“Some believe they were built by the druids,” Gabriel says, “thousand of years ago.”
There is a pause.
“What else did you feel?” Balthazar asks. “You came out of the trance quickly, as if you saw something that unsettled you.”
His gaze is intense. For I will always be watching.
“I saw two pinpoints of red in a field of black. That’s all it was, but I felt a terrible sense of unease.”
He nods, taking in my words.
“We must go to these caves,” Gabriel suggests, looking at me. “We must seek Mephisto out.”
“This is our first true lead,” Balthazar agrees. “And after Cora’s death, we cannot take anything lightly.”
Just hearing him speak of Mother makes me want to weep.
Balthazar looks at me, then at Emily and Gabriel. He stands up and seems to grow even taller in the dark room. “Jess, you’ll need your weapons.”
I pull the case from the leather satchel. The instruments lie in their bed of red velvet, waiting for their power to be unleashed. I draw out the lash. The handle is braided leather. The five trailing thongs feel weighted at the bottom, as if filled with stone or some other deadly embellishment. I saw what it did to the dressmaker’s form. But what would it do to a monster? I grip the handle and, releasing a breath, lash out, just as Mother did.
A deafening crack rings through the room. I set the lash down and pick up the compass. Now I can see how beautiful it really is. A fine filigree pattern runs along the two legs, which taper into points so sharp, I dare not touch them. I set it back down. Mother’s words come back to me:
To most people, these are just simple objects, but to those with supernatural abilities, they are deadly weapons.
Inside the satchel is a leather strap with two buttonholes at either end. I find the pegs on the satchel and push them through. There is a length of extra strap, like a belt that is too long, but by adjusting and fiddling, I somehow find a way to sling it over my shoulder, where it bounces against my hipbone. It feels right, as if it has been waiting for me. My proper English side notices that the leather is a complement to my brown boots, which Darby has cleaned to a fine sheen. But now is not the time for frivolous thoughts.
A malevolent force that lived in darkness and fed on fear. They are necromancers.
We take the South Eastern Railway from Charing Cross to the town of Chislehurst, which lies to the southeast. I wonder what the other passengers think of our little band of travelers: A father with his children? A headmaster with some of his pupils? If only they knew the truth.
We are the League of Ravens, and we are seeking evil where it sleeps.
We arrive at Chiselhurst Station at dusk. It is nothing more than a small depot with a signal box. A few malnourished cats and dogs slink about the place. A sign above a small booth reads STATIONMASTER, but there is no one to be seen.
Balthazar leads the way. “It is a village, really,” he points out. “A very old one, where the people keep to themselves and shun visitors.”
The moon is bright and gives us plenty of light by which to navigate. We are surrounded by open fields and pastures, here and there a small cottage or farmhouse. I smell wood smoke on the air and spy a windmill some distance away, its massive arms creaking in the wind. It’s colder here, without the shelter of buildings and houses, and I feel exposed, as if someone could swoop down at any moment and carry me away.
“So where are the caves?” Emily asks.
“Just up ahead,” Balthazar answers.
We stop in the middle of the dirt path we are on. Balthazar looks left, then right. “This way,” he says.
We make a right turn and come upon a stand of trees as tall as towering giants. Up ahead, a jagged entrance looms like a terrible yawning mouth.
“The cave,” Gabriel whispers.
“Yes, Gabriel,” Balthazar says. “Be on your guard. Jessamine’s vision has led us here, but we do not know what we shall find.” He looks at each of us. “Follow me.”
The air grows even colder as we approach the entrance. It is wet and damp, like the sea back home. But is it simply weather, or the presence of something more foreboding?
Balthazar sniffs like a foxhound on the hunt. For a moment he says nothing at all, and then, “Light, Emily.”
I hear Emily exhale, as soft as a whisper. I turn to see a nimbus of light radiate from the top of her head and then surround her. In an instant, the darkness is flooded with brilliant luminescence.
The light spreads outward from Emily’s body like a candle, glowing brightest at the top of her head. Her hair floats away from her face as if she is underwater.
“I take it Emily told you of her gift?” Balthazar asks.
“Yes,” I say, still staring. “But I thought it was only—”