“Karen”—Augusta’s eyes glittered dangerously—“where is the wooden box containing the ashes of my dear departed husband?”
Karen looked at the empty space on the mantel, opened her mouth once, closed it, and opened it again. “I don’t know, ma’am,” she croaked. “It was surely there this morning, when I did the dusting. Just before I brought up the tray and was attacked by the ghost.” Karen regretted the word ghost as soon as it had escaped her lips. She had already been paddled once today for her silliness.
To the surprise of everyone in the room, the alchemist startled suddenly from his chair. He had gone a deathly white. “A ghost? You said you saw a ghost?”
“Never mind her,” Augusta snapped. “I’ve already told you about the head trauma she sustained as an infant. Quite tragic.” She turned toward the Lady Premiere and made a sipping gesture with her hand. “It was the whiskey that did it.”
But Karen was inspired by the alchemist’s response to her story. He believed her, she knew, and so she went on, “It was a terrible ghost. Enormous and evil-looking, with glowing red eyes.” She was making this up, of course; but then again, the ghost really had seemed terrible and evil to her, so it wasn’t exactly a lie. “He was just standing there next to the girl—the little girl—as though she had summoned it.” Karen mopped her forehead with her apron. “Very unnatural.”
The alchemist was trembling. He could not speak.
“A little girl?” the Lady Premiere said sharply. “What little girl?”
“Just one of the servants, who lives in the attic.” Augusta tittered nervously. “Nobody to bother about. Skittish creature. She ran off early this morning. Somebody forgot to lock the door to her room.” She glared at Karen.
“The girl!” the alchemist exclaimed wildly. “The girl has the magic. She has used it to raise a ghost. It is as the book promised. It works. The magic works.” He turned triumphantly to the Lady Premiere and performed a little skipping dance. “You see? I told you I would make you the most powerful magic in the world—a potion to raise the dead!”
“You seem to forget a minor detail,” the Lady Premiere said sweetly.
“What’s that?” The alchemist was still skipping his boots merrily across the rug.
“WE DO NOT HAVE THE MAGIC!” the Lady Premiere screamed. Across the street, there was the sound of shattering glass, and a dog began barking. The alchemist toppled backward into his chair. His face seemed to collapse on itself like a soufflé taken too early from the oven.
“Would someone kindly,” Augusta said, wiggling her pinkie finger into her eardrum in the hopes that it would stop the ringing there, “explain what is going on?”
“It’s the boy,” the alchemist muttered darkly. “It’s that useless, worthless, disgusting, vile shred of a boy. It’s all his fault; I’d stake my life on it. He must have brought her the magic.”
Augusta turned to the alchemist with renewed interest. She had never met the alchemist in person but knew of his work. In fact she had more than once sent a servant round to purchase one of his . . . concoctions.
Here, she thought, was a man who understood children. “Useless, worthless, and disgusting, hmmm? That does sound like someone Li—um, my servant girl would know. The adjectives describe her most exactly.”
“He brought her the magic I created—the product of nearly five years’ work—and she has used it to reverse the Order of Things. She has successfully raised the dead.”
“Raised the dead . . .” Augusta felt a flutter of fear beating behind her rib cage. If Liesl could raise the dead . . . and if she should somehow raise the ghost of her own father . . .
Augusta closed her eyes quickly against the image of a towering black shape, with eyes like two glowing red coals, pointing an accusing finger, thundering out, Murderer!
“I did often see a boy standing on the street corner at night, looking up toward the attic,” Karen put in, desperate to redeem herself. “Looking quite lost. Muttering to himself, sometimes, and making signs with his hands.”
“I knew it!” the alchemist spat out bitterly. “They are working together to ruin me. They are in cahoots! They are in collaboration! They are in cooperation! They are in collusion!”
“And you will be in solitary confinement if you do not shut up,” the Lady Premiere snapped. She took a deep breath. It was apparent to her by now that everyone—the froglike woman in her ridiculous getup and that sad-looking slippery daughter of hers, the servant girl, even the alchemist—was a complete moron. She would have to take matters into her own hands. “Mrs. Morbower, this servant of yours. What is her name?”
Augusta’s mind went blank for a moment. “Vera,” she sputtered out.
The real Vera squeaked.
“Well, it is obvious, Mrs. Morbower, that this Vera and the alchemist’s apprentice—”