The Twelfth Enchantment

21

IT IS ONE THING TO BE DETERMINED TO ACT, AND QUITE ANOTHER to know precisely what needs doing, and so Lucy spent a long and sleepless night as she weighed her options and considered her alternatives. In several trips, so as to avoid the notice of anyone in her household, Lucy removed the books from Mary’s house to her own room. If Mary were her enemy, why would she give Lucy these books? And yet all evidence suggested that Mary had played some part in Emily’s being replaced by a monster. There was nothing to do now but study, learn what there was to be learned, what paths there were to explore. It all had to be done soon—very soon—for Lucy could not endure that Martha must live another day with that vile, grinning monster suckling at her.

She could find in Mary’s books nothing of use about changelings—only myth and folklore, stories that rang of falseness and ignorance. What Lucy needed was to learn how to banish a changeling and how to retrieve the stolen child. If there was little to be discovered about changelings, however, there was much written on other sorts of beings. In Lucy’s new library she read of the dark things that stalked the world, the spirits of Agrippa’s Fourth Book or the demons of the Lemegeton. Lucy had learned nothing of spirit summoning, and Mary had warned to stay away from such magic, but books teaching the methods of such summoning were among the books Mary had left her, and now those warnings fell flat. Mary had abandoned her, possibly betrayed her. Martha and Emily were in trouble, in terrible danger, and only Lucy knew that this was so. It fell upon her shoulders to do something.

With no one to guide her, with no hints to help her follow the right course, Lucy had no choice but to find her own way. She spent the day closeted away with her books, looking for what she ought not to look, and found what appeared to her promising. It was in a volume that Mary had given her, marking off certain sections as the only ones worthy of her attention, but there were other sections as well, including one dedicated to the Enochian magic closely associated with John Dee and Edward Kelley. This author had gone back to the source text, the Heptameron, and proposed a simplified method of calling down spirits, demons, and angels.

It felt dangerous to Lucy, but it also felt real, like something she could do, and yet the creatures in the book terrified her—foul, twisted, distorted things, drawn in broad, renaissance strokes, like the monsters who inhabit the lost islands of unknown seas. Attempting habitually to master beings of this sort would be foolish, but surely she could do so once. She needed only to call a creature of knowledge, command it to tell her how to banish a changeling and restore her niece, and then she would send it off. She would do it quickly and cleanly, and the danger would pass so swiftly it could hardly be accounted danger at all.

The book explained that the creature would attempt to deceive her, to punish her for the insult of summoning it to her realm. It would attempt to trick Lucy into setting it free, and it would then destroy her in one of a thousand painful ways that would appear to the outside world a natural death. Lucy was certain she was too clever for that, too focused. Men summoned these beings out of ambition and power, and these desires were their undoing. A woman who summoned a spirit for benevolent purposes would be more cautious.

Lucy would have thought she must roll up her rug and fashion a magic circle in chalk upon the floorboards, but that turned out not to be the case. The book said that it was best to limit the size of the manifestation of an otherworldly being, and that circles were best drawn on pieces of paper in ink—the smaller the better, but never so small as to compromise accuracy. Errors in the circle would allow the summoned creature to break free, and that was always fatal.

When she began the work, Lucy felt much as she did when copying out a talisman, not that she was drawing something, but more that she was reassembling an object that had been taken apart. The lines and circles and runes seemed to fit together like boards perfectly cut by a carpenter’s skilled hand. Or they did not feel that way, and so she twice destroyed her work because the circle simply felt badly constructed even if she could not find the error. When she was at last finished, she knew what she had done was perfect. She examined it over and over again in the rushlight, for it was now late at night, but her eyes only told her what she already knew—that her work could not be improved upon.

Lucy had put a great deal of effort into choosing a creature that might be most easily summoned and best controlled, and settled upon an angel whose name she could not pronounce (it was written out in Enochian runes, which looked like a strange combination of Hebrew and Latin letters), and whose particular virtues were said to be power, knowledge, and vengeance. Lucy wanted only one of those, and hoped the other two would not get in her way.

