The Baskerville Tales (Short Stories) (6 page)

“I wanted to see him again,” she said at last, her tone defensive. Then she swallowed hard. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“We fought.” Violet’s voice was thin and hard but fragile as the frost on the windowpanes. “We always fought and then made our peace. Making up was the sweetest part. I need to see him one last time.”

The thought made Evelina sick. “No, you don’t.”

The girl’s head bowed, a look of defeat flitting across her features. “Is it that bad?”

There was no good answer to that. “We might not have much time.”

“All right.” Violet looked up, eyes angry now, as if she’d been cheated. “I’ve still got the spell.”

“I need to see it. Maybe it can be undone.”

Violet nodded curtly and led the way back to her room. Evelina followed. She’d never been in Violet’s chamber. It was larger than hers, with a small table and chair set by the window. Some pictures hung on the wall, including a watercolor of the renowned Asterley Hall. The one interesting detail was a ragged toy half hidden by the pillows on the bed, so old Evelina wasn’t
sure what type of animal it was meant to be.

Violet crossed to her dressing table and opened her jewel box. She took out a square paper and handed it to Evelina.

Evelina took it. “Did you steal a letter out of my parcel?”

Violet stiffened. “No.”

There was no way to tell if that was a lie. Evelina didn’t answer, but unfolded the paper Violet had given her. It was the missing page from the spell book. Evelina read the short stanzas quickly. It was a simple summoning by sacrifice, meant to draw the beloved back from the grave to claim their lover. Simple, but that made it strong, with disgusting potential.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Evelina said. There were plenty, but she had no intention of prolonging contact with the girl. “What made you think to take the book?”

Violet lifted her chin. “I saw the article in the newspaper. It said the workmen had found a chest with things belonging to Hester Barnes. She was my father’s mother’s ancestor, so whatever she had was mine by rights.”

So the Barnes bloodline hadn’t completely died out. The rector, like so many, had neglected the female line. That made sense, given that Violet had evidently inherited a touch of Hester Barnes’s powers. Otherwise, the spell would never have worked.

Violet’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you, Cooper? How do you know about magic?”

Evelina wasn’t opening that door. “Just be glad I do.”

“How are you going to stop …” Violet waved a hand at the paper.

“Did you set any kind of timeline on this spell? A time or date Tom had to follow?”

“I gave him until tonight to come to me. The ball.”

That was exactly what Evelina feared, and it must have showed on her face.

“I thought it would be his ghost that came. That’s not it, is it?”

Evelina shook her head.

Violet’s lips trembled. She was visibly swinging between fear and fury. “I’m so sick of you. So smart and so cocky, acting like you don’t need anyone, always with your books and your theories and your superior airs. If you ever tell anyone about any of this, I’ll see
you
dead.”

“Violet,” Evelina said, swallowing down a wave of shock. “After tomorrow, after we leave Wollaston, just stay out of my path.”

“Get out of my room!” Violet snarled.

Evelina didn’t argue. She couldn’t wait to put distance between them.

* * *

Evelina hurried down to the road toward the graveyard, keeping to the shadows. It was frosty out, the waning moon leaking a pale, pearly light over the sparkling fields. She carried a slide lantern opened just far enough to see the path ahead. Her breath came in clouds as her boots crunched across the grass.

Evelina had studied Violet’s spell. The stolen page had no instructions for unraveling the magic, and Evelina didn’t know enough about death magic to make something up. That left only the backup plan she’d concocted with Dr. Larch.

The rector theorized that Tom had been hiding close to familiar ground, either in the graveyard or near his old home. She’d hoped to find Tom’s hiding place before nightfall, when the Risen were weakest, but time had slipped away. Now she was counting on him stopping by the graveyard to unearth a snack before his rendezvous with Violet at the dance. It was hours
before midnight, so maybe he wouldn’t be in a rush.

