Mirror, page 7
“In here,” she called out from his surgery.
He came hurriedly into the room, eyes bright with worry. “Are you all right?”
Artemis nodded, and Tommy held up his freshly-bandaged arm. “Peachy.”
They told him about their run-in with the goblins as he examined Tommy’s wound.
“You cleaned it?” he asked as he examined the puncture marks in the shape of a half-smile that dotted Tommy’s forearm.
“With carbolic acid,” Artemis said.
“Acid?” Tommy asked.
“Different sort,” her father assured him. “You did well. It’s not too bad, but a few of these could do with some stitches, though.”
She knew that, but didn’t dare try. She just wanted to clean it and stop the bleeding.
“They’re not … poisonous, are they?” she asked. “Goblins?”
“Poison?” Tommy cried.
“No,” her father said. “Not poison. But very dangerous.”
“Don’t I know it?” Tommy quipped.
Artemis laughed, but it wasn’t funny. He could have been killed.
“It wore a red hat, you say?” her father asked as he gathered what he needed to stitch up the wounds.
“Yes.”
“You were lucky. Redcaps are very dangerous. The color of their hats come from soaking them in the blood of their victims.”
Tommy pushed out a breath. “Blimey.”
Her father cast a quick displeased look toward Artemis. She knew he was upset with her for not coming straight home, but she was angry enough at herself already. She’d nearly gotten Tommy killed.
“Do you think those lot were part of that … whatever it was earlier?” Tommy asked.
“I’d say the timing is suspect,” her father replied. Tommy didn’t seem to understand, so he added, “It’s a bit much to believe it’s a coincidence.”
“Do you think they rode the lightning down?”
Her father’s face wrinkled in thought as he worked. “Possibly.”
“There was a lot of lightning,” Tommy said, giving voice to what they were all thinking.
If these creatures came because of the storm, it was likely a lot more had come.
“Yes,” her father said, casting a worried look toward Artemis. “There was.
Chapter Seven
Artemis sat in her father’s desk chair, twirling his fountain pen between her fingers like a tiny baton. She stared impatiently at the telephone, willing it to ring. Phoebe had promised to call as soon as she returned from Kent. With everything that had happened last night, Artemis couldn’t wait to talk to her.
Her father had gone to hospital this morning to offer his services in case there was an influx of injured from last night’s storm.
That was no storm, she thought. Not the usual sort anyway.
It had to have been magic. Enormous, dark magic.
If the Veil between worlds had been breached last night and the goblins she’d fought were any indication of what came through, it was going to be a very long week.
She hated just sitting here doing nothing. She’d offered to come with her father to help, but he declined, suggesting she read a few of the books she’d been neglecting.
After a late breakfast, she’d settled down with the first book and nearly fallen back to sleep. Who could manage to make demon hordes boring?
She read the cover of the book: Olivander Smudgehorn, that’s who.
Gamely, she’d stuck with it as far as she could before putting it aside for another. The Codex Irregularum was no Hound of the Baskervilles, but at least it hadn’t put her to sleep. Not that she’d learned all that much. The vortex they’d seen last night could have been part of a summoning, but the records of such things were scant and mostly in Latin.
Latin est … boring.
With nothing else to occupy her, she focused again on the phone, nearly falling out of her chair when it suddenly rang. She dropped her father’s fountain pen, struggling to retrieve it from the floor as she answered the phone.
“Phoebe?” she asked hopefully. “I’ve so much to tell you!”
A man’s voice chuckled on the other end of the line. “Sorry, not Phoebe! It’s Arthur Darvill! I’m trying to reach Doctor Victor Schäfer!” he said, needlessly loud.
Artemis held the receiver away from her ear as he finished shouting. She’d met Mr. Darvill before; he worked at the British Museum in the Egyptian Antiquities department.
“I’m sorry. He’s not in at the moment. May I take a message?”
She uncapped the pen and found an empty sheet of paper.
“Yes!”
She winced at his volume but cupped the receiver between her ear and shoulder so she was free to write.
“Tell him that I’d like to talk to him about last night’s … disturbance. He’ll know what I mean.”
Oh, I’m sure he will.
She jotted down the message and when he could be reached.
“Yes, I’ll tell him. Goodbye.”
Just as she hung up the phone, she heard the front door open. A moment later, her father stepped into the study.
“Comfortable?” he asked, smiling at her sitting behind his desk.
She settled possessively into the chair. “Quite.”
He snorted and she stood so he could have his chair back.
“Oh,” she said, picking up the notepaper from the desk. “You just missed a call from Mr. Darvill.”
Her father’s eyes sparked at the name and he took her hastily scrawled message.
“Your penmanship is atrocious, Artemis. What on earth does that say?” he pointed toward one of the words in her message.
She craned her neck to look at the paper. “Disturbance. He wants to talk to you about last night.”
“Ah.”
“And speaking of,” Artemis went on, “how did it go at hospital?”
Her father settled into his chair. “Oh, fine. They had it all well in hand. Considering the power of the storm, things could certainly have been worse. There was only a fire, and that was put out quickly. There were two deaths, however, of unusual circumstance.”
