Mirror, page 3
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Artemis replied, pride in Liam blossoming in her chest.
His eyes danced with hers before a wistful look came to his face. “Are you?”
She nodded meekly, lost in those green eyes; it was all she could manage as the rest of the room faded away. He took a small step closer and started to say something but was interrupted by the arrival of Dulcie Raycraft.
Definitely a demon, Artemis thought as the mood was instantly shattered.
“There you are!” Dulcie cooed, sliding to Liam’s side. She wound her arm possessively through Liam’s smugly. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Liam’s confusion was apparent. “You have?”
“Of course, silly. There’s someone you need to meet. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked Artemis.
I do. A lot.
The strangled expression on Liam’s face clearly showed he didn’t want to leave, but good manners wouldn’t let him decline.
“Of course not,” Artemis replied with a tight smile, ceding this round. Don’t let her think she’s upset you.
Dulcie squeezed Liam’s bicep as she leaned a little closer. “Good.”
I wish I’d worn my sword.
Artemis forced a pleasant expression to her face as Dulcie led Liam away. He peeked back over his shoulder before Dulcie pulled his attention back to her. Artemis watched them go and heaved a defeated sigh.
Time for a third scone, I think.
Chapter Three
Victor Schäfer was just finishing a letter to a colleague in Scotland when he heard Artemis come in. Several months ago, he’d read an article about research Dr. Cameron was doing in the field of adrenaline study. Victor believed that the key to much of Artemis's power had to do with the production, or in her case, over-production, of the hormone. It was all theoretical, of course, but Dr. Cameron’s research was intriguing. He’d written to him directly after reading that first article in the British Medical Journal, and the two had been corresponding ever since. He wasn’t sure where it would lead, but the more he understood what was happening to Artemis the better he could help her. He signed the letter just as a knock sounded on his study door.
“Come.” He rolled the blotter over the fresh ink.
Artemis poked her head inside. “All right?”
“Come in,” he said, getting up from his chair and beckoning her to take a seat.
She sat down in one of the chairs, and he perched himself on the corner of his desk. “So? How was it?” he asked. “I see you survived unscathed.”
The corner of her mouth curled up, but it seemed forced. “I did. I think I … I suppose I did all right.”
He fought to keep the frown coming to his face, hating that she felt somehow less than others in such situations. “I’m sure you were a delightful guest.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” she said.
“See anyone interesting?”
“I did meet the earl of something. Nice enough. A beard you could hide a cat in.”
Victor barked out a laugh and tried to chastise her with a quiet, “Artemis,” but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth undercut his censure.
“Oh, and expect a call from Mrs. Parlow,” she went on. “Her hip is bothering her. Supposedly.”
“Supposedly?”
“You’ll see,” she said coyly.
He wasn’t sure he liked that, and he quickly changed the subject. “Anyone else?” he asked as he moved back to sit in the chair behind his desk.
“I saw Liam Parker.”
He didn’t let her see the tautness of his expression as his stomach tightened at the mention of the boy. “Did you?” he asked his voice painfully neutral.
“He was in Paris. He’s doing something with aeroplanes.”
He regarded her as he sat down. “That’s … vague.”
She shrugged. “We didn’t get to speak for long. Dulcie swooped in like a great hulking vulture.”
“And carried poor Mr. Parker away?”
She let herself laugh at the imagery. “Something like that.”
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I know these last few weeks have been difficult for you.”
Her solemn face tugged at his heart. On the one hand, he was glad to see it. She needed to take all of this seriously. But on the other, as her father, he noted how drawn she appeared, and how dark the smudges beneath her eyes were. He knew he’d pushed her hard to prepare for Samhain, but he had little choice. He still felt guilty about it. “Hopefully, things will not be as—”
“Horrific?” she supplied.
“Difficult,” he corrected, although she was not wrong, “as I fear. But we must be prepared, just in case. Remember, Artemis, Samhain is the night when the Veil that separates our world—”
“From the Otherworld is at its thinnest,” she finished for him. “I know.”
“There is no telling what might cross over.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “It’s a turning of the wheel, from light to dark, from life to death, where the souls of those who’ve died this year cross over, and that makes the barrier, the Veil, thin enough for things to come through the other way.”
Victor was impressed. He didn’t think she actually read half of the books he gave her.
“Precisely,” he said. “It’s a time of the year celebrated in many cultures and throughout many centuries. The Festival of Isis, Persephone’s and Ishtar’s descents into the Underworld, Odin’s Hunt. It’s terribly important. The church even attempted to assimilate the pagan beliefs into their world. All Hallows’ Eve eventually became Halloween. But all of them are basically the same thing. A time to celebrate and remember, a time when the earth is shutting down, autumn is ending, with the chaos of winter to come. Death and rebirth. The Feast of the Snow Witch.”
“Snow Witch,” Artemis said. “That sounds … troubling.”
It did. He, however, had a different view on witches these days since he’d met Miss Ashcroft. “Not all witches are to be feared.”