The summoning was simple. She would need to quiet herself, banish the world from her thoughts, and recite the simple sentence written in the Enochian tongue (helpfully transliterated by the author), while drawing forth a drop of her own blood. Very direct, very easy. With the circle written on so small a piece of paper, it made the whole affair curiously portable. She could bring her angel of destruction with her wherever she went, Lucy thought with the kind of crazed humor of the exhausted. It would make a pretty diversion at a ball.

Suppressing her giggles, bringing herself into the right frame of mind, Lucy—having memorized the incantation—stood before the circle, a knife ready to draw across her finger. And that was when everything went mad.

The door to her room burst open, and a dark form was on her at once, knocking her down and ripping the knife out of her hand. Lucy fell backwards, snapping her head forward in time to avoid knocking it upon the floor. Instead, she slammed her forehead into that of her assailant. Lucy grunted in pain and surprise, but the person on top of her made no sound.

She was held down by a large figure, round and soft, and who smelled strangely pleasant, like a warm wool blanket on a cold winter day.

“Are you hurt, Miss Lucy? Tell me you are not hurt.”

Lucy scrambled out from under the bulky form. “Mrs. Emmett?”

Hurrying to close the door, Lucy turned to see the plump woman getting to her feet, straightening out her bonnet, which she wore in her customary low fashion so it pressed her hair flat against her forehead.

“Lord, how I had to run to make my way here in time! Did not Miss Mary teach you any better than to fool with such things as summoning? One mistake in that circle of yours, and it would seek out the most arrogant living thing in the room, for these creatures hate arrogance above all weaknesses, and they can smell it the way a dog smells a rabbit. You may be certain that if you are alone, the most arrogant person in the room is you.”

“What are you doing here?” Lucy demanded, attempting to keep her voice low. “How did you get in here? How did you know I was summoning a spirit? And where is Miss Crawford?”

“So many questions,” said Mrs. Emmett with a good-natured laugh.

Checking the clock upon one of the side tables, Lucy saw it was near three in the morning. The house, however, remained silent. Mrs. Emmett’s arrival apparently had awoken no one.

“Then let us take one question at a time,” said Lucy. “Where is Miss Crawford?”

“Oh, I am certain I don’t know that. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Nothing to do with you?” asked Lucy. “Is she not your mistress?”

“You are my mistress now.”

“What can you mean? I cannot pay you.”

Mrs. Emmett smiled. “I need no money.”

“But what will Uncle Lowell say?”

“He’ll say nothing,” said Mrs. Emmett. “I’ll not stay here. You don’t need me, Miss Lucy. Not yet. When you do, I’ll come to you. It is no hard thing.”

Lucy shook her head at the nonsense. She was too tired to understand. “When did you last see Miss Crawford?”

“To that, I cannot say. My memory isn’t good for such things.”

Lucy circled around Mrs. Emmett. If this examination disturbed the good woman, she did not show it. She only turned her neck like an eager puppy to follow Lucy’s movements. “How did you know I meant to summon a creature?” Lucy asked.

“How could I not know it?” Mrs. Emmett asked.

Lucy let out a long sigh. “Take no insult, Mrs. Emmett, but what are you?”

“I am Mrs. Emmett,” she said with much cheer.

“And you now serve me?”

“Yes, Miss Lucy.”

“You serve me and not Miss Crawford?”

“Yes, Miss Lucy.”

It did not yet make sense, but Lucy suspected she was moving closer to some kind of clarity. “When we first met, you knew you were to serve me? Is that why you embraced me?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Lucy. I know everything that will happen to me. I even know when I shall be no more.”

“You know when you are going to die?” Lucy asked.

“I know everything that is going to happen to me.”

“Then can you not alter things to make your life easier?”

“It is not my life, it is yours.”

This exchange was making Lucy uncomfortable. “What shall I do with you?”

“You need not worry for that. I have saved you from being destroyed this night, as you must have been—for there is an error in your circle. Your talent is great, but it is not flawless. You have come far by trusting your instincts, and you have come to see that your instincts do not lie, but it does not follow that you know all.”

