Blaze, p.7
Blaze, page 7
Artemis had been right about one thing: he had taught her that she always had a choice in life. How wrong he’d been. Everything he’d read in the years he’d researched the Blaze showed that there was no option but to embrace the role or inevitably be killed.
He pushed his plate away and took in a deep breath. No choice at all.
Perhaps he’d missed something, some other recourse. He’d read everything he could find on the subject—what little there was—but there was always a chance he’d overlooked something, some possible way to free her from this burden.
He held little hope of finding it given how quickly her Emergence was approaching, but he would not stop until every avenue open to him had been exhausted. Resolute, he pushed away from the table and stood.
“Mrs. Perry!”
A moment later, she appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”
“Cancel all of my appointments for today. Dr. Kinder can see Mrs. Wallace, if need be. I will be out.”
She looked surprised. He was a stickler for keeping his schedule and appointments.
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Mrs. Perry,” he said as he strode out into the hallway, “please look after Artemis while I’m gone.”
“I always do, sir.”
He gave her a small smile. Yes, she always did.
He grabbed his hat and coat and hurried outside. His carriage awaited him out front as it always did, but the driver was not the same. Victor came to a stop and glared at him. Today was not a day he wished to deal with someone new.
“Who are you? Where’s Thomas?”
The young man, a tall gangly boy who couldn’t have been more than seventeen, snatched his cap from his head. “I’m Thomas. Tommy. Thomas is my father, but ’e’s taken ill. I … I’m fillin’ in for ’im.”
Victor didn’t like unexpected changes. Thomas Doyle had been reliably in his employ for nearly twenty years, ever since he’d inherited Dr. Alcott’s practice. While their arrangement was unusual in that Thomas didn’t live belowstairs as most drivers would, it suited Victor. He wanted as few people as possible living in his home.
Looking up at the boy on the carriage seat, Victor saw a hint of the father in the son’s eyes. He’d always trusted Thomas; perhaps he could trust the boy as well.
Not that he had a choice at the moment. He sighed.
“The Royal Society,” he said as he climbed into the carriage. “I have an old friend to find.”
Artemis sat on the park bench tossing breadcrumbs to the pigeons. It had taken some discussion, but she’d finally managed to convince Mrs. Perry that she wasn’t going to fall apart again and, more importantly, that she needed some time away from home to think.
Home, she thought. Or was that another lie, too? All night she’d thought about what her father had said, about her and her destiny. About the Blaze.
It was unreal, except that it wasn’t. A hidden part of her had cried out in joy at hearing the news, as if something had been chained inside her and was suddenly unleashed. It was exhilarating and terrifying. Mostly definitely terrifying.
She thought again of the darkness she’d felt when the fire had come. It was almost as though she could hear it whispering to her, even now, hiding deep inside her, inside her own darkness.
With a shudder she forced those thoughts from her head. What was she going to do? She’d barely been able to keep herself alive for a few minutes against the shade in her room. What chance did she have to fight off one again? If her father hadn’t come in ….
My father. She grimaced inwardly. He’d lied to her. For years! And yet, all she could think of now was that she’d hurt him, badly, by what she’d said. He deserved it. He should have trusted me with the truth.
Her eyes began to sting, and she opened them wide to let the cold air stop her tears. She noticed a small group of young women walking along the promenade.
Oh, wonderful.
She recognized a few of them--Dulcie Raycraft and Henrietta Fallow, neither of whom thought much of her, nor she of them. They glanced in her direction and whispered something to each other. Artemis straightened and tried to ignore them.
Between the way they tittered at each other and the accentuated s-bend corsets that forced their bosoms forward, they looked a little like the pigeons at her feet. Apologies to the pigeons, she thought with a smile.
Her eyes widened when she realized that Phoebe was with them. Her heart constricted a little. Phoebe had plenty of other friends; it wasn’t odd at all that she might be out with them. It still stung, though, today of all days.
Phoebe’s chaperone, Miss Gorst, trailed along behind the group in her black clothes and cape like a looming buzzard. Dulcie’s and Henrietta’s disapproving gazes flicked to Artemis. Birds of a feather ….
Phoebe glanced over and gave her a small wave. Artemis forced a smile. Phoebe said something to the other girls, winning Artemis another glare from Dulcie and Henrietta.
Her friend smiled as she left the other girls behind and approached. “Hello.”
“Hello.”
“May I?” she asked, gesturing to the bench.
“Of course,” Artemis said, sliding over to make room.
They both sat in silence for a moment before Phoebe spoke.
“About last night—”
Artemis shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry?”
“I didn’t think you’d come. It’s just as well.”
Phoebe glanced over her shoulder toward the always-lurking Miss Gorst. “I did come,” she whispered.
Artemis spun to face her, her mouth open in surprise. “Oh.”
Phoebe arched an eyebrow. “Is that all you have to say?”
A wave of panic welled up inside her. She couldn’t fully understand what had had gone on herself, much less explain it to someone else.
