for just anyone,” he whispers back.

It doesn’t take long until I find myself on the black sand beach. I’m aware this time, none of the odd dream-forgetfulness of before, and my gut reaction is panic. But no. I am in control. I change my dress from the awful red one into one of my plain skirts and tops. The skirt has a pocket, and I push my hand into it.

I smile.

Lord Downpike is waiting for me at the table. I take my time and stroll toward him. A flicker of confusion shifts his face into something else, but it settles before I can process what it was.

“Do sit,” he says with his sharp smile.

I return it with one of my own, pull the knife out of my pocket, and slam it onto his hand, pinning it to the table. His wings spasm then disappear, and he looks down at his hand with shock and pain before bowing his head. I expect him to wail with anguish, but he looks up at me with a wry smile. “Very clever.”

“I’m a clever girl.”

“But it’s not enough, is it? It will never be enough. You can be as clever as the sun is bright. You can best all your peers in school. You can try and try and it—
you
—will never be enough. How does that feel, little rabbit? Knowing you will never truly be in control, never truly have power, simply because of who you are?”

“I think you underestimate me,” I say, but it comes out more timid than I want.

“I think you know I’m right. This isn’t your world, and it never will be.”

I look around at the beach. We’re in my dream. “Actually, right now this is
entirely
my world.” I pull a large meat cleaver out of my skirts. “You should leave.”

He laughs, hand still pinned to the table and then gives me a look I can only describe as . . . affectionate. “Well done.”

And then he is gone, and the dream is just a dream.

Twenty-nine

Dearest Mama,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am sorry not to have written sooner, but I was not sure what to say, nor did I want to have to tell you unless I was certain that it could not be avoided.

I have left the school. Circumstances rendered me unable to attend classes, and though it breaks my heart to have my months of hard work and studying count for naught, rest assured that I am continuing my studies on my own in a more rigorous structure than my professors instituted.

I know that you were against the idea of me attending school here. I had hoped to prove you wrong by excelling there and

I am sorry, the ink on this page seems to be running. What I mean to say is, I am grateful for all of the love and support you have given me, even when we did not agree. I hope to make you proud. I am staying at a new address, which is enclosed, at the home of a dear friend. Eleanor, who was recently ill, is staying with us as well and we spend our evenings in happy companionship.

The world is a much more complicated place than I used to think. I am trying to find my place in it. I miss you very much and wish you were here to chide me on my clothing choices and help me know what to do.

Your loving daughter,

Jessamin

P.S. I am delighted to tell you that Jacabo and Ma’ati, a lovely girl from the island, were married. They have found employment at the country estate of a wealthy lord and are happily settling in. Please congratulate his mother for me.

“Dashingly handsome,” Finn says.

“Beg pardon?” I blow on the paper to hasten the drying of the ink.

“You forgot ‘dashingly handsome.’ Dear friend is nice but hardly covers the extent of my qualities.”

Eleanor looks up from her own letter writing. “How did she describe me? Because I have always preferred my eyes to be referred to as the ‘color of a storm-tossed sea.’ If either of you were wondering.”

“You did not fare much better. In fact, I think I am ahead. I am a ‘
dear
friend,’ and you are merely ‘recently ill.’”

I push the letter aside and face him. “Reading private correspondence is in poor taste, Lord Ackerly.”

“Unless it is terribly interesting,” Eleanor says, “which Jessamin’s letters are not. Mine, however, are lurid tales of my near-death experience and subsequent sequestering against my will in the home of the mysterious and brooding Lord Ackerly. I fear I may have given you a tragic past and a deadly secret or two.”

“Are we staying in a decaying Gothic abbey?” I ask.

“Naturally. When I’m finished, there won’t be a person in all the city who isn’t writhing with jealousy over the heart-pounding drama of my life.” She pauses, tapping her pen thoughtfully against her chin. “I don’t suppose you have a cousin? I could very much use a romantic foil.”

Finn shakes his head. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Alas. As long as I’m not the friend who meets a tragic end that brings you two together forever through shared grief.” Her line meets dead silence, and a sly grin splits her face. “Oh wait, I nearly was.”

“Horrible girl.” I tug her ear as I walk past. She yawns, though she has only been awake a couple of hours. She writes more letters than anyone I know, and it seems to exhaust her.

I, however, am well-rested. Several times Finn has asked after my dreams, which have remained free from cameos by Lord Downpike for the last two nights. I think he is not one to pursue something when he no longer has every advantage. I suspect Finn’s inquiries have more to do with the fact that he no longer has an excuse to stay in my room at night.

Perhaps I could make up more bad dreams.

No. I need to get some air. I need to do something—anything—away from here. Even three days trapped inside has been too many. Finn is in and out all the time, making appearances at various social engagements, keeping up connections, trying to keep the scales tipped toward peace, but Eleanor and I are utterly homebound.

It reminds me of a game all the children on the island played: Fox and Rabbits. There was a free area, the rabbit hole, where you could hide and be safe from the prowling child playing the fox. I never used it, no matter how many times I was caught. I loathed, even then, to pretend at hiding rather than running free and taking my chances.