“Miss Crawford warned me not to summon, but I cannot know that she is my friend—that she ever was. My niece is gone—replaced with something vile—and as much as I wish I did not think so, I fear Miss Crawford had a hand in this.”

Mrs. Emmett took her hand. “You must not doubt that she is your friend. You have none better. You cannot know what she has done and what she is yet prepared to do. She does not wish you to know, but you may depend upon her friendship.”

“And what of my niece? What of Emily?” Lucy demanded. “She has been replaced by a changeling. What do you know of it?”

Mrs. Emmett shook her head. “I know nothing of how it was done or who did it.”

“Do you know anything of changelings, of how I may banish it and retrieve my niece?”

“Only what is commonly known,” said Mrs. Emmett.

“Nothing is commonly known,” snapped Lucy. “Tell me what you can.”

“I know that when a child is exchanged, it is hidden away, placed out of time as we understand it, so that months may pass for us, but only seconds for the child. If one were to banish the changeling, the original child would take its place, and to someone who knew not how to pay mind to such things, it would appear only that the child’s disposition had changed.”

“And how is this to be effected?” Lucy demanded. “Can you tell me how?”

“Not I,” said Mrs. Emmett. “I know nothing of alchemy.”

Lucy stepped forward. “It is alchemy?”

“Of the most powerful kind, yes. If a spirit creature chooses to replace a human child itself, that is another matter, but to effect such a change requires the most powerful of alchemical knowledge. One must create a kind of spiritual doorway, and make it strong enough to last. Anyone who could build such a thing could create the philosopher’s stone itself.”

Lucy took hold of Mrs. Emmett’s shoulders. “Then if I were to possess the Mutus Liber, I could retrieve my niece?”

“I daresay yes,” agreed Mrs. Emmett.

Lucy let go of Mrs. Emmett and collapsed into her chair. The Mutus Liber was the key to everything. Her enemies wanted it, but she must want it more, and she must have it first. The course she was already on was the course she must continue to follow, only now with greater urgency and determination.

She looked down at the piece of paper on which she had drawn the complex Enochian circle, which she still clutched in her hand. “And what of this? Do I simply burn this? Is that a safe way to destroy it?”

“Do not destroy it,” said Mrs. Emmett. “Keep it. Keep it with you always.”

“Why? It is corrupt and dangerous. You said so yourself.”

“Because sometimes you can use danger and corruption for good ends,” she said. Mrs. Emmett then leaned down to give Lucy a hug and departed the house, as unseen and unheard as she arrived.

She at last fell asleep in the predawn hours, and awoke late in the morning. By the time she emerged, the house was in disarray. In her room, Martha’s nurse was busily packing her trunk, while downstairs Mr. Buckles was giving Ungston loud and utterly unnecessary orders—“Do not muddy my linens!” Martha sat in a felt armchair of faded green near the window, and the sun glowed against the white curtain at her back, making the wispy strands of Martha’s black hair shine as though she were an angel. And yet, how unlike an angel was the creature that crawled up her shoulder. Its back was to Lucy, but she could see its scaly white skin and the strands of greasy, brittle hair that escaped the tiny bonnet, which did not quite conceal its pointed ears.

“What do you do?” cried Lucy. “You are not leaving.”

“We are.” Martha’s voice cracked, and the bags under her eyes were dark and heavy. She appeared to have aged years in but a single night. “Uncle has said he cannot endure Emily’s wailing, and though his doctor can find no ill with her, I should much like if our own man could look her over. She has no fever, and she thrives, yet she must eat all the time and will not settle.”

The creature turned to Lucy and leered at her with its narrow eyes. Its mouth opened to show sharp teeth, which it licked with its flat and leathery tongue.

Martha rose to her feet. “Oh, here. Hold her for a moment.”

