Lovely, I say to myself. Just lovely.
I lie down on the bed. My thoughts are scattered, and I cannot seem to focus on one thing at a time. I quiet my mind enough to think back on Emily. What would cause a father to completely abandon his child? “I seen the fire inside her,” he had said. Can she transform into a dangerous animal, like Darby? And what of Gabriel? These questions remain in my head until finally, with the wind rattling the window, I drift off to an uneasy sleep.
Tonight, I dream of a little girl.
She comes to me in a fog of swirling gray mist. Her pinafore dress is frayed and torn. Blood runs along the hem. “Help me,” she whispers. “Please. Help me.”
She reaches out a hand. Her fingers are stiff and swollen, and when she opens her mouth again, no words come out, only a foul black liquid.
In the morning, I meet Mother in the parlor. I see no sign of breakfast and do not have an appetite anyway. She is back to her usual self, not the mysterious woman who opened Father’s case and cracked his whip. My whip. A lash, she called it.
Fresh flowers are on the table, and the sweet smell of lavender fills the room. This gives me pause, as flowers are not in season. Is this some sort of faerie magic? I wonder. We sit on the settee, and she takes my hands. “My dear child,” she says. “My sweet Jessamine.”
Just hearing these words, I feel as if my heart will fall out. We’ve been through thick and thin since Father’s death, and all we have is each other.
“I told you there are always choices,” she begins, “and now you must decide on what yours will be.”
She releases my hands. For a moment she says nothing, but looks past my head, and stares into the distance. “Your father and I were called upon to do this work too, in our younger days. We were newly married and still basking in the warm glow of first love.”
I should be embarrassed by this intimate detail, but for some reason I am not. Her eyes sparkle, and I don’t know if it is from the happy memory or an overwhelming feeling of loss.
“After our vows, we made our home in London,” she continues, “and there, your father took up his work as a barrister. Soon after, an old friend called upon him. It was Balthazar, you see. They were at university together.” She pauses and looks through a window, where the twisted branches of an elm tree cast shadows in the morning sun. She turns back to me, and her face is grave. “Balthazar told him that bodies were being found in the East End of the city. They were all missing limbs, and he needed help in discovering the cause.”
I shudder. “Why would someone—”
“It was Mephisto,” Mother says with a scowl, “causing havoc and chaos to some ghastly end. That incident spawned many more, and at your father’s request, I joined him in the battle.”
Never before have I seen Mother like this. She is always reserved, always guarded. She has kept these secrets from me for years, and now I’m beginning to understand why.
“We spent many years battling the powers of the dark, my child, and it took its toll.”
She clasps my hands again, and her grip tightens, as if she is afraid she will lose me, too, just as she lost Papa. “After your father’s death, I raised you in Deal, away from this dreadful city, where you could grow up near the water and the green outdoors. But now we find ourselves here once more.”
She closes her eyes and releases a sigh. Everything she has done has been for me. Everything. I want to hug her and never let her go, but before I can, she speaks again. “And before your father died, Jess, he killed our strongest enemy, one of the greatest necromancers of all.”
“Who?”
“His name was Malachai. Malachai Grimstead. Father killed him but died shortly thereafter.”
“Malachai,” I whisper.
“He possessed the power of mesmerism as well, which made him all the more dangerous, for he used his gift to cause pain and suffering.”
His body rip—?
“So you see, Jessamine, your father’s blood runs within your veins. He was powerful, as Balthazar told you, and now his gift has awakened in you.” She pauses, and her lips tighten. “That is why you must decide.”
Something stirs within me at this moment: Pride. A desire for vengeance. Fear.
Alexander was one of our strongest members . . .
A malevolent group that lived in darkness and fed on fear . . .
But when they killed your father . . .
“I will stay,” I tell her. “I will stay and fight.”
Mother smiles, and it is a sad smile, but I sense resolution, too. Is she relieved that I have accepted my fate? She hugs me to her chest. “My dear child,” she murmurs, gently stroking my head.
“But you’ll stay too, won’t you?” I plead, breaking our embrace. “Together. We’re doing this together—?right, Mother?”