Chapter 3
I, Mary, was no medium.
I watched from the rear seat of our old station wagon as Lydia fiddled with her earrings, her arms covered in green painted vines and her dress made of fabric leaves that somehow cut across her shoulders in a stylish way.
Outside the window, the trees blurred by.
I scratched at my own arms where I’d applied the berry juice ointment and chanted a dubious spell.
There wasn’t much literature on repelling ghosts.
Apparently my mother didn’t keep such books in her library, so I had to use the unreliable internet to seek guidance.
Despite the slight rash on my skin, it seemed to be working.
It had been six days since a spectre from the grave begged me for help to solve her murder.
I’d hightailed it out of the cemetery like a scared little rabbit.
It was either genuine and I’d used death magic, a condemned act, or it was a complete illusion.
I reassured myself it was the latter. I hadn’t revisited the graveyard since. Part of me just hoped I was crazy.
Kitty sat next to me in the car, using a black pencil to draw on the last of her whiskers while holding a small compact as her mirror. She snapped it shut when finished.
“Lydia, what is this green you have all over your arms?” Mom reached a hand toward her, even while driving.
“Don’t touch, you’ll smear them! They’re vines.” Lydia recoiled, looking indignant.
“Vines?”
“Yes.” She tossed her styled curls over her shoulder. “I’m Persephone, Goddess of the Underworld.”
“I can’t believe a high fae invited us to a party,” Kitty said with delight as she adjusted her cat ear headband.
“This is because of our dear Jane. We owe her quite a lot,” Mom said, the hood of her hen costume obscuring everything but her face. The white feathers brushed against the car’s ceiling.
I clutched my book to my chest and looked out the window as we drove up the long front drive. I wore a knit top and tweed pants, all that one needed to dress as a librarian. Kitty had insisted that I at least put on a layer of lip gloss and some light blush, so I had.
Cars packed the sizable roundabout outside the mansion.
The Netherfield manor sat at the head of the procession, immense and imposing, like a lord overlooking his estate.
Magically floating lanterns were beginning to cast soft shadows along the stone path.
A rustic wreath of autumn leaves and pinecones hung on the door.
Creeping vines adorned with tiny white lights climbed the walls, and delicate, hand-painted midnight cats peeked out from the flower beds.
“I always found it so strange how people name their houses here,” Lydia said.
I leaned forward. “The older homes of Austen Heights were given names by the early settlers.” Honestly, for a town that loved gossip so much, it was silly how little people knew about Austen Heights itself.
“It was their way of making it appear like they were from old money to name their homes in the manner of English aristocracy. Very large estates like this one sometimes had certain magical enhancements bestowed upon it, while our home at Longbourne was made to appear bigger on the inside than on the outside. This is fundamental information if you read any local history book.”
“And if you read a little less, you wouldn't be so awkward around people.” Lydia rolled her eyes.
I sat back, unconcerned. I’d become accustomed to Lydia’s pointless jabs. They wouldn’t stop me from imparting knowledge.
After finding a parking spot, we walked inside. The grand entryway spanned above us, an enormous crystal chandelier gracing this simple space for mere visitors. Long strands of glittering cobwebs and magically animated plastic bats hung from each bent metal arm above.
Near the door, antique-style candelabras sat on a vintage lace-covered console table that filled the spacious entryway, their flickering candles casting dancing shadows.
An ornate mirror framed with faux vines of deep red and orange leaves lingered next to an old coat rack.
On the floor, plush velvet throw rugs in rich, dark colors lay scattered about, with carved floating pumpkins of varying sizes and a few lanterns lit by fairy magic dotting the space.
Lydia and Kitty gasped with delight. I was never comfortable in places that dared to be grander than the simple church where we worshipped the sacred. A fae man in a tux walked up and asked for our coats. Mom and the others shrugged out of theirs, but I kept mine on, hoping nobody would notice.
“Mary, stop being rude and give the pleasant fellow your coat,” Mom said.
Reluctantly, I followed suit, wrapping my arms around myself, missing its weight and warmth. My fingers glided across my book’s cover, appreciating the comfort it offered amongst so many strangers.
“Now remember, whatever happens, don’t get in the way of Jane and Charles,” Mom whispered to the three of us.
I pressed my lips together. “You know the rest of us matter, too.”
“Of course you do, Mary. It’s just…” Mom allowed her voice to trail off.