She thrust out the baby, and Lucy had no choice but to take it. It clung to her shoulder, and its claws thrust into her flesh. Lucy felt a sharp jolt of pain and the faint moisture of blood trickling down her back. The creature nuzzled close to her ear and emitted a burst of staccato breaths—something like laughter. Its body, cold as ice and strangely loose, like a bladder of wine only half full, pressed against her. The urge, powerful and demanding, to pull the thing from her body and fling it to the floor shot through her with the force of a sudden and irresistible blow. Holding a rat or a venomous serpent to her breast would have been no more unnatural than this. Yet Lucy mastered herself. She could not attempt to tell Martha the truth, for she understood her sister would not be able to accept it.

“I thought you would want her,” said Martha, sensing her discomfort.

“I am tired today.” Lucy pried the creature loose and handed it to Martha. Its tiny claws were wet with Lucy’s blood. “I slept poorly last night, and now I am distracted. Oh, Martha. You must stay here.” Lucy’s plan to summon a creature to help her cast out the changeling was obviously finished, but she could not allow Martha to leave. As long as she could keep an eye upon the creature she could hope to do something about it, but Lucy could not bear the thought of Martha going off with it, having no idea what it was, that it was not her Emily.

Martha shook her head. “For Emily’s sake, I cannot stay. I wish you could visit with us. Oh, how pleasant that would be if only…” She did not finish her sentence. She did not need to. Mr. Buckles had forbidden any further visits from her family until the baby was older. He believed Martha’s relations would distract her from her duty.

In two hours, Lucy stood outside her uncle’s house while Martha and the creature entered the loaded carriage. Before stepping through the door, Mr. Buckles paused and approached Lucy, gently leading her aside by taking hold of her arm in one of his long-fingered hands. His skin was so wet with perspiration, it was as though he’d just withdrawn it from a bucket of water.

“You’ve been, ah, shall we say, a terrible—let us say it direct—a terrible disappointment to your sister, and, if I may add, to Lady Harriett,” he said. “All very shameful. I trust there will be no more difficulty—difficulty or trouble, to be sure—with your marriage to Mr. Olson.”

Lucy could not stand to have him speak to her in that tone, to treat her as though she were a fool and a child. Most of all, she could not endure that he would attempt to manipulate her powerlessness when it was he who had rendered her so.

“Mr. Buckles,” she said, keeping her voice calm, “I have seen the original of my father’s will. I am not a fool, and I know the difficulties in righting this injustice, but I will not be dissuaded. Ere I am done, I shall see you dangle from the hangman’s noose.”

Mr. Buckles blanched. He raised a wet hand to his cheek as though she had actually slapped him. “You would not dare,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I would not dare what?” asked Lucy, emboldened. “Seek justice? I would not dare to reclaim what is mine?”

“Such unnatural feeling!” he exclaimed. “I am your sister’s husband.”

“And I am your wife’s sister,” Lucy answered in return.

“I shall speak of this to Lady Harriett,” said Mr. Buckles. “Would you oppose her?”

“I believe she and I are already opposed,” said Lucy.

At this, he laughed. “I can tell that it is not so. Shall I tell you how? Because you are yet alive.” Mr. Buckles bowed, and then entered his carriage, leaving Lucy feeling as though she had made a terrible mistake.

Martha was gone, and so was the changeling. Each tick of the clock, each chime of the hour, was like a blow to Lucy, and so it would be until she had rescued her niece. She tried not to feel it, to dull the anxiety that boiled in her stomach, for she knew there could be no easy or quick resolution. She would live this way for days, perhaps weeks and months; she would have to endure it, for there was no one to do the work but she.

Lucy sat in her room at her secretary with her books, making notes and marking pages, working until the last of the sunlight was gone, and then, working late into the night by rushlight. So she strained her eyes as she copied out runes and magic squares, as she made lists of herbs, as she memorized Latin for spells. At last, when the clock struck one in the morning, she could do no more, but she did not believe more was required, and she believed it would serve. Lucy dressed for bed, extinguished the rush, crawled under the warmth of her heavy counterpane, and let exhaustion take her.

