A Shadow Bright and Burning Page 4

  We traveled for three days and nights, barely stopping to rest. Agrippa sat with his stave in hand, always on alert for signs of Ancients or Familiars. Having discovered me, he seemed fearful that something catastrophic would occur.

  I watched the countryside roll by our window, excitement and nervousness mounting with every passing day. I’d never set foot in London before. What would it be like? Sometimes for reassurance I would tap on the roof of the carriage three times, wait, and smile when Rook knocked back in answer.

  Finally, it was the day of our arrival. I leaned out the window with a thrill of anticipation. As we neared the city proper, however, my excitement faded. I paled at the horror that lay before me.

  All about me were buildings half-demolished, brick blackened by soot, and people living in the open streets. The sky was a metal gray, and the air tasted oily. Ragged, filthy men slept on doorsteps, and women and children huddled together for warmth. Young boys swept the road of horse manure. Little girls dressed all in black sat on street corners, selling strange wooden dolls.

  They cried, “Totems, totems for sale. Korozoth. R’hlem. Molochoron. Protect yourself with the power of a totem.”

  “Is this truly London?” I whispered. Brimthorn had been oppressively gloomy, but not burned and ravaged.

  “This is outside the warded territory.” Agrippa sighed as he looked out the window. He didn’t seem to like it any more than I.

  The totem children noticed our elegant carriage and called to us, leaping up and down in excitement.

  One of the girls, a tiny blond creature, ran toward us, calling, “Totems, totems! Take one home!” The horses reared up, and we jolted to a halt. There was a scream. I leaned out the window to discover the girl lying in the street.

  Agrippa grabbed my arm. “Stay inside,” he said.

  As the child wailed in pain, an old man with the blackest skin I’d ever seen burst through the crowd, raced across the road, and fell beside her.

  “My li’l Charley,” the man wept, wrapping her in a shockingly bright cloak of purple, orange, and red. “My p-poor li’l girl.”

  “Shouldn’t we do something?” I asked. Agrippa looked white and pinched with worry. He opened his door and leaned up to speak with the driver while I craned my neck out the window. The child’s sobs tore at me. With a half-apologetic glance back at Agrippa, I climbed out of the carriage.

  “Nettie, what are you doing?” Rook said, sliding to the ground.

  “We can’t just sit there.” I knelt beside the girl.

  The child was in a dreadful state, covered in blood. Sickened, I turned to the old man. “Sir, how may I help?”

  “Oh good, miss, ’ow kind you is, ’ow k—” The man’s smile melted from his face. The large, glittering tears in his eyes seemed to dry at once. He dropped the girl and snatched my wrist, squeezing tight. “It can’t be. Not you,” he murmured. “What’s your name, girl?” He had been talking like a poor man of the streets; now he sounded like a cultured gentleman. “Who on God’s earth are you?”

  “Let go,” I said, struggling against him. Rook pulled me away and wrapped his arm around me protectively. I glanced at the child and gasped. All the blood had vanished. She opened her eyes and sat up.

  “Sorry,” she said to the man. “I let the charm wear off.”

  “My fault, Charley. I lost my train of thought.” The man swept the child into his arms again and nodded at me. “Thousand pardons. Mistook you for someone else.” But his gaze was too intent for it to be a simple case of mistaken identity.

  “How do you know me?” I asked, getting to my feet.

  “Magician.” Agrippa strode forward, glaring. “You are a thief and a swindler.”

  Magician? Instinctively, I wanted to wipe my wrist, to be rid of the memory of his touch. Rook tightened his grip on me.

  “Swindler? Ridiculous,” the man said, backing away. “And look, little Charley’s well. Sometimes all you need is a wish and a prayer. It’s a miracle!” The magician searched for an avenue of escape.

  “You know the law,” Agrippa said. People watched and murmured.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t harm an old conjurer, would you, sir? We’re so very sorry for the disturbance. Here, have some flowers to make amends.” The magician snatched a bouquet of red roses from his sleeves. “A peace offering?” He released white doves from his breast pocket.

  “Call a constable!” Agrippa shouted.

