The Twelfth Enchantment Part 12

She could find in Mary's books nothing of use about changelingsa"only myth and folklore, stories that rang of falseness and ignorance. What Lucy needed was to learn how to banish a changeling and how to retrieve the stolen child. If there was little to be discovered about changelings, however, there was much written on other sorts of beings. In Lucy's new library she read of the dark things that stalked the world, the spirits of Agrippa's Fourth Book or the demons of the Lemegeton. Lucy had learned nothing of spirit summoning, and Mary had warned to stay away from such magic, but books teaching the methods of such summoning were among the books Mary had left her, and now those warnings fell flat. Mary had abandoned her, possibly betrayed her. Martha and Emily were in trouble, in terrible danger, and only Lucy knew that this was so. It fell upon her shoulders to do something.

With no one to guide her, with no hints to help her follow the right course, Lucy had no choice but to find her own way. She spent the day closeted away with her books, looking for what she ought not to look, and found what appeared to her promising. It was in a volume that Mary had given her, marking off certain sections as the only ones worthy of her attention, but there were other sections as well, including one dedicated to the Enochian magic closely a.s.sociated with John Dee and Edward Kelley. This author had gone back to the source text, the Heptameron, and proposed a simplified method of calling down spirits, demons, and angels.

It felt dangerous to Lucy, but it also felt real, like something she could do, and yet the creatures in the book terrified hera"foul, twisted, distorted things, drawn in broad, renaissance strokes, like the monsters who inhabit the lost islands of unknown seas. Attempting habitually to master beings of this sort would be foolish, but surely she could do so once. She needed only to call a creature of knowledge, command it to tell her how to banish a changeling and restore her niece, and then she would send it off. She would do it quickly and cleanly, and the danger would pa.s.s so swiftly it could hardly be accounted danger at all.

The book explained that the creature would attempt to deceive her, to punish her for the insult of summoning it to her realm. It would attempt to trick Lucy into setting it free, and it would then destroy her in one of a thousand painful ways that would appear to the outside world a natural death. Lucy was certain she was too clever for that, too focused. Men summoned these beings out of ambition and power, and these desires were their undoing. A woman who summoned a spirit for benevolent purposes would be more cautious.

Lucy would have thought she must roll up her rug and fashion a magic circle in chalk upon the floorboards, but that turned out not to be the case. The book said that it was best to limit the size of the manifestation of an otherworldly being, and that circles were best drawn on pieces of paper in inka"the smaller the better, but never so small as to compromise accuracy. Errors in the circle would allow the summoned creature to break free, and that was always fatal.

When she began the work, Lucy felt much as she did when copying out a talisman, not that she was drawing something, but more that she was rea.s.sembling an object that had been taken apart. The lines and circles and runes seemed to fit together like boards perfectly cut by a carpenter's skilled hand. Or they did not feel that way, and so she twice destroyed her work because the circle simply felt badly constructed even if she could not find the error. When she was at last finished, she knew what she had done was perfect. She examined it over and over again in the rushlight, for it was now late at night, but her eyes only told her what she already knewa"that her work could not be improved upon.

Lucy had put a great deal of effort into choosing a creature that might be most easily summoned and best controlled, and settled upon an angel whose name she could not p.r.o.nounce (it was written out in Enochian runes, which looked like a strange combination of Hebrew and Latin letters), and whose particular virtues were said to be power, knowledge, and vengeance. Lucy wanted only one of those, and hoped the other two would not get in her way.

The summoning was simple. She would need to quiet herself, banish the world from her thoughts, and recite the simple sentence written in the Enochian tongue (helpfully transliterated by the author), while drawing forth a drop of her own blood. Very direct, very easy. With the circle written on so small a piece of paper, it made the whole affair curiously portable. She could bring her angel of destruction with her wherever she went, Lucy thought with the kind of crazed humor of the exhausted. It would make a pretty diversion at a ball.

Suppressing her giggles, bringing herself into the right frame of mind, Lucya"having memorized the incantationa"stood before the circle, a knife ready to draw across her finger. And that was when everything went mad.

The door to her room burst open, and a dark form was on her at once, knocking her down and ripping the knife out of her hand. Lucy fell backwards, snapping her head forward in time to avoid knocking it upon the floor. Instead, she slammed her forehead into that of her a.s.sailant. Lucy grunted in pain and surprise, but the person on top of her made no sound.

She was held down by a large figure, round and soft, and who smelled strangely pleasant, like a warm wool blanket on a cold winter day.

"Are you hurt, Miss Lucy? Tell me you are not hurt."

Lucy scrambled out from under the bulky form. "Mrs. Emmett?"

Hurrying to close the door, Lucy turned to see the plump woman getting to her feet, straightening out her bonnet, which she wore in her customary low fashion so it pressed her hair flat against her forehead.

