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Chapter 9:
In Which Lucien Inconveniences Himself for His Coven of Convenience

 

“We left far too early, I believe.” Anabelle had stopped kissing me for a moment to utter that one sentence, and I took another peck at her mouth before she added, “The party has not even ended.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it shan’t.” I had a vague impression that many of the things I said at times like this were terribly cliché; but if she didn’t mind, then neither did I. I ran my hands down her arms till my fingers rested on her waist, and pulled her closer. She cupped her hands on either side of my face, running them back through my hair as she leaned into my kiss.

The carriage jolted, thrusting me onto my back against the cushioned seat. I felt something snap underneath me—Anabelle’s lace fan. I grimaced but immediately forgot about it when she bent over me and smiled. “I find it interesting,” she said thoughtfully, “how un uomo bello di misterio like yourself melts like butter at one touch from me. You are this cold stone of politeness to all the young ladies; but with me you become so perfectly gentle.” She brushed my hair back from my forehead and studied my face several moments. “Sweet, beautiful Lucien,” she whispered. Her lips slowly met mine, feeling like a shock of lightning.

“You…are divine,” I sighed, which was about the most intelligent phrase I could manage, what with my thoughts in a useless tangle of delight. Misère’s laugh rang out somewhere in the back of my mind, making fun of me, but I didn’t care.

The carriage continued to rattle us about, but the faster we reached Anabelle’s house, the better. I marveled as usual at the captivating quality of her touch, and found myself responding with even more fervor than I’d thought I had reserved during these weeks of solitude. She seemed thrilled at the attention and allowed me to sit up, our lips still locked together. I reached around her head and removed the barrette from her hair. Her gold-streaked brown waves tumbled down over us, tickling my face.

Anabelle’s hand had closed over my cravat, gently pulling it loose as we caressed each other blindly. Thus I was nearly choked when, all of a sudden, the carriage gave a great jerk to the right. Anabelle was thrown to one end and I to the other as the wheels rattled maniacally. The whole vehicle ground to a halt, tilted on one side. Anabelle scrambled to her seat, and I threw open the window to see what on earth was the matter.

The sudden blast of cold autumn air, sprinkled with droplets of rain, was quite a shock of reality. I glanced around to see that the coachman was standing in his box, shouting and waving his crop. The four horses stood confused in their reins, stopped barely a foot in front of a damp and rather bewildered-looking Tom. He looked about five seconds away from darting back out into the street, in spite of the coachman’s angry scolding.

“Tom!” I shouted. My anger came flooding back as soon as I saw him, and I threw open the carriage door and stormed toward him. “What the hell are you doing here??”

Tom whipped around and ran towards me—which, to be honest, was about the last thing I expected him to do. “Luce! Bloody hell, what luck. We’ve got to get back to the flat now.”

I glared at him. He looked a good deal stressed—coatless, spattered with rain. There were two deep grooves cut into his cheeks, clotted now with dried blood; Blarney took little nurturing licks at them from her perch on his shoulders. Misère landed on my shoulder, wondering what was going on. I scowled at Tom. “What are you talking about? Do you think I’ll even speak to you, after you knocked me out? Let me be.” I turned back towards the carriage.

“No! If there’s anybody who can’t walk away now, it’s you. You dumped off Helene just as well as I did, so it’s goin’ to be on your head as well as me own if she gets hurt!” He grabbed my shoulder as I walked away, and I turned, shoving his hand off me angrily. Right then Anabelle leaned out the door, her hair streaming back in the wind. She looked at Tom in surprise. “Lucien, who is that? What’s going on?”

I glanced from her to Tom, who looked Anabelle up and down with a decidedly unimpressed air. “My name’s Tom,” he responded directly to her, disregarding my warning look. “You must be Lady Willoughby. Don’t be alarmed, but I’ve got to steal your fellow. Y’see, he’s left a bit of unfinished business at home—”

“Tom!” I hissed. “What do you want? What are you saying about Helene?”

Tom grabbed me by the arms as if he were going to shake me. “We’ve got to get back to the flat. It’s Helene…she’s in trouble.”

“What do you mean, she’s in trouble? I left her home, perfectly fine, and you—did you go back?”

“No, I didn’t. I just know. There ain’t no time to talk.” Tom turned back to Anabelle. “It’s a bloody shame you’ve got to miss out on Luce’s favors, but he’ll see you around, I’m sure. Now come on, Luce,” he said, pulling my sleeve.

I had half a mind to shrug him off, but he sounded serious about Helene. Truthfully, I hadn’t given her a second thought for some time that evening, but now that I was reminded of her, I felt nearly sick to my stomach. Hadn’t I sensed there was something wrong with leaving her there? I couldn’t remember. It was a whirlwind of anger and hurt pride, punctuated only sparsely with her pitiful pleas. I bit my lip and turned to face Anabelle. “I’m…dreadfully sorry,” I said quietly. “He…He’s right. I’ve got to go.”

“Whatever for?” Anabelle demanded, stepping out of the carriage. “Who’s Helene?”

“I’ll explain some other time, really.” I strode forward and kissed her quickly, grabbing my jacket and coat from the carriage. “I shall see you soon. Hopefully.”

“But—” Her expression grew indiscernible, and I nodded.

“Goodnight, Anabelle.”

“Goodnight,” she said, but it sounded more like a statement than a wish.

I ran after Tom. He was already half a block ahead of me, but I caught up with him in no time. “So what’s all this about?” I asked grimly. “How can you even expect me to look at your face when you—”

“Look, there’s no time to blather about that now,” he snapped. “Helene’s in trouble and no amount of milling with you’s going to help that. We’ve got to save her from the terror-wights.”

