Page 16 of House of Furies
Lee’s face exploded with excitement, and he went so far as to reach for my hand and squeeze it before spinning and striding toward the hallway. “Iknewyou would have the answer, Louisa! I’ll just have a look through my uncle’s papers and see what’s what, and then we can begin unraveling the mystery together.”
At first I thought I had misheard him. What could I possibly offer, and how in heaven’s name would I find the time? I took a few halting steps back toward the tray that still needed clearing. He was already out the door and too far to hear my one whispered word.
“We?” I turned and repeated myself, this time louder.
“Well, who else would help me?”
Our disagreement—well, really, my protests and Lee’s stubborn refusal to entertain them—spilled out into the hall. We both immediately lowered our voices, as if shushed by all the birds staring down at us.
The tea tray had not gotten any lighter thanks to Mrs. Eames’s restrained nibbling, and I stopped at the landing andthe stairs leading down. Lee breezed right by the stairs, on a steady course for his room and his uncle’s belongings.
“There’s simply too much I need to do.” Which was true. “I’m confident you can accomplish this all on your own!” Which was a lie. “Beyond that, it’s not...appropriatefor me to assist you in that capacity. It would look dangerously like friendship.”
“Oh,to hellwith appropriate! Yes, I said it!”
“Mr. Brimble—”
“No, you must never call me that,” he said, stumbling toward me. He blushed furiously again, to the tips of his ears. “All right, that was rude and please forgive me, but I find the expectations of society so confusing. Why shouldn’t we be friends?”
“Every life has rules. Why on earth do you think I’m here? I left one set of rules I could not abide in exchange for ones I could. Is that not the very essence of existence?”
I couldn’t imagine why this young man wanted so badly to like me, or why my liking him was of any importance whatsoever. It sounded like he had a family of sorts, even if it was complicated. He had his uncle, and that driver, and probably a whole host of loved ones back on his estate.
Whom did I have?
My little speech cowed or embarrassed him, and he nodded, curling his fingers into fists. “You’re so right.”
Somehow being right didn’t feel nice at all. “I’m just a servant here,” I said in a weak voice. “Good day, Mr. Brimble.”
He turned and strode away before I could even make a politecurtsy. Mrs. Haylam would have me thrown out of the manor if she knew I was speaking to guests this way. My only hope was that Lee took my words to heart and rededicated his attention to his uncle and his inheritance.
I hefted the tea tray into a higher position and turned to descend the stairs. A girl had been watching us from the lower landing—a girl my age. A girl I had seen many, many times before, but not for years, and only ever in my imagination.
The tray fell to the floor with a deafening clatter.
Chapter Ten
On the Shadowmancers of Babylon
and the Elusive Da’mbaeru
The shadowmancers of Babylon developed a technique for capturing and controlling unusually dangerous spirits. Employing an aetherial force that can interact with the physical world would make a man almost incomprehensibly powerful. Shades once considered uncontainable could be persuaded to work in service to masters they deemed worthy. Arduous trials of strength and intellect were posed by the shades, trials only a handful ofshadowmancers ever managed to complete. One such shadowmancer, called Aralu, is said to have dashed their infant son’s head against a wall and cut out their own tongue to satisfy such a shade. Still, the possibility exists that these unruly shades, dubbedDa’mbaeru1by the scholars of Babylon, remain harnessable through ritual and examination.
Rare Myths and Legends: The Collected Findings of H. I. Morningside, page 66
Ionly ever had one true friend in my entire life. Her name was Maggie, and a girl who looked exactly like her was gazing up at me now with wide, curious green eyes.
Then she scrambled to help me pick up the fallen tea service. Luckily the teapot itself had dropped straight down, only splashing a little onto the carpets but otherwise landing right-side up. The girl proved she was no hallucination and not my imaginary friend at all, snatching up a wayward sugar spoon and two saucers.
“Oh, heavens!” She had a sweet, high voice (unlike me) andan Irish lilt (like me). Just like I remembered. “These carpets are so slippery as to be treacherous. I’ve fallen a good bit myself.”
She paused, spoon and saucers clutched to her apron, and beamed. “I’m Mary. I heard you might be needing help with the service, so Mrs. Haylam sent me along.”
Mary. But Maggie was the name of my friend. Imaginary friend. Yet there was no mistaking the likeness—the same wild bunches of brown hair tied up with a ribbon, the same mass of freckles over her nose so thick it looked like she had a smear of red paint across her face.
I had to stop staring.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, stooping to help pick up the mess and gather it all back onto the tray. “You just... You look like a girl I once knew.”
