Chapter 45 #2
First, I saw the occlusion—a raw wound torn in the shape of a stick doll wrapped in a tobacco leaf and surrounded by an oblong chain.
Inside it were blurred memories just beneath the surface.
So, I added the context she’d given me—the kind of context I’d been missing when I peered into Madam’s shadow.
When I did, the images cleared a bit . . .
. . . a glimpse of Brach . . .
. . . Emaline rising up from a stone effigy on the Meadows . . .
. . . whispers telling her she’s been rescued . . .
. . . an unnatural binding to a body, no need of threads . . .
. . . Brach holding her little hand, pulling her through Blackgang Chine . . .
I wanted to see it all.
So, I concentrated for a moment on Emaline’s shimmer pattern. Her gleam notes quavered like the trills in Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.” I loved that tune, and began to hum the melody I could see in her pattern.
The occlusion lit like an ember touched by the wind, and the images began to get even clearer. But before I could look deeper, she let out more light from her lantern, washing away the part of herself she’d allowed me to see.
“You’ve learned a new trick,” she said.
“It’s just instinct. Helps me see.” I dropped into my chair, set my lantern down, and darkened my stone. “And what I saw . . . you’re Brach’s daughter?”
She sat, too. “He couldn’t bear it when I died, so he broke Precedent Law and snatched my soul from the Meadows before I reached the mountain of fire.”
That went beyond thanaturgic elanothalia—at least from what I’d read so far. “But you’re a thanatist, aren’t you?”
“I am what he made me.” She took a drag, her lips gently pressing around her cigarillo.
“I was hit by a bullet intended for my father. When I died, I didn’t transition to a semblance that he could simply bind to a new host—I was a soul ready to move on.
So, he swept me from the Meadows and imbued me with thanaturgic abilities while keeping me bound to him in this life. ”
“How’s that possible?”
“That is beside the point,” she said. “The point is that my motivation, and more importantly my primal moment, were clearer to you when I allowed you to peer.”
I nodded. “Because of the additional context.”
“It’s called Illumination, Jack.” She took another smoke and blew it out in a slow stream. “To see the truth inside a wound of the soul—especially a primal moment—requires more than light; it requires some knowledge of the soul you’re peering into.”
“But you didn’t show me this just to clear up your motivations, did you?” “I love how perceptive you are.” She grinned with one corner of her mouth. “Even though I hate him for what he did, he’s still my father. So no, Jack, this is only about accountability.”
She was smart, easy on the eyes, and had a moral compass. The last bit made her sexier than all the rest. “Glad to hear it,” I said.
“But this gift of yours, the one that helps you see.” I thought I could see real concern in her eyes.
“Coupled with Illumination it will make your ability to peer a threat to people who would kill to guard their secrets. And not just Brach. Be careful how you use it.” She then pulled a small leather-bound book from her satchel and set it on the coffee table between us.
“Now, on to business. I was able to borrow this from Brach’s private library. ”
“What am I looking at?”
“It’s a Cython ledger. I told you Brach seized Cython apocrypha—forbidden works, many of them to do with wraiths—when they were anathematized by the Convocation. This one explains that to ward-bond a wraith, it has to be willing.”
Saving the ward seemed to keep getting more unlikely. “Does it tell us how to do that?”
“A wraith begins when its primal moment tears open and becomes a Rupture, an old pain or regret that turns it into something malevolent and insatiable.” She asked me for an ashtray, and I fetched her the jelly lid Henry used for his pipe.
“To shape a wraith’s will, you’ll have to find its Rupture and shine it back at them in a new light.
Help them see it differently. According to the ledger, this subverts a wraith’s obsession, destabilizes it, makes it pliable. ”
I picked up the book and turned it over in my hands. “This tell us where to find one?”
“Truly mature wraiths are self-directed,” she said. “They can travel the Strata, not unlike a thanatist. So, they’re not easily found, let alone ward-bonded.”
“Okay, then, how do I find one?”
“Brach keeps his deepest arcana, which I believe may help, separate from his other libraries. So far, I’ve had no luck discovering where, but I’m working on it.”
She’d had a pull on me from the beginning.
Couldn’t deny that. But now she was taking risks for me, too.
I felt that more acutely than before—shared secrets can do that to a guy.
More than that, though, unlike me, she hadn’t escaped her father and his thugs.
Made me want to stick it to Brach that much more.
Also, made me more willing to take some risks of my own.
“Set a meeting with Brach,” I told her. “I can’t just—”
“Look, I couldn’t get Brach’s bindings off the killer, and the killer’s body was burned, so I’ve got no shadow markings to show the chancery. To top it off, Madam had nothing that helps us prove Brach ordered the hits.”
“So, then what could a meeting with Brach possibly accomplish?” “Brach wants the Abyssal Steps, right?”
“Yes, it’s the only access to the Ancient Stratum and the song he needs.” “So, let’s make him believe that that plan’s at risk.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“We tag him as an official suspect in Henry’s killing.”
She laughed, the sound of it musical. “You want a meeting with the presiding head of the Shiguan to level a formal accusation?”
“Well, that’s the beauty of having a raptorial as your friend. And I’m sure Lakshmi would love the chance to interrogate him—she’s good, trust me.”
One corner of her mouth rose in a smile. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen anyone be so brazen with Brach. But the question remains: what do you hope to accomplish?”
“A guilty man, once accused, starts to cover his tracks.” I handed back the ledger. “So, since we don’t have any evidence on our own, maybe we can push Brach into leading us to some. When you set the meeting, just tell him I want to talk about his offer.”
“I’ll set it up,” Emaline said, standing. “Brach’s headquarters are at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama on the Victorian Stratum.”
“Seems odd, doesn’t it?” I said, thinking about Henry and Brach. “That they were friends?”
“Brach only ever mentioned Mr. Wilkinson with fondness.”
I nodded, stood, and put a hand on her arm. “Thanks for trusting me to peer into your—”
She stepped close, placing a hand on my chest. “Perhaps we’ll have time later for you to return the favor.”
I certainly hoped so. “I’ve got a lot of reasons for doing all this.” I brushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “And you’re now one of them.”
She leaned in and gently kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Jack.”
Her lips felt so good on my skin. “I’ve got some things to get in order before our meeting with Brach. I’ll see you there.”
I followed her to the door, handed her her jacket, then grabbed the old drumstick bag Henry kept hanging from the coatrack.
The bag was exactly the kind of urn he would have wanted, and I’d promised Church I’d get that done.
We could swing by Golders Green Crematorium and drop it off on our way back from Wembley.
I pulled the door shut, gathered Cassius, and together we got moving up Flitcroft Street toward soundcheck with the Hounds.