I stopped in my tracks. “The what? Not the damned bogeymen—”

“You know about ‘em?” Tom asked incredulously, grabbing my shoulders again.

“Of course I know about the bogeyman! Perhaps I was not a child as recently as you were, but I remember those nonsense tales. Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t tell me you ruined my chances with Anabelle over some imaginary monster…!” I started to turn around, but Tom grabbed my arm, harder this time. Misère gave a surprised squawk.

“They’re not imaginary, all right? I have it on good authority that bogeymen, or terror-wights as they’re called in the witch world, are very bloody real.”

“All that drinking you do has made you completely deranged.”

“Aye? What isn’t deranged in our lives now? If you ask me, I think that livin’ with Helene and the likes of you, because we’re a coven of witches, for God’s sake, is pretty damn crazy!” His blue eyes bored into me and Blarney hissed.

I looked aside, avoiding his gaze. “Well, yes, of course! But Tom! Bogeymen?”

“Giant cloaked monsters that tear men in half?” he asked quietly, still looking at me hard. I shuddered, and he released my shoulder. “Let’s go. And I’ll tell you all about the terror-wights on the way, so you won’t be caught off-guard.”

“I don’t understand. How could you possibly know so much about these-these terror-wights?” I panted, running alongside Tom. I could easily match his natural swiftness, but was quickly getting out of breath. Fortunately we were only a few blocks from my building now.

“Someone told me…a very, very old warlock,” Tom replied. “But what matters is that we get there in time to help Helene.”

An old warlock? Where on earth had Tom gone when he left the flat? But he was right. More pressing matters were at hand, if what he was saying was true. “These…terror-wights. Can they kill her?”

“I don’t know. Not directly. They can cause her powers to get out of control, I guess, and she can end up hurting herself.” We were at the tenement door now, and Tom and I rushed together into the lobby. “But remember: if they touch you, they can make you see things, things that aren’t real. If you let ‘em trick you, I don’t know what might happen. I’m going to keep me mind on what we got to do, and you’d better do the same.” His determination was contagious. I nodded and ran with him up the stairs.

We reached the third floor and were at the door of my flat in moments. I magicked the door open, only to find the hall silent, dark, and empty. It would have looked as though Helene had simply turned out the lights and gone up to bed, and I would have liked to tell myself that was the case. But the presence, the eerie cold sensation of fear that hung over the flat was unmistakeable.

Seeing my hesitation, Tom walked in ahead of me and turned on the hall lamp. I shut the door and looked at him, unsure. His face was serious for once, and his jaw set. If he were at all afraid, no one would have been able to tell. I myself felt rather calm, but my skin crawled at the seeming emptiness of the house. “Helene?” I called, my voice echoing in the silence. There was no reply.

Tom walked over to the parlor door, which was shut tightly, and tried to turn the knob. “Locked,” he said. With a click he magicked it open and walked into the dark room, the hall light streaming in. I followed, peering ahead into the dimness.

The door slammed shut behind us with a bang. I jumped, startled, and Tom backed away against the wall. “Luce,” he whispered tersely. “Look.”

I turned in the direction of his gaze, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. After a moment I was able to make out a dim shape on the floor, curled in a tight ball, clad in pale, lacy frills. Her tiny white hands were clasped over her head, her whole little body unmoving. “Helene,” I gasped, and ran over. I thought I heard Tom say something in the background, but I couldn’t really hear him, and I was far too anxious for Helene.

“Helene! What’s—” I had grabbed her shoulder to pull her up, but nearly recoiled when I felt how icy cold her skin was. My hand trembled as I tried again, this time taking hold of her soft, limp arm and turning her over.

“Dear God, no….”

I had never seen anything more horrid. Helene’s face was pale and her eyes closed, her blonde hair framing cheeks that were still tinted pink. She looked like a china doll, so still and fair; but so awfully, horribly dead! In a near panic I ran my fingers over her mouth and nose, feeling for breath, then over her neck and heart for a pulse or weak beat. Nothing, nothing! She was as stiff and cold as though she’d been dead for hours.

“My fault! Oh, Lord, it’s though I’ve murdered her!” I wanted to vomit, or cover my eyes, or swoon, just so I wouldn’t have to look at her. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away. My hands on her arms were making blue marks on her dead skin. “Tom! Tom…we’ve…we’ve got to do something!” I turned to look over my shoulder, but he was gone. Had he left? No! He couldn’t leave! I knew that the little bastard had healed himself once; couldn’t he do something, anything, for poor Helene?

The room was silent, but the blood was pounding in my head so fast that my pulse sounded like a roar. I laid Helene’s arms down, my hands shaking, and tried to stand, to get my bearings. I felt strange, a little disoriented, and my heart was racing so that I was surprised I hadn’t yet fainted. I stood up and looked around, but my eyes had still not adjusted fully, so all I saw were shadows. Shadows—and then there was a form, a shape with two perfectly white, round eyes and a flat, snuffling nose, for a half second on the floor next to me. I stumbled back and landed against Helene—her green eyes were open and glassy now, her lips blue. As I stared in horror, thin dark blood began to trickle from her nose.

“Wh-What—” The word was barely out of my mouth when I felt a violent tug on the shoulder of my waistcoat—Misère’s claws unhooking suddenly from the cloth. I thought for a moment that he’d lighted into the air, and turned around.

