Chapter 1
(Seven Years Later)
I made my way through the bustling marketplace of downtown London. The streets were filled with stores and open-air stands, selling everything from watercress and home remedies to exotic spices and fine fashionwear. Hawkers and peddlers moved about the street, and despite the lateness of the evening, a paperboy stood on the corner shouting the latest news of the day. Everyone was hoping to make their last sale before they closed up shop.
I pulled my cloak close, trying to fade into the shadows, and hurried along. Twilight colored the city streets an unusual orange-ish color, and a chill bit the air, announcing the onset of winter. It wasn”t particularly late. But even at the age of twenty, it was odd for a woman of my station to move about this time of day, unaccompanied.
And if my uncle were to find out... I frowned. My uncle couldn”t find out.
I slipped down a much less busy, narrow side street. Here the stores and stands showcased ever stranger oddities. Instead of the more traditional medicines based in morphine, mercury, or arsenic, the products hawked on this street included remedies from a time long forgotten. Powders from ground-up body parts, potions and cures made from animal dung to solve, as one sign put it, “weak hearts, weak blood, and weak nerves.” There were also various tonics for women”s monthly pains and other female complaints.
The people who moved up and down the stands were of a more shady character, with raised hoods and dark looks cast to any person who drew too near. I fingered the skull-handled dagger belted to my waist. A habit of reassurance. If I ever needed a weapon, I preferred to use the throwing knives I”d sewn inside my cloak. When I first came here six years ago, young and untrained, I”d nearly fainted. But this street held the least of the questionable characters that I would engage with tonight.
Seven years I”d been trapped here in London, in this land of non-magic, while my brothers were stuck in Neverland at the mercy of James Hook.
My hands balled into fists.
Halfway down, I paused in front of a large open tent, with a shawled figure selling remedies of a more sensual nature. They no longer elicited a blush when I saw them.
The bent woman with weathered skin and wrinkly hands stared up at me. “Can I help you?”
I took a breath and forced my fists to relax. “I seek for that which the soul yearns,” I recited the passphrase.
The woman peered up and down the alley. Nobody else lingered near the booth. She motioned for me to follow.
“You must give payment.” She lifted a pin and pricked my finger, drawing a spot of red. The old woman pressed a vial against the welling blood. I watched, trying not to think about how she might use my payment.
When she was done, the old, shawled figure put away the vial in a small box. I trailed her hunched body to the back of the tent. A smile crossed the gnarled old face as she split the fabric of the hidden rear flap. “Hope you find what you are looking for, young lady.”
“Thank you.” I slipped between the folds of fabric, pushing through it until it opened. Behind the inconspicuous front of a remedy stand was another long, narrow alley butting up against a line of old, dilapidated buildings. Rotted wooden stands dotted both sides of the potholed alleyway. Here, the world took on an even darker hue.
There were spells to curse your neighbor with unrecoverable illness. Potions to poison a lover or enemy. Staffs and cauldrons filled with magic. Powders and dusts that could wreak havoc from making one disappear to melting the skin from one”s bones.
Most, if not all, were rubbish.
Except for the dagger in my belt. I again ran a finger over its jeweled hilt, two rubies set in the face of a skull. A year ago, I”d come across a man who claimed that the dagger could detect real magic. I”d seen it work only once, when it detected a talisman that made one appear younger. It had been demonstrated on the woman at the sexual remedy tent and had done wonders. Too bad the woman couldn”t afford the talisman. Still, the blade had glowed a brilliant blue, identifying its magic. When I beheld its effectiveness, I had used all my money to purchase the dagger.
I moved past a stand that promised potions that could enact ill will on others. The young lady at the booth shivered in the cold, pulling a thin shawl around thinner shoulders. A reed about to snap. She had that ghostly look on her face. That look that always broke me, despite the knowledge that her merchandise was useless. The haunted, starving desperation that told me this woman was on her last leg.
“I wish to buy a potion,” I said.
“What would you like, miss?” A wan smile stretched across her narrow face. “I carry everything from potions to get yourself a lover, to potions that curse your worst enemy.”
The dark image of the man who had haunted my nightmares for the past seven years crawled into my mind. “I”ll take the curse.”
“Ah, good choice, miss. All you have to do is drink it, think of your enemy, and mutter the curse you wish.”
I placed two sovereigns into her hands. “Keep the change.”
The woman”s eyes grew round, and tears filled them. She clutched the money to her chest and handed me a tiny glass bottle of violet liquid. “Thank ye, miss.”
I gave a reassuring smile and pocketed the small potion. I continued along the row of stands.
A large shadow loomed behind me, and meaty hands clamped onto both my arms, pinning me in place. “Now, what is a delicate flower like you doing in this rat”s den?” a deep voice drawled. He leaned forward and took in a large whiff. His scruffy beard grated against my skin. “Do you know what we rats do to delicate flowers caught in our traps?”
My stomach knotted, and I tried not to gag at the stale alcohol on his breath. My lip curled.
The man chuckled, and his fingers squeezed tighter. “Whatever we wish.”