She was wrong. Something was moving on the road ahead. Evelina dove for the safety of the ditch the workmen had been digging to lay pipe beside the road. The pipe had not been put down yet, so there was room to hide. The afternoon rain hadn’t quite frozen at the bottom. She crouched, feeling the instant her knees touched the muddy, cold, wet of the ground. The bitter scent of earth and dead vegetation rose around her. She clicked her lantern shut and drew the pistol out, holding it close to her side so that even the faint sheen of moonlight wouldn’t betray her.

She huddled down, waiting with one hand over her nose and mouth to stifle the mist from her breath. Far away, something yapped. A fox? A dog? Every other night sound was suddenly absent, as if anything with sense had vacated the area.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why. Even in the cold air, the stench that preceded Tom was unforgiving. Evelina tucked her nose into the elbow of her sleeve, trying to think past the smell. She could hear the sliding shuffle of unsteady feet. The wet, open-mouthed panting from lungs slimy with putrescence. The snuffling sound of a beast in search of prey.

She blinked away tears of fright, wishing Imogen were there to make her brave. She was always bolder if there was someone else to look after.

Tom lurched closer and closer, every sound growing more distinct until Evelina was sure she could make out the slide of each bone under uncertain flesh. A hot, sweaty nausea made her head swim, and she swallowed hard to clear her watering mouth.

Tom stopped, sniffing. Apparently, his nose was failing him, because he was there, just feet away. Not quite within touching distance, but close. Evelina moved her head by degrees, trying to stay invisible. Now she could see him—a sketchy, lumpen shape in the darkness, hair
falling into his face. At least he wasn’t carrying his dinner this time.

The moment buzzed with anticipation. Evelina’s throat constricted with tension until it ached. Tom swiveled his head, his eyes shadowy pits. Whether they saw her, or saw anything, she wasn’t sure. He tested the air again. Something dripped—a faint, steady sound—and she realized with a crawling of the flesh that it had to be him. Something was leaking.

But then he moved on. A sudden lurch, and the shuffle began again. Evelina remained still and silent until a full dozen minutes had passed. She was taking no chances.

Finally, she released her breath in a ragged wheeze.
That was obscene
.

Unfortunately, it was far from over. She clambered from the steam-pipe ditch and followed the shuffling form at a good distance, using the faint moonlight to keep the hunched shape in sight. As they neared the school, he became easier to see, but it also became harder to stay out of sight.

Brilliant displays of light had become the fashion in Society. Accordingly, the academy grounds were lit by a long double row of gas lamps, their yellow-tinted globes like magic lanterns hovering to either side of the drive. The double doors of the entrance were flanked by footmen on loan for the job. Whenever the doors opened, the muffled music and laughter from within grew clearer.

But that-which-had-been-Tom must have remembered that the ballroom was really the assembly hall, and it had more convenient doors off the back of the building. He skirted the school to the left, keeping to the darkest part of the grounds. Evelina went far to the right, using the bushes for cover.

As soon as she reached the back garden, Evelina ran to the old birch tree in the northeast corner, grabbing the lowest branch and pulling herself up. It was easier work than making her
way to the roof, but less predictable, especially in the frosty dark. Her gloved hands were stiff with the cold. Her foot slipped, making her bang her chin on the branch. Then she got a better grip and made her way up another level. From there she could see the back of the building clearly but still keep to the shadows. Most important, she was away from the crowd. There was a healthy clump of juniper bushes between the base of the tree and the lawn.

She could see the throng of guests through the brightly lit windows, whirling to the muted strains of the violins. Others had spilled out onto the lawn near the doors. More would be in other rooms inside the academy, eating, drinking, and celebrating the belles of the upcoming Season. Violet was sure to be one of them.

Evelina felt a pang, wondering what it would have been like to be laughing with Imogen and her handsome brother. She might have danced with Tobias, swirling about the room in the beautiful green dress. He might have even kissed her. Mrs. Roberts had forbidden mistletoe, but someone always smuggled it in.

Instead, Evelina settled into a crook in the tree, untying the mouth of the velvet shoe bag she usually reserved for her dancing slippers and pulled out the three mechanical toys Rector Larch had contributed. She set them along a thick branch: a wind-up hot air balloon painted with red and white stripes, a stork clutching a basket, and a burgundy velvet armchair with wings. Then she set out three tiny votive candles, three tiny glass chimneys, and a box of matches.

