Balthazar finally returns the next morning without explanation. We tell him what has happened, and his face is grim. He scolds us as if we are schoolchildren. “That was very dangerous, Jess. You could have opened yourself up to attack.”
We are in the parlor. Gabriel cradles his harp between his legs, polishing the wood with a cloth, and Emily sits cross-legged before the fire.
Balthazar begins to pace, taking long strides across the room, his hands behind his back, just as Father used to. “Tell me again,” he says, “of this face.”
I breathe out and settle my nerves. “It was a cold white face, one whose features I could not really see. But the eyes—?they were as red as embers.”
Silence falls between us, but for the sound of Balthazar’s boots on the floor.
“And the words?” he asks in a tone I do not like.
I swallow and repeat the phrase I cannot forget. “‘Come to me, darkling. Come to me and save your city.’” I feel dreadful just saying it aloud. “What do they want with me?” I ask the room.
“Retribution,” Balthazar says, his nervous pacing finally coming to a stop. “Remember, Jessamine—?your father was instrumental in destroying Mephisto in the past. It is vengeance they seek. First the wife and then the—”
He stops short, as if realizing what he is about to say. He sighs. “They are trying to lure you with threats. Surely it is only a trap.”
I think on that a moment. What would Father do? Always the first to rush into battle, Balthazar had said.
I feel an ache in my temples, and look down to see that I am gripping the armrest of my chair so tightly my knuckles are white. I’ve had enough. Everything is bottled up inside me, and now it needs to be released. “But we need to act!” I say firmly.
Emily flinches at my outburst. For a moment I worry that I have spoken out of turn, but then my resolve stiffens. “We have to do something. Mephisto is out there right now. It is me they are seeking! The voice said come to me and save your city. If I go to them, I might be able to—”
“No,” Balthazar says curtly. “I told you before that they cannot be trusted. I will not allow you to walk blindly into their midst, wherever that may be.”
Emily and Gabriel shrink at Balthazar’s tone. I try to look into his mind, to see where he has been, but the way is blocked by a dense forest of trees. I could only do it before because he allowed me to, I realize.
“Now,” he says, letting out a labored breath and tugging the ends of his waistcoat, as if everything is settled, “there is something I want to show you. Come. Gather your coats.”
Before we depart, I make sure to take my weapons.
I am feeling rather on edge as we depart 17 Wadsworth Place. Mother said I have strength yet to be discovered, yet Balthazar is holding me back.
We take an omnibus to a small neighborhood not far from ours. It is called the Old Nichol, Balthazar tells us, and the narrow, winding streets run like a crooked maze throughout. Every terrace house seems to have cracked windows. The smell of fish and sewage rises on the air. I hear a baby’s desperate cry from somewhere nearby, and I want to shut my ears to the sound, for it will not stop. I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness.
We arrive at a tenement that is on the verge of collapse. The windows are shattered. I run my finger along the brick, and it comes away black. “A fire?” I ask.
“Soot,” Balthazar replies. “From the nearby factory.”
I look down. A fine, dark dust peppers my clothes.
“Crikey,” Emily says, peering around. “I thought Nowhere was bad.”
“This is one of the worst slums in England, Emily,” Balthazar says. “People are left to fend for themselves here, with no help or concern from those sworn to protect them.”
“It’s terrible,” I say.
One of the doors has an iron grate in front of it, and Balthazar pulls it away. The whole thing comes off its hinges and falls squeaking and groaning to the ground.
“Follow me,” he says. And then—?“You may want to cover your noses.”
I take out my handkerchief and hold it warily to my face.
The ground-level flat we step into is just one small room. The only light is from a broken window. A sharp, gaseous odor surrounds me, and I wince. I once had the unfortunate experience of detecting such a smell from a dead cat down at the docks. What will we find here? I press my handkerchief more firmly. Emily and Gabriel look a little pale, but they only hold their fists to their noses.
“Just in here,” Balthazar says.
We step around piles of tin cans and broken bottles, the remains of a small fire. Cracked oil lamps and several pairs of battered shoes are on the floor. There is another door, one I did not see when we entered, and that is where we follow Balthazar. It is here that the smell is the strongest, and now I see its source.
Bodies.
Two bodies are laid out on the rotting floorboards. It is a man and a woman. Their faces are composed, as if sleeping, but it is a sleep from which they will never awaken.
“Bloody hell,” Emily mutters.
“How did they die?” I ask through my handkerchief.