Chapter 13
Miriam went to watch Thomas Harding again that night.
The first thing he did, once the rest of the household was sleeping, was to carefully apply salt on every window and threshold; his paranoia would have amused her if it hadn’t been so justified.
He even put down lines of glue to keep the salt in place, painted on with a brush with the careful precision of an old master.
Perhaps he thought it kept Esther’s curse at bay.
Either way, the measures had saved his life, even if he didn’t know it.
After the salt, he went through his other rituals.
He was practising magic in his study, using the grimoire—but he didn’t know how to speak to the shadows, couldn’t make offerings to them.
Without this ability, his ritual circles were simply circles, his chants simply the ravings of a man teetering on the precipice of sanity.
When he was finished, he left the study and disappeared into the house.
He entered a room on the top floor with its curtains drawn, the only indication of his presence there the faint light of his lamp peeking out through the glass.
There was clearly something in particular that he was attempting; but Miriam herself had no need for spells and incantations, and she hadn’t the knowledge to recognise what it was he was doing.
His visit to Esther the night before had clearly been an anomaly, a sign of weakness. He had something much larger in store.
So, then—despite the risk of her memories returning—Miriam would need to see Esther again.
Even if she couldn’t convince her of the danger, at least when Miriam was present, she would be safer.
Preserving her life meant preserving the deal.
Preserving the deal meant that Miriam would have her soul—and she had waited long enough for it, hadn’t she, pining after Harding for centuries?
She had asked Don Miguel if there was a difference between love and hatred, but perhaps she should have asked about love and hunger.
She was starting to believe they were the same thing.
When humans wanted each other, they were all mouths and teeth, desire and satisfaction.
Miriam wanted Esther in that way, also. She didn’t see the need to distinguish between lust and love, consumption and devotion.
Miriam loved her. She wanted her life and her death and each bloody beat of her heart in between.
So, Miriam called on Esther twice the next day: first in the morning, as a crow, to watch her dress and to indulge in the fleeting pleasure of her fingers trailing down her wing; then in the early evening, as a woman.
Esther herself opened the door. When she saw Miriam, she seemed shocked. ‘I did not think you would come,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Because no one does.’
Miriam arranged her expression into what she hoped was a friendly smile. ‘It is a beautiful evening. Shall we go for a walk?’
‘No,’ Esther replied. ‘What on earth are you wearing?’
Miriam glanced down at her attire. ‘Clothes.’
‘Men’s clothes.’
‘Oh. I hadn’t realised.’
Esther made an exasperated sound—although Miriam could tell, from the lingering heat of her stare, that she found the outfit attractive—and she closed the door a little further, so that she was wedged between it and the frame. ‘You must change. You can’t look like that in here.’
‘Why not?’
‘My cousin will have a fit.’
‘Well—I needn’t come inside,’ Miriam said. She couldn’t come inside, but that was another matter. ‘I thought we could go somewhere else. I can’t teach you magic in your home, where your family might see.’
Esther’s shoulders slumped. ‘I suppose that’s true. But we can’t just wander the streets; we are ladies. Let’s go to Vauxhall.’
‘… Vauxhall?’
Esther sighed at Miriam’s blank expression. ‘The gardens? How long have you been living in London, anyway?’
Miriam gestured to the street. ‘Lead the way.’
Esther still looked reticent, glaring at Miriam’s coat collar. In the corridor behind her, an extravagant chandelier swung slightly with the breeze from outside, scattering shards of rainbowed light across Esther’s pale shoulders, the bright fire of her hair.
Miriam said, ‘If you are still concerned about my dress—I won’t be noticed unless I wish to be. That is the nature of my magic.’
Esther bit her lip, considering. Then she turned away. ‘Very well. Wait here.’
She shut the door in her face, and Miriam had to wait on the step for a few more minutes before it opened again.
Esther was now wearing a pair of long gloves, and a lace shawl had been tied over her mint-green gown.
She had rouged her lips and cheeks, also, and it occurred to Miriam that she looked beautiful.
‘We’ll have to take a hackney.’ Esther turned back inside, and hollered, ‘Isaac!’
Her brother’s face appeared around the corner of the hallway. He was in a state of some disarray, waistcoat unbuttoned, dark hair flopping foppishly into his eyes. Miriam had never seen him otherwise, not once, after years of spying through their windows.
‘Ah, hello,’ he said cheerily. This was unusual. Most men found Miriam immediately disturbing; Isaac Harding was either extraordinarily brave or entirely lacking in survival instincts. ‘Esther’s friend, are we? What a distinctive cravat. I didn’t know knots could be tied in such a fashion.’