She seemed unconvinced. “But some are. What if one of them used this thinning of the Veil to … encourage things across?”
The same thought had, of course, occurred to Victor. “It’s possible. It is a night imbued with significant magical power.”
The worry lines between Artemis's eyes deepened as she considered the ramifications of such a thing.
This is too much to put on her shoulders.
“Let me worry about that,” he said. “You should rest. I can have Mrs. Perry bring something up.”
She gave him a tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Miss dinner? Have you forgotten who I am?”
“No,” he said with an affectionate chuckle.
His daughter had a voracious appetite that was even more prodigious now that she was the Blaze. No doubt her metabolism had changed and needed to accommodate for the increased energy she expended. He’d have to research that.
“All right,” he said, rising from his chair, “I’ll tell Mrs. Perry we’re ready.”
She stood as he passed by, putting her arm around his waist. His arm slipped easily over her shoulder.
“How was Miss Clifton?” he asked as they left his office.
“Same as always,” she said, “although, she got this new mirror.”
He tilted his head to the side to peer down at her. “Mirror?”
“It’s amazing!”
Victor snorted in reply and the two went to find Mrs. Perry.
Victor gripped the handle to the blue door of Pandora’s Box and pushed it open. As it had before, a tingle of uncertainty crawled up his spine as he walked into the curiosity shop. The last time he’d been here, nearly a month ago, it had been his first encounter with a witch. It was not at all what he’d been expecting. She was not at all what he’d been expecting.
The bell above the door announced his arrival.
Miss Ashcroft stood behind the counter near the front of the shop discussing something with a customer, a tall thin man with a tasseled wool cap pulled down snugly over his ears. She glanced away from him briefly at the sound of the bell and smiled at Victor.
Hesitantly, he smiled back and moved deeper into the store to let her finish with the customer. The grandfather clock in the corner languorously ticked its way along as it displayed the completely wrong time of day. There is definitely something amiss with that clock’s timing, he thought, and turned his attention to the unusual wares of Pandora’s Box.
The store was filled with every sort of artifact and odd keepsake imaginable. Small porcelain figurines with brilliantly painted faces and cloisonné vases mixed with what looked very much like Aladdin’s lamp. Snowshoes and portraits hung on the wall, and—is that the Girdle of Brynhildr?
He had always wondered about the myths surrounding such things. He sincerely doubted a shieldmaiden such as Brynhildr would feel less empowered without a girdle to bind her. He vaguely wondered if myths weren’t so very different than history itself, written by men not necessarily to reflect the world but to shape it.
A subject for another day. Miss Ashcroft was as lovely as he remembered, not that he’d thought of her often in the intervening weeks since he met her. Not very often.
His thoughts shifted from her suddenly as he felt a pair of eyes upon him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
He spun to search for the cause and spied Ramses, Miss Ashcroft’s Siamese cat, perched atop a nearby armoire glaring down at him. His paws curled over the edge, making him resemble a hawk more than a cat. Not quite knowing what else to do, Victor stared back. The cat’s unblinking blue eyes seemed to demand something of him, although he was not sure what. Then, despite feeling a little odd in doing so, he dipped his head in acknowledgment. The cat’s eyes lingered on his for a moment and then fixed their rigid glare on the customer at the front.
Nice to see you, too, Ramses.
Ignoring the absurdity that he’d just been dismissed by a cat, Victor tried to occupy himself while Miss Ashcroft finished up. Thankfully, he did not have to wait long as the man soon completed his business and left.
At the sound of the bell, Victor walked back toward the front.
“Sorry about that,” Miss Ashcroft said in greeting. “He collects gnomes.”
He blanched. “Is that legal? I mean to say, to own sentient creatures?”
Miss Ashcroft laughed, a light and delightful sound.
“Not that kind of gnome. The ceramic kind.” To illustrate her point, she held up one of the small figurines.
The heat of embarrassment stained Victor’s neck. “Oh,” he said, frowning at the little figure. “Somehow that’s worse.”
She chuckled again and put the figure back on the shelf. “I try not to judge.”
From the soft but serious inflection in her voice, it was clear that she meant that. She not only didn’t judge the collector his peculiarity, but no one else for theirs, either.
Despite her smile, Victor noted a sadness in her eyes. He was about to ask her what was wrong when she moved past him toward the back of the store. Ramses leapt down from his spot atop the armoire and sauntered across the counter to meet her. She scratched him behind his ears before picking him up.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Doctor?” she asked, giving Ramses a long soothing stroke. The cat’s eyes half-closed in pleasure before opening wide to glare at Victor again.
“Well,” he began, before stumbling and clearing his throat.
The cat’s eyes seemed to lure him in. With some effort, he pulled himself away to focus on Miss Ashcroft when he realized he’d completely forgotten why he’d come.
“Doctor?” she prompted with gentle amusement.
“Hmm? Oh, right.” He paused again, not sure why he’d become so muddled.
Miss Ashcroft looked down at Ramses with fond exasperation. “You are incorrigible,” she said softly to him before kissing his head, putting him on the floor and shooing him away.