Misère wasn’t in the air, and it took me a moment to find him, lying on the floor not two feet away from me. My beautiful raven was lying flat on his back, his wings spread out to their full span, his eyes closed. He was lying there stiff as a canary fallen dead from its perch. And for the first time in eleven years, I was alone with only silence in my mind.

It was as though reality had suddenly detached from me, leaving me drifting alone on the edge of a nightmare world. Nothing existed, nothing—I alone, and that was nothing, without Misère. My entire body had gone numb so I barely knew that I threw myself over him, though I felt his silky body against my face. His fragile little chest with its ruffled breast feathers didn’t rise and fall, and that shook me to my core.

“No!” I didn’t even realize it was my own voice shredding the silence. “Misère!”

Someone was calling my name on the edge of my hearing, but it didn’t matter anymore. Misère only got colder, his feathers soaking up every tear I shed on him. I sat up, covering my face with my hands in despair.

The slight touch of a cool, pointed claw on my cheek made me jump to my feet, swearing. Standing there, right beside Misère’s body, was the shape I’d seen before. Two little white eyes, a body like a toad, with long hands and pointed fingers. It stared up at me and snuffled, raising its terrible claws towards me.

“Did you do this?” I demanded, my voice near hysterical. “You killed them? You?” I backed toward the hearth, stumbling over more of the wicked things—they were everywhere now, on everything, groping and clawing—until I felt the cold brick of the mantle against my back. I sank to my knees, knocking over the rack that held the brass-plated stokers for the fire. “Is this what you are, what you do?”

They snuffled and glided their way closer, gathering around me like staring, mouthless wolves.

I leaned my head back, feeling as though I were going a little mad. “Whatever you are….” I slowly magicked the stokers out of their rack with a series of gentle clinks, and levitated them horizontally in the air, pointing straight at my shadowy observers, “…you can die…can’t you?”

“Lucien, what the hell? Don’t—”

I heard his voice quite clearly, but it was too late; I shut my eyes and the stokers shot across the room like spears. I heard them strike the far wall of the room, the bookshelves and liquor cabinet. There was a thin, choked gasp that followed—I opened my eyes just in time to see the shadowy beings dissipate into the air like smoke.

Suddenly I could see clearly, my eyes adjusting to the darkness.

Helene was unfolding herself from her prostrate position, shaking but otherwise unharmed, Grimoire safe in her pocket; Misère fluttered across the floor into my waiting arms; and the room was a mess, books littering the floor below where fire stokers had embedded themselves six inches into the wall.

And Tom was standing, glaring at me, gripping the handle of a two-foot-long poker that had stuck halfway on its passage through his stomach. Horror flooded through me yet again.

“T-Tom? Tom!” Helene’s shriek jolted me to my feet; Tom looked more angry than anything, still staring at me. He tried to say something, but only coughed out a sputter of blood before collapsing on the floor.

Blarney mewed loudly, and Helene sent her a sudden, confused glance.

“Oh, no. No. Did I…I…Tom,” I gasped, my voice raw from shouting. I stumbled over to him and turned him over; blood had gushed liberally from his wound, both in the front and where the stoker protruded from his back. His eyes were closed, blood slowly streaming from the corner of his mouth. My hands were stained with red as I searched for a pulse. “He can’t be dead. No.” I turned his face toward me, but it was too late. “Tom. What have I done?” I murmured.

Helene was sobbing out Tom’s name, burying her face in her apron. I was still dazed and couldn’t think of anything but to pull out the stoker. My hands were shaking as I stood, planting one foot against Tom’s chest and gripping the stoker with all my strength. More blood forced its way out and soaked into the carpet beneath him.

I pulled, though every tug elicited a horrified gasp from Helene. I knew that it was quite dreadful, but I couldn’t think straight—I just needed to do something. I suspected that the shock of actually killing Tom had yet to affect me as I knew it would. But my nerves had been razed down to near nothing.

It came free along with a lot of gore, the force of my pull sending me backwards onto the carpet. Blood spattered on my face and on Helene’s apron, but she barely noticed, crawling over to me and trying to tell me through her tears that it was an accident. “You did not mean to,” she cried, clutching Grimoire. “Please, please say something…you look so sick….”

She tried to grab my arm, but I gestured vaguely for her to leave me alone. I could feel myself once again slipping into some kind of shock, and though I fought it my mind refused to acknowledge what had just happened. I stared down at my hands, fixated on the bloodstains.

Suddenly Tom sat up with a gasp, his eyes wide open straight at me. “Luce, you bloody git!” he shouted, wiping blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the hell was that for? Here I am, trying to help Helene, while you’re running around like an idiot, screaming and blubbering—”

“Mon Dieu!” I scrambled to my feet and moved backwards, pointing wildly at Tom. “You’re dead! You’re dead! You were dead this time! You were dead!”

“I am not dead, you stupid bastard, but if it were up to you I’d be!” he yelled back. “Am I the only one who has enough sense not to be spooked out of my wits by a couple o’ damn terror-wights?”

“You were dead!” I cried. “You can’t lie about it now, I saw you, I killed you! I have your blood on my hands and I pulled that stoker out of you with your v-v-veins hanging off it and the carpet is all soaked and I saw! I saw! You think I can’t tell when someone is dead? I worked for a bloody doctor, Tom, and I saw everything you can possibly imagine—y-your stomach had a rod of metal an inch thick through it, and the hook on the end stabbed into your s-spine and you should be stone dead or-or paralyzed or something, not alive! Alive! How can you be alive?!” I was screaming full-on by now, both hands tugging at my hair hysterically.