“What happened?” Phoebe asked in a hushed voice. “At first I thought I’d imagined the whole thing. I don’t even remember walking home. I thought it was all some sort of dream. But then we passed by your house this morning and I saw that the glass in your doors was out.” She leaned in closer. “What happened last night?”
My world shattered, Artemis thought. “Nothing.”
“Don’t tell me nothing. I know nothing, and that was definitely something.”
Artemis looked at her, a wry smile curving her lips.
“You know what I mean.” Phoebe scooted closer to her friend and took her hand. “You can tell me.”
Artemis wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. She looked at Phoebe sadly.
“Maybe someday.”
Phoebe looked at her beseechingly but then sat back. “Someday soon, I hope, or I might pop. Most indecorous,” she added with a grin.
Artemis laughed. Leave it to Phoebe to make her laugh when she needed it most.
Phoebe squeezed her hand. “When you’re ready. Hmm?”
Artemis nodded. “But for now, let’s not think about it anymore, all right?”
“Right,” Phoebe said. “Much more important things going. Like tea.”
“I’m supposed to be home for luncheon.”
“Tomorrow at the Criterion. The Deightons are hosting another of their ‘Please Marry My Daughter’ parties.”
Artemis barked out a laugh and then covered mouth. The Deightons had set impossibly high standards for their daughter. So high, in fact, they’d run out of season and had to start one of their own just for her. Between the luncheons and the upcoming Autumnal Ball that they were hosting, they were working diligently to make sure she found a suitable husband before the year was out. Why it had been so hard to find someone for her, Artemis didn’t understand. The girl was beautiful and graceful and lovely. Annoyingly so. The men who’d come sniffing around seemed to be well qualified for the position—that is to say, they had money. She wondered why they hadn’t found a match.
Going to the luncheon and pretending everything was perfectly normal sounded tempting, but ….
“I don’t know.”
“You’re going to come with me and I won’t hear another word about it,” Phoebe said, rising. “Besides, we’re going to have fun. David will be there.”
“Drooling over Rosalind, no doubt,” Artemis said. Normally, the thought of seeing David would have bolstered her spirits, but not today.
“That’ll be part of the fun. He’ll make an absolute fool of himself. I can hardly wait.”
“You are positively wicked.”
Phoebe continued to smile. “So, is that a yes?”
Artemis couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. Whatever her father thought, she was not this Blaze person. Her life was her life and she was going to live it.
“Yes.”
“Good. We’ll pick you up at eleven. Don’t be late. And don’t wear yellow; that new blue chiffon of mine arrived and we mustn’t clash.”
“There are worse things.”
“You’re so right. Imagine if I wore green and you wore fuchsia.” She shuddered at the thought.
Artemis could only laugh.
It had been nearly ten years since he’d seen Arthur Darvill, and seeing him now brought back memories of a time Victor would have preferred to forget. He harbored no regrets about what they’d done then, other than the fact that the two had drifted apart afterward.
It was foolish. Arthur could have been a great help in the intervening years. He would have been pleased to do so, but Victor was hesitant to involve him further, especially after Haggerston.
They’d met several years before all that at the Royal Society, when Victor was just a young pup fresh from medical school.
He could still see the man’s face the day he’d been asked to leave. He’d been one of the most respected Fellows there until he suggested, quite scandalously, that perhaps there was more to science than the membership currently understood. He’d stood bravely before the chamber and spoken of magic. The rumble of disapproval was palpable. Arthur believed science was behind what others saw as spiritualism or divination, and that those subjects were worthy of their attention and study. He was, of course, removed from the stage. Most thought him mad.
Too young to know better, Victor was sure his colleagues were right, although he’d always liked Darvill. Unlike so many of the other Fellows, Arthur always made time for the younger members. It wasn’t until later that he realized the man had been right.
In the years after Haggerston, Victor had considered reaching out to him, but each time he’d drawn back. Despite their history, he hadn’t let Arthur in. Not completely. The fewer people who knew the truth about Artemis the better, and so he’d kept himself and any knowledge of her a secret. Everything he’d learned about the Blaze had come from the Incendium and the other books he’d been able to acquire through the years. He hadn’t trusted anyone other than Mrs. Perry to know the whole truth, but now that their home had been invaded, now that the shades of London knew where to find Artemis, he needed Arthur’s help. He had nowhere else to turn, just like Haggerston.
It had taken the better part of the morning, but Victor had finally tracked him down at the British Museum where he was an assistant curator.
He found Arthur Darvill in the Second Egyptian Room supervising the placement of several Ushabti figures into one of the glass cases of the display. He looked up as he heard Victor’s footsteps echo on the floor. The museum had only just opened and there were virtually no visitors yet.
Darvill smiled genially, as he always did, then turned to speak to the workers again. The grey that had been at his temples covered his head now, and the lines in his face dug deeper, but Darvill still somehow managed a sort of boyish charm. It was in part due to his rather diminutive stature, barely five foot four, but more than that, it was the gleam in his eyes, the ease of his smile that made him so engaging. Even after all these years, he still moved and spoke with the same boundless energy that he’d had when they’d first met.
