Page 4 of Tomb of Ancients
That I could not control it and that it so obviously longed to controlmefilled my heart with constant dread.
But the candles twinkled all around us, and couples in formal black jackets and regal gowns with puffed sleeves and dainty embroidery swirled about the floor, as pretty and perfect as dolls. Mary took great delight in knowing all about the latest styles in London, and she had done her best to clothe us so as not to be an embarrassment. Sadly, she could do nothing for my almost unnaturally pale skin and limp black hair. What’s more, my fitful dreams had left me with bruise-like marks under my eyes and a hollowness in my cheeks. No, I would not be finding any eager suitors at the ball, though such matters were far from my mind.
“What does Justine look like again?” Mary asked.
Khent had spotted the lengthy table with refreshments and nudged us both in that direction. I allowed it, running my eyes lightly over every passing face, trying to find a woman who resembled both myself and my father, the so-called Croydon Frost.
“We met just the once,” I explained. “I called on her unexpectedly, and she had to leave for an engagement. Most of my experience with her is through correspondence. But she is very pretty, tall and graceful, with black hair and expressive brown eyes.”
“It was kind of her to listen to you,” Mary replied. “After all, it’s all a bit baffling, mm?”
“Messy and humiliating, you mean.”
“N-No!” She looked taken aback. “You can hardly choose your parentage.”
I nodded, distracted. In my father’s papers I had discovered that he had children all over the place, and Justine was one of them. My half sister. She was one of the few, like me, who had survived his deadly schemes. I had written to several other survivors, but Justine was the only one who actually responded. Her letter had been meandering and careful, but it became clear she would be willing to pursue a friendship and to hear more of our odd father.
Though your story is, quite frankly, rude and implausible, some part of me knows it is true. You will forgive me for saying so, but I am glad at least that a measure of good may come from his bad deeds. So much time has passed, and we may never truly be sisters, but I send this letter with affection and a hope that we may know one another better.
At last, near one of the banks of windows at the far end of the ballroom, I spied my half sister.
“There,” I said, nodding subtly. “Follow me.”
Khent demurred, gazing longingly at a tray heaped with jam tarts.
I smiled and took Mary by the hand, pulling her along. A preemptive warning couldn’t hurt, given I had seen how voraciously he ate at the house. “It isn’t polite to eat them all.”
He took that as his cue and hurried away toward the food. While I kept my sights on Justine, Mary’s eyes wandered, her lips parted in wonder as she drank in all the many splendid gowns and slippers. It didn’t affect me the way I might’ve expected once. No part of this new life in London had been what I wanted. My father’s inheritance ought to have been a reward for a life of hardship, and all I’d thought I desired was the comfort of a warm home, plentiful food, and my friends. We might visit various parts of the country. Or see Paris! But nothing had yet brought me joy, and so far, even this ball felt like work. I had come seeking Justine, hoping to solidify a friendship, something to anchor me in London.
I told myself, as I waded through the warm, fragrant crowd, that this was my own doing—that my desperation to know Justine Black had nothing to do with the hungry spirit in my head.
“Are you quite well?” Mary asked.
I glanced at her with a soft grunt. “Aye, why do you ask?”
“You’re practically crushing my hand, Louisa. Have a care.”
She was right. Her poor little hand had gone red. “Maybe I should call Khent back,” I whispered, letting go of her. For a moment I paused, silk, music, and sound swirling all around us, almost dizzying. I swayed on my feet, feeling the deep oceancrush of numbness that always preceded an episode. Did my father’s spirit sense that one of his other daughters was close? What would he even want me to do with her?
“I do not think Justine will harm you,” Mary offered helpfully. “You said your correspondence was friendly!”
I sighed and nodded, forcing my eyes open. The whole ballroom felt suddenly too bright. “It isn’t her I’m worried about, Mary.”
An image of one of the last guests I served at Coldthistle House, Amelia, flashed before my eyes. My father had drained her of her essence to preserve his own life, leaving her as dry and brittle as a bleached bone. So far, I had experienced no temptations of that variety, but it did not seem outside the realm of possibility that along with my father’s temper I may have also received his terrible powers.
At the edge of the crowd, we reached Justine, who stood swaying prettily to the music, her bright blue skirt swishing from side to side. It was for me like looking into a kindly mirror, and for her probably more like a demented one. She was utterly lovely, with soft pink cheeks and my father’s narrow jaw. Her dark, shining hair was bouncy and curled, lustrous where mine had the quality of old soot.
“Louisa?” Her eyes widened in surprise, but then she smiled. “Louisa! It is so good to see you once more!”
Justine darted forward, taking me by both hands and spinning me. The woman with her, older and more freckled,with gaudy lips and many twinkling gold necklaces, sniffed as if smelling something rotten.
“This is my guardian, Mrs. Langford.” Justine made the introduction tidily. I presented Mary and then apologized, explaining that the third in our party had been waylaid by the desserts.
“Oh, that is completely justified,” Justine told us, taking out a perfumed fan and flouncing it at my chin. “Lady Thrampton has one of the best cooks in London. I myself am partial to the marzipan.”
“Perhaps fewer marzipans this time, Justine,” Mrs. Langford drawled, eyeing first me and then Justine up and down.
“Hush, Mrs. Langford, I shall eat as many as I please. Now, you will excuse us, Louisa and I have so much to talk about. It is all gossip and scandalous in the extreme.”
