“I know, and I should have listened. Will he be the same?” I asked.
Mrs. Haylam drew in a rattling breath. “Yes and no. He will be the boy you knew, but he is death-touched now, and living by the grace of shadow. There will be a greater darkness in him, and a greater capacity for malice.”
I nodded, touching the blanket he lay upon. “Mr. Morningside was wrong, you know. Lee didn’t belong here. He was innocent.”
“Yes, and your certainty is the only reason I agreed to this,” she said, gesturing to his legs. “He can never leave this house, Louisa. A shadow is not form; he is bound to the same magicks that tie the Residents here, and when his flesh has faded he will be as one of them. You will not live to see it, and he will exist here forever.”
“Worse and worse,” I whispered, feeling hopeless. Feeling lost. If I had bound Lee against his will to this house, then I would stay, too. It was only fair, after the mess I had caused. “I have cursed him and lost Mary in one.”
“Maybe not,” Mrs. Haylam said softly, placing a motherly hand on my back. “Maybe not.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She nodded subtly to the door, and I turned to find Mr. Morningside watching us, leaning against the door frame. He was the Devil, but I did not shrink from him as he approached and held out his arm. I took it, looking up at him, not reassured by his easy smile.
The Devil’s golden eyes flickered, and he patted my hand. “How do you feel about a little trip?” he asked. “To Ireland, perhaps. Waterford, more specifically. I know a well there with extraordinary power. Hold out your hand.”
I did, a stirring of recognition in my head. The dream. The book. Was all not lost? Could I really see Mary again? When I opened my fist, I found he had dropped a small, warm thimble into my palm, and a familiar gold pin.
“Don’t stay away too long,” the Devil said, drifting toward the door. He paused and looked over his shoulder at me. “You belong here at Coldthistle House.”
Epilogue
A month later I stood in the blistering cold, a woolen muffler pulled up high over my lips. Burrowing down into it, I waited outside the tavern, stamping my feet and watching my breath curl into little wisping white dragons that floated to the iron sky.
I felt like a stranger here, though Waterford had long been my home. Those childhood years felt a hundred centuries away. I was not the same miserable, shy girl rolling in the mud while my parents fought and fought. A man shouldered his way into the tavern, leering at me. I looked away, disgusted, and hugged myself to ward off the cold.
Barges drifted on the river. Workmen called to one another as they took their afternoon breaks. A few gulls floated stark and white high above me, feathers ruffled by the wind. I could no longer glance at a bird without thinking of Mr. Morningside and the multitude of souls stashed in his office. What did he need them all for? I wondered if he would ever tell me.
Sighing, I looked up and down the lane, searching every face that came and went. Would he come? Was this all just a game? No. Patience. I opened up my mitten and there it was, the promise of friendship restored. A way to make things right again.
A thimble.
Another quarter hour passed, and I decided to leave and try again the next day. That was when he appeared. He was short, with a wide and round face. His shockingly red hair stood up in every direction.
“Alec?” I asked, watching him slide up to me with a toothy grin. “I’m looking for a very special spring. Can you help me?”
His eyes twinkled and he started down the lane, beckoning for me to follow. “If a spring’s your thing, I ken one fit even for a king.”
I squeezed the thimble tight in my fist and followed.