While Arthur finished his work, Victor took a moment to admire the antiquities. Next to the Ushabti were Canopic jars that held the embalmed intestines of several of the mummies in the exhibit. It was a remarkable achievement to be able to preserve such things millennia ago. Of course, it hadn’t been science that had driven the Egyptians’ accomplishments, but belief in the afterlife, belief in something quite apart from science.
Appropriate, he thought. He, too, would have to believe in something beyond. It was, after all, why he was here.
He glanced at the finely swathed mummies that lay one after the other in glass cases. He’d always found them fascinating. His gaze moved from one to the other until it landed on the body of a small child. There were several children here, their small forms wrapped tightly in pale linen bandages. His chest began to tighten. The adult mummies were distant, faceless things from thousands of years ago, but the children seemed instantly real to him, and the thought of his own child lying there sent a shudder through his body.
“Fascinating, aren’t they?”
Arthur appeared at Victor’s side, relieving him of those dark thoughts.
“Yes,” he replied, unsure of what sort of welcome he’d receive.
Darvill’s face held a solemn expression, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “It’s good to see you again, Victor.”
Arthur had tried to contact him several times in the last few years, but Victor had avoided him. It was with hat in hand now that he sought him out again.
“You’re looking well,” Victor said.
Arthur scratched at his grey temple. “A little older, if not a little wiser,” he said with his impish smile.
Victor wasn’t sure what to say, how to put the years of estrangement behind them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For …”
Arthur held up a hand. “No need. The past is in the past. I’m just pleased to see you again.”
Victor was sure he didn’t deserve such forgiveness but selfishly accepted it. In the face of it, he found himself hesitating to broach the topic that had brought him here.
Darvill waited for a moment then held out his hand to vaguely gesture to the room. “Well, enjoy your visit.”
Victor hesitated as the man turned away. The idea of involving him, involving anyone, in this frightened him. Arthur had helped him before with no questions asked, but there would be questions now and he would have to answer them. Doing so would reveal the truth about Artemis.
What if others found out? Would more shades find her?
His courage suddenly receded at the thought but then came surging back like a crashing wave as Arthur turned away.
“I need your help,” he said in a rush, a request that did not come easily to him, and had only come once before regarding Artemis. “Again.”
Darvill straightened to his full height and narrowed his eyes, his thoughts surely going back to the past. “With?”
Victor lowered his voice and said the words as though the mere voicing of them might alert some unseen enemy. “My daughter.”
Chapter Seven
Victor looked down at the slip of paper in his hands and reread the address. 68 Drury Lane. He was at the right place. However, he couldn’t deny his sense of unease as he looked at the wooden shop sign adorning the small storefront, Pandora’s Box. The name was hardly a promising omen.
It had been difficult enough to ask Arthur for help. Doing so put Artemis at risk, coming here even more so.
Victor had to admit, though, there was a sense of relief that accompanied the uneasiness. Sharing the truth about Artemis had been an unburdening. Until then, his only confidant had been his journals and Mrs. Perry. And, of course, true to form, Arthur had been delighted to learn the truth. The Blaze was tantamount to a celebrity in certain circles, and Arthur had apparently longed to meet one. That would have to wait. At the moment, he needed help protecting her until her Emergence. When Victor expressed an interest in wards and protections, in particular, Darvill’s eyes had lit up.
“You must see Isadora!” he’d said, as though that explained everything.
He’d scribbled down two addresses, one for a reading room with a very private collection that might be able to help him further his research, the second this antique shop that specialized in odds and ends.
With a distinct emphasis on odd, he noted as a stuffed two-headed rabbit under a glass dome stared back at him through the shop window. It was clearly a fake and he questioned the wisdom of coming here. Again. Was she simply another charlatan? The world of the occult was rife with them.
He fought the urge to leave, then and there, but he knew he had to go in and see for himself. That was the rub, seeing for himself.
He’d studied extensively, but he’d seldom encountered anything like what he’d witnessed last night. Seeing a hole in a man’s chest, while the man strode toward him, did wonders for belief.
Foolishly, he’d thought he’d be able to protect Artemis, at least until her Emergence. How wrong he’d been. It was he who would have been killed last night if weren’t for his daughter.
He would do better. He must do better. And if that meant getting outside help, he would do it. Whatever it took to keep her safe.
Despite his surety of purpose, the idea of meeting an actual witch frightened him more than he cared to admit. He was a man who relished control. He’d been painstaking in his preparations, in Artemis’s training, but that was in the world of the living, in the world of a reality he understood and could shape.
This he could not.
He tucked the slip of paper with the address into his breast pocket and pushed open the blue-painted door to the shop, trying but failing to ignore the fear that swept over him as he did so. He was literally opening Pandora’s Box.