In a flash, a throwing knife appeared in my hand. With a flick of my wrist, I pressed it against the man”s groin. He gasped and stiffened.
“If you”d prefer to keep your manhood,” I said evenly, “I”d recommend unhanding this delicate flower this instant.”
He didn”t release me at first, so I jabbed the point of the knife a little harder, prepared to follow through if necessary. The brute staggered back, his hands falling away. He looked me over with a mixture of uncertainty and anger. They always stared at me like that after threatening to remove their source of power and pleasure from them.
He sneered at me. “Ain”t worth my time anyway.” And with that, he turned and took his drunkenness with him, staggering down the street.
I let out a breath. I hadn”t been attacked here often. At least during the last six years it had happened a lot less than I might have suspected. But it had occurred enough times that I was more angry than shocked when some self-absorbed man stumbled upon me and assumed he had a right to whatever he pleased. One time, I’d had to give a man more than just a warning, though a small nick was all it took to send him howling to the ground, clutching his crotch.
I pretended to browse but watched out of the corner of my eye until the drunk with meaty hands was too far down the alley for me to see. Then I tucked the throwing knife into my cloak.
Now, I’d return to my search for the one thing that would help me reach Neverland.
I moved forward, examining every vendor and sighed with disappointment. Nothing new or out of the ordinary. I had hoped sneaking out of my home this time of night might be worth the risk. The cold bite of winter had recently made its appearance, sinking its teeth into the people of southern England with a vengeance, bringing a surge of travelers and migrant workers into London’s streets. That meant a fresh assortment of newcomers peddling their wares. Including in the backstreets of London’s magic and macabre black markets. But my faith that tonight I might find what I’d long been searching for was dying a swift death.
As I neared the end of the alley, my shoulders fell. Another day of failure. Another day my need for hope and revenge went unfulfilled. Another day my brothers were trapped in Neverland. If they were even still alive. Trying not to dwell on that, I turned to head back up the alleyway.
And blinked. A stand with a large colorful tent loomed where I swore none had stood before. A man with graying hair and a peg leg lingered outside its opening. He stared straight at me.
“Hello there, young miss. May I interest you in any of my wares?”
“Where did you come from? I didn’t see you on the way down.”
The man bowed. “Just a demonstration, miss. I only carry wares that the most determined seeker may find. And I can tell that you, miss, are the most determined of the determined.”
I pursed my lips. I glanced at the jeweled dagger in my cloak and lifted it slightly from its hilt. A blue hue shone from its blade. My heart skipped a beat. There was magic here.
I took a step toward the man. “I am looking for something quite particular. Do you perhaps carry powders or dust?”
“Dust? Why yes, I carry dust! The question is, what do you want it to do? I have dust to make you taller, dust to make you fertile or sterile, as you wish. Oh, and of course, fairy dust for flying.”
My fingers trembled with anticipation. At last. But I schooled my emotions, keeping my face smooth. It could be fake. I needed to be careful. “May I see your assortment?”
“Yes, yes. Come inside.”
I entered the tent and sat on a wooden stool. The space was filled with traveling trunks standing on their sides and opened to show bottles of potions and elixirs. He brought out a variety of powders and dusts in bags and laid them before me on the brightly woven rug.
I could pretend no longer. “And your fairy dust?”
“Ah, I see you want nothing but the best.” He stepped to the tent’s rear and lifted the lid of a trunk, pulling out a small brown drawstring bag.
I took it from him and peered inside. Though the lanterns in the tent only offered a dim lighting, the dust gave off its own golden glow.
My breath caught. “I should like to test it.”
“Not in here, are you insane?” He snatched the bag back. “If you want it, you must buy.”
I surreptitiously checked my dagger again. The blade still glowed. I’d take the chance. “Fine. I shall pay you eighteen pounds for it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That is all? This is fairy dust, miss. Not some homemade concoction to cure your granny’s warts.”
My heart sank. Eighteen pounds was a decent sum to offer. I now wished I hadn’t bought the potion. Then again, I doubted adding the sovereigns I’d paid that woman would change his mind.
The man watched me, tugging on his colorful robe. “Have you nothing else to pay… or trade, perhaps?”
My dagger. But if the dust was real, then the blade had served its purpose, and it would be well worth the trade. If it turned out to be fake…
Gritting my teeth, I pulled out every one of my throwing knives, a complete set, and laid them out on the small table next to the stool on which I sat.
The man snorted. “You think I want lame kitchen knives in exchange for magical fairy dust? How about that dagger you have tucked under your cloak? Now that is worth trading for.”
“How did you—”
“Is it a deal or not?” The way he tapped his foot belied his impatience.
I had no choice. He was the first person who had the very thing I was searching for. I unstrapped the dagger from my waist and laid it out on the table.
The man smiled and clutched his prize, while pushing the bag of fairy dust toward me. “Pleasure doing business with you, miss.”
As soon as the trade was complete, he grew more impatient. I tried stashing my throwing knives in my cloak, but he scooped up the rest and shoved them at me, motioning for me to leave.
