The more she struggled and fought, the tighter the chain wound. The links slipped together with a series of quiet clicks, forming a seamless band.
Morwen gritted her teeth and snarled. Her gaze drilled into my employer, and her fingers were tensed like talons. She was shaking with anger. “Why won’t my hands work?” she demanded.
“Because of the work you would put them to,” Jackaby replied. “You’re bound by my will until I give you leave to go.”
He inspected the pouch at her side and found a single remaining hex-acorn within it. She growled as he relieved her of the trinket, but she could do nothing to stop him as he tucked it away into one of the myriad pockets of his coat. Behind him a piece of plaster the size of a dinner plate slipped from the demolished wall and landed atop the debris with a crash.
Mayor Spade stood watching from the ruined bathroom, looking rather like the bathtub had flattened him instead of his wife. He opened his mouth and closed it. He stared at Morwen. The damage done to his home was slight compared to the ruins that had just been made of the poor man’s life.
“Mr. Spade,” I said. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”
The mayor only hung his head. “I have been a terrible fool.”
“Yes,” Jackaby said gently. “Yes, you have. Well then, I think we’re finished here. Sorry about the mess, Mayor. Let me know if you need a good contractor for that wall, I’m happy to call in a favor or two. Don’t trouble yourself, Bertram. We’ll see ourselves out.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The mayor’s estate was not the only property to have suffered that day; Jackaby’s house at 926 Augur Lane looked as though it had barely survived a war. The damage around us felt raw and personal as we stepped back inside. I tried not to think about the fact that the worst of it was still nothing compared to the carnage that would ensue if the earth and Annwyn became one.
Toby skittered into the foyer and wound several circles around Charlie’s legs. Even Douglas flapped up onto the bookshelf and bobbed happily from one foot to the other. We had a lot of work ahead of us, but ransacked or not, it was a relief to be home.
“What are you going to do with her?” I asked. Jackaby still had Morwen bound with his chain of sky-iron. She had said nothing since we had left the mayor’s estate.
“We’re going to ask her a few questions,” said Jackaby. “We’ll start with finding out where she stowed her brother’s machine and then move on to the rest of her family. It may take time. This chain prevents her from actively fighting against me, but it can’t compel her to cooperate any more than that. For now, we will simply keep her out of trouble.” Morwen narrowed her eyes but said nothing. “The cellar is still the most secure chamber on the property. It was originally meant to keep undesirables out, of course, but it should serve just as well to keep this one in until we’re ready to deal with her.”
“It was originally meant to store jam,” said Jenny, “but in light of our current state of affairs, I suppose it’s a good thing you renovated.”
“Mr. Barker, would you be so kind as to see our guest secured soundly in the cellar?” Jackaby commended his prisoner into Charlie’s care, and Charlie led her off through the house and toward the back of the building. Before they turned the corner, Morwen shot one last acid glare at Jenny. Jenny did not return the woman’s venom, but simply watched them with a blank expression until they had stepped out of sight.
“How do you feel?” Jackaby said.
“Good.” Jenny considered the question earnestly. “I feel good. I thought I would hate her. I thought I would want to hurt her, but I don’t. Not really. It feels strangely liberating.”
“Excellent,” Jackaby said. “That’s excellent.”
“And then there’s Howard,” she continued. “After all these years of wondering—it’s strange to just know. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to, and now I know. Howard is dead.”
“He died a hero.”
“Of course he did.” Jenny smiled. “I only wish you could have known him. The two of you are more than a little alike.”
“You’re handling all of this well.” Jackaby said. “I must admit I wasn’t certain you would be here to have this conversation. I was afraid . . .”
“Afraid?”
“Of losing . . . Afraid that you . . .” He took a deep breath and tried again. “There were some very big questions keeping you tethered to the land of the living, Miss Cavanaugh. I was afraid that finding answers—finding closure—might cut your ties to this world.”
“I should have moved on to the other side by now.” Jenny nodded. “I wasn’t certain about that, either. I might have crossed over straightaway if I had found those answers years ago. I guess I wasn’t satisfied with just being that girl who died. She’s a part of me, but I do believe I’m more than an echo now. Maybe I’m not supposed to be more, but I am. I have new thoughts and feelings.” She bit her lip and looked away from Jackaby. “They’re maddening sometimes—but they’re mine, and not hers. They’re emotions the woman I used to be never knew, and that means I must be somebody right now. Whatever else I am, I’m my own somebody—and I’m not done figuring out who that is just yet.”
I have seen Jackaby look through people and over people. I have seen him regard people like science experiments and like puzzle pieces. While Jenny spoke, he looked into her eyes like I have never seen him look at anyone before. It was unexpectedly tender.
“Perhaps I should excuse myself,” I said.
“No, Miss Rook.” Jackaby turned away, pulling the little red pouch out of his coat and setting it on the desk. Inside was the strange stone that Pavel had given me. “We need to talk.”
“I’m afraid that may have to wait,” said Charlie from the doorway. We turned.
“Was there a problem?” Jackaby stiffened. “Morwen?”
“Is secured in your cellar. She was very compliant. We could use chains like that one on the police department. The thing is, the cellar was already occupied. Do you know this woman?”
He stepped aside, and the widow Cordelia Hoole came forward. In her arms was a little girl in a yellow dress. “Mrs. Hoole,” I managed. “We weren’t expecting—Is that Mrs. Wick’s child?”
“No,” said Jackaby. He stepped up and tickled the chubby little toddler on her chin. “She’s not.”
“You’re right,” Mrs. Hoole confirmed. “I know that you don’t like secrets, Mr. Jackaby. Forgive me. This is Hope. She is my secret.”
“Why ever should a child be secret?” asked Jackaby. “Children make terrible secrets. They are much too conspicuous. Loud, stinking, prone to fits.”
“Sir,” I said. “Mrs. Hoole and the professor were only wed for a year.”
“Yes? So?” said Jackaby.