Page 43 of As Many Souls as Stars
‘Is it a home, my dear? Or simply another snare?’
‘What do you—whoareyou, really? What is this?’
Richter blinked at her, in a slow, deliberate manner, as if blinking wasn’t an unconscious movement for her, as if she had to decide to do it. Otherwise, she didn’t respond.
Esther stood from the table, suddenly disturbed. There seemed a new darkness to Richter’s expression that she hadn’t noticed before—a coiled-snake sort of impatience.
‘I should leave,’ Esther said. ‘All the other guests are inside.’
‘Ah. I have offended you.’
‘Yes, Miss Richter, you have.’
‘Call me Miriam,’ she said.
‘I will not call you Miriam,’ Esther replied, and then she heard a scream. She gasped and turned to look at the house behind them. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
‘I swear—a woman screaming. I thought…’
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Richter said. ‘I think you ought to sit down.’
‘But what about the fire?’
‘What fire?’
What fire?Esther had no idea. There was not a fire, and she didn’t know why she’d thought there was. A searing, migraine-like pain began to build behind her eyebrows, and she hissed, stooping over as she clung to the back of the chair.
Richter stood. ‘Are you well?’
‘My head hurts.’
Cold, strong hands took hold of Esther’s arms and guided her back down into the chair. ‘There, now,’ came a voice in her ear, ‘calm yourself. No memories, no fear. All is well.’
At these words, a curious numbness spread through Esther’s mind, dousing the heat of the migraine, leaving her feeling dozy and disoriented. She gripped the sides of the table—momentarily dizzy—and waited for the strange sensation to subside.
Esther had never had one of her episodes so effectively dispelled. When she looked back to Richter, she was sat opposite her, smiling genially, as if nothing odd had happened at all.
‘How did you do that?’ Esther asked.
‘Do what?’
‘Fix the… You helped me.’
‘A drop of magic, that is all,’ Miriam said. ‘To soothe an unsettled heart.’
Magic.
Esther regarded her warily. She was scared, but also delighted—she’d never met anyone who had a similar gift to hers. No wonder she’d felt such a curious sense of familiarity when they’d first met; like recognises like, after all. But still, without certainty…
‘Prove it,’ Esther said.
‘Prove what?’
‘You say you can use magic? Prove it.’
Richter sighed, as if she were placating a child. Then she raised a languid arm, wrist limp. A fork of lightning speared the sky and struck her open palm, pooling there in a twisting rope of light; it lasted only a moment before it was gone. It left a sharp ozone scent and a crackling static in the air. Esther could feel her hair lifting from her shoulders.