“Oh, come off it! I’m the one who should be upset!” Tom got to his feet and advanced on me, fists clenched. “Why, I’ve half a mind to knock you again, if I wasn’t convinced you’re losin’ your mind.”

“Me? Losing my mind?” I had to stop, for my breath was coming in short gasps, and I was beginning to feel faint. “Y-You…have a lot of…explaining to do,” I said, collapsing onto the loveseat and trying to breathe slowly before I gave myself an aneurysm.

Helene, who had been standing by, probably frightened by my outburst, came forward hesitantly, wringing her bloodstained apron. She approached Tom’s elbow quietly, placing her hand on his arm as if to make sure he was real. When he turned his head to look at her, Helene threw her arms around him. I heard her muffled sob right before Tom, with the queerest expression on his face, put his arms around her as well.

I watched them, trying to concentrate on returning my pulse to its usual rate. Helene lifted her face and took a shaky breath.

“Lassie, I’m so bloody sorry,” Tom said suddenly, not quite looking at her. “Leavin’ you here with the terror-wights, that was…and I shouldn’t’ve said what I said, I didn’t mean it really, y’know. You didn’t deserve that. I don’t regret saving you, never, and I—”

“It is all right, Tom,” Helene said, her voice very small. “I am just happy you are…alive.” She hugged him again, tighter, and Tom patted her hair, his hand clearly awkward against her blonde head. Blarney curled around his legs, purring contentedly.

I decided to stand up then, because I was feeling absolutely rotten by this time. “Helene,” I said, straightening my waistcoat because I didn’t know what else to do, “might I have a word, please?”

Helene nodded, untangling her arms from Tom’s. “But of course.”

I recalled, for a moment, the terror-wights’ awful vision of Helene’s dead body, and the chill of her cold little hands. I knelt down to her level and took her hands—they were quite warm, and I felt relieved. Forcing myself to look up at her sad green eyes, I began, “If you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me, I…apologize, for….” I looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, too. There’s no excuse for what I did, it was cruel and unfair. I should not have left you alone, either. Please forgive me.”

“Oh, Lucien,” Helene sighed, putting her arms around my neck and cradling her head on my shoulder. “I forgive you both.”

Tom stood a little ways back, looking extremely uncomfortable; I hugged Helene back and then stood, lifting her into the air. She giggled, and I smiled at her, placing her back down on her feet. Her rumpled dress was spattered with blood, but she didn’t seem to notice, looking up at Tom and me with utter joy in her eyes. I nodded. “Why don’t you go upstairs and change out of that macabre thing, and I’ll put the tea on?” I suggested, folding my arms.

Helene ran out of the room, much happier than I’d seen her in some time; Tom started after her, mumbling something about changing his own clothes, but I grabbed his shoulder. “Tom.”

“If you’re lookin’ for a hug, the answer is ‘no’,” Tom informed me, turning around reluctantly.

“I didn’t mean to…get you with that stoker, Tom,” I said, shaking my head. “It was…the worst accident I have ever caused. You could be dead right now. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything—you’re a hysterical, girlish freak and I’ve got to learn to stay out of the way next time.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“I’ll accept your apology in pounds, if you please.” He smirked and shrugged my hand off. “So what? I knock you in the eye, you stab me in the gut. Not what I’d call a fair exchange, but I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities for me to pay you back—”

As he spoke, I looked down at the tear in his shirt, through which the unbroken skin of his stomach showed. Not a scratch; yet, the front of his shirt was dark with blood. I looked back up at him, noting that the mysterious cuts in his cheeks were also gone. “You knew you wouldn’t die,” I said. “You glared at me before you collapsed; you didn’t even make a sound.”

“I did die,” Tom said flatly. “No mistake about that. You killed me.”

“But—”

Tom sighed and picked up Blarney, turning away from me. “Look, Luce, I’ve had a rough night, same as you. Probably worse, you ken? Right now what I’d like is to change into something clean and have something to eat, if possible.”

I nodded, restraining the flood of questions I had to ask him. “Of course, I understand. I don’t mean to pester you. But I think by now I ought to know the truth, Tom, and so ought Helene. We’re a coven, and I think we’ve had enough secrets.”

“Aye, sure,” said Tom, nodding, an amused smile almost appearing on his face. “Fine then. I’ll tell you both whatever you want to know. Mind you, though, you might regret it.”

“Thank you. Again, I’m sorry,” I said. Misère lighted onto my arm as I left Tom in the parlor and headed to my own room to change. As I walked down the hall I held Misère close to my chest, and gathered him in both arms as soon as I was in my bedroom. Misère was delighted and rubbed his beak against my chin. “You have no idea,” I said softly, “what I went through, believing you to be dead. The agony I went through…every breath was pain. I didn’t want to live anymore. Is that what it would be like, if you died before me? I don’t even want to know what living would be without you.”

Misère assured me he would never leave, and chattered softly as I stroked his breast feathers.

“I love you, dear fellow, do you know that?” I sighed, smoothing his pinions with my free hand. “Aren’t you glad Helene is safe and everything is well? I am too. I never thought I’d feel good about anything to do with our coven, but…I do. I feel right about it.”

Misère agreed, but wondered whether I would miss Anabelle.

I laughed. “Ah, poor Anabelle! She must be wondering what on earth is the matter with me, I’ve been in such an odd state lately. No worries. Next party I go to, I’ll be sure to keep my promise. I’ll make it up to her with a fine time, for certain.”

