Chapter 18 #2
She scooted towards him, leaned over him like a parody of a lover. Once, Esther had pitied Thomas; but with Cybil returned to her, he seemed to matter so little. He’d called her a monster. Perhaps it was time, finally, for her to believe him.
The darkness around them was whispering, but its whispers were screams. They were ecstatic, gluttonous, feeding on the leaking light of Esther’s soul.
‘Thomas,’ she whispered.
His gaze turned towards her, but it seemed he couldn’t see her. His lids fluttered open and closed with sporadic, desperate movements.
‘Burn,’ she told him, and the shadows did her bidding: as she pulled the knife out of his throat, his body erupted into flames.
Miriam found her, finally, on a terrace on the second floor.
Thomas’s corpse lay half propped against the railing, wreathed in fire that seemed to give off no heat, merely an unearthly, golden light. Esther stood between him and Miriam. She was radiant, the shadows lifting her an inch above the ground, blood coating her fingers.
‘You know,’ Miriam said.
Esther grinned, baring her teeth, more in fury than amusement. Blood splattered the front of her white dress like a scattering of rose petals, and the oyster knife—still smiling in its grim curve—was dripping gore onto the pastel-toned tiles of the veranda.
‘I know,’ she said.
‘Cybil—’
‘Esther. I am Esther now, remember? You just couldn’t leave me alone, even after all this time. And now—this is all your fault.’
‘My fault?’
‘Yes.’
‘I only wanted the best for you, my love, all this time.’ Miriam took a step closer.
As she spoke, she lowered her voice, made it the same lull she had used when they were in bed together, when it seemed that Esther was nearing sleep.
‘Once there was a girl, brave and terrified, with fire in her veins and fury in her heart; and no one loved her, because she was too strange to love; no one wanted her, because she took all the wanting in the world for herself; but still, I wanted her, and still, I loved her, and I gave her another lifetime rather than lose her to the darkness.’
Esther shook her head. ‘No.’
‘No?’
‘You can’t lie to me anymore. You didn’t save me, Miriam. You brought me to ruin. I remember you. The clearing—the orchard—the deal we made—’
Miriam raised her hands placatingly. ‘Darling, listen to me—’
‘You lied,’ Esther snarled, and her voice sounded like a thousand voices speaking in chorus; the air between them shimmered with heat. ‘You lied to me. You told me I would have a chance to break the curse.’
‘You never specified you wanted to keep your memories.’
‘You lied!’ Esther cried. ‘I know that now, Miriam—I finally understand. It took Thomas’s ravings to make me realise.
Because it is odd, isn’t it? You told me yourself, all those years ago: magic is an exchange, not a gamble.
There are no contingencies. I was dead; you held all the cards.
Still, I asked you for a chance—I asked for an opportunity to break the curse—and you gave it to me. Why?’
‘I loved you,’ Miriam said.
‘No, you didn’t. You love me now, perhaps, in whatever twisted way you can—but not then. No—you agreed because of something else.’
Miriam cocked her head, playing dumb. ‘And what might that be?’
Esther laughed, a cruel laugh, jagged as broken glass. The shadows, seething around her like leeches, began to carve slits into her skin, golden soul-light leaking out; she didn’t seem to notice, even as they began to feed. ‘You knew I would never break the curse. Didn’t you?’
Miriam bared her teeth in both a grin and a snarl. ‘How would I know that?’
‘Because,’ Esther said, ‘there is no curse. There never was.’
Miriam didn’t reply.
Esther bowed her head, light shimmering around her.
‘Magic is desire. You told me that, once. You want something, and you pay the darkness to give it to you. But these shadows aren’t simply servants.
They are parasites.’ A tear trailed down her cheek.
She wiped it away with a frustrated gesture, looking at Miriam with wet eyes.
‘I have been so alone,’ she said, broken.
‘For two lives now, I have believed I had to be, because the curse would hurt anyone who came near. And the shadows, those willing shadows—they made my belief reality. They saw my fear and they kept everyone away. A self-fulfilling prophecy.’
Miriam made a flippant gesture. ‘Many of the deaths you saw were simply accidents,’ she said.
‘Or caused by their own folly—your mother, for example; or your nursemaid in this life who drowned. You saw the magic that followed you, you heard the fear of those around you, and you blamed them, blamed yourself. In your moments of anger, perhaps, the shadows tried to please you; but most darkness, darling, is nothing compared to that which lies in men’s hearts. ’
Esther let out a sob, and she floated gently back to the ground.
‘You are not alone, Esther,’ Miriam murmured. ‘Many women with souls like yours have felt the same. Many have believed they were cursed, even when they were not. Hatred rots all it touches, victim and perpetrator alike.’
Esther took a ragged breath. ‘Even if it wasn’t all my fault—I am responsible for some. As Cybil, I killed the boy with the branch, even if I did not realise it. I burnt the Hall, and now I have murdered Thomas. I am a monster.’
‘And so?’ Miriam returned. ‘Why do you still aspire to humanity? What has it ever given you, apart from regret?’
