Page 66 of As Many Souls as Stars
A hand took hers. ‘Esther?’ Miriam said, as she pulled her into another twirl. ‘What’s the matter?’
Esther shook her head. ‘I— Nothing. I was distracted.’
Miriam’s grip on her hand tightened. ‘You are distracted quite often, it seems.’
‘I’ve been seeing strange things,’ Esther said. ‘As always. I met someone else in the mirror. Myself, but not myself.’
Miriam froze in the middle of the dance floor. ‘Someone else?’
‘Miriam,’ Esther said urgently, tugging her back into movement. ‘You’ll trip everyone up.’
‘Who was it you saw, Esther?’
Before she could even consider her reply, someone else was speaking for her through her own mouth, pulling her strings like a puppeteer—her voice the same, but the cold fury in it unfamiliar. ‘Who do you think, Mistress Richter?’
Miriam hissed a breath. Meanwhile, the violins sounded a flourish, and Esther was pulled away. Spinning in a wide line at the edge of the dance floor, she saw the faceless, leering figures of the audience watching the dancers; she saw the candle flames roaring, reaching eagerly towards the ceiling; and then she swore she could hear the beat of a tambourine between the strings, and smell the scent of grass.
It was terrifying, but Esther felt a curious sense of relief—as if something long missing had finally slipped into place.
Arms closed around her. ‘We ought to stop,’ Miriam said into her ear. ‘You’re flushed.’
‘I feel dizzy.’
‘We’ve been spinning too much. Let’s fetch you a drink.’
Miriam pulled her away from the dancers to find a server with a tray of glasses. Esther downed a measure of claret in two gulps, and then they retreated to a corner of the room, half obscured by a candelabra.
‘Better?’ Miriam asked.
Esther shook her head. ‘It is becoming worse. These visions, these moments of confusion—they grow worse and worse.’
Miriam didn’t reply. She watched her silently, expression unreadable.
‘I’ve always had nightmares,’ Esther continued. ‘Even when I was a child. I used to dream that my room was on fire; I would wake up to find that I had gotten out of bed, and that I was stomping on the floor, as if to stop the flames.’
‘Esther…’
She shook her head. ‘Why do I feel as if I’ve known you all my life? Why are you sofamiliarto me?’ Her eyes met Miriam’s. ‘Sometimes, I despise you so much—I want you so much—that it feels as if you and I are the same person. That it feels as if you are responsible for all the pain I’ve ever felt.’
Miriam said, ‘You cannot trust these visions, Esther. They aren’t reality.’
Esther shook her head. ‘You are lying to me. You are always lying to me, I think. When you told me you loved me, was that a lie, also?’
‘No,’ Miriam replied. ‘Love is a sort of magic, my dear. It comes slowly or quickly, cruelly or kindly; but exchange is all it requires. It may not be the sort of love you want. But I have given you part of myself, just as you have given me part of you.’
Esther’s breath stuttered. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’
At that moment, Thomas Harding emerged from the crowd, darted forward, and seized Esther’s arm.
Esther gasped his name, nearly slipping on the marble floor of the ballroom in her fright. He must have come in a hurry, as he was in disarray, cravat badly tied, erupting in a spider-limb sprawl from his neck. His pupils were minuscule; he had the bitter scent of laudanum on his lips, and as he leaned towards Esther, she could smell it clinging to the air.
He said, ‘Where is it?’
Esther resisted the urge to flinch away. Most of the crowd remained on the dance floor or watching the dancers from the walls; but Thomas was making a scene, and they would soon be noticed. ‘Where is what?’
‘Thegrimoire. The salt—the salt might be gone, but perhaps, perhaps…’
He was delirious. ‘Thomas,’ Esther said, slowly, ‘there is no need for—’
