Chapter 13 #2
‘In shadows,’ Miriam said. ‘With the use of magic it is possible to make yourself immaterial—invisible to others.’
Invigorated, Esther leaned forward. ‘Truly? Can you teach me how to do that? And other magic, too, like what you did at the fete. Calling the lightning.’
Miriam wavered. It was a dangerous proposition: the more powerful Esther became, the more likely she was to remember her time as Cybil.
‘I do not know what Thomas is planning,’ Esther said, ‘but surely, if I could use my magic better, I’d be better placed to defend myself from it.’
Miriam shook her head. ‘You don’t truly need me to teach you. Magic is a simple trade: light for darkness.’
‘What? What does that mean?’
‘If you offer the shadows enough of your soul, they will do anything you wish them to.’
‘That’s what the pain was?’ Esther asked incredulously. ‘I’ve been feeding myself to them?’
Miriam shrugged. ‘Your soul is strong enough to withstand a good number of deals, Esther. These tiny miracles you make—it would take a thousand, a hundred thousand of these to deplete your power entirely. For most people, however, even one such pact could kill them.’
‘But we are not most people,’ Esther clarified. ‘You and I.’
It was Miriam’s opinion that she herself had no soul, inhuman as she was.
Her materiality was entirely the result of the intention of her creators.
They had signed a pact designed to create a demon, and Miriam was the demon they had envisaged.
That was why she was subject to ludicrous laws like salt circles and dealmaking; she was the moon, reflecting others’ light.
She had no spark of her own, and to control other shadows, she had to consume souls, then trade them what she had consumed.
‘You and I,’ Miriam said, delicately, ‘are different from the others. And if you are to work wonders, my dear, you must stop affecting normalcy.’
Esther frowned. ‘If that’s what I’ve been doing, I don’t think I’ve been doing it very well.’
The cab halted then, and Esther reached for the door.
As Esther went to the front and paid the driver, Miriam inspected the entrance of Vauxhall Gardens: an enormous redbrick gatehouse, rooved in sky-blue tiles, men in sanguine livery standing to attention and greeting visitors.
The sky above them was blushing with the sunset, the park beyond the house lit with a dazzling array of dangling lanterns.
A bronze placard by the entrance informed visitors that entry would cost four shillings.
Miriam said, ‘Four shillings. Is that a lot?’
‘It is extortionate,’ Esther replied, as they joined the queue. ‘I thought it was less.’
‘Did you bring enough money?’
She huffed, insulted, but it was clear from the discomfort on her face that the price was more than she wanted it to be. ‘We’re here now, so…’
Miriam took her arm and pulled her from the queue. ‘Let’s find another way in.’
‘It’s walled all the way round,’ Esther said, galled, as Miriam dragged her away. ‘And now we’ve lost our place.’
Miriam ignored this. She kept walking around the perimeter of the gardens until they reached a quiet spot away from the crowd, where the road was paved with shadows.
The trick would be to teach Esther something inane, something superficially impressive, to prevent her from reaching for higher powers. Miriam said, ‘Your first lesson: the darkness is drawn to your light. It speaks to you, even if you cannot hear it. Listen and reply.’
‘Is that how you do it?’
Miriam’s interactions with other shadows were less conversations than sets of orders; they feared her enough that she didn’t need to bother with much else.
But Esther didn’t need to know that. This was just a diversion until Miriam was paid her due.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Now—watch me.’ She reached towards the darkness cast by the wall. Come to me, she told it.
The shadows shuddered and began to crawl slowly towards her.
Esther wasn’t particularly impressed, watching in silence until the darkness had cloaked Miriam entirely; then, finally, she allowed herself some surprise.
‘You’ve disappeared,’ she said. ‘Or… not entirely. You’re still there, aren’t you?
I feel as if I can see you, if only from the corner of my eye. ’
Miriam moved behind her and drew her finger down the nape of her neck. ‘Still here,’ she murmured, her words wisping between them like smoke.
Esther shivered at her touch. Miriam withdrew and turned to walk through the wall. She released the shadows once she was on the other side.
Here, obscured from the streetlamps, the darkness was more entire.
The trees were of the same sort England had always grown, children of centuries, just as Miriam was—pale-flowered linden, sharp-leafed holly.
If she could not see the distant lights of the lanterns, Miriam could almost believe she had returned to the forest near Harding Hall.
Miriam called, ‘Your turn.’
‘My turn!’ came the muffled reply. ‘You didn’t show me how to do it!’
‘I told you—just ask the darkness.’
