Page 45 of As Many Souls as Stars
Esther wondered if Richter was lonely, too.
‘You wish to break your curse,’ Richter said.
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’ Esther sighed, folding her hands in her lap. It discomfited her to speak of it in public, even as isolated as they were, with all the Ton inside. ‘Call on me later, if you are willing to speak more on the matter. Explain what you know, and how you know it. Otherwise, I will consider our acquaintance at an end.’
Miriam held out a hand to her. ‘Tomorrow, then.’
Esther slowly, reluctantly, placed her hand in hers.
‘Tomorrow,’ she echoed, ignoring the instinct to pull away.
13
Miriam went to watch Thomas Harding again that night. The first thing he did, once the rest of the household was sleeping, was to carefully apply salt on every window and threshold; his paranoia would have amused her if it hadn’t been so justified. He even put down lines of glue to keep the salt in place, painted on with a brush with the careful precision of an old master. Perhaps he thought it kept Esther’s curse at bay. Either way, the measures had saved his life, even if he didn’t know it.
After the salt, he went through his other rituals. He was practising magic in his study, using the grimoire—but he didn’t know how to speak to the shadows, couldn’t make offerings to them. Without this ability, his ritual circles were simply circles, his chants simply the ravings of a man teetering on the precipice of sanity.
When he was finished, he left the study and disappeared into the house. He entered a room on the top floor with its curtains drawn, the only indication of his presence there the faint light of his lamp peeking out through the glass. There was clearly something inparticularthat he was attempting; but Miriam herself had no need for spells and incantations, and she hadn’t the knowledge to recognise what it was he was doing. His visit to Esther the night before had clearly been an anomaly, a sign of weakness. He had something much larger in store.
So, then—despite the risk of her memories returning—Miriam would need to see Esther again. Even if she couldn’t convince herof the danger, at least when Miriam was present, she would be safer. Preserving her life meant preserving the deal. Preserving the deal meant that Miriam would have her soul—and she had waited long enough for it, hadn’t she, pining after Harding for centuries? She had asked Don Miguel if there was a difference between love and hatred, but perhaps she should have asked about love andhunger. She was starting to believe they were the same thing. When humans wanted each other, they were all mouths and teeth, desire and satisfaction. Miriam wanted Esther in that way, also. She didn’t see the need to distinguish between lust and love, consumption and devotion. Miriam loved her. She wanted her life and her death and each bloody beat of her heart in between.
So, Miriam called on Esther twice the next day: first in the morning, as a crow, to watch her dress and to indulge in the fleeting pleasure of her fingers trailing down her wing; then in the early evening, as a woman.
Esther herself opened the door. When she saw Miriam, she seemed shocked. ‘I did not think you would come,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Because no one does.’
Miriam arranged her expression into what she hoped was a friendly smile. ‘It is a beautiful evening. Shall we go for a walk?’
‘No,’ Esther replied. ‘What on earth are you wearing?’
Miriam glanced down at her attire. ‘Clothes.’
‘Men’sclothes.’
‘Oh. I hadn’t realised.’
Esther made an exasperated sound—although Miriam could tell, from the lingering heat of her stare, that she found the outfit attractive—and she closed the door a little further, so that she was wedged between it and the frame. ‘You must change. You can’t look like that in here.’
‘Why not?’
‘My cousin will have afit.’
‘Well—I needn’t come inside,’ Miriam said. Shecouldn’tcome inside, but that was another matter. ‘I thought we could go somewhere else. I can’t teach you magic in your home, where your family might see.’
Esther’s shoulders slumped. ‘I suppose that’s true. But we can’t just wander the streets; we are ladies. Let’s go to Vauxhall.’
‘… Vauxhall?’
Esther sighed at Miriam’s blank expression. ‘The gardens? How long have you been living in London, anyway?’
Miriam gestured to the street. ‘Lead the way.’
Esther still looked reticent, glaring at Miriam’s coat collar. In the corridor behind her, an extravagant chandelier swung slightly with the breeze from outside, scattering shards of rainbowed light across Esther’s pale shoulders, the bright fire of her hair.
Miriam said, ‘If you are still concerned about my dress—I won’t be noticed unless I wish to be. That is the nature of my magic.’