The next morning she awoke early and took from the pantry a small quantity of dill and rosemary, as well as an apple, of which she needed only a bit of the juice. She found also some dried flowers that Ungston used to make a sweet-smelling potpourri, which he put into bowls and set about the house. There she found rose and violet, as she required for the two spells she intended to cast. The first would be easier, for it involved the placement of a talisman, and she had grown quite adept at the creation and deployment of the cunning little engines. The second would be far more dangerous, and ethically problematic, but she could not scruple over safety and ethics now.

With her work done, Lucy traveled to visit Norah Gilley. The house was all in disarray as they prepared to travel to London. Lucy had believed they were not due to depart for several weeks, but it seemed that the schedule had been accelerated, for servants were busy running up and down the stairs with folded clothing and packages of household goods. Much of the house was being closed up, and in every room but the parlor, the furnishings were draped with sheets.

Norah greeted Lucy with a kind of cold imperiousness, as though her impending relocation to London were something of a coronation. An extended hand would not do for what Lucy had in mind, so she pulled her friend into a hug. This provided the opportunity to slip a tiny piece of paper into the folds of her gown.

Soon they sat. Norah asked at once if Lucy would like tea and cakes. Lucy almost answered, but then caught herself. It would be the first request she made, and so if she asked for refreshments, the charm would guarantee that Norah did not rest until they were delivered, but it would do no more than that. Instead, she turned to Norah and smiled.

“You leave for London in a few weeks’ time, is that not so?” said Lucy.

“The precise day has not been determined, but I believe it will be sooner than I had supposed,” said Norah. “We await only the final word from the ministry.”

“Would not London be so much grander if you brought a friend with you, and would not you be best served if I were that friend? You must ask your father if I may come with you.”

Norah appeared struck by this. The impending move to the capital was what elevated her above her friends, and to share that elevation would be unthinkable, and yet she now considered the matter seriously. “I cannot doubt that I shall make friends without delay, in particular with Papa’s important office and his connections, but even so, how much more lovely it would be to share my joy with you. I shall ask him at once.” She leapt to her feet.

Lucy remained alone in the parlor, her body almost shivering with nerves. Only now did it occur to her that she ought to have used a charm upon Mr. Gilley as well, for what if he did not want his daughter to bring a friend? But not five minutes passed before Norah rushed into the room, bright with glee. “He says he thinks it a marvelous idea,” she said, and hugged Lucy. “He only tells you that you will have to be careful of your lungs.” Both young ladies giggled at Mr. Gilley’s fear of catching cold. It was as though they were little girls. Then they called for cakes, and then ate far too much as they talked of the thousand things they would do together. Lucy cared for none of it; she had no interest in balls and milliner’s shops and grand houses and pleasure gardens. Perhaps a few months ago these would have seemed the finest things in the world to her, but now they seemed to her only to facilitate a small step toward a larger goal. She only spoke of them to keep Norah excited and happy. It was the least she could do after so deceiving her friend.

The next phase of her scheme required that Lucy do something she would once have considered unthinkable. She directed a note to the inn at which Mr. Morrison was lodged, and invited him to meet her at a chocolate house off the market square. Lucy had to steal a glass of wine from the kitchen in order to sufficiently steady her nerve, so much did her hand shake upon her first attempt to write the note. The kind words, the implication of forgiveness, even of admiration, made her sick in her soul, but Mr. Morrison had important information, and if Lucy were to succeed, she would need as much information as she could find.

As she prepared to leave the house for this rendezvous, Mrs. Quince hurried from the sitting room to bar her way from the door.

“Where do you think you go?”

“I have business,” Lucy answered. “It is none of your concern.”

“Is it with that vile Mary Crawford?”

“I shan’t answer your questions, so stand aside. I am soon to leave for London with Miss Gilley, and you have no further power over me.”

“Leave for London,” repeated Mrs. Quince. “Does your uncle know?”

“What does it matter? Both of you have wanted me from this house, and I shall be gone.”

Mrs. Quince took hold of Lucy’s wrist in a tight grip. “What of Mr. Olson? You are to marry him.”

