I agreed.
If it was selfish or not, I could not say, for I felt certain that his death had been preventable, and I could have prevented it. I’d never told him the full truth. I’d never risked that much, and he might have saved himself in some way, been more motivated to leave, been more primed to protect himself. And as I sat on the floor, staring up at Mrs. Haylam with anticipation, the thought of losing my life for his seemed almost preferable. What was I, anyway? A monster, apparently, one that belonged among only misfits and creatures of darkness.
It was childish, to think of my own life with so little regard, but in that moment it felt like the truth. My life for his; a troubled life for an innocent one.
“I agree.” That was all it took, and Mrs. Haylam was kneeling next to Lee’s head, cupping her hands over his ears. Her eyes rolled back, solid, flashing gold again, and she whispered a string of words in the language she had spoken to Mr. Morningside just a moment before.
The room began to shake, subtly at first, and then it felt as if the whole roof might come crashing down on us. I gasped and inched back, watching as the sliver of Lee’s shadow visible on the floor soaked into his body, disappearing, before his mouth dropped open and that same shadow emerged, floating up from between his lips until it stood, the very silhouette of the boy I knew, hovering over us.
I gaped up at it, shivering, watching as it held out its ghostly black arms and inspected them, as if trying on a new coat.
“What is the price?” Mrs. Haylam murmured, her eyes flickering like fairy lights.
Lee’s shadow spun to face her, and she nodded toward me.
“She will pay the shadow price?” It was Lee’s voice, but cold, emotionless, lacking the sweetness and warmth I had come to expect from him. Oh God, was this all a mistake?
“It has been agreed upon,” she said.
The shadow twisted back around, its toes still dangling inside Lee’s open mouth. Its hollow eyes regarded me for a long moment before it said blankly, “Three boons I will ask. The first, a lock of your hair.”
“Of—of course,” I stammered. Mr. Morningside handed me a small pocketknife. I had almost forgotten his presence, as he was perfectly silent. His eyes were hooded as he handed me the knife, and again I questioned this choice. Shouldn’t the Devil be gleeful to have tricked me into this course? I cut off the bottom fringe of my braid and handed it to Mrs. Haylam.
“The second, a drop of your blood,” the shadow demanded.
“Done.” I already had the knife in hand. Pricking my thumb, I held it up and watched blood bubble to the surface, then disappear, twirling into a mist that rose into the air and then vanished.
“The third,” the shadow murmured, its hollow eyes squinting as though it were smiling, “the life of your firstborn child.”
I blinked up at the thing, my heart pounding, my mouth suddenly dry. Then I looked to Mr. Morningside and Mrs. Haylam for instruction. “I’m . . . I have no child, shadow; you’ve made some mistake.”
“There is no mistake,” it hissed in reply. Then it spun slowly until it faced the door, extending one arm and pointing at Mary, who watched us wide-eyed from the doorway. “That girl is of your make, born of your wishing and your mind. I will take her now as my price.”
“No!” I shook my head, going onto my knees. “You can’t take Mary; she’s done nothing!”
“Louisa, you agreed,” the Devil was saying, touching my shoulder gently. “There is no going back now.”
“I won’t allow it!” I shouted back, shoving his hand away.
Mary drifted into the room, her hands folded in front of her apron. She gave me the strangest smile, one of fondness and sadness. Of acceptance. No. No. This wasn’t what I wanted! None of this was what I wanted. . . .
“You don’t have to do this,” I told her, shaking my head, tears gushing anew down my cheeks. “It should be my life, not yours! Go, Mary, turn around!”
But she simply walked on toward us, calmly, as if going righteously to an execution.
“It will be all right,” she told me softly. Out in the hall, she took Chijioke into her small arms and squeezed him tight, then turned to Poppy and did the same, even sparing a moment to drop a kiss on Bartholomew’s head.
“Are you sure about this, Mary?” Chijioke was asking, brushing his hand at a spill of tears.
“Absolutely” was her reply.
No . . . She was not allowed to say good-bye. She was not allowed to do this on my behalf. Mr. Morningside stood and moved to the corner and Mary took his place, kneeling and touching her forehead to mine. “I’ll go, Louisa. You don’t have to worry.”
“No!” I looked for help, for dissension, but nobody spoke up; they simply stared back at me. “I can’t let you do this, Mary. I didn’t know I made you. I didn’t mean to . . . to . . .” I threw my arms around her. She was Maggie. She was Mary. I had made her and needed her and she had been my friend in the worst hours of my life. And now she would be gone. Just like Lee.
I had tried to save everyone, and instead I had led to everyone’s ruin.
Mary carefully unhooked my arms from her shoulders, smiling her gentle smile, her green eyes so familiar and filled, heartbreakingly, with nothing but love.
“Don’t cry, Louisa,” she said, standing and taking the shadow’s hand. “I’m only going home.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
In a blink she was gone, as if she had never existed in the first place. As if my need of a friend had never manifested her into being.
And the shadow was gone, too, sucked back into Lee’s mouth. The blood of his that had leaked out onto the carpets gradually absorbed back into his body until a healthy bloom of color sat on his cheeks. Then, through Mrs. Haylam’s cursed magic, I saw his chest rise and fall. He lived.
“He will wake when the moon rises,” she told me. Her eye was clouded once more, and she rolled her sleeves down, challenging me with a stare as she did so. I said nothing, and she and Mr. Morningside hoisted Lee up, though he did not react. They pulled him out of the room and I followed, numb and cold all over as they brought him back to his own rooms and laid him in the bed.
It took me a long moment to realize what looked wrong about him: he had no shadow as they picked him up or as they dragged him, and he had no shadow as they put him to bed. That thing that had demanded hair and blood and life of me was inside him somewhere, and the thought made me sick with regret.
What had I done to him? What had I done to Mary?
I stood over his bed as dusk slipped away to night, as a cloud of bats darkened the sky and circled the house, as the Residents came out and prowled the halls. Mrs. Haylam stayed for a while, her shoulder almost touching mine.
“I warned you,” she said, and it was pity in her voice, not scorn.