"Lord, how I had to run to make my way here in time! Did not Miss Mary teach you any better than to fool with such things as summoning? One mistake in that circle of yours, and it would seek out the most arrogant living thing in the room, for these creatures hate arrogance above all weaknesses, and they can smell it the way a dog smells a rabbit. You may be certain that if you are alone, the most arrogant person in the room is you."

"What are you doing here?" Lucy demanded, attempting to keep her voice low. "How did you get in here? How did you know I was summoning a spirit? And where is Miss Crawford?"

"So many questions," said Mrs. Emmett with a good-natured laugh.

Checking the clock upon one of the side tables, Lucy saw it was near three in the morning. The house, however, remained silent. Mrs. Emmett's arrival apparently had awoken no one.

"Then let us take one question at a time," said Lucy. "Where is Miss Crawford?"

"Oh, I am certain I don't know that. It's got nothing to do with me."

"Nothing to do with you?" asked Lucy. "Is she not your mistress?"

"You are my mistress now."

"What can you mean? I cannot pay you."

Mrs. Emmett smiled. "I need no money."

"But what will Uncle Lowell say?"

"He'll say nothing," said Mrs. Emmett. "I'll not stay here. You don't need me, Miss Lucy. Not yet. When you do, I'll come to you. It is no hard thing."

Lucy shook her head at the nonsense. She was too tired to understand. "When did you last see Miss Crawford?"

"To that, I cannot say. My memory isn't good for such things."

Lucy circled around Mrs. Emmett. If this examination disturbed the good woman, she did not show it. She only turned her neck like an eager puppy to follow Lucy's movements. "How did you know I meant to summon a creature?" Lucy asked.

"How could I not know it?" Mrs. Emmett asked.

Lucy let out a long sigh. "Take no insult, Mrs. Emmett, but what are you?"

"I am Mrs. Emmett," she said with much cheer.

"And you now serve me?"

"Yes, Miss Lucy."

"You serve me and not Miss Crawford?"

"Yes, Miss Lucy."

It did not yet make sense, but Lucy suspected she was moving closer to some kind of clarity. "When we first met, you knew you were to serve me? Is that why you embraced me?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Lucy. I know everything that will happen to me. I even know when I shall be no more."

"You know when you are going to die?" Lucy asked.

"I know everything that is going to happen to me."

"Then can you not alter things to make your life easier?"

"It is not my life, it is yours."

This exchange was making Lucy uncomfortable. "What shall I do with you?"

"You need not worry for that. I have saved you from being destroyed this night, as you must have beena"for there is an error in your circle. Your talent is great, but it is not flawless. You have come far by trusting your instincts, and you have come to see that your instincts do not lie, but it does not follow that you know all."

"Miss Crawford warned me not to summon, but I cannot know that she is my frienda"that she ever was. My niece is gonea"replaced with something vilea"and as much as I wish I did not think so, I fear Miss Crawford had a hand in this."

Mrs. Emmett took her hand. "You must not doubt that she is your friend. You have none better. You cannot know what she has done and what she is yet prepared to do. She does not wish you to know, but you may depend upon her friendship."

"And what of my niece? What of Emily?" Lucy demanded. "She has been replaced by a changeling. What do you know of it?"

Mrs. Emmett shook her head. "I know nothing of how it was done or who did it."

"Do you know anything of changelings, of how I may banish it and retrieve my niece?"

"Only what is commonly known," said Mrs. Emmett.

"Nothing is commonly known," snapped Lucy. "Tell me what you can."

"I know that when a child is exchanged, it is hidden away, placed out of time as we understand it, so that months may pa.s.s for us, but only seconds for the child. If one were to banish the changeling, the original child would take its place, and to someone who knew not how to pay mind to such things, it would appear only that the child's disposition had changed."

"And how is this to be effected?" Lucy demanded. "Can you tell me how?"

"Not I," said Mrs. Emmett. "I know nothing of alchemy."

Lucy stepped forward. "It is alchemy?"

"Of the most powerful kind, yes. If a spirit creature chooses to replace a human child itself, that is another matter, but to effect such a change requires the most powerful of alchemical knowledge. One must create a kind of spiritual doorway, and make it strong enough to last. Anyone who could build such a thing could create the philosopher's stone itself."

Lucy took hold of Mrs. Emmett's shoulders. "Then if I were to possess the Mutus Liber, I could retrieve my niece?"

"I daresay yes," agreed Mrs. Emmett.

Lucy let go of Mrs. Emmett and collapsed into her chair. The Mutus Liber was the key to everything. Her enemies wanted it, but she must want it more, and she must have it first. The course she was already on was the course she must continue to follow, only now with greater urgency and determination.

