There is a moment of silence.
“Malachai believed that mankind did not live up to its fullest potential. He wanted to conquer death, to travel planes of existence that no man or woman had imagined. So from that day on, he began to take an obscene interest in the dead. He even hired resurrection men to do his dirty work.”
“Resurrection men?” I ask.
Balthazar frowns with disapproval. “Grave robbers.”
I feel as if I may faint.
“Soon, word spread of his nefarious activities. He was dismissed by the many societies that once looked to him for his curious mind and medical knowledge, and he retreated into the shadows.”
Another pause. Balthazar sighs. “Malachai became . . . obsessed with the idea of bringing the dead back to life. He found others who shared his views, and together they traveled a path that led to death and despair. They called themselves Mephisto, a variation of the word ‘Mephistopheles.’”
“The devil,” Gabriel hisses.
“Yes, Gabriel. A demon from an old German legend called Faust, about a man who makes a pact with the devil.”
“Did these people succeed?” Gabriel asks. His voice is deep and sounds strange coming from such a slight child. “In bringing back the dead?”
“They did. But what they brought back contained only a glimmer of human life. They were ghouls, undead creatures who exist only to do the bidding of their masters.”
My stomach turns. This is ghastly, and I wonder once more if I should have returned home with Mother, but Balthazar continues, and I am swept back into the tale.
“The deeper Malachai delved, the more insane he became. He used these ghouls to capture human hosts for his experiments, and woe to the poor souls who fell into his trap.
“When bodies started showing up in the Thames—?the discarded refuse of his vile work—?the League of Ravens had no choice but to act. Malachai was killed, along with several of his followers.” Balthazar looks at me. “It was Jessamine’s father, Alexander Grace, who delivered the fatal blow.”
Emily looks at me and smiles. I am taken aback, for this deed of Father’s, albeit necessary, does not seem to be something to revel in.
Balthazar leans back in his chair and blows out a breath. “That was several years ago. But now, out of the shadows they have come again. They have made themselves known to Miss Jessamine and her mother.”
“How?” Emily asks.
“They sent a message on a spirit slate, a tool to contact the dead.”
“What was it?” Gabriel asks.
Balthazar looks to me. I swallow and, not for the last time, I am sure, repeat the strange words. “‘Ring around the rosy, a pocketful of posies. Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down!’”
Emily screws up her face.
“Signed with the letter M,” Balthazar adds, “as a dire warning.”
He rises from his chair. “You were each chosen because you possess a special gift. One that can help destroy this menace. Beginning today, we must prepare. But first, Miss Jessamine, if you will stand, please.”
I do as he bids. Gabriel and Emily stand also, and Gabriel draws the curtains shut.
Odd, that.
The room darkens but for the faint light that seeps through the curtains. Balthazar lights a candelabra with a match. Emily and Gabriel stand on either side of him. Everyone looks somber. “What is happening?” I ask.
But no one answers.
Balthazar walks to the corner of the room and picks up a long, wooden staff. A gleaming metal point shines at its tip. I hadn’t even noticed it before—?or perhaps I had mistaken it for a broom, which, judging from the dust on the floor, this room could certainly use. He walks back over and stands between Emily and Gabriel. They are all facing me, as if I am about to be questioned. What is this about?
Balthazar takes a step forward, so he is only a foot away. I feel sweat on my back. It is unseemly for a lady to sweat, I hear Mother’s voice remind me.
“We are known as the League of Ravens,” he announces, “named for Bran the Blessed, once king of Britain and protector of the realm.”
My ears prick up. Although I did not finish my schooling, I certainly learned all of the British kings. Yet the name is unfamiliar. “Bran the Blessed? I have never heard of such a man.”
“It is from the old Welsh tales,” Balthazar replies, “the Mabinogion, in particular, which is now lost in history. Bran means ‘raven’ in the old tongue, and it is from him that we draw our strength.”
I nod, enthralled.
“Since our order was formed, we have all sworn an oath to uphold its secrets. Now this duty falls upon you, Miss Jessamine.”
He takes a step closer. A scent of deep woods and fallen leaves surrounds him, something I hadn’t noticed before.
“Jessamine Grace. Do you come here of your own free will, being of sound mind?”
I take a breath. “I do.”
“And do you swear to use your gift for the good of mankind and strike down evil at any cost, even at risk to your own life?”
My legs quake.