Page 61 of Tomb of Ancients
“Behind the house,” Lee said, pointing. He stood straighter now that the Upworlders were no longer a problem. “He took Mrs. Haylam behind the house.”
“Walk with me and show me,” I said.
There was no rush now to deal with Mother’s body, and I knew Mary and Chijioke would take good care of Khent and find something for his wounds. Finding Morningside was my most urgent task, and Lee’s eyes widened in surprise at my suggestion, but he agreed, falling into step next to me as we picked our way across the hole-ridden ground and fallen Upworlders. I whistled and tapped my thigh with my good hand, and Bartholomew lifted his head, then heaved an immense doggy sigh and loped over to join us.
“Why him?” Lee asked, reaching out to stroke the dog’s head.
“You will see,” I said. “But first I must ask you something.”
We walked slowly, for we were both sapped from the fighting.His knuckles and forearms showed a boxer’s welts, and with his strange, unnatural new strength I could easily imagine how he had made himself useful in the final push of the battle. We had come so very far from nervous flirting in the library.
“Something is changed about you,” Lee observed. “I suppose anybody would be changed, after what you must have seen.”
“It’s more than that,” I admitted. The walk was not long, but I took my time. As we rounded the house, I saw across the north lawn that Mr. Morningside was indeed there, and he was finishing building a pyre, stripped of his coat and down to his shirtsleeves. The sight of him doing menial labor was like watching a hedgehog dance a gavotte. “Father is gone. Mother is with my spirit now. I’m still learning what that means, and I know you were not there to see what I became when Father took control. It was ugly, violent, wild in a way that frightened me.”
“Mary told me something of it,” Lee replied. “I couldn’t understand why you would make a deal with Mr. Morningside again, but she said it must be done.”
“Aye, and she spoke truly. It had to be done.” I paused then, watching Mr. Morningside carefully lift Mrs. Haylam’s lifeless body onto the piled wood. She had given her all to protect the house. Just like the others. It was a miracle she and Giles were the only casualties. “Do you know, I once saw a farmer burning his field. I never understood why until now. He was cleaning away the useless stuff so that new and better plants might grow. That’s how I feel now, Lee. Father was an inferno, unbridled,but Mother is quite different. This is a fire I want to set. A fire I can control.”
Lee stared at me, unblinking. “Then... you’re happy?”
“I didn’t say that.” I offered him a thin smile and nodded toward the pyre. “Mrs. Haylam is gone, but you’re still here. Is her magic not needed to sustain you?”
He scratched his chin at that; a bit of whiskers had started to grow there. “Chijioke thinks I might be tied more to the book than to her. I don’t feel any different now that she is dead.”
“Good,” I said softly, thinking. “That’s good. Because I own the black book now, so you are in no near danger of disappearing.”
Chapter Thirty
Mr. Morningside had just lit the kindling beneath the pyre when Lee, Bartholomew, and I reached the clearing.
He stood back from the crackle as it sparked, spread, and grew into a blaze. The flames leapt upward, chewing the too-wet wood that smoked and sent a pillar of black smoke straight up into the air, as if signaling to some distant army. With arms crossed, he watched as the fire neared Mrs. Haylam’s still body. Without Dalton’s diary, I might never have known how long they had been together, or how closely their lives were linked. I couldn’t help thinking of what she had told me as the battle against the Upworlders raged around us, that she should’ve been firmer with him, as if she were a mother and not his devoted follower.
Maybe, in a sense, she had been his guardian. And now, with all of his ancient friends gone, he was adrift, unanchored.
We did not make a stealthy approach, and he twisted at the hips, perhaps simply expecting employees of the house. His whole manner changed when he saw me there with the Dark Fae book still strapped to my back. He dropped his arms and frowned, then smiled, then frowned again as I advanced.
“I’m deeply sorry about Mrs. Haylam, about your friend,” I said.
“Me, too. She was a loyal companion to the end, and such a feature of my life that her demise seemed impossible.” Mr. Morningside looked away and back into the fire. “But you’ve returned and the battle has ended, which means—”
His brows lifted in anticipation.
“Yes,” I told him. “The white book is no more.”
“Then... it’s over,” he said, staring off into the forest. “It’s over.”
“I am sorry about your friend.Friends,” I continued. “Or rather, I’m sorry that you lost them this way. That they tried to help you, believed you, and all along you were just using them. And I’m sorry about the house. I know it will be difficult for you to lose it.”
“Lose it?” he repeated. It wasn’t until that moment that Mr. Morningside took note of Lee’s presence. He stepped away from the pyre and toward us, studying Lee with more interest, golden eyes aglow. “My dear Louisa, you haven’t even given me the chance to fulfill my end of the deal. It will be more difficult, surely, with Mrs. Haylam gone, but not impossible.”
“Indeed. The contract, do you have it?” I asked, then continued on before he could answer. “There’s no need. I remember the wording precisely. You were to remove Father’s spirit from me. You. If that did not come to pass, then Coldthistle House and the Black Elbion would be mine.”
In his eagerness to respond, he smiled, then crooked one finger under his jaw and hesitated. “I’m sure you’re just itchingto explain your reasoning.”
“You cannot remove what is already gone,” I said, advancing on him. He looked startled, truly startled, and perhaps it was not until that moment that he realized how unlikely it was for me to have returned at all. Swallowing hard, he then also noticed Bartholomew. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. That was well enough, for I wasn’t yet interested in what he had to say. He was at his most dangerous when he poured honeyed words into one’s ears. “Mother is dead. All of the Upworlders are dead. And I would be dead, too, were it not for luck and strange coincidence. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Centuries of planning and plotting, moving us—the pieces in your little game—with promises and lies. Now that we’ve come to the end of your game, will you answer a riddle for me, Devil?”
His lip curled into a sneer, and he glanced toward the pyre as if to shame me for causing a scene in front of the dead. “Go on.”