“Deva, I need you,” she whispered into the darkness.

Evelina saw Tom’s dark form lurching around the far corner of the building, his odd side-to-side gait even more pronounced than it had been the night before.

A faint glow flickered above.
I am here, girl-in-the-tree
.

They had already made their plans earlier that day. Evelina now used her hand to hide the
flare of the match from anyone in the garden. She lit one candle, placing it in the gondola of the tiny wind-up balloon, and put a tiny glass chimney on the gondola to shield the flame. She wound the key, and released the toy. A tiny propeller carried the balloon swiftly into the air. “Now.”

I am there
. The birch deva sailed down, catching the top of the balloon. To Evelina’s eyes, it looked like a bright green mist surrounding the red and white stripes, but the balloon swiftly tilted to the right, shooting toward Tom’s approaching form. A tiny deva like this one didn’t have enough substance to lift something, but it did have the power to steer an object already in motion.

“Go, go, go,” Evelina muttered under her breath, almost dizzy with the beauty of her plan. This was the ideal solution, without risk. If this worked, no one would be in danger. Tom would be gone. Neither she nor Violet would ever have to confess to using magic. And best of all, it combined clockwork and magic, two things she adored. Short of undoing the spell directly—something only a real sorcerer would know how to do—it was the perfect answer.

One of the men standing on the lawn had already noticed Tom. She saw him straighten, his shoulders squaring in the automatic gesture of a male defending against an unwelcome intruder. Then she saw his shoulders hunch as distaste, disbelief, and revulsion set in.

Others were joining him, a semicircle of men in cutaway coats shifting uneasily as Tom approached, every line of their bodies screaming the need to attack and run at the same time. The little balloon zipped close to Tom, tipping its payload just as it whirred past and then vanished into the darkness. The candle fell, dripping hot wax and flame on the shambling figure.

According to Rector Larch’s book, the merest spark would ignite the walking dead in an instantaneous pillar of cleansing flame. Evelina leaned forward, chewing her lip.

A fire sprang to life, licking down the sleeve of Tom’s coat. He roared in anger, slapping at the flame. One of the men chose that moment to grab the heavy stake supporting a sapling apple tree, yanking it from the earth and swinging it at Tom.

Tom snatched it from his hand, snapping it into kindling. The men turned and ran for the safety of the ballroom. Tom roared, heaving bits of wood after them. His coat still smoldered, but the flames had gone out.

Curse it to the worm-eaten grave and back again!
Maybe the spark had to hit the flesh directly to cause spectacular ignition. Maybe the seventeenth-century author of the book had missed an important detail. Maybe, like so many books about the supernatural, it confused fact with legend.

The deva reappeared at Evelina’s elbow, bobbing with agitation.
We must try again
.

She hurried to prepare the clockwork armchair for action.

The dead creature doesn’t burn well. Perhaps this plan of yours is flawed
.

Well, she didn’t have another idea, so there was no room for failure. “Maybe wait for just the right moment to let the flame drop. Maybe the clothes are a problem.”

A band of apprehension tightened around her chest and made her fingers clumsy. Inevitably, she would have to face facts. What was she going to do if she couldn’t stop Tom? What would he do to Violet?

Then the chair was in the air and the deva dove after it. The second toy arced through the darkness. She watched it go, sure the simple elements of the deva and the fire and the clockwork
should
come together effectively—and yet suddenly certain that it would never work. Trial and error was the process of invention, but she had been given no chance to work out the details.
Damn it to hell, I should have used an accelerant!

Panic sparked through her veins, making it impossible to wait and watch. Grabbing her remaining tools and shoving them into the pocket of her long coat, she slid down the tree. She still had the gun. If all else failed, there was still brute force.

She ran toward Tom, every sense screaming that something was about to go horribly wrong. It was already happening. The music had stopped and been replaced by alarmed voices.

The doors opened and Violet stepped out, her carriage that of a queen appearing on the palace balcony to survey her people. Evelina skidded to a stop, just at the edge of Tom’s redolent stink.