I changed my clothes and washed up. Tom’s blood running off my hands into the sink churned my stomach; I had to brace the wall for support. Blood still made my head weak, even though I’d seen more of it in the past few months than Dr. Maxwell ever let me see on his calls.

When I was finished I went to the kitchen and was pouring myself a tonic when Tom came in. He’d cleaned up as well, and silently took his usual seat, while Blarney explored the table. All the food Helene had prepared for Halloween was still laid out in its pots and pans, with covers on to keep them warm. The clock struck three.

“Where is she?” Tom muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the door. “What’s taking so long?”

“Women spend a lot of time grooming,” I explained patiently. “Much longer than men.”

“That must be why you’re three hours in the bathroom every afternoon,” Tom sighed, leaning back and putting his feet up on the table.

I raised my eyebrows as I sipped my tonic. “Ladies take much longer, I assure you. It’s a wonder they ever get out the door, what with bustles and powder and stockings and corsets...The average man needs only the basics: trousers, shirt, waistcoat, cravat, frock coat. Actually, you should own at least three frock coats, one for— ”

“Bonsoir, messieurs,” Helene announced from the door. Tom and I turned to look at her; she was in a clean blue dress, complete with Grimoire sitting on her shoulder. Both her little arms were struggling under the weight of two large packages wrapped in tissue and ribbon. “Happy Halloween!”

“Happy Halloween,” Tom and I involuntarily responded in unison.

“Supper is all ready, but first—presents!” Helene unloaded the gifts onto the table; each one hit the surface with a heavy, metallic clang. She handed one wrapped in blue paper to Tom, and one in red to me. “Open them! Oh, I cannot wait!”

“Presents?” Tom looked at the brightly wrapped thing suspiciously.

“What…what are these for?” I asked.

“Your Halloween presents!” Helene declared. “On Halloween everyone always gives presents to their coven. I know you two did not know about witch Halloweens, because your parents were not witches, so I decided to surprise you with your first Halloween presents!”

I stared at the gift in front of me while Tom picked his up and shook it. Feeling quite silly, I untied the red ribbon around my present and started to undo the paper, watching Helene out the corner of my eye. Tom, after some further investigation, yanked off his ribbon and tore apart the paper in the space of a second.

A plain, dark wooden box appeared beneath the red tissue; I opened it carefully and blinked in surprise.

Tom lifted the lid of the pewter case he’d been given, and burst out laughing. “What the hell? Where’d you get this?” He lifted out a large hunting knife sheathed in black lacquer, and drew it suddenly with a flash of bright steel. The blade looked incredibly sharp, curving out of the thick ebony handle and coming to a tiny point. “If this isn’t the bonniest shiv I’ve ever seen…What’d you get?” he demanded, craning his neck to look into my box.

“I…don’t rightly know. I’m almost afraid to touch it.” I turned the box to show Tom the gleaming silver stiletto dagger lying in a bed of black silk.

“Look at that! You going to take it out?” Tom demanded, eyeing me in a way that meant he was going to grab it if I didn’t.

I hesitated a moment before lifting the dagger out by its handle and taking a good look at it. It was really beautiful, with delicate designs in the handle and a long, shining blade. Helene piped up, “They are both magicked, and never need to be sharpened.”

I laid the dagger back in its box. “Helene, thank you very much, it’s beautiful. But, er…what made you think to buy us weapons?”

Helene twisted a strand of hair around one finger. “It is just safer, no? I know that neither of you can use your magic very well yet, because you were never taught—though, I do wish to fix that.” Without explaining what she meant, Helene flounced over to the stove, tying a fresh apron around her waist. “Besides, boys are hard to buy presents for. I always had to buy my papa a tie, and Sabine would always fret over what to buy her fiancé….” She ladled out what smelled like French onion soup into bowls; I got up to help her lay them on the table.

Tom was still handling his new knife, turning it over and over as if it were the most beautiful thing he’d ever owned. Which it likely was. He glanced up at Helene a few times, looking increasingly torn, and finally said, “How long have you had these presents?”

“Ah, since Lucien was sick, I believe.” She kept ladling.

Tom looked down and I felt my own face flush in shame. “You…bought these for us when we were still treating you as we did?” I asked.

“I’m surprised you didn’t march straight back to return ‘em after this past evening,” Tom said.

Helene paused and turned around, her expression puzzled. “Why would I do that? You are my coven, and my friends, and I love you both. Even when you pretend to be mean and selfish, I know you really care about me, just as I care about you. And we forgive each other, just like any family.”

There was a silence in the kitchen then, save for the clink of the ladle and Blarney’s soft purr as Tom stroked her back. I hadn’t thought it possible to feel any worse than I had in the parlor, but I had obviously been wrong. I could tell Tom felt just about as ashamed as I did.

Helene said grace over the food while I continued to feel like the meanest worm that ever lived. The three of us ate in silence until neither Tom nor I could take it anymore, and both of us started speaking at once. I stopped and nodded to let him go on. He took a breath and stirred his soup around.

“So. About this rising-from-the-dead bit. Lucien said I ought to explain, and I guess I might as well, since it’s bound to happen again what with this clumsy git around,” Tom began, jerking a thumb at me. “Well, you both saw right—I got a bloody stoker through me stomach and dropped dead right on the parlor carpet.”

“You were really dead,” Helene clarified, her brows drawn together.

