Page 5 of Court of Shadows
It was bait, and I was stupid enough to take it. No, not stupid,desperate. I still had little money to my name, only a scrimped pittance I’d saved from my wages. A wealthy father was what every poor girl hoped for, wasn’t it? Something out of a fairy tale.... I reached out for the letter but stopped, holding myself back.
What about my life had ever been a fairy tale?
“No,” I said, making a fist. “I don’t think I want it, not even if he’s the richest man in the kingdom.”
“It’s not mine to keep,” Mr. Morningside pointed out. “Burn it, if that suits you better, but I think you should be the one to decide its fate. And your own.”
My stomach throbbed again, and I blinked hard against the dizziness rising like a tide again in my head. I half expected thepaper to burn my fingers when I touched it, but it was ordinary. Not that I took any comfort in that. Tucking the note into my apron, I curtsied and went to the door, eager to be alone, eager to dispose of the letter and never think of it again.
“It’s silly anyway,” I said as I left. “I have no idea how to read Gaelic.”
Behind me, Mr. Morningside laughed. I turned to find him cooing over one of his parrots, grinning, his old wry self returning. He seemed strangely satisfied. “You’re a clever girl, Louisa. I’m confident you’ll figure something out.”
Chapter Four
Ihad watched the commotion on the lawn from many different angles—my chambers, the library, the kitchens, the first-floor salon—but never from the roof. The thought of doing so then came only out of desperation. As I climbed upward through Coldthistle House, dodging distant voices so as to remain alone, I felt the panic subside a little, as if by leaving Mr. Morningside far below in his cave-like offices I could escape the tide of confusion altogether.
The relief was only temporary, lasting through my search for a way out onto the upper battlements. I had not returned to the topmost floor of the mansion since my first ugly encounter with it; I knew that the Residents, the shadow creatures that haunted Coldthistle, lingered there in their greatest concentration. But they had been strangely absent from my life in recent months. A new fear struck me—that maybe their scarcity was somehow related to Lee’s death and subsequent return to life. After all, I had seen his shadow bleed back into his body, bringing with it breath and, seemingly, a second chance.
And it had been Mrs. Haylam’s strange magic that had done so. I winced as I avoided the large ballroom-like expanse on the top floor and the evil book that resided within it—there was so much more to think about than just my “father’s” letter. Had I done the right thing by bringing back Lee—a decision that hadresulted in the loss of Mary? Mary, whom I was still desperately hoping to bring back, too? I had gone to the magical spring in Ireland to make my wish that she return, but perhaps I had done something wrong. Or the magic hadn’t taken. Or I had misinterpreted entirely how I might bring her back again....
Ah, and then the sickness in my gut returned. I hurried down the hall, finding the air musty and warm up on this floor. A thin, rickety banister ran along the corridor, giving an open and dizzying view down to the levels below and the main foyer. Dust fell like soft snow from the rafters. The walls, decorated with Mr. Morningside’s paintings of reedy, gawping birds, were hung with a medieval tapestry that was rapidly disintegrating into faded tatters. The wood and stone behind were black with grime. Though I saw no shadow creatures as I scurried onward, I nonetheless felt their cold, unsettling presence. I was certain they watched; it was impossible to be alone in Coldthistle House.
I at last reached a door, stooped and dark, with a decorated knob that looked like it had not been touched since its installation. The air around me felt too close, and I breathed hard as I took the little handle and tugged, expecting to find the door locked, and of course it was. Taking a step back, I closed my eyes, letting the ill feeling in my stomach do what it would. I needed that discomfort, that pain, and I focused hard on it, feeling it deeply, until it felt like the warm, dusty air was choking me.
With one last deep breath, I wrapped my hand around the spoon hanging from my neck and pictured it becoming a key. A tiny key, decorative and old, one small and delicate enough to fit into the lock on this miniature door in front of me. My hand flashed hot, and when I opened my eyes there was just such a key nestled in my sweaty palm. I fit the key in the lock, wondering if it was even possible that I could conjure the correct thing. But I had.
The room beyond opened to me after a few hard pulls on the door. It was a dirty, forgotten attic, crowded with moth-eaten linens and damaged furniture. One of the mansion’s many chimneys ran through it awkwardly, the brick body of it poking through the middle of the room. I scuttled through the attic without giving the mess a second look, spying another door on the far side, one with a grimy window peeking out into the open air.
The small key I had conjured fit that lock, too, but the door wouldn’t budge. I gave the stubborn thing a shove, and then another, growing warmer and clammier as I put my shoulder to the wood and really pushed. The door swung open too quickly, and I tumbled out into the late-afternoon winds, finding the edge of the roof much too soon. I gave a short shriek of surprise, feeling nothing but the void as my forward movement sent me reeling over the slates.
There was no banister to catch me. God, how could I be so stupid? My hands flailed in every direction, trying to findpurchase, but it was too late. I was going to fall.
And then I wasn’t. It happened in an instant, a strong arm hooking around my middle and yanking me back to safety. I screamed again, grabbing the arm at my waist and leaning back, sending us both sprawling onto the dark slant of the roof.
I breathed heavily, closing my eyes, shifting to the side, and rolling off my savior. Leaning on my elbows, I looked up to find Lee, dressed in his shirtsleeves, staring down at me. That was almost as shocking as going end over end off the roof.
“What are you doing up here?” he demanded.
He looked different. Hesoundeddifferent.
Of course he does, you fool, he died and came back to life. It would change anyone.
“Forgive me,” I blurted out, struggling to gain my feet. His hair was still curled and golden, but longer now, unkempt. There was a dark, haunted look to his turquoise eyes, and a gaunter hunger to the hollows of his cheeks. His clothes were rumpled, and he was not wearing a waistcoat or jacket. Lee turned away, hiding his face. He went to the edge of the roof and stared down, perching there like a gargoyle.
My heart was pounding at the sight of him. He had tried to save me twice now. And what had I given him in return?
“Why are you here?” he asked again. His voice was hushed. A snarl.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my apron and crossed my arms over my stomach, finding the wind at that height bracinglycold. “I needed to be alone. I didn’t mean to intrude...”
“Well, you seem to be intruding,” he said. And then, as if he couldn’t stand to be rude, even if he had every right to be, he added, “I’ll just go.”
“Please don’t.” It was unfair of me, but I hadn’t seen him in so long. I felt suddenly desperate to keep him there. He sighed softly. “We never... I owe you an apology. Several. Hundreds, maybe. It was just... I thought in the moment it was the right thing to do, and I couldn’t let you go, not like that. I’m sure that sounds very selfish.”
He still refused to look at me. Lee tucked his hands behind his back, and I saw that they were pale and scratched. “So give your apology, then. If you must.”
“Forgive me,” I said quietly. They were words I had wanted to say to him for months, but they hurt, and they came out in a whisper. He probably could not even hear me over the whip of the wind. “Forgive me, please,” I said, louder. I tried to rub some warmth back into my arms. “Everything with your uncle happened so fast. One moment he was trying to kill me, and the next you were shot. You didn’t deserve to die, Lee; you were only trying to help. I made a devil’s bargain, I know that, and I should pay the price for it. Not you.”