  “Oh, very well. Suppose I’ll go quietl—” At this, the man sneezed and vanished in a burst of fire and smoke. I put my hand over my mouth. The crowd gasped in amazement.

  Agrippa looked about, baffled, and then returned to me, signaling to get back into the coach. “Come, Miss Howel.”

  Rook jumped onto the driver’s bench, and I climbed inside. We rode along while Agrippa seethed.

  “I’ve never seen a magician before,” I said, trying to calm him with conversation. Agrippa cleared his throat, mopping his forehead with a pocket square.

  “I know it must seem harsh, cornering an old man like that,” he said. “Apprehending a magician can be difficult alone. You never know what they’ll do.”

  I kept silent. I knew that magicians had been royally pardoned for aiding Mary Willoughby, so long as they abided by the law, but they were all rogues and criminals. When I was a child, there was gossip that one of them had come through a nearby village, offering to tell fortunes. Three days later, he took off with six chickens, two sets of good candlesticks, and the miller’s daughter. Still, I’d never thought magicians to be as dangerous as Agrippa implied.

  “Do you hate them, sir?” I asked.

  “They’re selfish, dangerous men. They would rather tinker with obscene parlor tricks than lift a finger to aid the crown in a time of war. Considering it was their magic that helped the Ancients cross into our world, that attitude is even more intolerable.” His cheeks tinged pink.

  I decided not to mention how the magician had spoken to me, or that my appearance had stunned him. Truth be told, I preferred not to think about it myself. Surely it had been an attempt to trick me. Surely.

  We continued onto a broad, bustling avenue. The street was a sea of activity, waves of humanity cresting and breaking.

  “This is Ha’penny Row,” Agrippa said, pointing out the window. “The trade hub of unwarded London. Anything you’ve ever wanted you can find here.”

  We passed women carrying baskets of loaves in their arms. People hauled trays of turtle, panes of glass, bags of flour. Voices called out wares of fruits and vegetables.

  Agrippa sighed in exasperation as our carriage came to another abrupt halt. “What on earth is the matter today?”

  He looked out the window for the source of trouble. He appeared to find it as, laughing merrily, he waved at someone. Curious, I leaned out to look for myself.

  A young man on horseback trotted up to us. He rode a beautiful bay, and he removed his top hat by way of greeting. Reaching down, he drew out something that hung in a sheath by his side. He presented it with one hand to Agrippa, bowed at the waist, and then put away the stave and nodded. Here was another sorcerer. My stomach lurched as I gazed up at him. I hadn’t expected to be so nervous.

  “Now, you can’t keep me away, Master Agrippa, you really cannot,” he said. “There’s five pounds riding on my seeing her first.” The young man peered in the window and cocked an eyebrow. “Is this the lady in question?” This last was addressed to me. “Mr. Julian Magnus of Kensington, at your service.” He bowed, a bit awkward, as he was still astride the horse. After nearly losing his seat, he said, “You’re the prophecy girl, I’ll be sworn. What’s your name?”

  Magnus had thick, wavy auburn hair and bright gray eyes. He was broad-shouldered and, I admitted to myself, almost absurdly handsome. His mouth was set in a grin, and he seemed to believe us old friends, not strangers who’d only just met.

  “Henrietta Howel.” I smiled in a way I hoped was friendly but not too encouraging. I didn’t know
this young man, after all. Magnus laughed.

  “Well, now that the pleasantries have been exchanged, we must make certain you’re the prophecy. A demonstration of your power at once!” He clapped his hands. “Come along, start burning. Nothing too grand—a small inferno will do.”

  “Perhaps when we get home. I should hate to startle the horses,” I said. Magnus seemed to like that response. “What was your name again, sir?”

  He snorted. “ ‘Sir,’ is it? I told you, Mr. Julian Magnus of Kensington, at your service.” Here he gave a bow again. “To be commended by Her Majesty. You’re from Yorkshire, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said. I had to force myself not to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. The force of Magnus’s attention was disconcerting.

  “Northern girls have the ice and chill about them, but now that you’ve come south, you can thaw out as fast as you like.” He kept smiling, as though this wasn’t an insult.