“I’ve more customers to tend to before the end of the evening,” he said.
I stowed the last of my knives as I stepped out of the tent, the little bag of fairy dust tied securely around my wrist. A smile crept across my face. I was about ready to explode. Finally, finally. Six years of searching had paid off. Barely ten steps outside, and I had to take another look. I drew the drawstring back and peered inside.
Something was wrong.
The golden shimmer that the dust had given off mere moments before was a plain, dusky brown. It appeared as if someone had scooped soil from one of the street plants into the bag, chunks and all.
My smile faded. No. My plans. My revenge.
My brothers.
I scrunched the bag and threw it to the ground, a rage gathering in my stomach. That scroungy so-called salesman. He”d tricked me.
And he’d taken my one tool to detect magic. The cool metal of my throwing knives brushed my arm. That swindler didn’t realize who he was dealing with. I spun around and raced back to the tent.
When I entered, I paused in shock. Everything was gone. He couldn’t have packed up and left that fast. I ran to the rear and found an exit. Pushing through, I saw the man running down the back alley. I plowed ahead, my wide-brimmed hat catching the wind and flying from my head. My skirts tried to ensnare my legs. Luckily for me, he was old, and his peg leg slowed him. Its dull thudding echoed off the cracked concrete. I pulled a throwing knife, feeling the familiar weight as I gripped it between my fingers. Taking aim, I released it, and it sailed past the man, nicking his ear.
He gasped and picked up his pace.
I drew another knife. “The next one goes between your shoulders.”
The man paused, raising his hands. He turned, the jeweled dagger clutched in his fist, a sheepish expression on his face.
I walked up to him, my knife still at the ready. “Give it to me.”
“I ain’t never seen a woman throw like that,” he said as he handed over the dagger.
I took it, strapping it securely to my waist, before also stowing the throwing knife in my cloak.
The man’s face clouded. “Ah, miss. Are you sure we can’t work out a deal? Now I’m gonna lose all that money.”
“Money?”
“From my buyer.” The bright robe he wore faded, revealing dirty and ragged clothing that hung off a wiry frame.
I reached into my money pouch and drew out a pound, dropping it into his palm. “For information. How did you do magic?”
The man’s eyes gleamed, and his fingers closed around the coin. “There’s a man. He cast the spell on my clothes and the tent. Told me he’d pay me handsomely if I brought him the knife with the skull and jeweled hilt that belonged to the girl in the cloak seeking fairy dust.”
“That’s oddly specific.” My mind tried to pin down what it could mean but came up empty. “Describe how this man looked.”
“Oh, he was a fine gentleman. Very rich. Ancient. Older than me. Nice clothes. He had a long scar running over his face…” His head tilted in consideration. “Although, he could have used magic to conceal his appearance.”
Dammit. He was right.
“I don’t suppose he gave you a name?”
“Sorry, miss. These gentlemen making backroom deals like to be discreet.”
“Fine. Where were you supposed to meet him?”
“Damned if I know. He always found me, miss. Reckoned he would again.”
“Tell your buyer that if he wants this dagger, he can come get it from me himself.” I jabbed a finger at the man. “And you think twice before trying to cheat me again.”
He gave me a toothy grin. “Of course, miss. I quite enjoy my ears where they are.”
I walked down the London streets in defeat. I’d retrieved my hat and the last throwing knife before starting the walk home. The cold air nipped at me. Though the pavement was bare, I expected the penultimate sign of winter would show its face soon. I rubbed my aching fingers, wishing I hadn’t forgotten to put on gloves.
My thoughts churned with curiosity. Who was the mysterious man who wanted my dagger? And how did he know I was searching for fairy dust?
I sucked in a deep breath, grateful I’d chosen not to wear a corset, and even more grateful, as I walked past men and women in their finery, that my cloak hid that fact. The constricting apparel forced my body into an unnatural S shape that restricted my movement and made me feel lightheaded.
When I reached the wall that surrounded my backyard, I took out two throwing knives and stuck them into the tiny holes that I’d dug into the grout between the bricks. My uncle had moved into my childhood home almost seven years ago, not long after I had lost everything. If he found me scaling a wall, he’d skin me alive.
I hiked my skirts up to my knees before scrambling to the top and dropping into the yard. I refused to glance at the spot where Nana’s old kennel used to sit, avoiding the memory of my brother’s joyful shouts echoing in the yard as Nana barked and chased them. It was a recollection from another time. One I tried not to think too much on.
I came to the back wall of my home and again utilized my knives to leverage myself up to the third story, climbing over the grate and ducking through the open window into the room that used to belong to my brothers. Stepping into its darkened confines, I stepped past my brothers’ empty beds, pulling on the strings of my cloak. Even after all this time, I hadn’t changed a thing, only moved my bed back in.
The hairs on my neck stood on end. I sensed someone in my room. My mind flashed to the night Hook had stolen my brothers. My muscles tensed. A dark figure lounged on my bed. My heart slammed in my chest as I grasped a throwing knife in my hand, ready to throw.