Artemis leaned against the edge of his desk. “How unusual?”
“One was found with large bite marks.”
“Like the goblins’?”
He sat back further in his chair. “Something much larger, I fear. At first, they thought it might be some sort of dog, but the bite pattern was all wrong for that.”
“You saw the body?”
“It pays to have friends at the morgue.”
“A sentiment I never thought I’d share,” Artemis quipped.
He laughed softly and went on. “The jaw was far too wide even for a large dog. I’m not sure what killed him, but it wasn’t a dog that mauled him to death.”
Artemis shivered at the image that conjured. Will I ever get used it?
“And the other?”
“As near I can tell, the other was a perfectly healthy young woman. No history of heart disease or any abnormalities. She was found alone sitting in her bed, unharmed, with a look of abject terror frozen on her face.”
Another image Artemis was sure she’d never forget. “How did she die?”
“The best is guess is that she was frightened to death.”
A cold ball of horror filled her. Goblins she could fight. Whatever had killed that other man, she could fight—maybe. But something that killed without touching someone?
She tried to speak through the dread that lodged itself in her throat. “What can do that?”
“Any number of things.”
Wonderful.
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Artemis said. “Do you think this is all connected to what happened last night?”
“I think we’d better assume so for the time being.”
“Did you talk to that … witch again?” she asked, still uncomfortable with the idea.
Everything magical or Otherwordly she’d encountered so far had been evil. Thoroughly and completely evil. Her father tried to explain to her that there was a whole world of magic and the supernatural, and that just like theirs, it was diverse. To say she was skeptical was an understatement.
“I did not,” he said, a slight frown coming to his face. “She was not available.”
Artemis watched him carefully. “Do you think she had anything to do with this?”
“No,” he said quickly, firmly.
“But she is a witch—”
“No.” He stood up abruptly, clearly bothered by her question, and walked past her, but then stopped, realizing he had no destination, and said with more equanimity, “I’m certain she was not involved.”
Artemis was certain there was something he wasn’t telling her. What is it? she wondered as she watched him closely.
“Maybe—” Artemis began but stopped as the telephone rang, interrupting her.
He moved back toward his desk, but Artemis beat him to it and snatched up the receiver.
“Hello?” she said and then breathed with relief as she heard the voice on the other end.
“Artemis?”
“Phoebe, I’ve been waiting here for hours for your call. When did you get back?”
Her father sighed, knowing his office would not be his own until she finished talking with Phoebe, and if history was any guide, that might be some time.
Artemis began to settle in to her father’s desk chair, but stopped halfway down.
“Can you come over?” Phoebe asked.
“Is something wrong?”
Artemis's father lingered in the doorway at those words and gave her a questioning look.
“I don’t know. Will you come?”
“Of course. I’ll be there right away.”
She hung up the receiver and paused in thought. Phoebe sounded almost frightened. Had something happened the Cliftons' last night? Thank God they weren’t home.
“Is Miss Clifton all right?” her father asked, breaking her from her worried thoughts.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but she didn’t sound right.”
“All right, but don’t stay too late.” Her father wandered back over to his desk. “I’m still hopeful one of these will give us something to go on.”
Artemis picked up one of the books and pressed it to her father’s chest as she passed. “You and Mr. Smudgehorn have fun.”
Her father caught the book before it dropped to the floor.
What is the matter with Phoebe?
“Be back by dinner!” her father’s voice called out when she was halfway down the hall.
“Right!” she answered, but her mind was already out the door.
Phoebe gripped Artemis’s hand tightly as she met her at the front door.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Artemis gave a wave to Tommy, who headed back home in case her father needed him. She’d call when she was ready to come home.
Her father had told him to take the day off to rest, but Tommy had insisted his arm was fine and showed up for work as usual. All on a whopping 3 hours rest.
Phoebe tugged her inside and the butler closed the door.
“What’s going on?” Artemis asked, but Phoebe’s sharp look told her not press further, not here, anyway.
She led Artemis up to her room and closed and locked the door behind them.
“What is the matter?”
Phoebe’s face was pale as she walked over to her mirror. She pointed at the ground in front of it.
“That is what’s the matter.”
It took her a moment to realize what Phoebe was pointing at, but then she saw it—a puddle on the carpet.
“A puddle?” Worried, she put her hand on Phoebe’s forehead. “Did you get too much sun in Kent?”
Phoebe moved her hand aside. “Look closer.”
She did as her friend asked. Hiking up her skirt, she knelt down to look at the small pool of water in front of the mirror.
“Notice anything odd?” Phoebe asked, impatience, and possibly fear, coloring her voice.
Artemis was annoyed at her tone, but kept looking. It looked like any other small puddle of water, but what was the source? There were no plants or pitchers nearby, nor leaks in the ceiling. And there was no discernible odor, thank God.
Then, as she leaned down to take a closer look, she placed her hand on the carpet near the puddle and felt wetness beneath her hand. She felt around but the carpet near that spot was dry. Then she realized why.
