I close my eyes, and a scene comes up behind them: A lace curtain billows lazily from an open window, letting in the sour smell of refuse and garbage from outside. I can smell it, as if I am right there. A younger Emily is sleeping on the floor of a shabby room, wrapped in a ratty blanket. She hugs a dolly to her chest. Across from her, a man slumps in a chair, a bottle gripped in his hand. His face is worn and anxious.
I feel myself wanting to break away—?this is too private, I realize—?but my eyes remain closed, as if I have no power to resist the memory that has unfolded before me.
“I’ll not have it in my house,” the man says. “The girl’s touched.”
He is talking to a woman with red-knuckled hands and a thin, drawn face. Tears glisten on her cheeks. “But she’s only four, Oliver,” she says. “A child.”
“All the easier for the devil to do his mischief,” the man answers. “I seen the fire inside her.”
“I’ll see to her,” the woman pleads. “She won’t be a bother. Promise.”
The scene breaks, and for a moment, with eyes still closed, I think that is all, but . . .
“No!” the woman cries. “Oliver, please!”
The man called Oliver grabs Emily’s small wrist with thick, callused fingers. “Come along, girl,” he snarls, tugging her away. “I won’t have evil in me own house!”
“No!” Emily cries. “Mam!”
But it is too late.
He pushes her through the door and leads her screaming up the street.
Outside, the sky is iron gray. Rain begins to fall. Emily struggles against the man’s fierce grip. “I want me mam!” she cries.
The man is a lumbering giant, pulling her along like a rag doll, stopping every now and then to take a swig from the brown bottle.
I see their destination up ahead.
An old brick mansion, covered in vines and sitting in the shade of thick trees like a sleeping brown beast. Black smoke puffs from a chimney. A few shattered windows dot the fa?ade like a smile gone wrong.
The man kneels and pulls Emily close. For a moment, I think he is going to hug her to his chest, but instead, he fishes in his pockets and pulls out a torn piece of paper. He pins it to Emily’s ragged dress:
CANNA CARE FOR. PLEAS TAKE. GOES BY EMILY.
GOD BLES.
I open my eyes. I feel a sharp pain along my neck and shoulders, but it passes within seconds. I feel as if I have done the most dreadful thing imaginable, looking in on someone’s private world. Everyone is staring at me. “I’m sorry,” I say to Emily. “I saw what you were thinking . . . when he took you away. That man. Oliver. He was your fath—?”
“Ah, he were nothing but a big lummox,” Emily cuts me off. “It’s better now. I got a new family.” She smiles, showing small teeth. “Miss me mam, though.”
There is a moment of silence.
Balthazar and Gabriel both smile. Emily doesn’t seem bothered that I have so quickly learned of her terrible past.
Balthazar nods like a proud headmaster. “Very good, Miss Jessamine. You are learning quickly. We will need all your strength in the fight to come.”
I’m not so sure about that, I think. I just want this all to go away.
“And what about you?” I ask Emily, coming back to myself. “What is your ability?”
Emily glances at Balthazar. He shakes his head, very slightly.
“Plenty of time for that,” he says. “Come. I have much to show you.”
Mother and I follow him up the creaky steps. Gabriel and Emily remain downstairs. I am curious to know what their powers are. It dawns on me that if I continue on this path, I will learn soon enough.
Upstairs, there is a narrow hallway with doors along each side. Drab wallpaper with a pattern of roses peels from the walls. Mother takes it all in with a sour look.
“It is a safe place,” Balthazar assures us, “here in Whitechapel, away from prying eyes.”
“The children,” Mother says all of a sudden. “How did they come to be here?”
“My sources led me to an orphanage,” he replies. “Mrs. Alexandra’s Home for Foundling Boys and Girls. Both children showed signs of supernatural abilities, something the Church of England believed to be the work of the devil. It was only a matter of time before they were dropped off on the stoop of the orphanage like so much baggage.”
He pauses and shakes his head. How terrible, I think. To be abandoned by one’s own mother and father.
“The headmistress was eager to see them taken in by a gentleman with an estate,” he continues, “one who needed a scullery maid and a chimney sweep.” He flashes a grin. “That would be me.”
Mother almost rolls her eyes.
“And they look after themselves?” I ask. “Here on their own?” I find this prospect quite exciting, fending for one’s self, like in one of my old stories—?The Adventures of Jess the Pirate Girl and her Deeds of Derring-Do!—?but I am not certain I could truly be on my own without Mother’s love and support.
“Upon your imminent arrival,” Balthazar explains, “I arranged for Emily and Gabriel to stay here for a day or two, as they are usually with me at SummerHall. I wanted to hear your news alone, first.” He pauses. “But things are moving quickly. We must remain close. This will be our headquarters, so to speak.”
Headquarters? I’m getting deeper in by the minute.