‘Just ask it? “Make me invisible, if you’d be so kind”? That seems ridiculous.’
Miriam felt a stab of impatience. ‘Make a deal. Offer them a taste of your soul while picturing the outcome you desire. It is a simple transaction.’
There was a long pause—a period of minutes, during which Miriam began to wonder if Esther had simply left—and then a small, muffled, ‘Ow.’
To her own surprise, Miriam laughed. ‘Did you walk into the wall, my dear?’
‘No!’ came the reply, although it was unconvincing. ‘I almost have it. Be quiet.’
Miriam lapsed into silence, amusement lingering.
The wall in front of Miriam shimmered, and Esther stepped through it, a hazy figure as immaterial as mist. The moment she was entirely inside the park, the shadows dissipated.
In the gloom, Esther’s pale gown had faded to a colourless ash.
The necklace of pearls she wore glinted dully at her throat, pooling in the hollow between her collarbones; Miriam wondered what would happen if she reached out, wrapped her hand around the necklace, and tugged—whether Esther would lurch forward to save them, or permit the strand to snap.
Esther gasped as if she had been underwater. ‘That felt strange.’
‘Well done.’
She didn’t acknowledge the praise, although a brief, small smile betrayed her sense of accomplishment. Then she surveyed the surroundings and frowned. ‘This is the Dark Walk. We ought to leave.’
Miriam didn’t know what the Dark Walk was, but she could guess from the name’s connotations.
The trees surrounding them scored lines of shadow across the lilac sky.
The path beneath their feet was a meandering ribbon of uneven paving stones, punctuated every so often by a steadfast weed sprouting through the cracks.
‘I find it quite pleasant here,’ Miriam said.
‘It isn’t proper.’
‘Why not?’
‘People come here to…’ Esther made a sound of frustration. ‘A lady ought not to be seen here. She could be ruined.’
It was obvious enough what she meant. Miriam chuckled and reached for the shadows once more; they rose and curled languidly around her forearm. ‘Sex, magic, it is all the same,’ she told Esther. ‘Desire and its fulfilment; this is a good enough place for either. Shall we continue?’
‘Continue?’
Miriam stepped in front of her and laid her hands lightly on Esther’s shoulders. Esther’s breath hitched.
Bending to whisper in her ear, Miriam said, ‘Close your eyes.’
‘Why?’
‘You wanted me to teach you, didn’t you?’
Esther still looked displeased, but she sighed and closed her lids.
She was pale enough that Miriam could see the lavender web of her veins through the skin, a fisherman’s net that trembled with the movement of her eyes beneath; there was a curious beauty to the way humans sought to see even in darkness.
Do you hear me? Miriam asked, within Esther’s mind.
‘Yes,’ Esther gasped. ‘How did you do that?’
Reply to me like this. Consider the thought—shape it, give it form—then bid the shadows to send it to me.
Esther’s brow furrowed, and then something pressed tentatively against the edges of Miriam’s consciousness, feathered and fluttering. Esther had made her thought a bird and sent it flying; how sweet. Miriam caught it in the air and split it open.
Hello?
You are a quick learner, Miriam returned. Now, if you—
I want to leave this place.
Why is that?
It is too dark here, Esther said, eyes open or closed. I am afraid.
Why are you afraid?
Because sometimes, in the darkness, I see things. I see terrible things.
Murky images emerged: a man’s face, indistinct, hovering over her; the roar of a great fire; a dark corridor, tall windows, a great and ceaseless silence.
Miriam let her hands fall along Esther’s arms, until she was circling Esther’s wrists. You aren’t there anymore, she told her. You are here, with me. You are Esther Harding. The year is 1813. We are in the Dark Walk.
‘I am Esther Harding,’ Esther murmured to herself.
‘We are in the Dark Walk.’ But around them, the trees seemed to grow taller, more ancient, and the pavement beneath their feet was softening to soil.
Clouds rolled over the twilit sky like a cavalry charge.
It was an illusion only—a vision made by memory—but still one far greater than Miriam had ever seen a mortal accomplish.
She tightened her grip on Esther’s wrists and pulled her closer.
Esther was too lost in her reverie to notice.
I often hear a woman screaming, Esther whispered in her mind, and then aloud—‘I hear her screaming now, Miriam; do you hear it?’
Miriam felt something not unlike fear—not fear itself, of course, that would be ludicrous, but… trepidation. Esther must not remember her past. Not now, when things between them seemed so fragile, when so much of the bitterness in Cybil’s eyes had been forgotten.
‘It is an illusion, my dear,’ Miriam said. ‘Your magic reacting to your fears.’