‘They can’t,’ Miriam replied.
Esther said, ‘Ignore her—she’s mad. We’re out today. I’ll be gone until late.’
Isaac nodded. ‘Righto. Vauxhall, is it?’
‘Yes.’
He eyed Miriam again. ‘You’ll make a splash. Bring me back a Shrewsbury, would you?’
‘Fine. Can you tell Thomas? Where is he?’
‘In his study, probably, crying about his dead wife or frigging himself over a venerable ancestor.’
Esther didn’t even blink at his crudeness. ‘He is the only reason we have a roof over our heads,’ she said, ‘so mind you don’t talk like that to his face.’
Isaac huffed as Esther tugged Miriam away from the door.
Esther hadn’t asked Thomas if she could use the carriage—Miriam wondered if she was embarrassed by her company?
—so they had to hail a hackney coach on the street, which Esther clearly found demeaning; she was flushed with shame the entire time.
Once they were inside the hackney, however, she seemed to calm down.
She sat opposite Miriam and gave her a sceptical, narrow-eyed look.
‘Don’t try anything,’ Esther said.
‘Like what?’
‘The magic you used yesterday. Who knows what you could do to me, if you were so inclined.’
Miriam smirked. ‘What sort of things would you like me to do?’
‘Not that,’ Esther replied curtly. She flexed her hands fretfully in her lap, stretching the fabric of her gloves. ‘I still can’t trust you.’
‘That much is evident. But I am not the one you should be afraid of, Esther.’
‘You mean Thomas.’ Miriam nodded. ‘You haven’t even met him. None of your accusations make any sense. Yesterday, you wouldn’t explain—’
‘I can explain now, if you wish.’
This surprised her. She untangled her fingers on her lap. ‘Go on, then.’
Miriam had spent some time considering the lie, and so it was with practised smoothness she replied, ‘I have long been a scholar of the occult. I have been tracking the whereabouts of a book: a grimoire of Christopher Harding’s. It outlines several important rituals.’
Esther frowned. ‘A grimoire? There was a big fire at the old estate, in the Elizabethan period—you’re saying it survived?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thomas’s father collected old family relics,’ Esther murmured to herself. ‘If he found it, then Thomas…’
‘Exactly. Your cousin has obtained this book.’
‘And you want it from him, I presume. That’s why you talked to me.’
Miriam did want it. Holding an object once so important to Cybil could be the last thing needed to make Esther’s memories return—and besides, even though Miriam couldn’t use the spells inside, Esther might be able to.
Miriam still wasn’t particularly concerned about the curse, but there was no way she could risk Esther’s wriggling out of the deal.
Miriam said, ‘If the grimoire were all I wanted, I wouldn’t be in this carriage in the first place.
No—I watched Thomas, trying to divine the location of the grimoire, and I discovered he knew of your powers, your curse.
Now he is preparing some sort of ritual.
He must be dealt with, before he attempts to complete it. ’
Esther seemed sceptical. ‘What sort of ritual?’
‘Well—I’m not sure, yet.’
‘He has powers, too?’
‘No. I doubt he’s managed to work any magic successfully.’
‘So what issue is there?’
‘Even without real power, many rituals involve violence, or even murder. He is unhinged, Esther. I have no doubt he’s willing to kill you if he deems it necessary.’
Esther said, ‘We’ve known each other since we were children. He wouldn’t hurt me.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
‘Because—because I have to be.’ She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand, suddenly weary.
‘Isaac and I have nowhere else to go. My brother and my cousin are my only true family remaining. And if Thomas is angry at me, because of my curse—if he blames me for what happened to Lily, then… perhaps I deserve his anger.’
Miriam resisted the urge to gnash her teeth, to tear the carriage door from its hinges. ‘You can’t possibly believe you deserve death.’
‘I don’t want to die, Miss Richter, but I’ve long been resigned to the possibility.
It’s odd, I…’ Esther turned her face to the carriage window.
The light of the setting sun gilded the tip of her nose; then they passed by a tree, and it was brushed away by the shadows.
‘I have often felt as if I am living on borrowed time.’
‘You don’t understand.’
Their eyes met. ‘What don’t I understand?’
That your life is mine to take. Your death is mine to give.
Miriam said nothing.
Esther sighed. ‘How did you watch him?’
‘What?’
‘Thomas. You said you “watched” him. How?’