“It’s time you ceased to trouble yourself about my affairs,” Lucy said, feeling the anger take hold. She was Lucy Derrick, a cunning woman, collector of the lost leaves of the Mutus Liber, and she would not be treated like a street urchin. “If you do not take your hand off me, I swear I shall make you bleed. Do not doubt me.”

Mrs. Quince let go but did not step away. “You will regret having crossed me.”

“Thus far,” said Lucy, as she shoved the woman aside, “I’m rather enjoying it.” She opened the front door and stepped out into the street without troubling to look back, though she very much wished to.

Lucy was not certain Mr. Morrison would obey the summons, and could not have said how she would respond if he did not, but he arrived on time, his face betraying his curiosity. It was crowded at that time of day, the room’s bigger tables filled with large parties ranging from smiling elders to screaming infants. There were a variety of smaller tables, meant for couples, and Lucy had taken one of these in the back. She knew her presence there with a young man was a risk. People might talk. They probably would, but Lucy had more important things to consider, and she would be gone from Nottingham soon enough.

Finding Lucy at her table with two steaming bowls of chocolate before her, Mr. Morrison bowed and told her formally that he stood ready to obey her commands. If he were surprised by her invitation, he did not show it.

“Please sit,” said Lucy. “I have taken the liberty of ordering for you.”

“And you are thoughtful to have done so,” he said, rubbing his hands together before he took his seat. “I’ve always loved chocolate. Very good of you to recollect that.”

“I did indeed,” said Lucy, “and since I did not know how willing you would be to accept my invitation, I thought it best to provide an incentive.”

“I confess I am surprised at all this,” he said. “Pleasantly surprised, to be sure, but after our last encounter, you did not appear to wish to say more to me. But I am glad you summoned me, for I am to leave soon, and I did not wish us to part on such poor terms.”

“Where do you go?” His pronouncement had now caught her by surprise, and she did not know how or if it would affect her intentions.

“I await my orders. All I can tell you, really. These things are best kept secret.”

Lucy did not reply, and Mr. Morrison took a sip of his chocolate.

Lucy watched him, making certain he swallowed. She thought about what she was doing. This spell would make him love her, and that love would last until she broke the spell or until something happened to stagger him free of the spell’s influence. She would be manipulating another human being, which was a terrible thing to do. But this was Mr. Morrison, and so she told herself that if she could make him an unwitting agent in her service, it was the least he owed her. Accordingly she said quietly, “Thus you are bound to me, Jonas Morrison.”

Mr. Morrison set down his own cup and put his hand to his temple. “My God, Lucy. Did you just now—?” He looked away, out the window, then back to her. “I beg your pardon. I don’t recall what I was saying.”

“You spoke of your orders,” said Lucy, as she watched his face for some sign that the spell had taken effect.

“Yes, I must go soon,” he said, “and I do not want to. You must know that I do not want to leave you. Do I shock you? I am sorry, I cannot help it. You cannot doubt that I am in love with you. I know that I used you falsely in the past, and you are right not to trust me. Only you must trust me this time. You must.”

Lucy swallowed hard, suddenly aware of all the ambient noises that surrounded her—the other conversations, the rolling of carriages upon the street, the ticking of the clock, the birds, the cries of vendors, and the thundering of her own heart. She hated Jonas Morrison, but to toy with him this way was monstrous. She humiliated him and herself, and the consequences of her actions would likely prove disastrous. She understood that, but even as the waves of regret washed over her, she also knew she had no choice. She needed to know what he knew, and everything else would wait until her niece was safe. That is what mattered. Emily was missing, and her sister cared for a horrible creature, and no one anywhere knew or was prepared to do anything about it. No one but Lucy, and she would do what she must. She would crush and humiliate and deceive a thousand Jonas Morrisons if she had to.

Lucy rose to her feet. “Do not say such things,” she managed. When she had imagined casting this spell upon him, she had not considered how she would respond to such a declaration.

“I know you resent what happened between us, but I am ready to make amends, to show you my true self. I ask only that you allow me the opportunity to prove myself.”