She looked down at the piece of paper on which she had drawn the complex Enochian circle, which she still clutched in her hand. "And what of this? Do I simply burn this? Is that a safe way to destroy it?"

"Do not destroy it," said Mrs. Emmett. "Keep it. Keep it with you always."

"Why? It is corrupt and dangerous. You said so yourself."

"Because sometimes you can use danger and corruption for good ends," she said. Mrs. Emmett then leaned down to give Lucy a hug and departed the house, as unseen and unheard as she arrived.

She at last fell asleep in the predawn hours, and awoke late in the morning. By the time she emerged, the house was in disarray. In her room, Martha's nurse was busily packing her trunk, while downstairs Mr. Buckles was giving Ungston loud and utterly unnecessary ordersa""Do not muddy my linens!" Martha sat in a felt armchair of faded green near the window, and the sun glowed against the white curtain at her back, making the wispy strands of Martha's black hair shine as though she were an angel. And yet, how unlike an angel was the creature that crawled up her shoulder. Its back was to Lucy, but she could see its scaly white skin and the strands of greasy, brittle hair that escaped the tiny bonnet, which did not quite conceal its pointed ears.

"What do you do?" cried Lucy. "You are not leaving."

"We are." Martha's voice cracked, and the bags under her eyes were dark and heavy. She appeared to have aged years in but a single night. "Uncle has said he cannot endure Emily's wailing, and though his doctor can find no ill with her, I should much like if our own man could look her over. She has no fever, and she thrives, yet she must eat all the time and will not settle."

The creature turned to Lucy and leered at her with its narrow eyes. Its mouth opened to show sharp teeth, which it licked with its flat and leathery tongue.

Martha rose to her feet. "Oh, here. Hold her for a moment."

She thrust out the baby, and Lucy had no choice but to take it. It clung to her shoulder, and its claws thrust into her flesh. Lucy felt a sharp jolt of pain and the faint moisture of blood trickling down her back. The creature nuzzled close to her ear and emitted a burst of staccato breathsa"something like laughter. Its body, cold as ice and strangely loose, like a bladder of wine only half full, pressed against her. The urge, powerful and demanding, to pull the thing from her body and fling it to the floor shot through her with the force of a sudden and irresistible blow. Holding a rat or a venomous serpent to her breast would have been no more unnatural than this. Yet Lucy mastered herself. She could not attempt to tell Martha the truth, for she understood her sister would not be able to accept it.

"I thought you would want her," said Martha, sensing her discomfort.

"I am tired today." Lucy pried the creature loose and handed it to Martha. Its tiny claws were wet with Lucy's blood. "I slept poorly last night, and now I am distracted. Oh, Martha. You must stay here." Lucy's plan to summon a creature to help her cast out the changeling was obviously finished, but she could not allow Martha to leave. As long as she could keep an eye upon the creature she could hope to do something about it, but Lucy could not bear the thought of Martha going off with it, having no idea what it was, that it was not her Emily.

Martha shook her head. "For Emily's sake, I cannot stay. I wish you could visit with us. Oh, how pleasant that would be if only a" She did not finish her sentence. She did not need to. Mr. Buckles had forbidden any further visits from her family until the baby was older. He believed Martha's relations would distract her from her duty.

In two hours, Lucy stood outside her uncle's house while Martha and the creature entered the loaded carriage. Before stepping through the door, Mr. Buckles paused and approached Lucy, gently leading her aside by taking hold of her arm in one of his long-fingered hands. His skin was so wet with perspiration, it was as though he'd just withdrawn it from a bucket of water.

"You've been, ah, shall we say, a terriblea"let us say it directa"a terrible disappointment to your sister, and, if I may add, to Lady Harriett," he said. "All very shameful. I trust there will be no more difficultya"difficulty or trouble, to be surea"with your marriage to Mr. Olson."

Lucy could not stand to have him speak to her in that tone, to treat her as though she were a fool and a child. Most of all, she could not endure that he would attempt to manipulate her powerlessness when it was he who had rendered her so.

"Mr. Buckles," she said, keeping her voice calm, "I have seen the original of my father's will. I am not a fool, and I know the difficulties in righting this injustice, but I will not be dissuaded. Ere I am done, I shall see you dangle from the hangman's noose."

Mr. Buckles blanched. He raised a wet hand to his cheek as though she had actually slapped him. "You would not dare," he said, his voice hoa.r.s.e.

"I would not dare what?" asked Lucy, emboldened. "Seek justice? I would not dare to reclaim what is mine?"

"Such unnatural feeling!" he exclaimed. "I am your sister's husband."

"And I am your wife's sister," Lucy answered in return.

"I shall speak of this to Lady Harriett," said Mr. Buckles. "Would you oppose her?"

"I believe she and I are already opposed," said Lucy.