“Aye, about as dead as can be. But after the stoker was pulled out of me, I came to and me wound closed up and here I am.” He took a big swallow of soup. “That’s the third time it’s happened. And it’ll happen again, and again, seven more times, until I’ve reached life number ten. After that, if I die, it’s over for me, just like the rest of you.”

Both Helene and I expected him to say more, but he paused for so long that I feared that was all he was going to say. He saw me staring at him and grinned. “Oh, you want to hear the rest, aye? I didn’t really want to say, since you’re so bloody scared of giant, cloaked, man-ripping monsters, and this story involves a lot of that. But, all right.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “It was quite a while ago. I was a wee laddie, still…about thirteen.”

That really wasn’t so long ago for him, about six years, but I didn’t say anything.

“I had a job, a robbery…me and two other lads, same blokes I work with now—Gallagher and O’Leary. It was a flash house, not far from your Lady Willoughby’s, Luce, and it was the first job like that we’d ever had. We’d done robberies before, you ken, but this was the big one, the job that would prove us real thieves if only we could pull it off.

“Being the smallest, I was set up to be the snakesman, which could be the most dangerous part of the job, climbing in through wee spaces and all. Whatever happened, it went bad. Servants woke up, the house was in an uproar, and we fled, but not before the butler took a few cracks at us with his pistol. First bullet nicked me shoulder, and I ignored it. Then there was a second shot, and it knocked me over, but I was already so far down the alley that the butler didn’t notice he got me.” Tom switched positions, crossing one leg over the other and folding his arms. Helene and I were watching him intently, our bowls of soup growing cold on the table.

“It took me a minute to figure what’d happened, but when I felt the blood comin’ out all warm, I knew I’d been shot. The bullet had gone straight through, but had ripped apart me insides pretty bad. I couldn’t move and Gallagher and O’Leary looked down at me, and I knew from their faces that I was going to die.

“They probably would’ve stared at me forever if I hadn’t started bleeding from me mouth, and that was all it took to scare ‘em off. Besides, we could hear the coppers coming not too far away, so O’Leary grabbed Gallagher and they bounded off and left me lying in the alleyway, bleedin’ me life out little by little.”

Helene’s eyes were huge, her hands clasped beneath her chin. I swallowed hard and listened.

“Blarney was crying, mewing and all, and I was pretty damn scared meself,” Tom continued, looking down at the table. He hadn’t shifted his gaze from that one spot in a while. “It was a full moon, Halloween night. I heard the church in the square strike midnight…and that’s when I saw him.” Tom’s blue eyes flickered up at me. “He looked much like you’d’ve seen him, Luce—bloody tall, like eight feet, with a big black cloak on, covering everything but his yellow cat eyes.”

I shuddered—he had just described exactly the creature I’d seen in the alley that night just over a month ago.

“As if I wasn’t scared enough, this thing made Blarney hiss and me want nothing but to run away as fast as I could, if me legs would carry me. All I could do was lay there while he stood over me and threw back his hood.

“His name is Malphas, and he’s a warlock, just like Luce and me. Except you’d never know it from looking at him.

“I was then about as scared as I’ll ever be in me whole life, ever, and I thought he was just going to kill me. Which I guess he was, at first, but decided instead to have a chat, and then offer me a deal. It all seemed like some kind of nightmare at the time; still does, every time I see the old monster. Every Halloween at midnight he visits with me, Malphas does, just to check up on whether I’m holdin’ up my terms of our deal. That’s why I couldn’t stay here, Helene; Malphas would have come looking for me wherever I was. And, as Luce knows, Malphas doesn’t give a damn for bystanders.”

“What was your deal?” I asked.

Tom picked up Blarney from the table and put her in his lap, where she snuggled against his chest. “Malphas offered me nine extra chances at life. In exchange, when I’m done with the last life, he…Malphas gets my soul.” He said it so casually that at first I didn’t understand what he meant. “And I was so scared, that I didn’t care what happened to my soul in years and years, when I’m an old bloke. I couldn’t see where my soul would end up anyway, bein’ that I’d already stolen so much and sworn so much that there was no way I was getting into heaven. So I said yes.” Tom leaned back again and laughed. “I guess I expected Malphas to wait till I was dead, but I didn’t know him so well yet. As soon as I blurted out ‘aye’, he nodded his big head and then crushed my skull with one foot!” He slammed the table with his open hand to illustrate, causing Helene and me to jump. “Didn’t even wait for me to say me prayers.”

“That…that is horrible!” Helene cried.

“But what is he?” I demanded. “Some kind of demon? What could he want with your soul?”

“At the time I never thought to ask, and I probably didn’t want to know,” Tom admitted, shrugging. “But we’ve spoken about it, most recently tonight, and he’s not a demon—at least, not really. The way he says it is that he’ll devour my soul. He’s devoured lots of souls, and they all kind of live in his head, or something. They get absorbed into his mind and none of them are strong enough to fight back.” He sighed and stirred his cold soup around. “That’ll be me, someday, because according to our deal, I’ve got to stay a nasty, rotten bastard forever, behaving as wicked as I can until he can eat my soul. He likes the biggest sinners, because they make the easiest souls to put down.”

Helene shook her head slowly, disbelieving. “But what if you decide to be nice? Then he will not wish to eat you.”

“Doesn’t work that way, lassie. Even if I were a saint like you, I’d never be powerful enough to fight Malphas if I broke our deal. And I’m already about as bad as I can be, inside; there’s no turning back now.”

