I sat before the mirror, brushing my hair with long, smooth strokes. Lilly had gone to bed hours ago, and the slumbering house creaked and settled. I paused and set the brush down. Why was I awake?
Mist filled the room. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Another dream from Hargrove, the last person I wanted to see. The bedroom door swung open.
“You can leave right now,” I said as a figure moved into the light.
R’hlem the Skinless Man stepped toward me, the candle’s glow a sheen on his wet, bloodied muscle. That one yellow eye, perched in the center of his forehead, widened.
I hastened to my feet, knocking over half the bottles on my table. A glass vial of scent fell to the floor and shattered, and instantly the whole room smelled of lavender. I ran to the window, intending to fling it open and plunge to the street below. The window wouldn’t budge, though my muscles burned with the effort. I pressed myself against the glass as R’hlem approached.
Scream. I must scream, but when I opened my mouth, the faintest whimper escaped. I slid to the floor. The Skinless Man’s presence filled my room. The air around him hummed with dread. He didn’t roar or wave a fan of tentacles like Korozoth, but the fiendish intelligence in his eye frightened me beyond all else.
Leaning down, he whispered, “Perhaps.”
He reached for me, but I rolled aside and ran for my bed. I found myself fast asleep. That image did the trick.
—
I WOKE GASPING, MY NIGHTDRESS PLASTERED to my body with sweat. Looking about, I assured myself that R’hlem was nowhere in sight. I smelled smoke and tasted blood….I smelled smoke!
Fire bloomed in the center of the bed. Beads of blue flame dotted my palms. I fell to the floor, grabbed the china pitcher from my table, and poured water onto the bedspread. The fire died with a hiss, and thick gray smoke filled the air. I coughed and went to open a window. Ducking my head outside, I breathed deeply. I was all right.
No, I wasn’t.
I collapsed to my knees. That had been no dream. It was the bloody astral plane, just as it had been with Hargrove. How had R’hlem found me? Had I found him? Perhaps my magician powers had granted him a way inside my mind.
Magician. The word still made me sick.
Lilly looked dismayed when she came in, hours later, to find a scorch mark on the bed and me curled up asleep beneath an open window. Always one to find the bright side, she offered happy possibilities as she stripped the sheets. “Maybe it’s a sign that your powers are healthy.” She sniffed the air and looked dismayed when she found the broken bottle of scent on the floor. “Heaven knows how that happened,” she said.
I knew.
Sitting at my vanity as Lilly brought me tea, I rubbed my head and thought. If I was not the sorcerers’ prophecy, didn’t I have a responsibility to step down and allow them to find the right person? But if I told them, the best scenario would be that I was put out on the street, along with Rook. After everything I’d done to keep us here, I couldn’t face that.
I would work hard for the Order. I would be England’s most faithful servant, chosen one or not. If only I could control my bloody powers.
Glancing in the mirror, I noted how awful I looked. My reflection was hollow-cheeked and sallow. The sleepless nights had taken their toll.
And after the dream of R’hlem, I doubted I’d ever sleep easy again.
“Was it a nightmare, miss?” Lilly said, handing me a cup of tea.
“Yes. A bad one.”
She clucked her tongue. “We’ve all been havin’ our share of nightmares.”
“You’ve had them?”
“No, not me.” She winced as if she regretted bringing it up. I guessed quickly and set my cup down.
“Rook? Is he all right?”
“He’s been sleeping badly. Keeps crying out with his headaches, ever since the night you fought Korozoth. You can hear it all the way in the women’s quarters.”
Why hadn’t Rook told me about his pain? Then again, when was our last proper conversation?
These past two weeks I’d seen him a few times out in the stables, but it had never been for long. He was busy with work, and I was always thinking about my next lesson. I couldn’t recall anything we’d said to each other that went deeper than a few pleasantries. Wrapped up tightly in my own problems, I’d forgotten my friend.
“Lilly, you should have told me,” I said, ashamed.
“He asked me not to. Said you had enough to deal with without worrying about him.”
—
THAT AFTERNOON, I SLIPPED DOWNSTAIRS TO the kitchen to see if I might find Rook. I thought perhaps he was in the yard when I heard the music, a violin and cello, sonorous and sad, and, above it all, Rook’s high, clear voice.
“She hears me not, she cares not,
Nor will she listen to me;
And here I lie, in misery,
Beneath the willow tree.”
It was a song we had learned from the villagers near Brimthorn when we were children. In the morning we’d sneak out and watch the men on their way to work, singing it.
“My love has wealth and beauty,
The rich attend her door;
My love has wealth and beauty,
But I, alas! am poor.”
Why did those words make me cringe? I peered around the corner and found them, Rook seated and singing, Lambe with a violin beneath his small chin, Wolff at the cello. As they finished the song, Lilly applauded and rushed forward.
“Oh, I’ve never heard anything so beautiful. You’ve a heavenly voice,” she said, seating herself beside Rook.
“That’s kind, Lilly, but I’m not that good.” He laughed.
“Oh no. I think it’s the most wonderful—”
Pretending I’d not been eavesdropping, I entered the room. Rook rose at once. “Miss Howel,” he said.
He would never need to call Lilly miss. The thought made me ill. Lambe and Wolff stood and clapped Rook on the shoulder.
“You’ve a true voice,” Wolff said. “Thank you for accompanying us. We needed the practice.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Rook said. The boys nodded to me as they left.
“I sensed he required some cheering up,” Lambe whispered. In that moment I loved him, and hated myself.
“Can I help you with anything, miss?” Lilly asked.
“I was hoping to speak with Rook privately.”
“Of course.” She beamed at him. “Meet you in the stables later? Jimmy’s teaching the girls the waltz.”
“Yes.” Rook’s smile faded as soon as Lilly had gone. “How are you, Nettie?” He took a sudden interest in a broom and would not look at me. Well, why should he be pleased with my visit? Now that I thought about it, this was the first time in two weeks I’d bothered to see him alone.
“Lessons are going along. How are you?” I sat down on the bench and waved him to come beside me. He sat as far away as possible, and folded his arms together so as not to touch me even by accident. He acted as though I were diseased.
“I’m well,” he said, voice tight.
“Lilly told me you’ve had headaches, so I know that’s not true,” I muttered.
“It’s just headaches. Nothing I’ve not had before.” A moment passed in silence. I couldn’t understand our awkwardness. Perhaps I’d ignored him, but from the way Rook was behaving, one would think I’d been gone two years, not two weeks.
“She says she can hear your cries all the way in her bedroom. Are you making the paste?”
“I don’t take it anymore,” he said. “It interferes too much.”
“Are you mad? Don’t you want to control this?”
Rook grimaced. “I know how much it repulses you,” he said.
Perhaps I was losing what little I’d left of my mind. “You know it doesn’t repulse me. I just hate to see you this way.”
“I won’t give it up.” His bad hand tightened into a fist. “It’s all I have.”
“That’s not true. You mustn’t let it hold you down.” To my surprise, Rook stood and faced me, trembling.
“I don’t see it as holding me down. That’s the way you see it,” he said.
“Why on earth should I begin hating your scars after eight years? What’s changed so drastically?”