Lucy turned to him, steeling herself for the bitterness of the words she must speak. “If you love me, you will trust me, and if you trust me, you will tell me what you know. I must understand what is happening, Mr. Morrison. I must understand everything. If you love me, you will not leave me in the darkness of ignorance.”

Mr. Morrison considered what she said, and seemed to measure her words for their reason. Then he reached forward and gently took her hand, wrapping her fingers in his as though she were made of something brittle, and he feared to break her. They both sat down again.

“I can deny you nothing that is in my power to grant,” he said. “There are dark matters of great importance of which I cannot speak, which I have sworn to withhold from all but other initiates, but what is within my power to tell you, I will.”

His touch disgusted her. No matter how she might regret manipulating him, she could not help but despise him for what he had done to her. Nevertheless, she did not pull away. “What are you doing here, Mr. Morrison? Why have you come to Nottingham?”

He leaned forward, as if to lessen the distance between them. “I was to keep my eye upon the man you were to marry, Mr. Olson.”

“But why?”

He took a deep breath. “There are forces in motion. Dangerous forces. Chief among these are what people are apt to call fairies or elves. Do not laugh, for this is serious.”

Lucy thought about Mary’s words, as well as the changeling creature she had held in her own arms. “I assure you, I am past laughing.”

Mr. Morrison appeared surprised by her reaction. “You know of them already?”

“They are the spirits of the dead, returned and given flesh. They are revenants.”

“You are unusually well informed,” said Mr. Morrison. “Quite impressive. Almost no one outside our circle knows it. There are some historians of our folklore who have commented upon the fact that what we call fairy barrows are often burial mounds of the ancients, but that is the closest I have ever seen to things becoming common knowledge.”

“I have uncommon sources,” she said. Unable to any longer endure it, she removed her hand from his light touch. She was gentle, however. Lucy knew that a jarring experience or emotional confusion could destroy the effect of her spell. She would have to tread lightly.

Mr. Morrison looked at his hand, as if unable to comprehend what had happened, and then straightened himself. “Yes, I have no doubt. They have been among us as long as anyone can recall, bound to these isles. They are part of who we are, part of what it means to be British. For many years they have walked among us, scattered through many powerful families in the land. There have always been those who sought to join their number, who dream of power and immortality, and little imagine the cost. And too there are those who seek to constrain their power and influence, such as my order does now.”

“What do these creatures want?” asked Lucy.

He shrugged. “Sometimes nothing more than to exist as they please. They play their games among themselves and, at times, they toy with us. Sometimes their schemes are trivial, and other times they seek to manipulate our lives in ways we cannot tolerate. They are strange and vile, Lucy, and to encounter one is to be altered by its strangeness.”

“Our mortality makes us what we are,” said Lucy, echoing Mary’s words.

He nodded. “How could I help but love a woman as wise as you? Yes, that is the thing. Even the ones newly returned are so altered as to be different creatures than the beings they were in life. They are inscrutable and arbitrary and terrifying.”

“Mr. Morrison, why is any of this important? You say that these beings have long walked among us. Why is your order acting against them now?”

“The world is changing, Lucy. Everywhere we see the rise of new machines, new methods of making and building and transporting. The world is about to enter an era in which man and machine will hold dominion over nature. In this, the revenants have allied with us. They have been providing us with intelligence against the Luddites.”

“Do you mean to say that you stand with these monsters?” Lucy was horrified. She knew that Mr. Morrison and his Rosicrucians believed that Britain must not fall behind the rest of the world as mills replaced men in the production of goods, but to align with creatures that Mary described as pure evil—that seemed too much.

“Not quite so much standing with them as finding ourselves upon common ground.”

Mr. Morrison’s hand had been creeping back toward hers as he gathered the courage to hold it, but Lucy snatched hers away. Now that she knew what he stood for, she could feel far less guilty about having placed this spell upon him.

“Have you seen these mills?” she asked him. “Do you know what they are, what it is to work in one? Do you understand what it is you defend?”

“I have seen them,” he said, and indeed he looked shaken. “They are terrible. I know that, Lucy, and your outrage does you credit, but Britain cannot stand alone, defenseless in the past while other nations march forward. We will be backwards and defenseless.”