“How powerful is he? I saw him rip men in half—how can a warlock be that powerful? I could never—”

“Pretty damn powerful, I’d say,” Tom replied confidently. “And I don’t just mean he’s got muscle. He can….” Here Tom hesitated, and proceeded with what sounded like a hint of envy. “He can control shadows, Luce. They pull off the wall and dance around or whatever the hell he wants. He claims to be the most powerful warlock in the world, and I believe him.” Tom shook his head. “He says I’m a fairly weak warlock, at least compared to him.”

“But you are not!” Helene exclaimed. “That is a lie! You—both of you—are very, very powerful! More than my parents, more than anyone I know, just like—” She cut herself off, biting her lip.

“None of us are strong enough to match Malphas, and we couldn’t never be,” Tom said, glancing at Helene curiously. “Not unless we wanted to give up being…human.”

Helene was quiet, her hands in her lap. I picked up the bowls and put them in the sink. “Malphas isn’t human, then?” I prodded. “I thought you said he was a warlock. Well, Malphas certainly sounds like a demon, if you ask me. What exactly is he?”

Tom shook his head, as if unsure how to say it, and Helene’s head snapped up suddenly. “I knew this name ‘Malphas’ was familiar! It is very important in witch legends—look, I will show you!” She hopped off her seat and ran out of the kitchen, her feet pounding up the stairs.

I piled plates on the table for the second course, while Tom got out the kippers for Misère and Blarney. Neither of us spoke until Helene returned, carrying a thick old book.

“Is that a storybook?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes! It is stories from witch legends. Some witches do not believe they are true; they think they are fairy tales. But I believe them.” She opened the book on the table, turning chunks of pages until she reached the story she was looking for.

“Here it is: ‘The Three of Swords’,” she translated. “It has very pretty pictures.”

Tom and I peered over her shoulder at the lovely script and delicate watercolor pictures. It was all in French, but Helene paraphrased the story for us.

“It is about a coven of friends: a girl named Mair and two men named Malphas and Rhydian. Malphas was a noble, and Mair and Rhydian were peasants. But Malphas was so kind that he gave them riches and a place to live, and they were all happy. Malphas loved Mair, and Rhydian was his best friend. All three were very powerful witches.

“But Mair and Rhydian were jealous of Malphas. They broke their coven and left Malphas alone while they went about causing all kinds of trouble. They killed many people with their powers. Malphas knew he was the only one who could stop them, so…one day….” Helene turned to a page bright with painted flames, a scene of destruction surrounding two figures in the center who were locked in a kiss. “Malphas had to go and fight them. He kissed Mair, his true love, and then was forced to kill her, because she had turned evil. His best friend, Rhydian, he also killed. Then Malphas went away, sad and lonely, and was never seen again.” She shook her head. “It is a very sad story.”

“Let me see that first picture,” Tom said, turning back to an illustration of the three witches. The coven looked quite handsome together—a bearded, dark-haired man with a raven on his shoulder; a beautiful woman with long black waves to her waist, holding a black rat; and between them stood a tall blonde man with delicate features, carrying a large black cat.

“That one in the middle is Malphas,” said Helene.

“Hmph. That is not the same bloke I know. Not at all!”

“Why, what’s your Malphas look like?” I asked.

“A demon from Hell,” Tom said. “Covered in black hair, huge claws big enough to fit round a man’s head. A face like a cat, but no cat you’ve ever seen. A mouthful of razor teeth, glowing yellow eyes, and a big, deep, old voice. He’s a bloody monster, not some blonde ninny!” Tom looked a bit unsettled by the illustration nonetheless, and I couldn’t agree more; not even Helene could have missed the ironic significance of the familiars carried by the Three of Swords coven. A cat, a rat, and a raven.

“Was he born a cat monster?” Helene asked, her eyes wide.

“How should I know? He denies he was, but I never know what to believe from him anyway. He says that he…melded with his familiar, somehow, and became that. He even said that is what all familiars really want, to be absorbed into their witches and turn into awful beast creatures. What sort of nonsense is that?”

“I have never heard of it,” Helene said, shaking her head. She started to close the book, but I stuck my hand in the Three of Swords title page.

“Wait a moment. That’s a Tarot symbol.” I peered closer, to see the small image painted beneath the title calligraphy. A heart, with three swords sticking into it. I reached into my pocket and magicked out the matching card. “I wonder why the coven called themselves that?”

“You read Tarot cards?” Helene asked, surprised. “Are you good at it? Will you show me sometime?”

“Bloody hell. I knew there was something….” Tom reached into his pocket and withdrew something in his hand. He glanced at me and then at Helene, rather guiltily. “I probably should have brought this up sooner, but…that night at Lady Willoughby’s, when those ghosts attacked me, I was there to steal this.” He opened his fingers to reveal a box made of darkest alder wood, cinched shut on all sides. Carved into its lid was the Three of Swords Tarot symbol—a heart pierced by three swords.

“So beautiful,” breathed Helene.

I frowned at the thing. “That belongs to Anabelle,” I said. “What is in it?”

“Hell if I know. The damned thing won’t open; go ahead, try.” He tossed it to me.

I caught it and pried at the edges of the lid with my fingers, to no avail. It felt oddly heavy, and special somehow. In fact, it seemed to hum in the silence, pricking the back of my neck with apprehension. I quickly put it back in Tom’s hand. “If you don’t know what’s in it, then where’s the value in stealing it?”

“I didn’t steal it for me, you plonker. It was for a client, a big German bloke with a black coat and a lot of nosy questions. Never had the chance to deliver the box to him.”