Esther looked down at the knife, at the light dripping down her palms. Downstairs in the ballroom, people were still shrieking; there was a shatter as something toppled over, and then a dim, golden glow filtered through a downstairs window, as someone finally managed to light a candle.
Tears overspilled Esther’s cheeks, made beads upon her chin.
Esther’s anger had always been beautiful, but Miriam realised that her grief was even lovelier.
‘Nothing,’ she said, hollowly. ‘It has given me nothing.’
Miriam offered her a hand. ‘Let me take you away from here. I can keep you safe.’
‘For the few months I have remaining, you mean? Before you eat my soul? No.’ Esther dropped the oyster knife, and it clattered to the marble. ‘I’d rather die than spend another moment with you.’
‘What are you implying?’
‘Twenty-three years, that was our deal. I have not lived them yet.’
Miriam felt her corporeality slip, for just a moment.
Her eyes forgot their shape and melted into darkness, dripping down her cheeks and pooling in the hollows of her collarbones.
The ends of her fingers blurred, trailing amorphous shadows like smoke.
Esther didn’t even flinch to see the transformation.
There was no fear in her eyes, only disdain.
Esther said, ‘Another life. That is what would happen, isn’t it? If I died here and now, I would be reborn again.’
‘You cannot,’ Miriam snarled. ‘We made a deal.’
‘We made a deal that was impossible from the start. That is your fault, Miriam: your design. And perhaps I can’t break a curse that doesn’t exist, but perhaps I can find a way to escape our pact. I have a stronger soul now than I did as Cybil. My third self will be stronger still.’
Miriam felt the shadows beneath her trembling, trying to pull away from the force of her fury—she pulled them back to her with a clawed hand. ‘You have seen the best of me, darling,’ Miriam said. ‘Don’t make me show you the worst. If you love me—’
‘I love you,’ she said, ‘and I hate you, more than I have ever hated anyone. I see it now: you must love someone to truly hate them. They must give you something before they can take it away.’
Miriam shrieked in fury. ‘A new life, that was the deal. I have given you that, and my heart besides—have I not?’
‘You have,’ Esther agreed. ‘But I do not want your heart, Miriam. Not anymore.’
Trembling, Esther turned towards the railing of the balcony, and she took a step forward.
‘My mother died this way, once,’ she said. ‘I won’t belong to you, in this life or the next. And when I die, I shall die smiling—knowing I denied you the chance to kill me.’
And in that moment, brief and burning, Miriam was almost human.
She felt, concurrently, all of the vast palette of emotions she had experienced in the past few weeks: anger and desire and sorrow and regret, lust and despair, joy and grief.
She could try to take Esther now, keep her alive, bind her with shadows, force her to live the rest of the year a captive—but what guarantee did Miriam have that she was capable of it?
Of the two of them, Miriam was no longer certain who was the more powerful.
This thing she had created, this radiant creature, with twin souls, determined to die; whatever Esther was now, she was no longer the woman Miriam loved.
And all Miriam wanted at this moment was for that woman to return.
She could not think of anything else. She was blinded by fury.
Miriam reached down. She picked up the oyster knife.
‘I told you,’ she said. ‘If you must die, darling, it will be on my terms, not yours.’
She didn’t give Esther time to reply. Miriam lunged forward and drew the blade across Esther’s throat in an unflinching arc, arm sweeping as a conductor’s towards the sky.
Esther didn’t cry out in pain—she couldn’t—and she didn’t try to step away; didn’t lift her arms to try to block the blow; didn’t fall to her knees in surrender.
She blinked at Miriam with her wide, autumn-leaf eyes, uncomprehending of her own blood as it spurted between them. And then, slowly, she smiled.
For a moment, time didn’t pass. The world was silent, and Esther was dying, and Miriam was glad, at least, that she was the one who had killed her; but this was not what she had wanted.
Esther had chosen this ending, not her. Miriam had surrendered to her, surrendered to her own fury.
Now Esther’s soul was denied to her once more.
Esther fell into her, gurgling and gasping.
The light dancing on her skin faded. Miriam gathered her in an embrace, holding her as she choked.
She felt something wet on her cheek, and she raised a hand to wipe it away, presuming it was more of Esther’s blood; it was a tear.
She stared at it in fascination. She’d never cried before.
Weakly, hands clawed at her back. Miriam pressed a kiss to Esther’s hair. ‘Enjoy it,’ she whispered. ‘This is the last victory I will ever give you.’
Esther moaned in pain. The light of her soul flickered as it tried to fade, but the magic of the deal kept it bound. Soon it would tear free, and Miriam would have to wait until another First Daughter came.
‘I love you,’ Miriam said.
Esther didn’t reply. She gasped, twitched, and was still.
Miriam lowered her body gently to the ground, tucking a lock of blood-encrusted hair behind Esther’s ear.
She pressed her lips against her throat, but there was no pulse, no response, no living person on the terrace at all: only Miriam Richter, a silent shadow, Esther’s blood still warm on her cheek.