Just not as much as Jane, who would soon claim a high fae and legitimize our status in society.
Lizzy met us in the entryway, wearing a sleek ebony dress with a flared skirt, a pointy hat, and a flowing cape, all accented by a wand and a necklace with a glowing potion bottle.
“Oh Lizzy, you’re here already!” Kitty exclaimed.
“I barely arrived. Jane is here, too,” Lizzy said.
Lydia snorted. “Nice costume, Lizzy. It’s about as unimaginative as Mary’s so-called librarian outfit.”
“You’re right, Lydia,” Lizzy responded, unfazed. “I so love your Poison Ivy costume.”
“I’m Persephone!” Lydia let out an offended huff.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, while Lizzy gave me a sly smile. She turned and, almost out of nowhere, a man dressed in a dark cape and mask stood in front of her.
“D-Darcy?” She sputtered. “Are you… Batman?”
“I lost a bet to Caroline, so she chose my costume,” he grumbled. “Can we talk?”
Mom and the others had moved down the hall and I tried to follow, but others had entered the entryway. Normally that wouldn’t have been a big deal, but with the decorations narrowing the space even further, I found myself trapped next to Lizzy and Darcy.
My sister scowled at him. “Sure, let’s talk. I say ‘hello’. You say ’how are you’ and I remark how many people are here. Now we can ignore each other for the rest of the evening.”
“Do you talk by way of rules at parties?” Darcy asked.
“Sometimes it’s best, so then two people can say as little as possible.” She made to move away from him, and I started to feel relieved, hoping I might squeeze past, but Darcy caught her arm. And my escape route again narrowed.
“Look,” he said. “You may have heard things about me from some less than reliable sources—”
“Is it a less than reliable source if the information is from the person who has been mistreated?”
Darcy’s jaw clenched. “Wickham may make friends easily, but whether he can keep said friends is less certain.”
More people crowded into the entryway. I sighed and sunk against the wall.
Seemed as if I’d be stuck here longer than I wanted.
Although I had seen him from a distance, I’d never met Wickham face-to-face, but thanks to how fast gossip traveled in our town, I certainly knew more about him than I ever desired to.
“He’s lost your friendship in a manner that will affect him for the rest of his life.” Lizzy tugged from his grasp.
“Please,” Darcy’s voice softened. “Don’t paint a picture of my character yet. I fear it won’t reflect well on either of us.”
Lizzy raised her chin. “When else will I get the chance if not now?”
His mouth twitched in annoyance. “I’d never deny you the pleasure.”
The two marched off in different directions, leaving my path clear. Thank goodness. I tried to stay out of my sisters’ lover squabbles, and despite Lizzy declaring her disdain for Darcy, that is exactly what that conversation had sounded like.
I entered a spacious sitting room. The whole place had an open concept, including a kitchen with a large breakfast bar.
Fae lounged on the leather sofas; a sound system was integrated into the wall.
A small side table held a pile of vintage books and a flickering candle in a skull holder.
Off by a considerable bay window sat a massive black piano covered in spider webs.
A cracked cauldron, spilling mist, adorned the breakfast bar, surrounded by various baked goods.
I found my family standing together, still taking in the social situation, and joined them. Lydia latched onto Kitty’s arm, her face going pale. “What are they doing here?”
She motioned towards Mr. and Mrs. Ravenswood, who sat front and center, dressed in black.
Candles dotted the room around them, magic keeping them from becoming a hazard.
The Ravenswoods ran a coffee shop in town and also dealt in fae medicinal remedies on the side.
They’d often suggested several methods for curing father, though nothing they tried yet had worked.
They were also Isabella’s parents. My arms began to itch.
“Oh, Jane told me the Ravenswoods were coming over before the party to finalize the plans for the candlelight vigil they’re holding tomorrow for Isabella. It must have run long and now people are giving their condolences,” Kitty said.
I glanced at Lydia. “Can’t they stay for the party?”
She straightened, scowling. “Of course they can, but don’t they care that they’re going to bring down the whole atmosphere of the evening?”
Mr. and Mrs Ravenswood sat on the couch, their eyes red rimmed, clutching each other as fae stood in a line to offer their sympathies.
“There’s Jane. Come, girls.” Mom, looking a little flushed in her costume, flapped her feathered arms, shooing us forward. “Mary, be a dear and convey our condolences to the couple, will you?”