The box. The bloody box that the Dawkinses, the Fairfaxes, and every other insane over-muscled coven of warlocks was after! I stared at Tom. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“Tom! I nearly got—” I stopped abruptly. If I told them about the Fairfaxes, I wouldn’t be allowed to leave the flat, I knew it. Now that I’d learned whom to trust, we’d be safe, but there was no reason to worry them needlessly. “Never mind. Whatever it is, it can’t be too safe. Best you keep it on you. After what happened to you with those ghosts, I don’t think Anabelle ought to have it in her house.”

“She wouldn’t miss it, believe me,” Tom said, tossing the box up in the air and catching it again. “Bird never enters that study; it’s full of dust.” Tom returned to his seat, and I did the same, while Helene brought out a hot chicken pie and started serving it onto the plates I’d laid out. “By the by, Luce….” Tom started laughing. “What’s the fuss over Lady Willoughby, anyway? Jane told me she was beautiful, and you can’t seem to get enough of her, but…huh.”

“What?” I said, confused. “Anabelle…she’s gorgeous.” A rush of disappointment went through me at the recollection of my missed chance.

Tom shook his head, making a face. “No, she’s not. I wouldn’t even call her pretty. Too much makeup, too much….” He gestured randomly, then gave up and grinned. “But I guess I should’ve known you’d go for that type.”

“What do you mean?”

Helene handed each of us a slice of pie. “Whom are we speaking of?”

“Lady Willoughby, Luce’s ‘friend’ and occasional lover,” Tom replied mockingly.

“I thought you said you did not have a lady friend,” Helene said to me brightly.

“She’s not my ‘lady friend’, she’s my…we…I spend time with her.”

“At her house and he stays over,” Tom said, with undue emphasis on the last two words.

“Oh!” Helene’s cheeks turned red.

“Must we talk about this?” I groaned.

“I was only saying she’s just the type a bloke like you’d like.”

“Is she very pretty?” Helene asked, trying to make the conversation polite.

“An understatement, my dear Helene,” I said loudly for Tom’s sake. “She’s extremely beautiful; Italian, with an olive complexion and silky brown hair—”

“Buxom, of course,” Tom added. “Big lips, kind of a masculine face….”

“You’re insane.” I turned to Helene. “Tom doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s never even liked a girl.”

“I have never liked a boy,” Helene announced. “We are the same.”

“You are not,” I laughed. “You’re a child. Tom will like a girl sooner or later, and then I’m just going to laugh at him.”

“I will not ever. You don’t understand my position on the whole subject.” He shoveled a forkful of pie into his mouth, continuing to talk in spite of the obstruction. “Girls are annoying. All they do is spend their time chasing men down and pawing at them—which is why Lucien is so much like one, since he spends his time pawing at women.”

I snorted as I took a sip of water. “As do most men, far more than myself.”

“Well, I am not annoying, and I do not paw,” Helene said in mock offense. “I do not chase boys, either. I feed their silly faces.” She handed round a full plate of some sort of spiced meat.

By the time we finished dinner, the sun was rising through the window beside the stove. Tom was nodding over an unfinished third slice of cheesecake, and Helene had completely fallen asleep, her head on the table. Grimoire, stuffed with food beyond what I imagined he could eat, was lying on his back, sleeping, his fat stomach heaving up and down.

I nudged Misère, who was settled on the table with his eyes closed, next to a sleeping Blarney. “Wake up, sir, unless you plan to sleep all day on the kitchen table.” He didn’t stir, so I waved a kipper under his beak. I yawned and rubbed my eyes with my free hand. “Come on. Ah, you’re probably too full to want another kipper. I can’t blame you; I don’t believe I’ve eaten this much in years.” I crossed to the window with a sigh and looked out on London, the mists and rain from the night before passing away with the sun.

Tom’s snore jolted me from my thoughts. I turned back to the table, relieved him of the fork still clutched in his hand, and shook his shoulder. “Wake up, Thomas. Help me get Helene to bed.”

“Aye, sure,” Tom mumbled, half-asleep, getting up and following me to Helene’s chair. Neither of us were used to this sort of thing; I had never attempted to lift a girl in my arms, even a very little one. I maneuvered one arm under her head and Tom helped me swing her legs over my other arm. Then he picked up Grimoire gingerly and we went up the attic stairs in an odd little procession.

Once Helene was tucked into her bed, Tom looked down at her sleepily, and I wondered what he was thinking. When I looked at Helene after putting away her shoes, I too stopped and stared. “She looks like an angel,” I found myself saying.

“Like a little doll,” Tom said, meaning it in a good way.

“I feel like the meanest creature on earth for—”

“I know. Me too.”

We watched a moment longer, then turned as one for the door; I forgot about the low ceiling again and smacked my head rather hard. Tom snickered and started off down the stairs, and I followed as soon as I regained my balance.

“I’m leaving the kitchen the way it is…I’ll think about cleaning it later,” I sighed, turning toward my room once we reached the hall.

“Helene’ll do it,” Tom said with a yawn, entering the parlor. “Oh, look, my blood all over the carpet.”

“Tom, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Plonker. I know. G’night.”

“Good morning,” I corrected. “Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halloween.” Tom waved absently and closed the parlor door behind him.

I picked up Misère and went to my room, collapsing on the bed. I was fast asleep in seconds. In spite of everything it had turned out to be, without a doubt, the best All Hallow’s Eve I’d ever had.

Glossary:
Bonsoir, messieurs - (French) Good evening, sirs
Mon Dieu - (French) My God
Un uomo bello di misterio - (Italian) A handsome man of mystery