Page 38 of Tomb of Ancients
“Doubtful. If he did, he would send more than that pitiful lot,” Mr. Morningside replied. He leaned closer to the window, squinting. “This may just be a warning. Or scouts.”
They didn’t look to be in a hurry, merely pacing up and down the fence. After my battle with Sparrow, the thought of facing four Adjudicators, even with more allies of my own, lodged a lump in my throat. Mr. Morningside, for all his boasting, had to be afraid. There was no mistaking the state of ColdthistleHouse—it was a wonder they were still alive with Adjudicators attacking the property at random. They would certainly need us to survive the coming storm.
“Khent,” I said gently, “stay here with Lee, Mary, and Chijioke. Tell me if anything changes. I need to have a word with my former employers.”
He nodded solemnly and stood still, but I could tell he itched to follow.
“What’s this now?” Mr. Morningside asked, cocking a brow.
“You will see. We should talk terms somewhere more private,” I added, gesturing for Mother and Dalton to accompany me.
“Terms.” Mr. Morningside tasted the word and sneered; I’m sure he would have much preferred I called it adeal. And I would, if that was what he required. Time was too short and my need too great to worry about such details.
Mrs. Haylam remained rigid near the door, watching me closely as I strode by her and out into the corridor. The attic space down the hall, while not glamorous, would have to suffice. Residents drifted up and down in the flickering light of the sconces, then came together to follow me, so close that I could feel the cold that rolled off them like the breath of winter. The large ballroom where I had first found the black book was not far off, but I doubted the book remained there. It was only reasonable that after the events of the spring, Mr. Morningside would take greater pains to hide it.
The attic, sneezy and dark, grew dimmer still when the Residents floated in. They seemed to suck the dismal light from every corner and soak it into their blurred bodies. Mrs. Haylam entered last, carrying with her a short candelabra with fragrant yellow candles. The light held beneath her chin exaggerated every deep crack in her face.
With Adjudicators gathering at the property’s edge, I dispensed with pleasantries. “I want Father’s spirit out of me,” I told him and Mrs. Haylam bluntly. “If Chijioke can do it, fine, but something tells me it will be more complicated than his usual ceremony.”
“Far more complicated, I should think,” Mr. Morningside said, propping one elbow on his hand, knuckles tucked under his chin. “But not impossible.”
I glanced at Mother, and from behind her veil, she smiled back.
“I have a number of souls stored,” he continued. “The birds, of course. We can choose one of the less... unsavory types and use their essence. Perhaps Amelia Canny, or the Italian Countess, if you’re in the mood for something more dangerous. Otherwise”—and here he peered between Mother and Dalton—“we will require a volunteer, but that seems unnecessary.”
“You will need to be brought to the point of death again,” Mrs. Haylam said, steely. “A simple task.”
And how you will enjoy that, I thought.
“Very well,” I replied. “That sounds agreeable. Well, not agreeable, but possible. In return, I will ask that my companions help you defend against the shepherd’s forces. You will need our help to survive.”
“You will do more than that.” Mr. Morningside grinned, then grinned wider when my face fell. “What you’re asking is complicated and risky, Louisa, and the trouble is that you will need us for it. Therefore, we must survive. Therefore, what you are offering is the bare minimum and not at all interesting to me.”
“Here we go,” I heard Dalton mutter, crossing his arms.
“Or you might help Louisa because it is the kind thing to do.” Mother drifted forward, removing her veil. It was always startling, how strange and beautiful she looked, with her inky purple skin and eight delicate pink eyes. Even Mr. Morningside could not tear his eyes away from her. “She is suffering greatly. Father’s spirit is poison, and it is killing her with its cruelty.”
“How tragic,” Mrs. Haylam drawled. “She was gifted the powers of a god. That she cannot control and understand them is unfortunate but not our problem.”
“It will be,” I shot back, taking a step toward her. “When I pack up my toys and go home.”
“Back to London? Back to the angry mobs with torches?” Mr. Morningside sighed, but it was all theatrics. “Oh, Louisa, you are in our game now, and in this game, running only takesyou to the edge of the board, it does not remove you as a piece.”
He had me cornered, and I knew it, but I hated losing to him this way.
“Ask what you will, then,” I whispered, not afraid anymore to look him straight in the eye, to challenge the Devil himself. “But I will not agree to anything until I know exactly what you require.”
“I’m afraid it involves another book.” He didn’t seem at all bothered by my glowering. In fact, he had turned his attention to Dalton. For some reason, that frightened me more. “Only this time, you won’t be translating it,” Mr. Morningside said with a wink. “You’ll bedestroyingit.”
Chapter Eighteen
My first thought was that Mr. Morningside meant Dalton’s diary, that he wanted it gone, but of course it could not be that simple.
“You have no idea what you’re asking,” Dalton said, shaking his head and brushing by me, standing up to Henry. They were of equal height and similar frame, though they were different in nearly every other respect. With Mr. Morningside’s dark hair and Dalton’s ginger complexion, they were like ice and fire.
“On the contrary, I know just what I’m asking.” Mr. Morningside dodged around him, languidly, his shoulder brushing the other man’s. I saw Dalton flinch at the proximity. “What else would you have me do? The shepherd has gone plum mad. We had a nice enough arrangement going. It’s a pity he had to ruin it.”
“Louisa tells me you’ve been amassing a bloody army of souls, Henry. Perhapsthatruined it, mm?”