  “I’m sure I don’t need any ‘thawing out,’ as you put it,” I said, conscious of the edge in my voice. My irritation appeared to delight him.

  “Cross with me, are you? That’s the glorious thing about northerners. They’re all Sturm und Drang.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” I muttered.

  Magnus laughed, reached through the window, and shook Agrippa’s hand.

  “Thank you, Master. It’s like Christmas. She’s the funniest girl I ever met.”

  Agrippa struggled to contain a smile. “Mr. Magnus is one of my Incumbents. The son of a magical family spends ages fourteen to sixteen living under the supervision of an established practitioner.”

  “That would be our dear Master here,” Magnus said. “It’s his duty to make sure we don’t fail our great test before the queen.”

  So I was to share a roof with Magnus. I prayed I wouldn’t want to murder him every time we had breakfast.

  “Allow me to escort you home.” Magnus grinned as he rode alongside our carriage.

  After a further ten minutes, Agrippa pointed out the window. “Here comes the ward.”

  There was nothing ahead but two men in crimson soldiers’ uniforms standing in the center of the road. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Wait a moment.” He knocked on the roof of the carriage, which rumbled to a halt. The soldiers stood directly ahead of us, their hands out in a signal for us to stop. I thought them ordinary guards until they each unsheathed a sorcerer’s stave.

  “We request entrance,” Magnus called.

  There was no gate. “Can’t we just ride past them?”

  “Wait,” Agrippa said.

  The guards bent down, touched their staves to the ground, and traced them slowly upward. Floating into the air, they moved toward each other, one from the left and one from the right. The men met in the center, drew their staves together, and dropped to the ground. They’d sketched an invisible square, about ten feet long and ten feet high.

  Satisfied, Agrippa knocked on the roof again, and the carriage lurched forward and through the square. I gasped; it felt as if some enormous pressure was squeezing the sides of my head. An instant later and it was done.

  “What was that?” I asked, hands over my ears.

  “The ward is designed to keep the Ancients from entering the area. Only sorcerers’ staves can cut through the shield to create a brief entryway,” Agrippa explained.

  Magnus gestured to the streets before us. “Welcome to London proper,” he said with a flourish.

  If the unwarded area had been hell, this was paradise itself. Wrought-iron gates bordered parks and gardens. The sweet scent of fresh bread and cinnamon wafted from a bakery, and we passed a coffee shop where laughter and conversation bubbled out the doors.

  “This is wonderful.” I leaned from the window for a better look as elegant women passed by in an open-air barouche. “The Ancients have never attacked here?”

  “Not even R’hlem has set foot in the heart of London.” Pride tinged Agrippa’s voice.

  I knew that sorcerers had the power to create a shield around themselves to block an attack. But I’d never dreamed of a ward like this.

  “What about the area outside? Can’t you shield them?”

  “No.” Agrippa cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “The sorcerers’ power forms the ward, and one of our members specifically designs it. Master Palehook assures us that we have stretched our ability to its limit.”

  “Over there,” Magnus called, pointing to the front of a beautiful building, “is the Theatre Royal. I should take you for a show sometime. Have you ever been to the theater, Miss Howel? Do they get much Shakespeare up in Yorkshire?” His smile was full of false innocence.

  “No, but I can spot bad acting when it’s right in front of me,” I said. Magnus laughed so hard I feared he’d fall off his horse.

  —

  WE REACHED AGRIPPA’S HOME IN HYDE Park Corner as the last traces of daylight vanished. Magnus dismounted from his horse, and a servant came to take the reins. A footman in gray livery opened the carriage door. Agrippa climbed down, then helped me out. Rook leaped down beside me, and together we gaped at the magnificent structure.

  We’d passed tall, elegant white town houses on our way through Kensington. I’d assumed Agrippa lived somewhere similar, but this was no small residence. It was several stories of cream-colored stone with a marble portico and fluted columns. Awed, I turned to speak to Rook, but he was walking away, following the footman.

  “Rook! Where are you going?” I said.