At this, he laughed. "I can tell that it is not so. Shall I tell you how? Because you are yet alive." Mr. Buckles bowed, and then entered his carriage, leaving Lucy feeling as though she had made a terrible mistake.

Martha was gone, and so was the changeling. Each tick of the clock, each chime of the hour, was like a blow to Lucy, and so it would be until she had rescued her niece. She tried not to feel it, to dull the anxiety that boiled in her stomach, for she knew there could be no easy or quick resolution. She would live this way for days, perhaps weeks and months; she would have to endure it, for there was no one to do the work but she.

Lucy sat in her room at her secretary with her books, making notes and marking pages, working until the last of the sunlight was gone, and then, working late into the night by rushlight. So she strained her eyes as she copied out runes and magic squares, as she made lists of herbs, as she memorized Latin for spells. At last, when the clock struck one in the morning, she could do no more, but she did not believe more was required, and she believed it would serve. Lucy dressed for bed, extinguished the rush, crawled under the warmth of her heavy counterpane, and let exhaustion take her.

The next morning she awoke early and took from the pantry a small quant.i.ty of dill and rosemary, as well as an apple, of which she needed only a bit of the juice. She found also some dried flowers that Ungston used to make a sweet-smelling potpourri, which he put into bowls and set about the house. There she found rose and violet, as she required for the two spells she intended to cast. The first would be easier, for it involved the placement of a talisman, and she had grown quite adept at the creation and deployment of the cunning little engines. The second would be far more dangerous, and ethically problematic, but she could not scruple over safety and ethics now.

With her work done, Lucy traveled to visit Norah Gilley. The house was all in disarray as they prepared to travel to London. Lucy had believed they were not due to depart for several weeks, but it seemed that the schedule had been accelerated, for servants were busy running up and down the stairs with folded clothing and packages of household goods. Much of the house was being closed up, and in every room but the parlor, the furnishings were draped with sheets.

Norah greeted Lucy with a kind of cold imperiousness, as though her impending relocation to London were something of a coronation. An extended hand would not do for what Lucy had in mind, so she pulled her friend into a hug. This provided the opportunity to slip a tiny piece of paper into the folds of her gown.

Soon they sat. Norah asked at once if Lucy would like tea and cakes. Lucy almost answered, but then caught herself. It would be the first request she made, and so if she asked for refreshments, the charm would guarantee that Norah did not rest until they were delivered, but it would do no more than that. Instead, she turned to Norah and smiled.

"You leave for London in a few weeks' time, is that not so?" said Lucy.

"The precise day has not been determined, but I believe it will be sooner than I had supposed," said Norah. "We await only the final word from the ministry."

"Would not London be so much grander if you brought a friend with you, and would not you be best served if I were that friend? You must ask your father if I may come with you."

Norah appeared struck by this. The impending move to the capital was what elevated her above her friends, and to share that elevation would be unthinkable, and yet she now considered the matter seriously. "I cannot doubt that I shall make friends without delay, in particular with Papa's important office and his connections, but even so, how much more lovely it would be to share my joy with you. I shall ask him at once." She leapt to her feet.

Lucy remained alone in the parlor, her body almost shivering with nerves. Only now did it occur to her that she ought to have used a charm upon Mr. Gilley as well, for what if he did not want his daughter to bring a friend? But not five minutes pa.s.sed before Norah rushed into the room, bright with glee. "He says he thinks it a marvelous idea," she said, and hugged Lucy. "He only tells you that you will have to be careful of your lungs." Both young ladies giggled at Mr. Gilley's fear of catching cold. It was as though they were little girls. Then they called for cakes, and then ate far too much as they talked of the thousand things they would do together. Lucy cared for none of it; she had no interest in b.a.l.l.s and milliner's shops and grand houses and pleasure gardens. Perhaps a few months ago these would have seemed the finest things in the world to her, but now they seemed to her only to facilitate a small step toward a larger goal. She only spoke of them to keep Norah excited and happy. It was the least she could do after so deceiving her friend.

The next phase of her scheme required that Lucy do something she would once have considered unthinkable. She directed a note to the inn at which Mr. Morrison was lodged, and invited him to meet her at a chocolate house off the market square. Lucy had to steal a gla.s.s of wine from the kitchen in order to sufficiently steady her nerve, so much did her hand shake upon her first attempt to write the note. The kind words, the implication of forgiveness, even of admiration, made her sick in her soul, but Mr. Morrison had important information, and if Lucy were to succeed, she would need as much information as she could find.

As she prepared to leave the house for this rendezvous, Mrs. Quince hurried from the sitting room to bar her way from the door.

"Where do you think you go?"

"I have business," Lucy answered. "It is none of your concern."

"Is it with that vile Mary Crawford?"

"I shan't answer your questions, so stand aside. I am soon to leave for London with Miss Gilley, and you have no further power over me."