“That is a poor excuse,” said Lucy.

“We have no choice. If these Luddites are unchecked, their uprising will lead to rebellion. Do you want to have happen here what has happened in France? We must move forward in peace or fall backwards in violence. What course would you advise?”

“A third way,” said Lucy, who spoke without thinking, but as the words escaped her mouth, she knew it was what she believed. There had to be a third way, some kind of compromise position that steered the nation between the Luddites and the revenants. That was what Lucy endorsed. And, much to her own surprise, she found that she cared about it. It meant something to her. Finding her niece was the most pressing issue upon her mind, but this—this compromise was important too. She could not have said why, she could not have said how her opinion on the fate of the nation could be of consequence, but she felt sure that it was.

“What is that third way? I pray you tell me, for if you can think of it, I shall urge my superior to pursue it.”

Lucy smiled. “I don’t know. Yet. Give me a little time.” She placed her hand back on the table. The idea that he would again touch her, would even think of touching her, was sickening, but Lucy had set these events in motion, and she would have to let them unfold. “What has Mr. Olson to do with all this?”

“We are not entirely certain. The truth is, the revenants give us half-truths and partial intelligence. They attempt to aid us against the Luddites, but also to manipulate us for their own ends, perhaps even ends that have nothing to do with this cause. We believed that Olson was to play some role in the rise of these mills, but since his frames were destroyed, it may no longer be so. In any event, I am upon a new mission now.”

“What is that?”

“There is a book,” he said. “An alchemical book that supposedly contains the secret of both making and unmaking revenants, of enslaving and banishing magical creatures. It contains much more besides: the secret to warding against magic, and to breaking the wards of others. It tells of things not imagined, and yet so simple, it is hard to believe they could be unknown. But most of all, it contains the secret of bringing the dead back to life—or, perhaps more accurately, to giving them a new kind of life. It is, in short, the most terrible book in the world. The only known copy of the book has been torn apart, and its pages scattered. My superior has charged me with finding these pages. I don’t know precisely why, but the book is likely something we can use to bargain with these revenants.”

Lucy tried to look only vaguely interested, but her hands began to shake. She could use the Mutus Liber to cast off the monster that had taken the place of her niece. She had to find the missing pages, and she had to do so before Mr. Morrison did—a man who enjoyed the resources of a secret international organization.

She took a deep breath to clear her mind. “Do you know where to find this book?”

“It has been broken up into many pieces,” he said, “but I believe I have recently discovered where to look for at least part of it, and I must leave soon.”

There was no help for it now, and so she spoke words she would never have believed she could utter. “Will you take me with you?”

Finally he found the courage to take her hand. Mr. Morrison smiled at her, and his eyes moistened. “I should like nothing better than to have you with me, but it is far too dangerous.”

Lucy swallowed, preparing her to say the words she had to say. “If you love me, you will take me with you.”

He looked down at the table for a long time. Finally, he met her eyes. “My search for the book will take me far away, to many different places, and I cannot harm your reputation by asking you to go with me unmarried. And I cannot now marry you. I should like nothing better, Lucy, but until this matter is resolved, my superior would not give me permission.”

No one is asking you to marry me, thought Lucy bitterly, and yet, she could not help but consider this offer as though it were serious, as though it were brought on by something other than her magic and her will. Mr. Morrison was a gentleman, he had money and certainly influence of some kind. He was charming and clever and handsome. Ought she not to set aside her past antipathy and encourage this line of conversation?

“However,” he said, snapping her out of her thoughts, “before I travel, I must look for some of the missing pages close to hand. It will be dangerous, but you are a woman of some skill, so if you do precisely what I say, I will venture to bring you with me.”

It was better than nothing. It was a start. “Where do we go?”

He made a face of disgust. “To a vile place, Lucy. One as full of demons and ghosts as anywhere on earth. We go to an estate whose every stone is permeated with evil and dissipation. It is the ruined home of a corrupted baron who is more devil than man. The place I speak of is called Newstead Abbey.”