The cat’s tail whipped with annoyance but he did as his mistress bid him and disappeared into the back of the store.
“You were saying?” Miss Ashcroft asked.
“Oh, yes, Samhain,” he said.
How could I forget that?
“Planning on celebrating this year?” she asked, sounding mildly amused.
“Not exactly. I’m … concerned,” he said, carefully. He didn’t want to offend her by implying one of her kind might be up to no good, but that was exactly what he feared.
“I see,” she said, a shadow crossing her face.
He scrambled to make her understand. “It’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with Samhain or celebrating it. Quite the contrary, but as a father to the Blaze ….”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “I see. Of course. For most of us, it’s a time to honor the dead.”
She gestured toward a small altar behind the front counter. It was traditional to create such things for recently departed friends and family. There was a picture of an older woman, holding what looked very much like Ramses.
“Aunt Europa,” she explained. “We create little shrines like this with things they loved.”
There were some baubles and figurines and a small tin of McVitie’s digestives.
Isadora touched the box. “Her favorite. Most of us see Samhain as a time to reflect and, frankly, eat and drink more than we should.”
Victor chuckled softly.
“There are some, however,” she continued, “who are more steeped in the old ways.”
Yes, Victor thought. This is what I need. “And would any of those ways involve breaching the Veil? Summoning?”
Isadora’s smooth brow wrinkled in consternation. “Yes. Some try to use it for that purpose. It is a liminal time when movement between this world and the next is more easily achieved. But summoning the dead is not its purpose.”
It was clear she found the idea of using magic for this sort of thing distasteful and distressing.
“But it’s possible?” he asked.
“It’s a dark and powerful magic,” she said, her hand balling into a fist on the small table. “What it does to people … I don’t even like to think of it.”
“Nor do I,” he confessed, “but I’m afraid we must.”
She paused for a moment. “I have heard rumblings about an old witch who was asking around for some things that could be used in such a ritual, but I wrote it off as cruel gossip. The poor old woman is quite mad. There’s always talk of this sort of thing at this time of year, but I’ve never seen anything come of it.”
“Could you ask around?” he asked, hopefully.
She arched an eyebrow. “On the witch grapevine?”
“Yes, I mean, no,” he said, flustered again. “Is there such a thing?”
She laughed again and he was utterly charmed by the sound.
“Nothing official,” she said, “but … I’ll see what I can learn.”
Relief coursed through him. He was desperate to find out something, anything that would help Artemis. “Thank you, Miss Ashcroft.”
Her green eyes glittered. “You are quite welcome, Doctor.”
He stood there lost in thought for a moment before she spoke again, breaking the awkward silence. “There is a great deal more to Samhain than just altars and whatever this other might be.” She hesitated then added, almost nervously, “If you’d like to learn more about it.”
He’d just spent two weeks reading every book about the subject he could lay his hands on. “I’d like that very much,” he said.
“I could make tea,” she offered, “and we could talk.”
He had other errands to run, but the thought of tea and talk with Miss Ashcroft sounded much more appealing.
“That would be lovely,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.
She gestured toward the back of the store, and he moved aside so he could follow her. They passed Ramses, who was lying on a velvet pillow like a pasha. He opened his eyes but did not lift his head.
“You can come, too,” Miss Ashcroft said as they passed.
Ramses lifted himself to his feet and gave a great, luxuriating stretch, the sort only a cat can truly manage. He eyed Victor meaningfully as he reached his front legs out, toes spread, long, sharp claws on display. His message sent, he jumped down and walked directly into Victor’s path, nearly causing him to trip, before following his mistress into the back room.
Victor hesitated.
Miss Ashcroft held the curtain back and waited for him to join her. “His bark is worse than his bite,” she said.
A loud protesting mrrowr came from the back room.
“So to speak.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Just what kind of cat is that?” he asked.
But a grin was his only answer.
* * *
Later that morning, Victor left Pandora’s Box and checked his watch.
Half-past twelve? How is that possible? He couldn’t have been there more than an hour, but by his watch it had been nearly two.
He still had several errands to run before Artemis's afternoon training. Stuffing his watch back into his pocket, he searched for his carriage. Tommy sat in the driver’s seat diligently working through the primer Artemis had given him. In her negligible spare time, she’d taken to helping the boy learn to read. He was a surprisingly quick study, despite his frustration.
It was a little easier now since the boy had been boarding with them the last few days. His little brother Rupert had come down with a case of the measles, mild so far, and Victor was keeping a close eye on him. But in order to keep Tommy from catching them, he’d offered lodgings at their home for the duration.
With his father’s ill health, Tommy’s job as their driver was the main income for the entire family. Victor would have gladly helped them regardless, but charity was not something a family like the Doyles welcomed. And so, Tommy had moved in. Temporarily. Not that it had changed all that much; Victor barely saw him. He kept to his room downstairs with Mrs. Perry when he was in but was usually out waiting by the carriage, ready to take them to meet the day before the doctor had barely risen.