They were faint, barely visible to the eye—a series of small wet footprints led away from the mirror. Realization dawned.
“You see them now?” Phoebe asked.
She did, and now that she had, the faint outlines were easy to see even in the pattern of the rug. She followed them as they moved away from the mirror and toward the window. She leaned out to look at the tree that grew near the side of the house.
“Was this open?” she asked, gesturing to the window.
Phoebe’s face was tight with worry. “Not when I left.”
Artemis knelt down to look at one of the footprints again. Definitely not goblin. These were human, that was something anyway. But they were small, too small for an adult. As strange as it was, these were the footprints of a child. And there were no prints leading to the mirror, only away from it.
That was disturbing.
“Do you have any idea what—who these might belong to?”
She thought she saw something flicker in Phoebe’s eyes, but she shook her head and looked away. She watched her friend carefully. She was agitated and afraid, but who wouldn’t be? But there was something else. She’d known Phoebe almost all of her life. There was something she wasn’t telling her.
Why?
That was twice in less than an hour that people close to her had withheld something. First her father and now Phoebe. Her mood began to sour, but she tried to focus on the mystery of how a set of wet footprints could start in the middle of a room.
“You’re certain no servants came in? Spilled something?”
“I asked. No one came in my room while I was gone.”
Artemis searched for some clue but found none. The footprints began by the mirror; she reached out tentatively to touch the glass, but it was as solid as it should be. She ran her fingers around the frame and searched behind it. Nothing.
She had a sinking feeling that the lightning they’d seen last night was to blame, but how? And why here?
“What’s going on, Artemis?” Phoebe asked, her voice quavering.
Artemis stood and stared at the tracks in the carpet. “I’m not sure. Maybe we should look around outside your window? Down there,” she added, gesturing to the garden. “Maybe there’s a clue.”
Phoebe pulled on her fingers nervously. Artemis came to her and took her hand. It was trembling. “We’ll figure it out.”
Phoebe managed a small smile.
“I take it you didn’t show this to your parents?” Artemis asked.
Phoebe gave her a “what do you think?” look.
Artemis had to laugh. “Right, Okay, come on.”
She unlocked the door, and she and Phoebe started down the hall toward the stairs when they heard Lady Clifton and Sir Henry talking.
“A break-in?” Lady Clifton said, aghast. “Are they all right?”
Artemis pulled Phoebe aside at the landing, and they hid just around the corner to listen in.
“Lord Quill said nothing appeared to be taken,” Sir Henry said.
“Poor Helen.”
The Quills! That had to be more than coincidence.
Artemis and Phoebe shared a look.
“Just a window broken in the bedroom,” Sir Henry went on.
“That’s most discomfiting.”
“Now, now,” Sir Henry said, as he put his hands on his wife’s shoulders to soothe her. “No need for worry. Just a vagrant most likely. Noticed the house wasn’t occupied and broke in. We’re perfectly safe here.”
Phoebe’s forehead creased with guilt. Artemis knew she was wondering if she should tell them about what they’d found in her room. With a quick shake of her head, Artemis dispelled the consideration. They needed to find out more before they said anything. Her parents were fairly open-minded, but magically wet footprints were a little beyond that.
“We need to go to the Quills’,” Artemis said softly. “See what really happened.”
“What about my watery visitor?”
“We’ll check outside your window, but this can’t be a coincidence. We have to go to the Quills’.”
“Right,” Phoebe agreed. She took Artemis's hand and led her toward the stairs. They were halfway down when she “noticed” her mother’s distress.
“Is something wrong, Mother?” Phoebe asked.
“There was a break-in at the Quills’, if you can imagine,” her mother said. “Poor Helen. She seemed so unhappy in Kent and now this.”
Her father grunted. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Artemis saw Phoebe’s face light with an idea.
“Perhaps,” Phoebe said, “we could bring some flowers or something. Just stop by to cheer her up.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I have the Women’s Society meeting in half an hour,” her mother replied.
“Artemis and I could go. Just pay a quick call. I’m sure Lady Quill would feel better knowing her friends were there for her.”
Sir Henry sighed deeply at the nonsense of such things.
“We hardly know them,” he grumbled, but was quelled into silence with an impatient glare from his wife.
“I think that’s a lovely idea, dear,” Phoebe’s mother said. “You can bring her some of our Sweet Williams.”
Phoebe beamed and snuck a quick look of triumph Artemis's way.
“Oh dear,” her mother added suddenly. “Mrs. Babbington said she wasn’t feeling well.”
God forbid we should dare to go a few blocks away on our own in broad daylight.
“We’ll only be gone a short while. And I promise we’ll come right back,” Phoebe said.
“If you promise,” her mother said.
Phoebe held up her hand. “I swear.”
As their carriage approached the Quills' flat in Mayfair, Artemis noticed workmen down on the street, sweeping up debris of wood and shards of glass. It didn’t take long to ascertain where they’d come from. The first floor window above them was gone, completely shattered. Bits of splintered window frame jutted out toward the street, and a man stood in the room above prying them free.