  “Below stairs, miss. He’s a servant; he can’t enter through the front door.” The footman wore a pained expression.

  “But…” I couldn’t finish my thought. Hadn’t Agrippa said that he would take Rook into his home as a servant? There was just something about the way the footman studied Rook, the formality of the whole thing. Rook, for his part, didn’t seem to care.

  “Don’t worry about me, Nettie.” He disappeared down a flight of stairs near the front of the house. Agrippa came up beside me.

  “He’ll be well treated. I promise.”

  I believed him, but it was more than that. Rook and I had never been so separate before. We were from different classes, yes, but at Brimthorn it hadn’t mattered. We’d played together, spoken to each other, and no one minded. Now Rook and I wouldn’t be allowed to use the same door? Somehow I felt alone, even with Agrippa and Magnus waiting.

  —

  MY HEELS CLICKED ON THE TILE floor as another footman took my cloak and bonnet. I turned in a circle, unable to contain my astonishment. The hall was a work of art in itself, with a great staircase twisting up several floors. Here in the foyer, oil paintings of beautiful spring countryside hung on every wall, along with exotic collectibles such as elephant tusks, fans from the Orient, and a sword in a lacquered sheath.

  “A girl could spend months simply exploring,” I muttered.

  “I hope you’ll make yourself at home,” Agrippa said. Could I ever really call a place this magnificent my home? The thought made me dizzy. “Now, before I take you to your room, perhaps you’d like to meet the rest of the household?”

  With Magnus behind us, we walked upstairs. Housemaids in starched aprons bustled by, curtsying when they saw us. I curtsied in return, until Agrippa whispered that I didn’t need to. On the second floor, we walked down a long hall and came to a door at the very end. Agrippa tried the handle, but it was locked.

  A voice from within yelled, “Go away! We’re busy.”

  “Open this door,” Agrippa called.

  Silence. The lock turned. We walked inside and found two young gentlemen with their staves pointed toward the ceiling. One of them, a large red-haired boy, put out a hand to stop us. “Careful, Master.”

  Twenty books floated in the air, hovering as if held by a current of strong wind. I watched the balancing act with interest. “All right,” the boy said with a nod. “Now.”

  The books darted across the room, slamming into one another. I cried out as book
s began to rain from the sky. Magnus pulled me out of the way, but Agrippa was hit in the head and fell. The rest of the books collapsed to the earth.

  “You could’ve killed him!” the red-haired boy cried, rushing to Agrippa and helping him to his feet. “I’m so sorry, sir. We never meant to hurt anyone. We did warn you, though, didn’t we?” His green eyes widened when he saw me standing beside Magnus. “Oh, it’s the girl!”

  “The girl’s here?” The other dueling-book boy turned to stare at me as well. His hair was wavy and black. “You idiot. You almost killed the lady sorcerer.” He hit the other fellow in the shoulder after Agrippa had got himself safely to the couch.

  “Don’t be fools,” Magnus said, stepping forward. “The important thing is I saw her first, so I won the bet. Both of you, pay up.”

  “That was five pounds together,” the dark-haired boy said.

  “Each.”

  “Liar!” Now they were all grappling, though they seemed to enjoy themselves. I pressed myself against the wall, taken aback. I came from a place where silence and order were strictly enforced. Waiting for them to stop, I looked about the room.

  Two more young men sat by the window. They played a game of chess and paid no mind whatsoever to anything around them. One was so small and slight he seemed on the verge of fading from existence. His hair was pale and almost colorless. The other, by contrast, had black hair and shoulders so broad they stretched the material of his jacket.

  The brief fight died. Sensing a cue, I stepped forward to introduce myself. “How good to meet you. My name is Henrietta Howel,” I said, extending my hand. I hoped I didn’t sound too nervous.

  “I’m Arthur. Arthur Dee.” The red-haired boy blushed as he respectfully bent his head over my hand, though he didn’t kiss it. “Sorry about the books,” he whispered.

  “And this,” Magnus said, straightening the dark-haired boy, “is Cavaliere Bartolomeo Cellini de Genoa. That’s in Italy.”